The 12 days of Obsessive Christmas Decorating-day 2

You might have an Obsessive Christmas Decorating problem if;

If you have ever cut a branch off a Christmas tree and glued it back on in a different place so the tree would look natural, balanced.

If you have rearranged the Christmas lights, decorations, and displays in your neighbor’s front yard because they weren’t aligned with his house.

If your boss tells you to take down some of the Christmas decorations you put up in your cubical, at work, because they’re blocking the hallways and keep blowing the circuit breakers.

If the shelf in your cubical at work collapsed because you had too many elfs on the shelf.

If your boss tells you to stop answering the phone HO, HO, HO.

If you stop and buy three strings of Christmas lights on your way home after work and you have ten new in-the-box strings of lights setting on the work bench at home that you haven’t put up yet.

If you see a great, you-build-it, decoration in a woodworking magazine at the dentist office and stop off at the hardware store on the way home and get;
12 sheets of plywood,
11 extension cords,
10 paint brushes,
9 spot lights,
8 vampire plugs,
70 feet of garland,
6 rolls of wrapping paper,
5 gallons of paint,
4 inflatable snowmen,
3 boxes of nails,
2 nail guns,
and a really big, humongous, table saw.

Stay strong, write on, and build a Merry Christmas. Professor Hyram Voltage

The 12 days of Obsessive Christmas Decorating day 1

You might have an Obsessive Christmas Decorating problem;

If your neighbor complains about you using a precision machinist ruler to measure the distance between Christmas ornaments when you put them on the tree in your front yard.

If you get upset when you explain to your neighbor that a yard stick isn’t accurate enough.

If your wife gets upset when you order a 24 inch long calipers on Amazon (I always wanted one of them) to measure where to put the Christmas ornaments on the tree. I forgot the rule. No buying tools starting one month before Christmas. But honey my eyes aren’t as good as they use to be.

If you cut up a string of Christmas lights and re-solder the lights back together because the lights weren’t exactly the same distance apart and the colors weren’t in the right order.

If you use a triple beam balance scale to weigh your home made chocolate chip cookies to ensure that each cookie weights the same. You also count the chocolate chips in each cookie to make sure each one has the same number of chips.

If you take all the misshapen cookies, the over or under weight cookies and the cookies that have the wrong number of chocolate chips to work and give them to your frenemy and you get mad because the frenemy likes them. Likes them a lot, but they’re flawed.

If you take home made chocolate covered sun flower seeds for your friend the red neck at work, and you forget and left the shells on the sun flower seeds, and he likes them. You have a real problem if the boss likes them to.

If you go back to the fancy gift warp store for paper with a different design because the design on the paper you got is too big and goes around the edge of the gift spoiling the picture.

If you take the Christmas tree back to where you bought it so they can cut the bottom of the tree straighter after you tried to cut it straight three times, you have a problem. Hey after all that cutting the top of the tree doesn’t touch the ceiling any more.

If you take it back twice to the place you bought it to have it cut again, you have a real problem.

If you take it back three times, you’re drunk which was the problem all along.

Stay strong, write on, decorate massively. Professor Hyram Voltage

When Will I Know I Am A Writer?

You are a writer. I can say that till I’m blue in the face and you won’t believe me.

You want prof. You’ve been one since kindergarten, when they forced you to use a pencil the size of a blunt telephone pole to trace out the alphabet on a sheet of brown paper that had pieces of tree bark imbedded in it.

You are a writer if you write, once a day, once a week, whenever. No law says you have to write a certain amount by a certain time to be a writer.

You’re a creative writer when you fill out a tax form, an expensive form at work, a travel claim for a trip you took.

You’re an author when you get something published. It could be in a club newsletter, Your writer’s group blog, the local newspaper, in someones else’s blog, or even your own blog.

You’re an author if you write fan fiction and post it on the web. I don’t care what anyone says, you’re not only a writer, you’re an author.

You’ve make it as an author when you publish a book on Amazon. No one has to buy the book. You’re published, you’re an author.

You’ve made it as an author if someone writes fan fiction using your characters.

You’ve really made it as an author if someone writes slash fiction using your characters.

You’re better than average author if you get trolled for your writing.

You know you’re a real writer and author when you start your second book before you finish your first book, even after all the suffering, the giving up of watching TV, giving up time with family and friends, the hours of sitting by yourself writing. Writing is hard, writing the second book is incredibility hard, but you’re a real writer.

Don’t tell people; “I’m a writer.” That’s passive. Tell them; “I write Horror,” “I write Steampunk,” “I write Fan Fiction.” “I write the best story you’ll ever read.”

Stay strong, write on, and publish. Professor Hyram Voltage.

The first person you need to convince is you, yourself. And it’s real easy to convince yourself if you’re standing there holding a book, a book you wrote, in your hand.

Loss

A friend lost his house in the fires around The City of Ventura, California yesterday. I offered to help all I could, but it’s not enough. He looked in bad shape the morning after he had to evacuate. He couldn’t get back to his house to find out if it was gone or not. The police still had the area blocked off.

His neighbors saw their house burn. The neighbors house was across the street and up a little on the side of a hill. They could not see my friends house from the spot they saw the neighbor’s house burn. There were no fire trucks or anyone around the house when it caught fire.

All the pain of loss. There are many things in my friends house that can not be replaced. Things that have memories tied to them.

How do I or anyone capture the feelings, of loss, of the heartbreak of not being able to help, of being helpless for someone? How do you put that in a story? How do you make someone feel those emotions?

Stay strong, write on, stay safe. Things can be replaced, but you can’t be replaced.    Professor Hyram Voltage.

Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before a Steampunk Christmas
And all through the Castle and Keep
Not a creature was stirring
Not even the monsters dared make a peep.

The tree was trimmed
but underneath it looked so bare
waiting for presents
soon to be placed there

The guards were asleep,
in their barracks so quiet.
A couple of Mickey Finns,
insured there would be no riot.

The ice box was full
of good food and beer.
Tomorrow there shall be
lots of good cheer.

And I was in my laboratory
beneath the dungeon so deep,
assembling a child bicycle.
Tonight I would not get much sleep.

Bells rang, siren screeched.
Up periscope to take a peek.
Was it taxman, the swat team?
Was my electric bill over do this week?

Up to the ramparts,
I ran in a mad dash.
Out in the distances,
I saw a bright flash.

I pulled down my goggles,
to shield my eyes from the light.
The glare on the snow was so bright
it blinded my sight.

From the ramparts I saw
such a magnificent sight,
A sleigh pulled by 8 rocket powered reindeer
flew through the night.

The pilot of this missile
this airship dancing on flame,
threw levers and called orders
to the reindeer by name.

Up Rivet, up Washer,
Bank left Pan-head, and Lug Nut.
now right Cross-threat and Grommet,
fly on Set screw, and Wing Nut.

Only one person I knew,
could drive such a thing,
good old Robot Saint Nick,
had come once again.

Through the still of the night
I heard that jolly pilot call
Up to the turret,
now to the top of the hall
There are so many presents
we must deliver them all!

Just when it seemed
they would crash into the wall,
he pushed buttons, threw levers.
and turbo charged them all.

From above I could hear the pounding
of each mechanical reindeer hoof.
Followed by the noise
of a pallet full of toys hitting the roof.

I raced and I ran to the great tree in the Hall,
but I found he wasted not a moment at all.
The gleam of silver hands flashing in the lights,
his bright cheerful garments were a pleasing sight.

A wave of a little vacuum
that made so much huffing and puffing,
all the soot and ashes on his clothes
were gone as if sucked into nothing.

A smoke stack rose from his shoulder by his ear,
up and over his metal hair.
The puffs of white steam made crystals wreaths
in the cold winter’s air.

His eyes were glowing,
his brass cheeks gleaming.
He was quite a pleasing construction
this mechanical being.

There was a life in those eyes
and that shiny metal face,
and the room filled with mellow laughter
as he rushed about the place.

The present he placed with precision and care
he gave the room one sweep of his gaze
turned and bowed
and then with speed that left me in a daze

With pallet jack and bag
into the chimney he went.
He pulled on a cable
and was raised by a winch.

With quick motions he stowed
everything away
and with a hop he bounded
into his sleigh.

With a blast on a steam whistle
he turned and waved.
Then with a rocket blast
he sped on his way.

It’s been said many times
but could be no more truer than tonight,
Merry Christmas to all
and to all a good night.

Stay strong, write on, Merry Christmas.      Professor Hyram Voltage