I am still trying to figure out where we are going and what exactly our quest is. Call me a "fine print enthusiast", but what's going on here? I am very much up for a rescue mission, as long as there is bedroll sharing involved and this seems to be that kind of mission, but where are we headed? (Especially seeing as the object of our rescue has stated that he intends to be HERE by the middle of February.) Chris has us all packed, Todd is making everyone feel bad for not leaping in their viking ships and sailing forth at once, Aaron is just making everyone feel bad, and Morgen is making me feel turned on about the amounts of blood that could, concievably, be involved (this is much more exciting than the bedrolls, I have to say, especially as the blood could be connected to big, brilliant, bronzed men).
Where is the fine print?
Do I need to bring a bug zapper?
Bug spray?
Fly swatter?
Roll-on insect repellant?
What about a raincoat?
Where am I bringing these things?
Can I drive there on my lunch break?
Will there be alcohol flowing freely?
(If the answer to the last question is yes I don't actually need any of the other questions answered, and please disregard this entire post because the fine print will not matter.)
Les
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
When you are all done packing and discussing your sleeping and flogging arrangements, I still need some rescuing.
In constant, excruciating pain and all.
-G.
P.S. I'll also be in CO for 10 days in mid-February with a new (OK heavily revised) screenplay to read and catching up to do. Perhaps Kanga can whip up a brouhaha of some sort. (If you manage to rescue me in time.)
Details pending.
In constant, excruciating pain and all.
-G.
P.S. I'll also be in CO for 10 days in mid-February with a new (OK heavily revised) screenplay to read and catching up to do. Perhaps Kanga can whip up a brouhaha of some sort. (If you manage to rescue me in time.)
Details pending.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Could You Repeat That? AKA the hyphens-and-slashes post (sadly low on parentheses)
Excuse me, but I believe that Mr. Todd the Tigger-Viking asked a question--
"Who's with me?"
Have YOU answered?
I didn't think so.
What's wrong with you people/writers/friends-from-the-hundred-(and one)-acre-wood?
Our comrade in writing silliness, Giles, is in trouble. Can't you hear him pleading for our help? Didn't you hear the rally-cry from Todd to join together in a buddy-movie-type travel ensemble to save the desperate Giles?
I've already packed for the trip--for all of us--so you have no excuse. Saddle up! If you don't, the Little Black Raincloud, Tigger and I will be forced to roll around in our 17 bedrolls with Mr. Daniels WITHOUT YOU. And pauvre Giles will remain in the miserable limbo he created for himself on the page, with no stuffed-animal-friends on trusty stick-horse steeds to rescue him.
If any of this seems intriguing/beguiling/confusing/absurd to you, I suggest you go back and read the previous post (and all 7 comments). Then, Todd, could you repeat your question? Perhaps with more feeling (and exclamation points) this time? After that, people/stuffed friends/so-called writers, I expect some posts/comments/activity/entertainment.
Now I must write something with many fewer slashes/hyphens/parentheses which I hope one day will actually be income-, fan-, and accolade-producing.
"Who's with me?"
Have YOU answered?
I didn't think so.
What's wrong with you people/writers/friends-from-the-hundred-(and one)-acre-wood?
Our comrade in writing silliness, Giles, is in trouble. Can't you hear him pleading for our help? Didn't you hear the rally-cry from Todd to join together in a buddy-movie-type travel ensemble to save the desperate Giles?
I've already packed for the trip--for all of us--so you have no excuse. Saddle up! If you don't, the Little Black Raincloud, Tigger and I will be forced to roll around in our 17 bedrolls with Mr. Daniels WITHOUT YOU. And pauvre Giles will remain in the miserable limbo he created for himself on the page, with no stuffed-animal-friends on trusty stick-horse steeds to rescue him.
If any of this seems intriguing/beguiling/confusing/absurd to you, I suggest you go back and read the previous post (and all 7 comments). Then, Todd, could you repeat your question? Perhaps with more feeling (and exclamation points) this time? After that, people/stuffed friends/so-called writers, I expect some posts/comments/activity/entertainment.
Now I must write something with many fewer slashes/hyphens/parentheses which I hope one day will actually be income-, fan-, and accolade-producing.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Project Puck Panty Pluck
Notes on our blog so far: I find it interesting that it took less than a month for Morgen to re-affirm that she intends to live on the fringe, to carve out her own little dark corner of our blogging world where she can bleed furry little creatures for her further education. And it only took Rebecca three paragraphs (depending on how one chooses divide the interesting format of her entry into paragraphs) to put the "thrust" back into "The Sparkling Hammers". Leslie appears to be suggesting, if it is amenable to the rest of those concerned, that it might be a good idea for her to stage a gentle coup that makes her the king. Kanga, of course, happily continues to support all of this nonsense. And Aaron remains religiously steadfast in his conviction to vacillate.
But now I would like to turn our attention back on the purpose of this blog.
. . .
Okay. So now I would like to turn our attention to creating a purpose for this blog.
It occurs to me that we recently heard a cry for help, a member-emeritus who sent up a sexy-panty flare of danger, which we summarily ignored.
What if this was a true cry for help? What if this was a drowning man who came up for one last gasp, and spent it calling to us? Should we really waste our time laughing and dickering over Aaron's true nickname? Or should we, with all haste, ride our non-existent pooh to the rescue? What kind of heroes are we? Shall we not intervene on the side of the Puck? Pluck him from his panty-Potterwood?
The Viking says: pack up the longboat! Row like there's pillage and rape on the other side. Put your back into it!
Come on, everyone! We'll call it Project Puck Panty Pluck!
Who's with me?!?
(and let's grab Rebecca while we're at it. Because it's fun to grab Rebecca.)
But now I would like to turn our attention back on the purpose of this blog.
. . .
Okay. So now I would like to turn our attention to creating a purpose for this blog.
It occurs to me that we recently heard a cry for help, a member-emeritus who sent up a sexy-panty flare of danger, which we summarily ignored.
What if this was a true cry for help? What if this was a drowning man who came up for one last gasp, and spent it calling to us? Should we really waste our time laughing and dickering over Aaron's true nickname? Or should we, with all haste, ride our non-existent pooh to the rescue? What kind of heroes are we? Shall we not intervene on the side of the Puck? Pluck him from his panty-Potterwood?
The Viking says: pack up the longboat! Row like there's pillage and rape on the other side. Put your back into it!
Come on, everyone! We'll call it Project Puck Panty Pluck!
Who's with me?!?
(and let's grab Rebecca while we're at it. Because it's fun to grab Rebecca.)
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Who the fuck was that?
I am not changing my mind (Morgen made me want to). Piglet is stupid (read: strong in it's vulnerability and willingness to go into the depths of pain and fear to face the kinds of things that would make Christopher Robin's mother upset -- she would have him committed if she knew what went on in his Hundred-Acre Wood). I never liked Piglet (until now). And I am not changing my mind! (Alas, I cannot, as I have ranted and raved against the pink thing too much in the past post, and at our gathering last Friday. I suppose I could change my mind . . . if I wished to face the kind of ridicule and taunting that only Piglet could put up with because it is too frightened to request a remission of the taunting.) If I were Piglet, which I am not, I would have to be the kind of pink, snub-nosed, bat-like thing that uses it's legs, which are very present, to take it to Morgen's Mordor at the far, far end of the Hundred Acre Wood. That is a bad place. That place makes me tremble. With fear. And longing. The tense trembling of fear and excitement . . . hey, can I be Goblet?
So really, who the fuck are you, last post-er? Have I met you?
So really, who the fuck are you, last post-er? Have I met you?
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
who the fuck am i?
indeed, who would i be?
i admit, this ridiculous "pooh/piglet/hundred acre wood/king friday" shit had me thinking.
scrolling through, my first thought was, "no, i don't want to contribute to this nonsense. you don't fit in. they're talking of wizards, witches, poohs and public television. there is nothing here for you to say."
it smacked of writer's group, five years ago.
scroll, scroll, scroll.
wait!
whore in tight cotton? slut in black boots?
omg! i'm home.
must i be from the 100-acre wood? little mermaid? (i admit to throwing up in my mouth a little bit just now)
um......kanga.
it's kanga. she totally had an alternative secret life.
when roo went to bed, she was working the strip in the 100-acre wood, making a little somethin' somethin' on the side. she partied, she broke hearts, she supported her habit.
she wore tight cotton.
btw- as i recall, sparkling hammer was so much more than just a two-word phrase.
i'm saddened by the blatant disrespect and i swear it was "thrusting sparkling hammer to the groin...."
or is that just wishful thinking on my part.....
it's kanga, bitch.
(cue the music)
i admit, this ridiculous "pooh/piglet/hundred acre wood/king friday" shit had me thinking.
scrolling through, my first thought was, "no, i don't want to contribute to this nonsense. you don't fit in. they're talking of wizards, witches, poohs and public television. there is nothing here for you to say."
it smacked of writer's group, five years ago.
scroll, scroll, scroll.
wait!
whore in tight cotton? slut in black boots?
omg! i'm home.
must i be from the 100-acre wood? little mermaid? (i admit to throwing up in my mouth a little bit just now)
um......kanga.
it's kanga. she totally had an alternative secret life.
when roo went to bed, she was working the strip in the 100-acre wood, making a little somethin' somethin' on the side. she partied, she broke hearts, she supported her habit.
she wore tight cotton.
btw- as i recall, sparkling hammer was so much more than just a two-word phrase.
i'm saddened by the blatant disrespect and i swear it was "thrusting sparkling hammer to the groin...."
or is that just wishful thinking on my part.....
it's kanga, bitch.
(cue the music)
Monday, January 12, 2009
Dear King Friday
Dear King Friday,
At the risk of beheading (which could be fun, as along as it's not me losing my skullcap), I must point out your obvious and egregious prejudice against Sir/Miss Piglet, who, in my opinion, is, like Master Pooh, one of the greatest philosophers ever to grace not only the Hundred and One Acre Wood with his/her presence, but also many lands well beyond the Wood's fluid borders. For, you see, Sir/Miss Piglet offers each of us the hope that, with tenacity, confidence, careful attention to every little detail, and a little help from our friends, each of us lowly beings can overcome such things as a speech impediment, unfounded judgements concerning our intelligence, even our unseemly pink nose and large, wholly unpig-like ears, which set us apart from the mainstream and make us a target of schoolyard bullies. Additionally, Sir/Miss Piglet is confident enough in his/her sexlessness to run around the Wood in a leotard. This, above all, demonstrates a knack for survival (and a bit of rebellion) in this potentially dangerous Wood, especially that dark and lonely extra acre with the black rain cloud hovering perpetually above it. There's tell of howls of delight and agony that periodically spill out of this particular area like blood cascading from a goblet. (Goblet was Piglet's plump cousin. He tasted a lot like chicken). I ask you, King Friday, can you ride a terrifying storm in a honey pot and gamely outwit Heffalumps, wearing nothing but a leotard and possessing zero natural camouflage? I dare you to try, Friday, but I believe your lack of legs (aside: Ariel has no legs either) will impede your efforts and, as we all learned from the Incredibles, a cape is just poor planning when you're trying to do battle with a raging Heffalump. (They kill more people annually than do hippopotami, you know).
Now, concerning this Little Mermaid business… do you really want to flop around in the hot sand, helpless, voiceless, waiting for a man to rescue you? I didn't think so.
The little black rain cloud has spoken.
Oh, fuck all y'all. I'm Morgana. Morgana le Fay. And I ain't afraid to zap your asses, so I leave you for now with this tiny, pink-hued bit of profundity… "Well, even if I'm in the moon, I needn't be face downwards all the time."
Words to live by, courtesy of our very own Sir/Miss Piglet.
At the risk of beheading (which could be fun, as along as it's not me losing my skullcap), I must point out your obvious and egregious prejudice against Sir/Miss Piglet, who, in my opinion, is, like Master Pooh, one of the greatest philosophers ever to grace not only the Hundred and One Acre Wood with his/her presence, but also many lands well beyond the Wood's fluid borders. For, you see, Sir/Miss Piglet offers each of us the hope that, with tenacity, confidence, careful attention to every little detail, and a little help from our friends, each of us lowly beings can overcome such things as a speech impediment, unfounded judgements concerning our intelligence, even our unseemly pink nose and large, wholly unpig-like ears, which set us apart from the mainstream and make us a target of schoolyard bullies. Additionally, Sir/Miss Piglet is confident enough in his/her sexlessness to run around the Wood in a leotard. This, above all, demonstrates a knack for survival (and a bit of rebellion) in this potentially dangerous Wood, especially that dark and lonely extra acre with the black rain cloud hovering perpetually above it. There's tell of howls of delight and agony that periodically spill out of this particular area like blood cascading from a goblet. (Goblet was Piglet's plump cousin. He tasted a lot like chicken). I ask you, King Friday, can you ride a terrifying storm in a honey pot and gamely outwit Heffalumps, wearing nothing but a leotard and possessing zero natural camouflage? I dare you to try, Friday, but I believe your lack of legs (aside: Ariel has no legs either) will impede your efforts and, as we all learned from the Incredibles, a cape is just poor planning when you're trying to do battle with a raging Heffalump. (They kill more people annually than do hippopotami, you know).
Now, concerning this Little Mermaid business… do you really want to flop around in the hot sand, helpless, voiceless, waiting for a man to rescue you? I didn't think so.
The little black rain cloud has spoken.
Oh, fuck all y'all. I'm Morgana. Morgana le Fay. And I ain't afraid to zap your asses, so I leave you for now with this tiny, pink-hued bit of profundity… "Well, even if I'm in the moon, I needn't be face downwards all the time."
Words to live by, courtesy of our very own Sir/Miss Piglet.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
I do not want to be Piglet.
I do not want to be Piglet. Piglet is stupid. I always hated Piglet. I hated how it talked, I hated how it worried constantly, I thought it was a stupid character even when I was five, when my knowledge of characters was limited to Winnie-the-Pooh, Shining Time Station, and Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. What the hell gender is Piglet anyway? Piglet is effeminant. I would much rather be King Friday XIII from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. The imperialistic little hand-puppet King Friday speaks worlds to me when he gets Mr. Roger, and all the other residents of the neighborhood (which really was more friendly than any neighborhood I have ever lived in) to bow to him and accept his delusions of granduer as a fact of their silly little make-believe lives. Please do not respond to this post with anything other than, "Correct, as usual, King Friday."
I will also be the Little Mermaid. I always liked her. If I must be Piglet, I refuse to live in the Hundred-Acre Wood. I will go to the Cave of Caer Bannog and team up with the Killer Rabbit.
AAAAAAAAGGGGHHH.
Leslie
I will also be the Little Mermaid. I always liked her. If I must be Piglet, I refuse to live in the Hundred-Acre Wood. I will go to the Cave of Caer Bannog and team up with the Killer Rabbit.
AAAAAAAAGGGGHHH.
Leslie
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Puck Alert
Be aware, I think that Puck has joined our midst. Or is that Giles? Check out the photo posted on Giles' profile and you be the judge.
In case you missed it (a comment by the aforementioned Puck)
Help! I'm trapped in a wood of indeterminate size, imprisoned here by a wizard with sexy new undies and HyperHarryPotterish lexaconic powers. I can only be rescued by a crack team assembled and led by a guilt ridden politico/preacher wannabe known as The(er maybe, not)Talent. He needs a tiger striped Viking to do the heavy chopping, a threesome-teasing absentnatrix who specializes in exsanguination, a delicate flower willing to distract the enemy by suffering repeated squashings, a maternal marsupial with a fetish for logistics, a freakishly elongated lurker known only as: model SLB34, a load of holy crap, and some nonexistent thing called a pooh.
Please send longwinded help before it's too late.
Monday, January 5, 2009
The Hundred-and-One Acre Wood
(CAUTION: Don't read this if you haven't read the prior posting from Chris first. It won't be nearly as outrageously brilliant).
What's Rabbit like? Is he better than Eeyore? All I know about Eeyore is that he's mopey. I'm not mopey. I'm hilarious (when I'm not being pissy (when I'm not being contemplative (when I'm not being rantful (when I'm not being friendly (when I'm not being withdrawn (when I'm not being goofy (when I'm not being mopey (crap)))))))).
The point is, despite my many attempts to quit you people, there's a distinct possibility my wife and I, sans kids, will come to group on Friday night. We have a qualified sitter on the line. We'll see how it turns out. That said, do not take my attendance at the majority (did I miss 1? 0?) of recently held meetings as any kind of sign that I haven't quit. Furthermore, my contributions to this blog and the fact I set it up are no indication that I have any interest in having anything to do with any of you people ever again.
Actually, the point is: Chris, despite the overriding (and endlessly annoying) pro-Todd, anti-Aaron sentiments pervading your post, I found it distinctly entertaining and actually rather wonderful. I particularly appreciated the Pooh/Writing analogy.
PS -- We should also think about Members Emeritus of the Hammers. Specifically, Rebecca and Seth (if not Andi) deserve a place in the Wood. Any room for a whore in tight cotton / slut in black boots? And what about Rebecca? Who could she be?
PPS -- Nobody likes Rabbit? Is he crotchety? Does he think he's better than everyone else? Maybe I could be a Rabbit-Eeyore combo, with a side of some character who's better than everyone else... Like He-Man. Surely he spent time in the Hundred Acre Wood. Or maybe if we added an acre or several, there would be room for him. Or Optimus Prime. Yes, I will be He-Prime the Transforming Uber-Rabbit Who Occasionally Masquerades as Eeyore to Get Laughs.
PPPS -- While we're expanding The Wood, let's carve out a corner subterranean chamber full of satin pillows and razor blades, where The Lone Modifier can hang out. Every now and then, in the dark of night she sneaks out from her den and does something seductive, brilliant, or dangerous with Pooh--something that forever changes him. Then she slips away, back to her den in the Hundred and First Acre.
PPPS -- Fuck all y'all. I'm Pooh.
What's Rabbit like? Is he better than Eeyore? All I know about Eeyore is that he's mopey. I'm not mopey. I'm hilarious (when I'm not being pissy (when I'm not being contemplative (when I'm not being rantful (when I'm not being friendly (when I'm not being withdrawn (when I'm not being goofy (when I'm not being mopey (crap)))))))).
The point is, despite my many attempts to quit you people, there's a distinct possibility my wife and I, sans kids, will come to group on Friday night. We have a qualified sitter on the line. We'll see how it turns out. That said, do not take my attendance at the majority (did I miss 1? 0?) of recently held meetings as any kind of sign that I haven't quit. Furthermore, my contributions to this blog and the fact I set it up are no indication that I have any interest in having anything to do with any of you people ever again.
Actually, the point is: Chris, despite the overriding (and endlessly annoying) pro-Todd, anti-Aaron sentiments pervading your post, I found it distinctly entertaining and actually rather wonderful. I particularly appreciated the Pooh/Writing analogy.
PS -- We should also think about Members Emeritus of the Hammers. Specifically, Rebecca and Seth (if not Andi) deserve a place in the Wood. Any room for a whore in tight cotton / slut in black boots? And what about Rebecca? Who could she be?
PPS -- Nobody likes Rabbit? Is he crotchety? Does he think he's better than everyone else? Maybe I could be a Rabbit-Eeyore combo, with a side of some character who's better than everyone else... Like He-Man. Surely he spent time in the Hundred Acre Wood. Or maybe if we added an acre or several, there would be room for him. Or Optimus Prime. Yes, I will be He-Prime the Transforming Uber-Rabbit Who Occasionally Masquerades as Eeyore to Get Laughs.
PPPS -- While we're expanding The Wood, let's carve out a corner subterranean chamber full of satin pillows and razor blades, where The Lone Modifier can hang out. Every now and then, in the dark of night she sneaks out from her den and does something seductive, brilliant, or dangerous with Pooh--something that forever changes him. Then she slips away, back to her den in the Hundred and First Acre.
PPPS -- Fuck all y'all. I'm Pooh.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
The Hundred Acre Wood
Welcome to 2009, everyone. It's my honor and privilege to contribute the first blog post in the new year. I hope you all will join me as I completely ignore the last post of 2008. Yes, I spit Joe on my screen as I read it (I meant COFFEE, Aaron), mostly because there were too many references for me to follow. Okay, you caught me--I didn't completely ignore the previous post as promised since I have now referenced it three times. But I usually do keep my promises. Honest, I do. And to prove it, I'm going to regale you with the story of the Hundred Acre Wood as I promised in a previous post. But don't hold me to the "regale" part as that was an off-handed comment, not technically a promise (but if you feel regaled upon completing your read, that's perfectly lovely).
Once upon a time there was a writers' group called the Todds. Then for awhile we called it the Teds. By "we" I do not mean Aaron. Let's just say the name was a point of contention. As in, Todd was more than content to have it named after him (even if it was named "Ted" which was a reference to what his new editor mistakenly called him). But Aaron was less than content. Far less than. So we bantered about (much as we do on this blog) trying to figure out what to call our group. Wryters' Group was lame (I don't mind saying this since I contributed it), and I believe there were some other less-than-memorable suggestions that I don't remember. But finally we came to call ourselves "The Sparkling Hammers." Please be sure to ask Morgen to explain why (as I so thoughtfully did in front of Jeffery Deaver in an attempt to embarrass her). Now this new name is ALSO a reference to Todd, but miraculously Aaron is not opposed to it and in fact embraces it because it is poking fun at Todd rather than paying homage to him. But of course Todd still takes it as paying homage, so everyone is happy. All of which has nothing to do with The Hundred Acre Wood, but I thought it would be a fun little backstory. Do note the hook--the mystery surrounding our group name "The Sparkling Hammers." I hope it will be enough to keep you reading.
So, once upon a time (more recently than the previous Once), I mentioned to my fellow Hammers that my mother said I'm "Eeyore," as in mopey and sad and morose and negative. As I'd hoped when mentioning this, everyone in the group disagreed with my mother. I am most certainly NOT Eeyore. I can't be, because Aaron is Eeyore. The group decided that I am Kanga because I've settled very comfortably into the role of taking care of the other members of the group, cooking for them and such like a mama kangaroo (if kangaroos could cook). And besides, I'm often accompanied by a Roo. Spelled "Ruh" actually, but pronounced "Roo". He's my service dog. (I'll post a picture of him on my profile--but don't take that as a promise because kangaroos are notoriously inept at all things technological. What, you didn't know that?)
Thus began the discussion of "If Chris is Kanga and Aaron is Eeyore, who are the rest of us?" The next thing that was said should be no surprise to anyone who knows Todd--Todd is Tigger. Todd is more Tigger than I am Kanga, or even more than Aaron is Eeyore (though that is debatable). It was more difficult to figure out the rest of the cast.
Giles (where are you, Giles? we miss you!) proclaimed himself to be Christopher Robin. Aaron argued with him, mostly because that what Aaron does (when he's not sparring with Todd). My take on Giles is that he WANTS to be Christopher Robin because he'd like to believe that we are all characters in his own story, to be manipulated and bent according to his own whims. I'm more inclined to see Giles as Owl. He is a bit of a feathered guru. We'll leave it at that. (Giles, if you disagree, it sure would be nice to hear from you...)
Leslie is Piglet. She's little. And cute. And pink. With a cute little pink nose. She laughs. And she's cute. And pink. Enough said.
I'm not sure who Morgen is. I'm not sure the reality of The Hundred Acre Wood world can handle a character like Morgen. Maybe that's why she's only an occasional contributor to the Hammers. If by occasional one means "is seldom there, but always has a presence, kind of like a cloud casting a much loved shadow over the land." So I'll unilaterally decide that she's the "small black rain cloud" surrounded by a swarm of bees near the honey tree until someone comes up with something better.
That leaves Pooh. Who is Pooh? Well, Pooh is the central character whom all the other characters rally around. The stories are all about Pooh. Given this, there are a couple Hammers who might think themselves Pooh-ish, but we have already assigned them characters. Do the Hammers have no Pooh? The Hundred Acre Wood would not exist without Pooh, so it follows that we must have one (just play along with the logic here). Thus I conclude and assert with Kanga-like matter-of-fact assuredness, that our WRITING is Pooh. Yes, it is sometimes poopy, but that's another topic. What I mean to say is, the Writing is what brings us all together and is the center of our purpose and interest.
"What?" you might be saying. "WHAT? That's all you've got? I read all that to end up with that lame analogy???" Well, I never promised it would be climactic. I'm not all about the climax (though, from previous posts, you may conclude that other Hammers are). I'd like to think I'm more about the characters. So please forgive me for the Pooh-py ending, and instead enjoy (hopefully) the images you now have of the members of our group--Tigger, Eeyore, Kanga, Piglet, an absentee Christopher Robin--slash--Owl, and a stuffed animal masquerading as a little black raincloud.
That's it for the story of The Hundred Acre Wood.
Oh, I didn't come back to the hook? The what, why and history of "The Sparkling Hammers" name? Hmm. Well, I didn't promise that, did I? I guess you'll just have to keep reading to find out. What a nasty literary device. But don't blame me, I didn't invent it. Giles did. You'll have to speak to him about it.
Happy new year!
PS We currently have no Rabbit. Interested parties can apply via "Comments," but do so at your own discretion--no one really likes Rabbit.
Once upon a time there was a writers' group called the Todds. Then for awhile we called it the Teds. By "we" I do not mean Aaron. Let's just say the name was a point of contention. As in, Todd was more than content to have it named after him (even if it was named "Ted" which was a reference to what his new editor mistakenly called him). But Aaron was less than content. Far less than. So we bantered about (much as we do on this blog) trying to figure out what to call our group. Wryters' Group was lame (I don't mind saying this since I contributed it), and I believe there were some other less-than-memorable suggestions that I don't remember. But finally we came to call ourselves "The Sparkling Hammers." Please be sure to ask Morgen to explain why (as I so thoughtfully did in front of Jeffery Deaver in an attempt to embarrass her). Now this new name is ALSO a reference to Todd, but miraculously Aaron is not opposed to it and in fact embraces it because it is poking fun at Todd rather than paying homage to him. But of course Todd still takes it as paying homage, so everyone is happy. All of which has nothing to do with The Hundred Acre Wood, but I thought it would be a fun little backstory. Do note the hook--the mystery surrounding our group name "The Sparkling Hammers." I hope it will be enough to keep you reading.
So, once upon a time (more recently than the previous Once), I mentioned to my fellow Hammers that my mother said I'm "Eeyore," as in mopey and sad and morose and negative. As I'd hoped when mentioning this, everyone in the group disagreed with my mother. I am most certainly NOT Eeyore. I can't be, because Aaron is Eeyore. The group decided that I am Kanga because I've settled very comfortably into the role of taking care of the other members of the group, cooking for them and such like a mama kangaroo (if kangaroos could cook). And besides, I'm often accompanied by a Roo. Spelled "Ruh" actually, but pronounced "Roo". He's my service dog. (I'll post a picture of him on my profile--but don't take that as a promise because kangaroos are notoriously inept at all things technological. What, you didn't know that?)
Thus began the discussion of "If Chris is Kanga and Aaron is Eeyore, who are the rest of us?" The next thing that was said should be no surprise to anyone who knows Todd--Todd is Tigger. Todd is more Tigger than I am Kanga, or even more than Aaron is Eeyore (though that is debatable). It was more difficult to figure out the rest of the cast.
Giles (where are you, Giles? we miss you!) proclaimed himself to be Christopher Robin. Aaron argued with him, mostly because that what Aaron does (when he's not sparring with Todd). My take on Giles is that he WANTS to be Christopher Robin because he'd like to believe that we are all characters in his own story, to be manipulated and bent according to his own whims. I'm more inclined to see Giles as Owl. He is a bit of a feathered guru. We'll leave it at that. (Giles, if you disagree, it sure would be nice to hear from you...)
Leslie is Piglet. She's little. And cute. And pink. With a cute little pink nose. She laughs. And she's cute. And pink. Enough said.
I'm not sure who Morgen is. I'm not sure the reality of The Hundred Acre Wood world can handle a character like Morgen. Maybe that's why she's only an occasional contributor to the Hammers. If by occasional one means "is seldom there, but always has a presence, kind of like a cloud casting a much loved shadow over the land." So I'll unilaterally decide that she's the "small black rain cloud" surrounded by a swarm of bees near the honey tree until someone comes up with something better.
That leaves Pooh. Who is Pooh? Well, Pooh is the central character whom all the other characters rally around. The stories are all about Pooh. Given this, there are a couple Hammers who might think themselves Pooh-ish, but we have already assigned them characters. Do the Hammers have no Pooh? The Hundred Acre Wood would not exist without Pooh, so it follows that we must have one (just play along with the logic here). Thus I conclude and assert with Kanga-like matter-of-fact assuredness, that our WRITING is Pooh. Yes, it is sometimes poopy, but that's another topic. What I mean to say is, the Writing is what brings us all together and is the center of our purpose and interest.
"What?" you might be saying. "WHAT? That's all you've got? I read all that to end up with that lame analogy???" Well, I never promised it would be climactic. I'm not all about the climax (though, from previous posts, you may conclude that other Hammers are). I'd like to think I'm more about the characters. So please forgive me for the Pooh-py ending, and instead enjoy (hopefully) the images you now have of the members of our group--Tigger, Eeyore, Kanga, Piglet, an absentee Christopher Robin--slash--Owl, and a stuffed animal masquerading as a little black raincloud.
That's it for the story of The Hundred Acre Wood.
Oh, I didn't come back to the hook? The what, why and history of "The Sparkling Hammers" name? Hmm. Well, I didn't promise that, did I? I guess you'll just have to keep reading to find out. What a nasty literary device. But don't blame me, I didn't invent it. Giles did. You'll have to speak to him about it.
Happy new year!
PS We currently have no Rabbit. Interested parties can apply via "Comments," but do so at your own discretion--no one really likes Rabbit.
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