Input versus Output

There are days when you write (output) and there are days when you're experiencing life (input). Today was an input day — and I have the chemical burns on my arms to prove it.

My job today was to clean out the garage. I hadn't expected it to be a dangerous assignment.

Cat Litter

First off, I had to deal with at least a dozen half empty cans of paint. You can't take them to the dump unless the paint's dry, which was a problem because tomorrow is dump day. I read on the internet that you can quickly dry paint by adding cat litter. It worked. Only five bags later and two hours of sniffing cat litter dust, the paint is hard as a rock.

Don't Burn Laminate Floors

Next, I learned that although laminate flooring burns, it could be toxic. I apologize for my carbon footprint today. I had no idea how much plastic went into a few planks of that stuff. I tossed them on a bon fire, the wind changed and I sucked up more toxic gas than I would have liked.

Mouse Dust

Last, I moved boxes out of the garage. It turns out our garage is one large mouse colony. Every box I moved sent a plume of dirty mouse dust into the air. The plumes stunk (worse than burning laminate) and I breathed in things I'm sure would keep me up it night if I knew what they were.

Input

I'd like to think this was a productive writing day because I have all these new experiences, but I'm hard pressed at the moment to think of a story where I need a character that through her own stupidity inhales disgusting, possibly toxic, substances all day.

Maybe the next input day will be better . . . and my chemical burns will heal.

I Mud Wrestler for my Writing

At 16, I read that "the average age of a published writer is 35". That line changed my life.

I was horrified. Thirty-five was a lifetime away — 20 years!! I would be a old lady by then. I didn't doubt that you needed maturity and life experiences to write well, but 20 years of it?!

The Plan

In my panic-induced state, I struck out on a plan. I would double up my experiences. By the time I was 26, I would have as many life experiences as your avery 36-year-old — peeling 10 years off the writer's timetable.

The only rule was that the experiences had to be legal. The article didn't mention anything about "the average published writer has spent time in prison."

And so began the journey.

Weird Stuff I've Done for Writing

Flash forward 30 years. I've got a truckload of experiences under my belt. Some are bit weirder than others — like mud wrestling.

Some years back, I heard there would be competitive mud wrestling at the Puyallup Fair. I'd seen John Candy in Stripes. I signed up immediately. How many chances like this come around?

If I had known that the first thing they have you do is stand on an enormous scale to be publicly weighed in, I may have reconsidered. But I was already there. I stepped up, got my weight and my official mud wrestling T-shirt.

Turns out you have to wear a T-shirt over your bathing suit because the mud is more like axel grease than mud. Because it's slick, you're natural response is to grab your opponents suit, which has a good chance of coming off under the strain. Since this is was family event, they didn't want any youngsters seeing exposed parts — although I could tell from the audience's reaction that a good number had come for just that possibility.

The Line Up

The officials pulled names from a hat at to see who we would wrestle first. I was in the lightest of the three weight groups and my opponents looked pretty wimpy. I felt extremely confident I had a chance at the $25.00 grand prize.

Then came the last-minute contestant — a 110-pound woman that looked like she just got off a Harley Davidson. She was decked out in leather and looked like she could bench press her equally tough-looking boyfriend. I knew instantly I would draw her name, and I did.

On the bright side, I made it all three rounds without being pinned. I still feel bad about ripping her expensive, black leather halter. But it was her fault. She wouldn't wear the official T-shirt.

Afterwards they hosed us off in the cow barn. (That water is COLD!! How do cows stand it?) And I had another life experience to add to my resume.

The Moral of my Story

Did I get published at 26? No. I started publishing regularly in magazines at about 35. Right on schedule.

Am I sorry I started my odyssey. No way. It was the best panic-driven decision I've ever made. I'm still racking up experiences and my stories are benefiting because of them.

Please tell me I'm not alone!

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