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Tha’s a full moon

Okay, okay. So there comes a time once every month where I cringe. I sweat, and I am all around GRUMPY! The moment I am talking about is the full moon. It’s that three day weekend when there is ALWAYS a full moon. People come into the restaurant and complain about the craziest of things. These people see steaks that are undercooked, though they are perfect, servers that are judging them because they are vegetarians, and a wine list that is prejudice against their palate. Now what in the world are these people really upset about? Do they think this is the last moment on earth as humans so they must complain? Do they really think they are about to turn into werewolves when they get home, and sit in the closet to eat the free steak they acquired through arguing with me (and calling their lawyer!)

Sure. I pass this all off as a full moon. There are random days that bring about the same things, but most are on these full moon weekends. I always say that you know it’s a full moon when you have the most ridiculous complaints of all time. “My server was staring me down, because she detests vegetarians!” Says one lady, speaking about the server that has a vegan girlfriend! Another lady, in an attempt to get a free dinner, tells me that my servers laughed at her mother as she walked by and quote un-quote, said; “Boom! Boom! Boom! Here comes Godzilla! She’s going to eat the whole restaurant! Ha ha ha!”

I was like, “Ma’am! that never happened.” There was an awkward pause. She contemplated where she would take this next.

“You are not being a good manager right now!”

“Ma’am, no offense but I spoke with ever table last night, and the name you gave me doesn’t match any reservations, or walk-in’s that we had.”

“You never once said you were sorry!”

I glared at the phone questioningly. “Yes I did ma’am. I said I was sorry to hear that this happened to your mother.”

“But it was your staff!”

“Ma’am my staff wouldn’t say anything like that. They love their jobs too much. Plus I talked to every table.”

By the way you have to imagine that this was a lady with a rather large family, and a strong spanish accent.
“Maricone!”

“Lo ciento Senora, pero no me gusta que tu llamas me. Vamos ser professionale.”

translation:

“Fag!”

“I’m sorry ma’am but I don’t like those names, lets keep this professional.”

She hung up the phone so quickly. I was amazed…..what the ef am I doing writing this right now? I want to write,but  I have had several drinks by this point. Alright folks, I’m off to bed.

Thanks for reading…

Caleb A. Mertz

Time? for Work, play, relationship, and work again.

photo by: Kirstea from flickr.com

Time is everything.  Time is money.  Time is something that you can never get back.  These are things that I realize on a daily basis.  Having just been assigned some additional duties (which take up an additional 11 hours a week!) there is little time for me to go to the gym let alone write.  With the third novel being the biggest production of them all; including an agent, a big time publisher and a project manager position, I can’t seem to find time to write.

One of my recent entries regarding insomnia truly hasn’t stopped.  I still stay up late (check out the time of this blog) and I still have to get up early so I can be to work at a respectable time.  Factor in a relationship, one that I would quit everything for, and you have yourself some very time consuming days.  I had been joking around with some people that inquire into my life that my two days off I’m working, now this joke has not been such a laughing matter.  I feel like it has begun to drive me insane yet I continue to pursue further opportunities to improve my grammar and story writing skills.

Just yesterday I inquired to two writing gigs for magazines.  I hope that this will widen my scope and or credibility when trying to get an agent or write for other agencies.  Then I wonder if I were to quit my job tomorrow if I would be able to support myself through writing.  According to Allena Tapia from About.com she makes about 40k a year.  I guess if I were that developed I might not be so bad off.

The past three novels that I have written I have found that while I am writing my social life takes a plummet.   Only the three of my closes friends are really still there for me when I come out of the wilderness back to society.  Here is the official catch.  I am trying to make as much money as I can so that I can finally open up the restaurants that I have been dreaming of for years (who doesn’t have a goal similar to this?).  The good thing about writing a novel is that you can see an end in sight.  You know that there is going to be a lull in time where the publishing is at a slow pace while the publisher reads over the work, or the editing is taking place, the target market is reading the book and providing feedback.  This is the time that you cash in on.  You see all  of your friends and you see the love of your life, your mom, your dog, your favorite cat, maybe you get to that leaky faucet that has been driving you crazy.  I then have to pose the question, When is there an end in sight when you are writing as a living?  What if you’re writing for that extra income?

Ultimately there is too much to get into here and I won’t.  Allena Tapiafrom About.com has some great advice about juggling writing gigs and formal work so I do recommend that you visit her site, but at the same time.

Is there anyone else that feels similar to how I feel right now?  If so, PLEASE fill me in on some of your coping techniques because I want to get so much better at all of this.

Thank you,

Caleb A. Mertz

Imagination spark is kicking my arse!

I sit here at oh, at three thirty nine in the morning writing a blog to a few people that might one day catch a glimpse of an article I have written.  Or maybe someone has decided to do some research into the idiotic novelist that thought he gained inspiration through Hemingway.  Either way it’s the three thirty nine IN THE MORNING that bothers me more than anything else.

Today I have finally finished the first draft of my latest novel “The Unexpected”.  The repercussions have been just that, unexpected.  I only moved from my chair from four o’clock till midnight a handful of times to grab a fresh beer or to smoke a cigarette.  The computer is working considerably slower and the poor keys have been punched all day long (minus the Tildie button).  The research and all finally came together in my final stretch of imagination that was cleverly put to paper.  Then after say eight beers and eight hours of writing I step out on the back porch for a smoke.  The wifey calls and says that he’ll be leaving within the half hour.  I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what I was going through.

Last night I couldn’t get to sleep until five thirty in the morning which I was woken only four hours later by the wonderful sounds of snoring.  Today after staring at a computer screen for so long and forgetting to eat I sat on the back porch of my house which is located only five blocks from center city and I start seeing hallucinations!  Where was this feeling when I was busy smoking purple haze and consuming dangerous amounts of homemade absinthe?  So here I am smoking a cigarette when out of the corner of my eye I see this head bob up from the neighbors grill and slide quickly behind the garage.  I feel a bit jumpy but I continue to stare at this spot to see if this person pokes their head around the corner.  Nothing happens for a good two minutes.  I can hear some kids down the street (probably doing exactly what I described just a bit ago; purple…).  I turn to ash my cigarette into the appropriate container when I swear I see a pasty white face walking from the dining room and into the kitchen looking directly at me.  I do a double take.

What the hell was that?” I ask myself as I move around to see what might have made that illusion.  Let’s try nothing.  Now I am getting a bit jumpy.  I look down the small alley way on the side of my house half expecting to see a crazy ghost coming out of the bushes or worse yet a bigfoot or something.  Nothing.  I looked back to where I first saw a head bob along and there was still nothing there.  Putting the cigarette out I try not to think about anything when I hear a set of keys being put on the dining room table.

“Babe!” I yell a second before my phone goes off.  It’s his work, and he called to tell me that he was going to be home soon.  So where did that noise come from?  Chills are running up and down my arms.  The book I’m working on has forced me to be creative with my imagery and imagination but now it seems as if it’s supercharged.  I walk cautiously up the stairs looking in every corner of the house, then fearing that I’m going to round a corner to some sort of demon standing there.

Okay, then we go to bed.  I am laying there thinking of how I could make a miniature Apache helicopter that I could fly as a one seater.  Here I go thinking over specifics, I want a roll cage made of the strongest steel.  It would have to be light, but you couldn’t lift it so on that steel cage I would need to have four hook holes attached, just to keep her steady during transportation.  I wonder how long the blades have to be? Why would I do this?  I could attach model rockets to the side that I could fire at reenactments or something.

I am horribly sorry that this entry wasn’t a very informative one.  I am documenting the art of writing as best I can and thus felt this of importance.  ( I was also hoping that by the end of it I would be tired…which isn’t so.) Pretty much imagination has been flowing so steadily that when I came back to reality there were some terrifying side effects of halucinations and insomnia.  Just so you know.

If you have had an episode like this or think I just need some professional help, please comment

Caleb A. Mertz