Sloppy Seconds

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted regularly and I’m sure you’re full of burning questions. Where are all those curse-y listicles and random family stories? Did she take a bad Uber and end up dismembered in a dumpster? Did she abandon her family to day-drink at Myrtle Beach in one of those cotton T-shirt cover-ups with a cartoon bikini body airbrushed onto the front? 

The truth is, naturally, much less interesting. My kids are both in school now, so I’m working a little bit more at my original day job—which, fortunately but unfortunately, does not involve canned Coors Lights and outerwear from Wings. It does require a good bit of writing, but mostly what amounts to a series of TPS reports (that I’m convinced no one really reads unless they’re performing an insurance audit).

Another reason for the long pause between posts has been my gradual effort to experiment with other possible outlets. When I first started my blog, the main objective was growing large enough lady-balls to put stuff I’d written on the Internet. After that, it was a reason to vent and to remind myself of all the funny and sentimental stories that I found comforting during a pretty uncomfortable stage of my adulthood. Once I got used to writing things for other people to actually read, I decided to test my luck with a larger audience and had a couple of minor successes pawning pieces off on more popular sites. 

Well, then of course, I got cocky and started to consider how fucking awesome it would be if someone, somewhere, might actually pay me--just once--for something I’d written (that wasn’t a TPS report). In this marvelous Internet age, virtually anyone can find a way to publish a piece. It’s a whole other thing to get paid for it. That typically requires “original” work that was not previously “published” elsewhere, even if that “publisher” is your own rinky-dink mommy blog that about 50 people might read from their toilets on a good day.

So I started entering contests, responding to calls for submissions, and writing things that were longer and less easily consumed in the time it takes to drop a deuce. I’d gotten pretty spoiled by the immediacy of writing on one’s own blog and had to get used to submitting something….and waiting….often for months at a time….before ultimately receiving a “hard pass” in response. By now, I’ve learned a thing or two about writing for a more formal audience. For instance, I apparently proof-read like someone who’s had a stroke. In  fact, I have yet to submit a final draft that didn’t have a glaring error giving me the stink-eye from the first page 10 seconds after I hit “send”.  I have also learned that most people who submit to more literary places have decidedly more literary bios. That’s ok. To those people, I see your 'Master of Fine Arts' and raise you one pair of mom-shoes with heaping side of F-bombs. In all honesty, I’ve been shockingly out of my depth. It doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying. It just means that the forward trajectory of my gradually more daring experiment has pretty much stalled out at every paid opportunity thus far. This has left me a handful of stories with nowhere to go...nowhere but the blog, of course!

Over the next few months, in celebration of the blog’s upcoming 4th birthday, I plan to dump a good bit of that “original” unused material into weekly posts. To kick things off, I’ve got some standard fare: a listicle about my family’s recent Disney Cruise. It’s roughly 1000 words, which is generally the sweet spot in the attention span of the casual reader. After that, you may need to invest in a few spare pairs of patient pants, because we’ll be creeping into 2000-word territory. The air might start to feel thinner, you might experience blurred vision, and by the 1800th word or so, you’ll likely be overcome with the urge to watch YouTube videos of cats falling off of furniture. If you’re able to stick with it and finish a few posts, you’ll probably notice a bit less cursing. You’re also likely to detect a  little redundancy, like I’m endlessly rehashing the same handful of events—because I am. Just keep in mind, these pieces were meant to run in different but equally uninterested publications, so variety and continuity were not of particular concern at the time. Just bear with me. Or don’t. I’ma share ‘em anyway.

As you know, I named the blog Tinsel and Lights, as a mislabeled container for something you didn’t know you were looking for. I realize it makes no kinda sense unless you read the post that explains it. I’m sure I get a lot of accidental traffic from people looking for good deals on off-season ornaments or reviews of Hallmark holiday movies. I won’t lie. It’s definitely crossed my mind to start fresh with a new, less metaphorical name. That impulse has only grown stronger since I realized that the song “tinsel and lights” came from was written by a real douche. Yep. The general public’s perception of his genius has taken a hard left turn these days, as he’s recently been accused of psychologically abusing his ex-wife and then pursuing romantic relationships with a series of severely underage girls… 

On the one hand, that’s surely not a gold star in the “pros” column for keeping the name. On the other hand, he’s not the first (or last) creative type to be outed as a real piece of shit in his personal life. So I’m not gonna sweat it, and you shouldn’t either. In fact, I might just offer a set of crocheted Christmas stockings embroidered with the words “Don’t be a dick” to the first 20 readers of this post. That way, everyone who’s potentially confused by or mad at the blog’s name can have something to get excited about...

No? Good. Cuz I think y’all know I can’t fucking crochet. Instead, I guess you’ll have to settle for sloppy seconds from my collection of failed publishing attempts. Mmmm-mmm… Delicious.

So stay tuned to Tinsel and Lights for the first installment of my Sloppy Seconds Series: Top 20 Attractions On Your First Disney Cruise