Ya’ll don’t know me very well yet, (although now you know I’m from somewhere they say ya’ll) but my middle name is ‘Gee, we’ve never seen THAT happen before.’ So, when I found myself with a pinched nerve or something similar from a recent round of ‘entertaining myself,’ I had to laugh, which hurt quite a bit. So I took something, grabbed an ice pack, and planted myself in front of the TV for a day or two.
I caught up on everything in my DVR that was ‘mine,’ and when my husband got home, after making fun of my injury, we started watching the things that are ‘ours.’ One of ‘our’ shows is Treehouse Masters.
Treehouse Masters always follows the same formula: the treehouse master Pete Nelson is somewhere on his land, doing something, when a family member comes out and tells him they have a new client that needs his services. He asks what they need, how much is their budget, etc, so we find out up front for example that a lady in this state has $80,000 set aside for a writer’s retreat she’s always wanted on her land. Or that a nonprofit in this other state has $120,000 set aside for an autistic kid’s space with reading nooks and a classroom. Or a massage therapist over here has $100,000 for a massage suite in the tress. Whatever.
Then we follow Pete out to scout the location, find the perfect spot and draw up the plans. His workers all show up, and everyone gets started. About halfway through the show he always gets a call to go repair another ailing tree house, so in each episode we watch a new one being built and another get repaired- two cool tree houses for the price of one episode.
He comes back, they finish up the first one, call in a decorator, and then the reveal- a holy crap beautiful, unique, amazing tree house.
Now to me this would get boring after a few episodes, even though I love tree houses and would love to have one. If anyone else made this show, I may or may not record it, then fast forward through the whole thing to see the finished product. But the beauty of this show, and the reason I’m writing about it, is the pure, childlike joy Pete brings to each and every episode.
He is infectious. Yes the whole thing is kind of corny, but I have yet to watch an episode in which I’m not grinning ear to ear, soaking up his joy in his work. The man brings a whole new definition to the word tree hugger. You can tell by watching him select a location and build a tree house, that he was born to do this. His childlike, pure joy comes out of the TV set in waves. This man has turned his joy into a very well-paying career, and yet it never looks like work. Who else could turn building tree houses into an empire?
Most writers I know write because they find joy in it. It makes them happy, they can’t not write. If they make a little cash, great, but that isn’t the point. Then you have your greats. They find the niche they love and they love it so much, it pours from the pages. They are your empire builders, your Selena Kitts, if you will. There is a passion that pours itself out all over the place.
That’s what I want. I want my joy to pour out. Why else write in my off time, finding stolen hours here and there between real world obligations? For the joy of it. I’m not sure my joy pours off the pages yet, but that is my goal for this year- to release my joy all over the damn place. Maybe one day from a tree house. Oh, or maybe I could write a story that takes place in a tree house. The wheels start to turn…
Ok, back to the TV. I’m still nursing an injury remember? And I haven’t gotten to how I got my next story idea yet, I just couldn’t pass up spreading the joy.
It seems my husband and I share a love for do-it-yourself type building shows, because next up is Rehab Addict. The star of Rehab Addict is Nicole Curtis- and although she does beautiful work, my personal opinion is that she is the wet dream of the house flipping genre. She is a lot of fun to watch, and her personality and her joy also shines though, but the fact that she looks so good on camera in her tight little tank-tops has at least a little to do with it.
I swear we were just watching an episode, and the camera had a close-up on her doing something important to the house, and explaining it in great detail. The camera pulled back, they all went on with their work, and I turned to my husband sheepishly and asked, “I know she was just walking us through something in detail, but do you remember what it was? Because the whole entire time she was speaking all I saw was boobs, and all I remember now, two seconds later, are her boobs. What was she talking about?”
My husband started laughing at me, but when he turned to me, a little red-faced, he had to admit he had no idea what she had been saying either.
We spend half of each episode questioning her work and comparing it to what we’ve learned on other shows, and half of each episode thinking, ‘oh yeah, hammer that nail in tight, baby.’
But I don’t mind watching her at all, even as my husband drools, because I enjoy her too. And her work, although very questionable under the surface, (You are really just going to fix the roof and paint the wall? You’re not going to open that wall up and fix all the water damage that’s on the inside? What about the mold?) turns out visually beautiful, and her sheer joy in flipping houses makes her much more than just another set of boobs.
So in my injured state, even though I can’t write, my mind is processing. Maybe I can do a story in a tree house about a house flipper and her contractor? Or all of her contractors? But before an idea fully forms we are off to the next show.
My husband is an equal opportunity kind of guy, so he winks at me and says, “Your turn” as he turns the TV to my do-it-yourself eye-candy, Mike Holmes. Now this guy is everywhere- Holmes on Homes, Holmes Makes It Right, Holmes Inspection. This is the guy we compare Nicole’s work to, and this is the guy that gets my juices flowing.
Like just now, when I googled his shows to make sure I had them right, I took a moment, clicked images and had to remind myself- “You’re just getting over a masturbation injury, back away from the Holmes. Seriously. Now! Stop it before you pull something else.” Damn, I have dreams about what he has under those overalls.
Anyway, we were watching Holmes, (that man can caulk my seams any day) and he struck a pose that immediately made me think of Mr. Clean. You know- the bald cartoon guy with the white eyebrows that is the face of the Mr. Clean cleaning product company.
And boom- there’s my story idea. Mr. Clean sneaks out from under the kitchen cabinet at night when everyone is asleep, finds Mrs. Butterworth, the woman-shaped syrup bottle character, lifts her very willing skirts and starts having his way with her. Then the Pillsbury dough boy comes out to watch, and before you know it- Count Chocula, the lucky charms leprechaun, Aunt Jemima, the Morton’s salt girl and the Keebler elves are all having themselves a grand ole time in a kitchen themed adult-toy-story. I even saw the ending in my head- the frosted flakes character Tony the Tiger finishing with a “That was greeeaaaattt!”
Then reality came in- the Morton’s salt girl would probably get me in trouble since she’s underage, plus there is the whole tiger/bestiality issue. Add being sued for violating copyrights and my idea crashed and burned.
But it wouldn’t go away. It made me giggle and I thought it would be a hoot to write- so I jumped onto Kboards.com and ran the idea through their collective common sense. I even had an attorney pop in there, gotta love Kboards. To do the story I’d have to change it all up. Parody is allowed but using their copyrighted names/descriptions are not.
So Mrs. Butterworth would instead have to become Mr. Bitterspurts, the cowboy-shaped honey bottle, or something similar. Written like that the story is a go, and I think it would be a lot of fun to do.
So now you know a little more about me, how my warped mind works and how I go about getting ideas for my stories. And no, none of this was written under the influence of any good drugs for my pinched-nerve, just Tylenol, lots and lots of free time and my twisted imagination. Ah yes, the joys of writing sex, and the perils of a masturbation injury. Now, you must excuse me, I have a story to write. Unless of course any one else has a masturbation injury they’d like to discuss?