1 Event That Will Help You Expand Your Readership: Meet and Greet

As a way to expand the readership on this blog, I’m participating in the “Meet and Greet” put together by the blog “Dream Big, Dream Often.” Everyone should check out this blog, as Danny focuses on helping others stay motivated and pursue their goals.

Dream Big, Dream Often

imagesWhat day is it??!!  Meet and Greet Day!

Ok so here are the rules:

  1. Leave a link to your page or post in the comments of this post.
  2. Reblog this post.  It helps you, it helps me, it helps everyone!  So don’t be selfish, hit the reblog button.
  3. Edit your reblog post and add tags (i.e. reblogging, reblog, meet n greet, link party, etc.), it helps, trust me on this one.
  4. Share this post on social media.  Many of my non-blogger friends love that I put the Meet n Greet on Facebook and Twitter because they find new bloggers to follow.  This helps also, trust me.
  5. And if you leave a link and don’t follow me, how about ya show ole Danny some love?

Now that all the rules have been clearly explained get out there and meet n greet your butts off!

The Social Media post will publish…

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A Million-Dollar Idea

We all have these million dollar ideas…

guyoncouch

You think you’re unpredictable when you come home drunk, but you’re not.

“I’m a little drunk,” you say as you kick off your Converses. Half of the time you fall over while doing so.

“I can tell,” I say.

“Just a little. Only a little.”  You then walk over and give me a hug while I’m on the couch with my laptop. “You’re my best friend,” you say.

“You’re my best friend too,” I say.

You walk into the kitchen and I follow. You open the jar of peanut butter and eat it with your finger.

“That’s mine,” I say. “You only get the chunky.”

“My bad, I’ll buy you some more,” you say.

The food does differ from time to time. Sometimes leftover pizza or a chocolate bar.

“I have it,” you say. “This is what’ll make us rich.”

“What’s the idea?” I say.

You shut the fridge and walk back into the living room. Sometimes you push me aside. Sometimes it’s deliberate.

“You know me, I’m an ideas guy,” you say, falling onto the sofa I was sitting on. You never notice that you’re on my laptop.” And you’ll help me because you’re a great writer and great with words and you’re my best friend.”

“What’s the idea?” I ask, but you’re asleep. You never tell me what the idea is.

Sometimes I want to write on your cheek with a Sharpie. Sometimes I want to take the peanut butter and smear it on your forehead. Most of the time I want to pull my laptop from underneath your legs and hit you across the face with it.

I know you have great ideas. You’ve told me about them many nights out on our porch while smoking Black & Milds. Only I’m the guy who pulls out my phone and searches your idea and pulls up several thousand results. I only do it to bring you down to earth, because you think all your ideas are worth a million dollars. Only you end up landing in a sofa, drunk and without any ideas at all, just like me.

Procrastination

Because every writer has trouble with procrastination…

Procrastination_Final

We sat on the sofa underneath the wooden awning attached to the back of our house. We were procrastinating.

I had an assignment due at midnight. Six hundred words on the value of going to business school. The latest ranking of the nation’s top business school was released the day before – the first of several to be released that year. It was a little after eight, and I found the sunset, the breeze against my skin and the squirrel running up the oak tree to be much more interesting.

“I’m taking the job, it makes the most sense,” Justin said. He held his phone and rubbed its case as if there was a stain. The job, an assistant manager at his uncle’s liquor store, was offered to him that morning. He had to decide by midnight..

“But I really don’t want to work for my Uncle,” he said. “I promised myself that I’d never work for my uncle.”

“We’ve all lied to ourselves,” I said. The sky turned a deep orange and I couldn’t see the squirrel in the oak tree anymore. I could hear it, though. I listened to the squirrel because I found the sudden, quick sounds it made to be much more interesting.

“The money isn’t bad, and I’m sure my Uncle would let me take the summer holidays off.”

“Just call him and say you’re gonna take the job,” I said. “You know you are.”

Justin stood up and tossed his phone on the sofa. “And you just write the article. How hard is it? Take the top schools, look up some facts and that’s it.”

“They want me to tell a story,” I said.

“And you write fiction, so what’s the big deal?”

“I wonder if most people find the school rankings more interesting than the actual experience of college. I’d say so.” I pulled my legs onto the sofa and tossed Justin his phone.

“You must have hated business school,” my roommate said. He went into the house and I heard him on the phone, telling his uncle he would take the job.

I didn’t hate it. Business school was good to me, it was what I needed at the time. Something practical, because I didn’t know what I really wanted to do. I wanted to believe I was a corporate man, but I knew I was lying to myself.

And that’s when it hit me. It wasn’t inspiration, but something like relief. I knew I found the angle to the piece due in a couple hours. But I also knew in another moment or so, the angle I found I would consider self-pitying or narcissistic.

By ten-thirty I had no choice but to write. The idea I was on at that moment was the topic for the article. I wrote it and sent it off. I felt proud and I felt scared. I told myself it was great and I told myself it was awful. I also knew I had another piece due the following midnight, and I couldn’t wait to be back on the sofa, finding things that were much more interesting.