Random Thoughts I: "White-Out and Writer's Block"

December 6th will officially mark the second year that this site has been up and running. Regretfully and as expected, there have been some lapses in posting with any degree of regularity. The creative burst I had over the summer was encouraging, though creative is pretty far from what it could actually be considered. I am writing about my life after all. Recently, I seem to have hit yet another dry spell, possibly due to my new obsession with the alternate site I have up and running at unknown80s.blogspot.com. The recent reprint I posted here from the magazine I am contributing to, marked my first true spurt of creativity in decades, lending truth to the idea that great things happen when you least expect it. As a result, I now keep in my possession at all times a small memo book to jot down ideas that randomly pop into my head. Usually days after such an event, I will turn to these pages in an attempt to decipher my God-awful handwriting, which by the way afforded me my first and only trip to the Principal's office, but that story will have to wait. If I'm not busy trying to decipher the aforementioned chicken scratch, I find myself scratching my head in complete confusion, wondering what any of it means. I don't know if it's in some sort of secret code or a newly developed Morty version of shorthand, but I find that I lose more great ideas that way. A theologist, philosopher, or my long departed grandmother would simply say, "if it's meant to be, it's meant to be."
I beg to differ.
I should have taken the principal and the second grade teacher who banished me there all of those years ago just a bit more seriously.
"He's going to be a doctor," my grandmother would say, obviously referring to the unwritten rule that doctor's are notorious for their handwriting.

I'm only realizing now as I type this, why that rule is indeed unwritten.

I don't type well either.

Having never taken a typing class in my life, I feel I get by alright using only the index finger of each hand. As I've mentioned on several occasions since my glorious return to the written word, many of my musings start out on the pages of a simple composition notebook. You can imagine what it must be like trying to transcribe those words when I can barely read the handwriting that placed them there in the first place. If I were actually typing upon the invention that typewriting was meant for, I would have to take out a small bank loan to cover the amount of White-Out I would need. It's amazing, but once this stuff is posted, it looks pristine (sans typo's of course). I still cringe every time I go back to an earlier posting and catch a mistake I missed during one of the many return trips to my blogging past.

Hey, someone has to read this stuff!

I recently installed hit-counters on both sites just to see what kind of traffic I was getting.

It's not exactly the Long Island Expressway at rush hour.

Talk about off the beaten path!

Not too long ago, I found myself loosely involved with a small "classic car club," for lack of a better description here. I had the great pleasure of researching and writing an article about them for the upcoming holiday edition of Forest Hills Celebrity & Entertainment. Fully behind their cause, I spent an afternoon learning how to prepare a press release for their annual Toys For Tots Run. While the end result didn't garner as much attention as I had hoped, I was still happy with the way in which it was presented. I'm now considering a press release to all of the local papers to advertise my return to writing via the world wide web. Hey, why stop there? It is world wide after all. Why not a press release to publications everywhere?

Call it a plea for help.

It was during one of the many return trips to my widely unread posting past that I thought I might take a moment or two to tie up some loose ends in classic Where Are They Now fashion. Coming off the euphoric writer's high of finally completing my first blog submission; "Return To Innocence" in December of '06, I had contemplated continuing that tale, albeit briefly in a short follow-up piece I had planned on calling "Addendum to Innocence." ©! Take note of the copyright symbol that immediately follows that incredible title! The second it came to my mind, I immediately looked around to make sure that no one was attempting to hone in on my thoughts. I mean let's face it, "Addendum to Innocence" is a great title. As a result of my triumphant return to writing, I subscribed to Writer's Digest, a great periodical filled with incentives, ideas, and general information about writer's doing what they love - writing! In one of the recent back issues there was a great article on struggling with titles. Basically the premise was, you've finally completed your masterpiece, now what are you going to call it? Apparently, one of the biggest roadblocks writers have to face is coming up with a catchy title. I'm happy to report that titles seem to represent the least of my writing problems. In fact, I'm patting myself on the back right now as I type this (not an easy task for someone who can't really type to begin with). Go on and take a look at some of the past titles. Don't worry, I'll be here when you get back.

(Picture Morty patiently waiting in front of his computer screen as his imaginary "following" cycles back in time through his life via the blogging archives on this very site.)

"I told you so," he silently triumphs.

I'm really not big on ego!

I have an alter-ego.

For some, "Morty" is my alter-ego, for others, it's Tom, the legal name by which I was born with. The amount of people who know me as Morty still amazes me. They understand I have a proper moniker, yet continue to consider me as Morty.

It drives my wife crazy.

My five year old son laughs out loud when he calls me Morty.

I resisted the idea of being called Morty from the very day in 1981 that my dad had uttered it. Prior to beginning my continuing education in college, he had proudly proclaimed that Morty was his nickname during that time in his life.

I was mortified at the thought.

Thoughts again return to the wisdom of my long departed Grandma:

"If it's meant to be, it's meant to be."

It was!

In lieu of rambling on; something I have become particularly adept at, I will spare you any addendum's for now. Had this been a real typewriter, I would have well been on my way to a third jar of White-Out. Instead, I inwardly groan in Carpal Tunnel agony, probably as a result of improper hand placement upon the keys, or the abuse and overuse of the PC based "Control Z" undo function.