Untitled re Legal Farce

News blurb today.
Very dangerous parolee loose...somewhere.
Violent tendencies. Violent crimes synopsized...if that's a word.
Mister Very Dangerous Parolee has breached the terms of his...blah blah. Didn't return to the halfway house. The Public cautioned not to approach. The usual. The sickeningly usual.
All of which begs the obvious question: Why?...!!!...and eccentric triple apostrophes really only fitting here...why not?...and capital letters...nothing more fearsome than the irate public armed with non-standard punctuation and big bold letters.
WHY ARE THE VERY DANGEROUS LET LOOSE?...CONSISTENTLY LET LOOSE!

Did some word-slinger wrongly tack on one too many adjectives? Was the parolee only Very?
We know the problem stems from words.

We cannot blame the police. Some police, sometimes, may behave little more disciplined, we'll call it, than a gang; even still, they are the gang we'll cry out for when things go wrong in the night. Police regularly express through local media they'd be only too happy to re-lock-up the dangerous, even the very.

No...the words that endanger more our vast and lawfilled land burble over us from the dominion where legalese is spoken, a jurisdiction fantastical as the moon...or Ottawa. Whimsical, this legalese, and a most precise language. Once, its precision and care were our safeguard.

Its whimsy, though, a dark well from which rises with every re-offending parolee that recurring nightmare I wish were only like that legal farce Charles Dickens gutted most eloquently in his Bleak House. But I haven't his sharp wit; I might only add coarse vitriol.

And this isn't a story founded on Dickens' London. We're stuck with this reality, with sentences for heinous crimes that include seemingly automatic eligibility for parole.

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That was a bit dark. A bit too hopeless sounding.
I'll just plop in a giggle...
Time to go clean my unregistered stapler.

Shadow on the Grass

It's only me,
pausing,
taking one breath in sunlight.
Shadow on the grass.
Only passing by.

Just...There

Homeward bound, a moment stopped at a red light, and Cypress Mountain caught my eye. Just beyond reach.

Work's always busy after a holiday. This Easter Monday...was something else.

No matter, that.

Had a story idea about fully formed at breakfast. A 'just for fun' short I figured should've been easy enough to jot away at in a few minutes at work before the workday built up a full head of steam. I should've jotted at home, of course. Though it would've made me late, I should've.

Well, it was late day, alone at work after everyone else had gone home before I could even attempt to jot down the thing so clear at breakfast. Working it. Sticking word after word. Building something ugly and contrived.

Saturday Driver, Supermarket Parking, A Study

Only scribbling. Rather than rant, figuring I'll create a character suitable for mocking, which will do me double duty as some writing exercise.

--


Outta my way. I'm busy. Why are supermarket parking lots so big anyway? All these empty spots...what a waste. Lousy automatic transmission...takes forever to rocket up the lot.

[Jabbering on cel phone: its use that moment possible, because of his lousy automatic transmission] "You're supervisor, you're getting more than minimum wage outta me, you get those guys to do it and get 'em out, so I don't haveta pay them more than four hours. I want it done by the time I'm back from golf."

And why all these Stop signs? — Dammit! Idiots backing outta parking stalls...when I'm flying by! Gonna miss my tee-off time! Gotta park at the front — right in front — right by the front doors.
NO PARKING...yeah, doesn't apply to me...and I'm only gonna be a minute. Drop her off here and wait. Can't miss my tee-off time. What're you looking at?...Hey, I'm not the only one parking in the NO PARKING zone. I'm not right in front anyway...I'm not the problem. She hadta walk fifty feet to the doors. Fifty feet's as far as a mile when you're busy as I am.
Maaan, see that idiot...almost clipped her backing herself out. Maaan, why're there so many bad drivers?...Oughtta be a law.

CHIRRRUPP! "Y'Hello. Yada yada blah important new putter blah. "

She's done. Can't get through there...Maaan, no one's got common sense...I'll go that way, wrong way, but it's only for a sec, I'm quick. I'm good...I should drive race cars.

If I blow this Stop sign, I'm across before that guy...done. Exit's over there. No cars parked here...I'll just cut across all this. DAMMIT! — and she's on a cel phone — she didn't even look!...Oughtta be a law. No, maybe not. But then I'm not like these idiots, I'm no bad driver, I can drive and use my cel at the same time. Not like I'm talking about nothing...not like some people I really should call the cops on. I only talk when it's important. And I'm busy. I've got a business to run...they better have that job done by the time I'm back from golf. Need this phone. Great calling plan...unlimited blahing. Eyesight's gone a little blurry lately...just my right eye...what's that about?

Pick-up truck. Ugly old thing. He'll be there...block my exit. I'll take his lane...muscle by.
CHIRRRUPP..."Y'ello...Can't talk...cutting off someone...I'll make tee-off."

Steiffa Saves Her SchoolBuddies...Redux

I joked that my penmanship won't win me any gold star.
Really, though, a mindmap only decipherable to me isn't all too useful an example then, is it?
A translation, then.
In future, when it's for public viewing, I will tryyy to scribble between the lines.

Steiffa Saves School...Alone: A Mind Map

My liking for mapping stuff wants just a tad clarifying. Drawing maps, mountain and forest here, town here, etc, oh'yesss.

Are you familiar with mind mapping?
Some call it clustering.
Scribbling and drawing over paper...uh, thought balloons!...just like...no, not like in a comic.

Say you're working out story plot. Start with the idea, the character, the situation, that you want to explore. That's your main thought balloon. Jot down around it ideas that come, briefly: each idea in its own thought balloon, and however it's linked to the idea that sparked it. You're not writing yet, only mapping out how you might write.

Some thought balloons go nowhere. Some finish looking like a buncha carnival balloons. They might pick you up, take you anywhere...I like that image!

This mindmapping's as useful when it's time to fit together story puzzle pieces already written. Seeing how it all fits. Or doesn't, and needs...something. And it's freeform, so you can try new directions, play with it however you like.

Protag's comments box ain't config'd for me to paste in a tiny descriptive drawing. Why should it be, eh? If you go to my blog, you'll see a map of Steiffa Saves Her School :)

[The above, an excerpted conversation from Bolsheviki's Mage Hunting, appearing at Protagonize...THE collaborative writing site...You really should visit.]
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I've been mind mapping so long...almost forgotten where I first heard of it...years ago.
Then, a study tool recommended for college students. Mapping a thesis. Making notes easily during long lectures. This was before laptops. Even using a micro-cassette recorder, notes still had to be jotted out after.
Tony Buzan.
Just love Google...Many thanks, Mister Buzan!

Priorities

Okay.
So it's those Olympics rings.
It's not like I'm snapping their beauty shot.
I have my priorities in order.
Snapped a true beauty shot late day, homeward bound.