Degrees... and Degrees

Fuck. It's hot!

Not only hot, it's humid. That's saying a lot for Los Angeles. Usually, summer 'round here is in the high 80's to 90's, but without this damned humidity.

It's so humid I'm sticking to everything - except writing, that is. The heat has addled my brain.

Add to this the fact that my aunt died yesterday. Normally, the death of a 93 year old woman wouldn't stress most people out. After all, she's (hopefully) lived a long and fruitful life. Nope, my stress from her death comes as a result of my lazy-ass-sister's inability to cope with having to be a part of this family, so she pretends that we don't exist. And, therefore, I was asked to become the conservator for my elderly aunt.

Okay, no problemo. This one should be a walk in the park, right?

Little did I know the hassles in store for me. The paperwork alone could sink a luxury cruise ship. That, plus I had to get a fucking bond on my house, just to insure that I wouldn't take off to South America with my aunt's money.

Oh, brother.

Of course, now that she's died, the game has changed. There even MORE paperwork, and I need to contact relatives even I didn't know existed.

Surely my act of selflessness will earn me a cushier spot in Heaven, don't you think?

Yeah, right.

Write...now there's a concept. Hopefully, I will get my shit together long enough to complete any one of the dozen-or-so ideas floating around in my over-heated cranium.

Or, I can just sit here and bitch about the weather.

Decisions...decisions...

Writing Contests

We love 'em. We hate 'em, too, but we're still drawn to them like flies to a rotting corpse.

We write, and re-write, and re-write some more, because God knows it just needs that one little tweak.

Then we rush to the post office, still licking the envelopes shut, just making it through those doors before the place closes for the night. The postal worker unceremoniously stamps your precious oeuvre, you turn and depart uttering one last prayer to the Gods of luck creativity.

And anyone who says they're "above all that" is full of shit.

The one and only reason we enter over-hyped pocket-drainers is to receive confirmation that we are unique; that we matter; that in this cookie-cutter world we stand apart from all the others. We, through brainpower alone, have created something so unique that we will change mankind forever. Hallelujah!

What bullshit.

What we've done is to openly say, "love me"!
"Validate me!"
"Give me a reason to believe I'm something more than a sheep. "

And so we wait for those results, firmly believing our words have more depth and meaning than any of the other 5,826 Neanderthals who've entered the same contest.

Yeah, right.

Hello, My name is _______

Wow. Cool. My own blog.

My very own personal diary that every person in the world has access to!

Whodathunkit?

Since I'm still a recovering typewriter-to-computer kinda gal, I'm asking - in advance - to forgive any errors that will most certainly occur.

Okay, so just who the hell am I, anyway? Here are some facts about me:

1. My name is Cathy Krasnianski
2. I live in California with (1) husband, (2) kids, (1) dog, (1) turtle, and (1) tadpole.
3. I "retired" from being a travel agent two and a half years ago (told 'em to fuck off is more like it), in order to write full time.
4. I write - screenplays. Lots and lots of screenplays. So if you think that type of writing is beneath you, I'd suggest you get out of here while you can, because that's what we're gonna be talking about. A lot.
5. I have sold one screenplay, so far. And, so far, it has yet to be made.
6. I have many vices; only a couple of which I'm willing to divulge here. More on those later on...
7. My birth sign is Leo (for those of you into that sort of thing), and my birthday is coming up, so feel free to buy me something!

And, finally, why did I start this blog? Excellent question. Probably, because I could.

So there.