Second in my series of posting texts to and from the funniest people I know. Also, we talk about vomit A LOT.
Sister Caryn is a classic example of brains that think alike... until they don't. Then we are left staring at each other wondering, "Where did you COME FROM?"
Today begins a series of posting texts to and from the funniest people I know.
Husband Matt Waller is the funniest person I know, of course, so husband edition comes first. Enjoy, friends!
Last night, I slept terribly. For some reason, I repeatedly dreamed of spiders. Large, hairy, breathing spiders. (Yes, they were large enough and close enough in my nightmares that I could see them breathing. Side note: Do spiders breathe?
My son asked me to read a bug book before bed, and although I enforced my standard policy of not reading the spider pages, we still "had to" flip by the huge image of the tarantula before he found the beetle page he wanted to read. And that's all it took. So I got to wake up over and over having mini panic attacks, brushing away enormous imaginary spiders.
I don't know why I have a spider phobia, but indeed I do. What others things do I inexplicably hate?
Some friends of mine recently expressed their shock that I've never seen "The Neverending Story," so we watched a little of that last night. Add that to my list! [hides behind blanket] Everything in that movie was horrific. That dragon's nose and scales/fur combo...? Ugh, maybe I'm glad for the spiders.
[shivers]
Dear Celebrities,
We do not care what you think.
Love,
America
It's true. Keep you opinions to yourself. And it isn't just because many of you are crazy liberals with whom I personally disagree. It's because your opinions are held by someone completely out-of-touch. You're pointing the finger at one guy, the guy who's obviously too rich to know me, the common person. But you're doing it while wearing an eight-carat diamond ring and with a $750 haircut.
So... No.
Please stop writing your op-eds. Please stop with your nonsense tweets that are inciting violence and hatred. Please stop your temper tantrums. You do not, and will not, make a difference. Your opinion is irrelevant. You think because someone has put a microphone in your face (or your personal assistant set up the much-followed Twitter account on your new $2,000 phone) that we care, but you're wrong.
Make your movies. Sing your songs. Take your pictures. Go on your late-night appearances. But do it quietly. By the simple fact that we know your name and have never met you, you are too famous to have a clue. You live in a bubble. You complain about paparazzi stalkers and someone hacking the sexy selfies you took when you were drunk on a Tuesday morning at the beach. These are not the problems of real people.
We don't care what you think. We have voices we want to hear, and they are each other's. I want to hear from my actual peers: any color, any race, any religion, but people living a real life. People like me don't drive a brand new Mercedes. People like me don't get asked for their autograph at Starbucks. People like me don't pose for magazine covers.
The people around each of us are the people whose opinions matter. The election was determined by those of us who are tired of you and your manipulative death-grip on our society.
Ironically, I did include a super-hysterical Piers Morgan thought above, because this is all we need from you: humor.
Dear Celebrities,
You are here to entertain us and that is all.
Love,
Me
Confessional time: I have a problem with chapters. Another writing friend of mine and I were talking today, and I confessed my hoarding: I collect chapters. The Senator's Youngest Daughter may have ended up just shy of 70, but the next book I'm working on isn't wrapped yet and I just typed "Chapter 105." YIKES, Kelley. Self-control.
I seem to be unable to switch scenes, topics, or locations without starting a new chapter. I also like to start a new chapter after a startling moment. Not that I want commercials in my book, but I like that shock value on TV shows.
"Well, the thing is, Mr. Bauer, you're pregnant."
[screen goes black and a Toyota ad starts screaming]
WHAT? So I guess that moment where my reader has to turn the page (or flick their finger to the left) is my equivalent of a Toyota commercial. It's the extra millisecond of anticipation... leaving them on edge.
I need to combine some of my chapters... thin the herd. It's too late for The Senator's Youngest Daughter, of course. But the next book still has hope for a reasonable number of chapters and a table of contents that isn't six pages long on the Kindle. Finger cramp!
I learned something about myself when I started my sophomore year of college at Millersville University. I enjoyed being athletic and fit, and I enjoyed spending time with my friends, but I did not love field hockey. **gasp** This was a big surprise, because I really thought I did.
I learned this as the fall progressed without me, for the first time in eight years, picking up a hockey stick. I had so many good memories, but what I learned that season was that it wasn't the sport itself I enjoyed. I loved being with my friends, working towards a common goal, fighting together, laughing (and sometimes suffering sunburn) as a team. Oh, and winning. We were pretty awesome, you know...
Don't get me wrong, I LOVED watching the US Field Hockey team play their last game before the Rio Olympics. It's a great sport. But the game would have been weird to watch alone. I was there with my dad and my sisters, rehashing wonderful memories! We could've been cheering for baseball (GO YANKS) or for a group of synchronized mamboing penguins. My point is, what I thought I loved was not what I loved.
What I have learned now that I'm this wildly mature adult version of myself is that I love the social aspects of all things I do. Board games, sports, eating... I love the talking and the story-swapping and the laughing and the "you think that's bad wait until you hear what happened to me" one-up-man-ship of talking with interesting people.
Reading (and writing, I've learned) for me is also very social. Like Stephen King taught me in On Writing, I write better dialogue because I'm an extrovert. I want to talk about my book. I want to Book Club with other people and dialogue about the characters I created. (Yes, I used Book Club as a verb.) I want to hear them laugh and watch them read the sad parts.
Nothing has made me happier than hearing people's comments as they read The Senator's Youngest Daughter. I recently had the privilege of sharing a Facebook messenger dialogue with a friend as she read my novel. She opened the book over a period of days, letting me know what she was thinking and experiencing as she read it. What a glorious, encouraging, treasured experience for me.
I love making people laugh, making people feel something, so to experience her trip through Brenna's story was fabulous. Some of the comments would be enormous spoilers, so I can't relate them all here, but here's a sample of how she made my day:
I can't stop.
Poor [husband] has only seen my forehead sticking out the top for two days lol
I just got goosebumps.
I'm sad it's over. Please write more books.
So no more field hockey for adult me, but hopefully more writing in the future. And I want to talk to you about it: about what you're reading, about what I'm reading, and hopefully, about what you thought while reading what I'm writing.
