I am told there are such beings as literary agents. I’ve even seen their footprints and heard their apparent calls in the great wilds of the internet. But man, they are wary creatures and so far I have no firm physical evidence of their existence. Much like Sasquatch, all the sightings come from other folks, and even though I believe many of those folks are generally reliable witnesses, there is always the chance of a misidentification. Perhaps it was a wandering minstrel. Or a politician.
Let me tell you about my own hunt for the legendary agent. It began in 1994. I was in a writing group with a fellow who had one. He recommended me and one of my friends, who was also in the group, to his “connection.” We both sent query letters at the same time concerning our newly finished manuscripts. Both of us had PhDs, and both of us had published before, although I had many more short story sales under my belt than my friend. After 3 weeks my friend got a personal phone call from the agent asking to see his whole manuscript. After 3 months I got a form rejection saying, thanks for your manuscript but it’s not right for us. Uhm, I only sent a query there. Did you even read the letter?
I then sent a query and sample to a local New Orleans agent who I’d met at a book signing for one of her authors. She was quite gracious in saying “no,” and that she didn’t represent Science Fiction, although this was for Cold in the Light and the SF elements are pretty minor. I think it might have been the gore. Still, it was refreshing to find someone who’d actually read the thing and I was gratified at my progress.
Then I got a call from an agent who was interested in my work. I was quite enthusiastic, until I found from a quick internet search that the fellow was being sued by several of his clients for stealing their money and was generally considered scum by many writers. I turned him down, although in truth it was kind of hard to do.
Well, remember my friend from the writing group who got the personal call from an agent? That agent ended up not signing him, but my friend soon got another agent to represent his work. And now, he recommends me to this agent. Eagerly, I send off my query. Months pass. I email. Nothing. I email again. Nothing. Finally, I hear through my friend that the agent has decided to get out of representing fiction. Perhaps a gentle line in my direction would have been appreciated. I never heard a thing.
Over a year passed before I tried again to acquire an agent. And I got one. She seemed enthusiastic about my work. I went around with a smile on my face for a couple of months. Then came the morning I opened my email and found a note from her saying that, because of health reasons, she was retiring from the literary biz. Turns out, she’d never sent my manuscript out to anyone. Or, was she only another of those UFO sightings that turn out to be weather ballons?
I immediately began querying other agents, or at least those who "claimed" to be agents. One wrote me concerning a partial of Cold in the Light and she also seemed very enthusiastic. I sent her the whole manuscript at her request, and at least she read it and paid attention. But in the end she decided it had too much horror in it for her. Alas, she had obviously never experienced the horror of searching for an agent or she would have thought “CITL” was pretty tame by comparison.
After that, I gave up on agents and started submitting “CITL” to small publishers myself and sold it to The Invisible College Press. Several years later, when I was starting work on a new thriller, another friend from a writing group recommended me to her agent. I got a personal phone call from that agent and we seemed to hit it off pretty well. I thought. I sent her a copy of “CITL,” a copy of an anthology that had a story in it by me that had won an award, and information on the other thriller project, as well as stuff about the first two Taleran books, which by that time had been published as magazine serials. I also included some ideas that I had concerning nonfiction, primarily because I wanted the agent to know that I’d made quite a bit of money over the years from NF. I’d heard that agents like writers who might make them some money.
That was over three years ago now and I still haven’t heard another peep. Well, as all Bigfoot hunters know, you set up your recording devices in the forest and you listen and listen, and once in a while you hear a "cry" you can't clearly identify. But then everything is silence and you wonder, was it really Bigfoot? Or maybe just a mocking bird?
So there you have it. Literary agent? Reality or myth? Perhaps what I heard on the phone those times was only a ghost. Or a mimic. Perhaps the footprints I think I’ve seen are really cardboard cutouts constructed by some clever and creative writer.
To heck with those shows where they try to find Hogzilla or Nessie. Why don’t they track down something really elusive, like the literary agent? I’ll believe in them when the evidence is right in front of me. Until then, they remain a fascinating possibility, but I’m not quite ready to buy their existence. I certainly wouldn't bet on it.
Shazbot, Nanu Nanu
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Fear
I haven’t been keeping up with blogs well because I’m very busy working on a 2000 word article on “Fear” for a Mental Health reference book. You’d think a horror writer would be perfect for such an article, but it’s not about my “thoughts” on fear, or about anything to do with writing horror fiction. (I have plenty of thoughts on those.) It’s about the physical and mental attributes that accompany fear, and how these are controlled in the brain. I’m enjoying it, but am finding it fairly effortful. I know the general physiology but there are a lot of details that I need a refresher on. Just below is the abstract of the piece, which will give you an idea of the focus.
Fear is an unpleasant emotion that occurs in response to an immediate and identifiable threat, usually of an external nature. It includes physiological elements such as increased heart rate and muscular tension, behaviors such as running or hiding, and hormonal changes like the release of epinephrine (adrenaline). It should be differentiated from “anxiety,” where the threat is only anticipated and is often not specifically identifiable. Fear is largely adaptive, in that it prepares us for immediate danger, while anxiety is maladaptive, in that it occurs to threats that cannot be controlled or avoided.
To bring this post around to writing, though, I’ve seen other writers talk about the internet and how it can distract one from writing. I agree that one can get caught up in surfing and lose sight of your writing goals, but--for me--net access has become extremely important to my productivity and the speed with which I can complete projects. However, this is true only for nonfiction. I just finished two other nonfiction articles and I had the net up almost the entire time while I was writing them. I was able to fact check at a click of the mouse, and was able to access journal articles and historical documents galore to give me just the details I needed when I needed them. My productivity level with nonfiction is three or four times what it was before I had regular net access. I would have had to spend a lot more time in libraries and ordering material through interlibrary loan. That time now is spent in actual writing.
With fiction, however, I tend to write away from the net. Oh, I find it helpful on occasion to quick check facts online about sailing ships, or weapons, or various props that are used in my story, but fiction is not primarily factual. Stories need mood and atmosphere, and the net can’t give me that. Also, fiction is hard, harder to me than nonfiction, and when I get to a sticking point on a story I can so easily allow myself to “see if there are any comments on my blog,” or “check my email.” This is the death knell for “flow.” A sticking point in nonfiction can be broken by more research. A sticking point in fiction usually can’t, because it’s not about the facts but about the “feel.”
How about you? What’s your take on the net and writing. Helpful in all cases? Harmful? Or is it different for different forms of writing?
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Fear is an unpleasant emotion that occurs in response to an immediate and identifiable threat, usually of an external nature. It includes physiological elements such as increased heart rate and muscular tension, behaviors such as running or hiding, and hormonal changes like the release of epinephrine (adrenaline). It should be differentiated from “anxiety,” where the threat is only anticipated and is often not specifically identifiable. Fear is largely adaptive, in that it prepares us for immediate danger, while anxiety is maladaptive, in that it occurs to threats that cannot be controlled or avoided.
To bring this post around to writing, though, I’ve seen other writers talk about the internet and how it can distract one from writing. I agree that one can get caught up in surfing and lose sight of your writing goals, but--for me--net access has become extremely important to my productivity and the speed with which I can complete projects. However, this is true only for nonfiction. I just finished two other nonfiction articles and I had the net up almost the entire time while I was writing them. I was able to fact check at a click of the mouse, and was able to access journal articles and historical documents galore to give me just the details I needed when I needed them. My productivity level with nonfiction is three or four times what it was before I had regular net access. I would have had to spend a lot more time in libraries and ordering material through interlibrary loan. That time now is spent in actual writing.
With fiction, however, I tend to write away from the net. Oh, I find it helpful on occasion to quick check facts online about sailing ships, or weapons, or various props that are used in my story, but fiction is not primarily factual. Stories need mood and atmosphere, and the net can’t give me that. Also, fiction is hard, harder to me than nonfiction, and when I get to a sticking point on a story I can so easily allow myself to “see if there are any comments on my blog,” or “check my email.” This is the death knell for “flow.” A sticking point in nonfiction can be broken by more research. A sticking point in fiction usually can’t, because it’s not about the facts but about the “feel.”
How about you? What’s your take on the net and writing. Helpful in all cases? Harmful? Or is it different for different forms of writing?
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Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Follow-up to Hot, Blue, and Righteous
Well, I’m scrounging for blog posts at the moment, not having a lot of time outside of work to “think.” So, here’s a follow-up to my last post.
Those who guessed this poem is about ZZ Top, also known as “That Little Old Band from Texas,” are correct and win…uhm, well, nothing. The poem contains numerous references to the Top, mostly in song titles, or occasionally in lyrics. I’m annotating the poem below with the references, in brackets []. As you can see, if you care to read through it, some of the references are clear and concrete while others are oblique or downright vague. But this is how my mind works sometimes while I’m drinking, especially when I get to just the right level of buzz. As you can also see, the moral of this piece is “Drugs are bad. Okay. Kids, don’t do drugs.”
HOT BLUE & RIGHTEOUS [song title]
Three [3 members in the Top] went blind [Song title is “Arrested for Driving while Blind”] to Texas [the Top’s home state]
Down to the forest and the [lyric from “Jesus Just left Chicago”] plains [“Plains” is a common mishearing of the real word, “Pines,” in “Jesus Just left Chicago.” In fact, I thought it was “plains” for years.]
Drew a last “got paid” from the bank [Song title, “Just Got Paid”]
Bought one hellraiser [from “Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers”] bottle of black [ref to “Black Fly” song + a twist on the line “drink down a bottle of midnight red” from “Groovy Little Hippie Pad”]
Carried a siphon under pressure [“She’s Got Me Under Pressure” is a lyric from a Top song]
Cause gas cost too much nationwide [Song title, “I’m bad, I’m Nationwide”]
And they bummed [“Bummed” is a frequently misheard lyric for “bombed” in the song “Pearl Necklace”] in sparks and beer [from the songs “Master of Sparks” and “Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers”]
And smoked the butts gone [ref. to the song “Mexican Blackbird”]
Drank the Rio Grande to dregs [“Rio Grande Mud” was the Top’s second album and the first one I bought. Also, drinking is common in a lot of Top songs." The Rio Grande also borders Texas]
While the Top played the radio [for ZZ Top, of course, and you hear ‘em a lot on radio]
And they dreamed women [Most Top songs seem to be about women]
Blackbirds and pearls [Ref’s to song titles “Mexican Blackbird” and “Pearl Necklace”]
Francine with legs [“Francine” and “Legs” are both ZZ Top song titles, and both songs are about women, as referenced in previous line]
But when momma called [Next few lines, down to “Boogie Woogie,” are only slightly twisted lyrics from the song “Backdoor Medley,” one of my favorite Top pieces]
On that long distance cell-o-phone
And daddy didn’t tell ‘em
To Boogie Woogie [Papa said “Let that boy Boogie Woogie.”]
They brought their blue jeans [from song titled “Blue Jean Boogie”]
Home to Mississippi [several songs, but mainly “My Head’s in Mississippi”]
What’s up with that? [a song title]
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Those who guessed this poem is about ZZ Top, also known as “That Little Old Band from Texas,” are correct and win…uhm, well, nothing. The poem contains numerous references to the Top, mostly in song titles, or occasionally in lyrics. I’m annotating the poem below with the references, in brackets []. As you can see, if you care to read through it, some of the references are clear and concrete while others are oblique or downright vague. But this is how my mind works sometimes while I’m drinking, especially when I get to just the right level of buzz. As you can also see, the moral of this piece is “Drugs are bad. Okay. Kids, don’t do drugs.”
HOT BLUE & RIGHTEOUS [song title]
Three [3 members in the Top] went blind [Song title is “Arrested for Driving while Blind”] to Texas [the Top’s home state]
Down to the forest and the [lyric from “Jesus Just left Chicago”] plains [“Plains” is a common mishearing of the real word, “Pines,” in “Jesus Just left Chicago.” In fact, I thought it was “plains” for years.]
Drew a last “got paid” from the bank [Song title, “Just Got Paid”]
Bought one hellraiser [from “Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers”] bottle of black [ref to “Black Fly” song + a twist on the line “drink down a bottle of midnight red” from “Groovy Little Hippie Pad”]
Carried a siphon under pressure [“She’s Got Me Under Pressure” is a lyric from a Top song]
Cause gas cost too much nationwide [Song title, “I’m bad, I’m Nationwide”]
And they bummed [“Bummed” is a frequently misheard lyric for “bombed” in the song “Pearl Necklace”] in sparks and beer [from the songs “Master of Sparks” and “Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers”]
And smoked the butts gone [ref. to the song “Mexican Blackbird”]
Drank the Rio Grande to dregs [“Rio Grande Mud” was the Top’s second album and the first one I bought. Also, drinking is common in a lot of Top songs." The Rio Grande also borders Texas]
While the Top played the radio [for ZZ Top, of course, and you hear ‘em a lot on radio]
And they dreamed women [Most Top songs seem to be about women]
Blackbirds and pearls [Ref’s to song titles “Mexican Blackbird” and “Pearl Necklace”]
Francine with legs [“Francine” and “Legs” are both ZZ Top song titles, and both songs are about women, as referenced in previous line]
But when momma called [Next few lines, down to “Boogie Woogie,” are only slightly twisted lyrics from the song “Backdoor Medley,” one of my favorite Top pieces]
On that long distance cell-o-phone
And daddy didn’t tell ‘em
To Boogie Woogie [Papa said “Let that boy Boogie Woogie.”]
They brought their blue jeans [from song titled “Blue Jean Boogie”]
Home to Mississippi [several songs, but mainly “My Head’s in Mississippi”]
What’s up with that? [a song title]
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Monday, September 22, 2008
Hot Blue and Righteous
Some of you will get the references in this drunken piece of drivel, but only if you're a fan of a certain Little Old Band. There's even a tie-in between the band and the second part of my post for today.
HOT BLUE & RIGHTEOUS
Three went blind to Texas
Down to the forest and the plains
Drew a last “got paid” from the bank
Bought one hellraiser bottle of black
Carried a siphon under pressure
Cause gas cost too much nationwide
And they bummed sparks and beer
And smoked the butts gone
Drank the Rio Grande to dregs
While the Top played the radio
And they dreamed women
Blackbirds and pearls
Francine with legs
But when momma called
On that long distance cell-o-phone
And daddy didn’t tell ‘em
To boogie woogie
They brought their blue jeans
Home to Mississippi
What’s up with that?
Also, a good friend of mine, Scott Hall, has just started to blog. He’s a fellow REHupan, a fine writer, and another “longhair.” Please give him a welcome over at Blog of the Beast. And no, beast is a nickname for him, not anything to do with him being the son of Satan. Although, I swear a time or two in Cross Plains, Texas I’ve seen the outline of horns under his Viking hair. Coulda just been the beer. And the mead.
BTW, Scott and I have another thing in common. We’re both married to women far higher on the looks scale than we are. Talk about beauties and the beasts they married.
*Waves at Kim and Lana*
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HOT BLUE & RIGHTEOUS
Three went blind to Texas
Down to the forest and the plains
Drew a last “got paid” from the bank
Bought one hellraiser bottle of black
Carried a siphon under pressure
Cause gas cost too much nationwide
And they bummed sparks and beer
And smoked the butts gone
Drank the Rio Grande to dregs
While the Top played the radio
And they dreamed women
Blackbirds and pearls
Francine with legs
But when momma called
On that long distance cell-o-phone
And daddy didn’t tell ‘em
To boogie woogie
They brought their blue jeans
Home to Mississippi
What’s up with that?
Also, a good friend of mine, Scott Hall, has just started to blog. He’s a fellow REHupan, a fine writer, and another “longhair.” Please give him a welcome over at Blog of the Beast. And no, beast is a nickname for him, not anything to do with him being the son of Satan. Although, I swear a time or two in Cross Plains, Texas I’ve seen the outline of horns under his Viking hair. Coulda just been the beer. And the mead.
BTW, Scott and I have another thing in common. We’re both married to women far higher on the looks scale than we are. Talk about beauties and the beasts they married.
*Waves at Kim and Lana*
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Saturday, September 20, 2008
Politics
I’ve seen quite a few blog posts lately on political issues. It’s understandable, given the times and the upcoming election. But I’m often at a loss as to how to comment on such posts, and I hope folks don’t get upset with me if I disagree with them. People often express very strong feelings, and it’s usually clear that they really “don’t” understand how anyone could believe differently from them. Of course, I’m the same way. If I view a candidate in a certain light, it seems obvious to me that my reasoning is correct. I like to tell myself that I make my decisions based on reason, but I know that isn’t always the case. Everyone wants to think they are being rational, but humans can’t escape their emotional natures. And this means you too, I’m afraid. Sorry, but that’s just the way it is.
I also find myself to be an incredible cynic these days where politics is concerned. I mean, when have we seen a politician who really seems to care about people in the modern world? Oh, they all give lip service to it. But do you believe their words? I’m afraid that most of the time I don’t. And I’m talking about Republicans, Democrats, and Independents. There’s an old adage: how do you know when a politician is lying? Answer: when his, or her, lips are moving. Well, I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest that there’s a lot of truth in that.
Many of the folks I see posting on politics are idealists. They honestly want to make the world a better place. I admire that. But I always want to warn folks that idealists are the politician’s favorite prey. If one can focus passion, then one can accomplish one’s goals. Unfortunately, the politician’s goals may not be the same as what the passionate believers “think” those goals are.
Cynics are not necessarily the enemy of politicians, however. If they’re so cynical that they do nothing, then the politicians can freely discount them. So, I’m going to vote. And I’m voting for the candidate that I “believe” best offers a chance for a change in the direction our country has been heading. Do I believe the direction will really change? Nope.
But I have hope. I suppose I just have to. It’s part of my irrational nature.
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I also find myself to be an incredible cynic these days where politics is concerned. I mean, when have we seen a politician who really seems to care about people in the modern world? Oh, they all give lip service to it. But do you believe their words? I’m afraid that most of the time I don’t. And I’m talking about Republicans, Democrats, and Independents. There’s an old adage: how do you know when a politician is lying? Answer: when his, or her, lips are moving. Well, I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest that there’s a lot of truth in that.
Many of the folks I see posting on politics are idealists. They honestly want to make the world a better place. I admire that. But I always want to warn folks that idealists are the politician’s favorite prey. If one can focus passion, then one can accomplish one’s goals. Unfortunately, the politician’s goals may not be the same as what the passionate believers “think” those goals are.
Cynics are not necessarily the enemy of politicians, however. If they’re so cynical that they do nothing, then the politicians can freely discount them. So, I’m going to vote. And I’m voting for the candidate that I “believe” best offers a chance for a change in the direction our country has been heading. Do I believe the direction will really change? Nope.
But I have hope. I suppose I just have to. It’s part of my irrational nature.
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Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Mood In Writing
The response to my Monday post suggested how important mood is to writing. It started me thinking that one of the primary goals of writing is, in fact, to create a mood in the reader—happy, angry, frightened, melancholy. A writer’s success at hooking the reader, or lack thereof, depends to a large extent on whether readers are experiencing the mood the writer wants them to experience. But how can words create a mood?
Fortunately, human beings are emotionally expressive. We’re wired for emotion and most of us like it. We read fiction to be emotionally involved. So, the writer has a partner in the drive to create a mood. I know, as a reader, I desperately want the writers of the books I’m reading to be successful. I’ll meet them halfway, but they are the ones driving and the first move is theirs.
I find that most writers have strengths and weaknesses in their ability to create mood. Personally, I find it easier to create melancholy moods than happy ones. I’m not exactly sure why. I’ve definitely experienced sad times, but I’ve had plenty of happy ones as well. I’m not generally a sad kind of guy. But an important aspect of creating mood in writing, I think, is for the writer to be experiencing the very mood they are trying to induce. When I’m happy, I tend to spend less time writing. I’m doing other, happy things. I express myself with laughter maybe, but happy moods don’t send me to the keyboard. In contrast, when I’m feeling a little down I seem to naturally gravitate toward words in an attempt to express the feeling.
I also find that certain words or phrases have the strength to evoke certain moods in me. “Gray rain.” “Barren trees.” “Cemetery.” “Coffin.” These shift my mind toward melancholy. “Zephyr wind.” “Clear stream.” “Cicada.” These tend to create a summer mood, peaceful and relaxed. A lot of this is the power of association. Cemeteries are associated with loss, and loss with sadness. In Arkansas, I remember hearing the Cicadas’ strident song every summer when I was working on the farm. To create mood we need to find the words that are associated with the experience of that mood. And those words and phrases, if we let them, will shift our own mood toward the one we’re trying to convey.
So, if you’re a writer, what mood do you find easiest to evoke? Which one is hardest? As a writer or a reader, or just a person in general, what words or phrases create mood for you? I’m curious to see how different your words are from mine.
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Fortunately, human beings are emotionally expressive. We’re wired for emotion and most of us like it. We read fiction to be emotionally involved. So, the writer has a partner in the drive to create a mood. I know, as a reader, I desperately want the writers of the books I’m reading to be successful. I’ll meet them halfway, but they are the ones driving and the first move is theirs.
I find that most writers have strengths and weaknesses in their ability to create mood. Personally, I find it easier to create melancholy moods than happy ones. I’m not exactly sure why. I’ve definitely experienced sad times, but I’ve had plenty of happy ones as well. I’m not generally a sad kind of guy. But an important aspect of creating mood in writing, I think, is for the writer to be experiencing the very mood they are trying to induce. When I’m happy, I tend to spend less time writing. I’m doing other, happy things. I express myself with laughter maybe, but happy moods don’t send me to the keyboard. In contrast, when I’m feeling a little down I seem to naturally gravitate toward words in an attempt to express the feeling.
I also find that certain words or phrases have the strength to evoke certain moods in me. “Gray rain.” “Barren trees.” “Cemetery.” “Coffin.” These shift my mind toward melancholy. “Zephyr wind.” “Clear stream.” “Cicada.” These tend to create a summer mood, peaceful and relaxed. A lot of this is the power of association. Cemeteries are associated with loss, and loss with sadness. In Arkansas, I remember hearing the Cicadas’ strident song every summer when I was working on the farm. To create mood we need to find the words that are associated with the experience of that mood. And those words and phrases, if we let them, will shift our own mood toward the one we’re trying to convey.
So, if you’re a writer, what mood do you find easiest to evoke? Which one is hardest? As a writer or a reader, or just a person in general, what words or phrases create mood for you? I’m curious to see how different your words are from mine.
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Monday, September 15, 2008
Gray as Hearth's Ashes
Drove through a cemetery sky the color of steel-wool this morning. And "through" is the exact word. On the Causeway bridge over Lake Pontchartrain in the rain, with the clouds sewn gray around you like a tattered shroud, you are part of the sky. And alone. Oh, there were other cars on the road with me. But they were separate coffins. Each one set apart. Each one isolated.
And on such a day, the radio played only sad songs. Bound within the car's frame with my thoughts, it was impossible to believe that the music came from elsewhere, from far away. It seemed to arise wholly out of the bubble of space I occupied, transmuted from the whine and hiss of the tires on wet cement, and from the metronomic swish of the wipers.
My mood deepened, darkened. Why at such times do you always remember the wrongs you've done? I tried to weigh my contributions this morning, subtracting the bills that others have paid because of me. I'm afraid I found the balance sheet wanting. I’m in the red.
I wonder sometimes if the world will end this way for me, and I’ll be left driving on into the rain, driving on forever on a bridge that goes nowhere. I imagine the other cars sliding away, one by one. I feel the sky closing in until my wheels turn only on wind. Do you think there will be a moment when the music stops and I am caught in a world of gray amber, left to listen to gathering silence?
Will I know it when it happens?
And on such a day, the radio played only sad songs. Bound within the car's frame with my thoughts, it was impossible to believe that the music came from elsewhere, from far away. It seemed to arise wholly out of the bubble of space I occupied, transmuted from the whine and hiss of the tires on wet cement, and from the metronomic swish of the wipers.
My mood deepened, darkened. Why at such times do you always remember the wrongs you've done? I tried to weigh my contributions this morning, subtracting the bills that others have paid because of me. I'm afraid I found the balance sheet wanting. I’m in the red.
I wonder sometimes if the world will end this way for me, and I’ll be left driving on into the rain, driving on forever on a bridge that goes nowhere. I imagine the other cars sliding away, one by one. I feel the sky closing in until my wheels turn only on wind. Do you think there will be a moment when the music stops and I am caught in a world of gray amber, left to listen to gathering silence?
Will I know it when it happens?
Friday, September 12, 2008
I'm a Winner
How cool is this! I just won a $25.00 gift certificate over at the Book Roast for a t-shirt slogan idea I posted. There were some great entries so I’m amazed that I won. My entry was: “Reading: It’s not just for the bathroom anymore.” Thanks very much to Moonrat for selecting me, and to Chris Eldin for organizing these roasts, which must be a lot of work. I’ve already been poking around at Amazon to see what I want. Well, who am I kidding, I really kind of want them all. But I’m looking forward to narrowing my selection down.
As for the local conditions, we’ve had a lot of wind yesterday and today due to Hurricane Ike passing underneath us, but nothing serious has happened. But this is a big storm so I hope all our friends in Texas are bracing for impact or getting the hell out, depending on where they live.
In writing news, I’m working right now on the update for the Neuropsychological article and it’s getting close to done. I still have two original pieces to do, though, which will take longer, and I’m going to have to cut back on blogging a bit. This morning I had 50 new posts on Google Reader, then 18 more new ones after lunch, and 9 more just a few minutes ago. There is so much great stuff going on in the blog world, like the Book Roast, Bernardl’s online novel, the interviews that Shauna Roberts’ runs, and the funny cartoons that folks like Laughingwolf post, but I’m pretty close to saturation point at the moment. I’ll continue visiting blogs but won’t be posting comments as frequently. The writing just has to come first.
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As for the local conditions, we’ve had a lot of wind yesterday and today due to Hurricane Ike passing underneath us, but nothing serious has happened. But this is a big storm so I hope all our friends in Texas are bracing for impact or getting the hell out, depending on where they live.
In writing news, I’m working right now on the update for the Neuropsychological article and it’s getting close to done. I still have two original pieces to do, though, which will take longer, and I’m going to have to cut back on blogging a bit. This morning I had 50 new posts on Google Reader, then 18 more new ones after lunch, and 9 more just a few minutes ago. There is so much great stuff going on in the blog world, like the Book Roast, Bernardl’s online novel, the interviews that Shauna Roberts’ runs, and the funny cartoons that folks like Laughingwolf post, but I’m pretty close to saturation point at the moment. I’ll continue visiting blogs but won’t be posting comments as frequently. The writing just has to come first.
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Wednesday, September 10, 2008
To The Princess in the Olive-Green Volvo SUV
Dear Princess:
Clearly from our interactions on the highway this morning, I am not suited to share the road with your highness. However, because there might be other peasants who do not instantly recognize your royalty and may get in your way tomorrow, I wonder if you’d allow me to make a few humble suggestions and comments.
First, on-ramps onto the freeway are typically meant for one individual automobile at a time. In the future, instead of passing me on the on-ramp so that you can swing into the far lane before I’ve even merged, thus putting you fifty feet ahead of me, simply flick your headlights at me and I will instantly move over and allow you to proceed. After all, how dare I merge before you.
Second, strangely enough, despite your need for speed, when we got to the toll bridge some three miles later, you were precisely in front of me. Other peasants were in your way perhaps. Anyway, I’m sure you were far too busy with your high-level thoughts to read, but the line that says “toll-tag only” is actually meant for those who have toll-tags on their automobiles. There are several other lanes for those who will need to pay cash for their toll. Of course, despite my own toll-tag, I was happy to wait in line behind you while you searched through your purse for the three dollars. Other peasants might not be so patient, however, so perhaps you should get a personalized license plate that reveals your “royal blood.”
Third, I imagine you were putting your purse away, or some equally important task, as you got onto the Causeway, which would explain why you were driving slowly after leaving the toll booth. I am sincerely sorry that I attempted to pass you in the other lane, and I appreciate you cutting me off, forcing me to slam on my brakes as you finally selected “my” lane to drive in. It was thoughtless of me to attempt to drive the speed limit when you were going more slowly in front of me. You will note that I backed well off from your bumper after that event so that you could proceed unhampered by such dirt-grubbers as myself.
Fourth, what a glorious day it was to find that after driving 24 miles of the Causeway bridge, we arrived at the far end at almost precisely the same time. You may remember that you were in the left lane and I in the right. I am so sorry that I forgot my previous lesson and once more attempted to pass you. I was confused because your lane was moving more slowly than mine. How dare I take lane space better suited for your sweet little Volvo. My horn was only meant to indicate that I wanted out of your way before you took off my entire front end as you once more cut me off. I do appreciate you honking your own horn in acknowledgment.
And please have no doubt as to the intentions behind my lone fingered salute. It was only meant to indicate that you are indeed…Number 1.
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Clearly from our interactions on the highway this morning, I am not suited to share the road with your highness. However, because there might be other peasants who do not instantly recognize your royalty and may get in your way tomorrow, I wonder if you’d allow me to make a few humble suggestions and comments.
First, on-ramps onto the freeway are typically meant for one individual automobile at a time. In the future, instead of passing me on the on-ramp so that you can swing into the far lane before I’ve even merged, thus putting you fifty feet ahead of me, simply flick your headlights at me and I will instantly move over and allow you to proceed. After all, how dare I merge before you.
Second, strangely enough, despite your need for speed, when we got to the toll bridge some three miles later, you were precisely in front of me. Other peasants were in your way perhaps. Anyway, I’m sure you were far too busy with your high-level thoughts to read, but the line that says “toll-tag only” is actually meant for those who have toll-tags on their automobiles. There are several other lanes for those who will need to pay cash for their toll. Of course, despite my own toll-tag, I was happy to wait in line behind you while you searched through your purse for the three dollars. Other peasants might not be so patient, however, so perhaps you should get a personalized license plate that reveals your “royal blood.”
Third, I imagine you were putting your purse away, or some equally important task, as you got onto the Causeway, which would explain why you were driving slowly after leaving the toll booth. I am sincerely sorry that I attempted to pass you in the other lane, and I appreciate you cutting me off, forcing me to slam on my brakes as you finally selected “my” lane to drive in. It was thoughtless of me to attempt to drive the speed limit when you were going more slowly in front of me. You will note that I backed well off from your bumper after that event so that you could proceed unhampered by such dirt-grubbers as myself.
Fourth, what a glorious day it was to find that after driving 24 miles of the Causeway bridge, we arrived at the far end at almost precisely the same time. You may remember that you were in the left lane and I in the right. I am so sorry that I forgot my previous lesson and once more attempted to pass you. I was confused because your lane was moving more slowly than mine. How dare I take lane space better suited for your sweet little Volvo. My horn was only meant to indicate that I wanted out of your way before you took off my entire front end as you once more cut me off. I do appreciate you honking your own horn in acknowledgment.
And please have no doubt as to the intentions behind my lone fingered salute. It was only meant to indicate that you are indeed…Number 1.
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Monday, September 08, 2008
When Death Comes for Me
Feel like rocking tonight. Listening to old Black Sabbath. “Sweet Leaf.” “Snow Blind.” “The Warning.” If there’s a soundtrack to evil, Black Sabbath wrote it.
Then I open a more modern Hell for some Black Label Society. “Suicide Messiah.” Or I listen to a little cultural commentary with Marilyn Manson’s “The New Shit” and The Crue’s “Find Myself.” Wind it up with a little “I am the Bullgod” with Kid Rock. After, I slow it down with “Space Lord” by Monster Magnet and then "Screaming in the Night" by Krokus.
Makes me want to ride a pale horse with the Wild Hunt, to feel the scrape of briars across my leathers while the horns skirl and reap the silence.
In my dreams sometimes I run the dark. My teeth are long. Crimson at the roots. At campfire’s edge, my eyes gleam wicked yellow. My pupils are dilated. And I am:
WATCHING
When death comes for me
I’ll wait in the black light
Armed to the teeth
With blade and bullet
Standing in the rain
The wine bite of life
Bloody on my tongue
Eyes smoking ready
When death comes for me
I’ll be fueled for fire
I’ll throw him a red kiss
But it won’t be sweet
Standing under eclipsed sun
With the wink of steel
Hiding cold in my fists
Smiling only with my mouth
When death comes for me
His angel wings spread dark
He’ll find a machine rusted
But sharp edged and poison
Standing in a blank wind
A ghost with scars for eyes
With ruins for memories
He’ll find me...watching
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Saturday, September 06, 2008
Lost Days.
Is it already Saturday? How time flies when you have electricity. I remarked to Lana during the “Lost Days” as we refer to them, how slow time seemed to move when we had no computers, no telephone, no internet, no TV, and when we couldn’t even get out of our own yard. I read during those days, read and sweltered and occasionally grilled something on the barbecue. I wouldn’t mind a little bit of that slower pace sometimes, but only if it can come with AC at the same time.
Lana is still uploading videos from the Lost Days so I won’t steal that thunder. I’ll post here when they’re ready. The process is slow.
In other items, I finally managed to respond to my Google Reader feeds yesterday. When I got back online I found 198 posts waiting for me, and in a moment of “Oh my God, I can’t do this,” I hit “mark all as read.” Sorry about that, and about the great posts I'm sure I missed. But sanity required it. I’m still behind but I’ll start getting caught up today, and will resume making individual responses to comments on my own posts.
I’ve got to get started quickly, however, on three new reference articles for a book on mental health. I’ve got new pieces to do on the topics of “fear” and “transvestism,” and have to update an entry on Neuropsychology. I sent in a list of ten topics I’d be willing to work on, chosen from their master list of topics, saying that I only wanted three assignments total. This is the three.
The “fear” one is a natural for me since I’m interested in horror fiction and have given presentations on fear and horror before. And since I’m a biological psychologist, the neuropsych one is straightforward. I threw the transvestism topic in as a possibility because it’s something I don’t know much about, but I find it interesting as a disorder since the act of cross-dressing is so prevalent in our society. It seems like every TV sitcom has had some episode where a guy dresses as a woman and everyone laughs. I’m not quite sure why. I don’t know if they still do it, but there used to be a group of male Washington Redskin fans who dressed as really “ugly” women for the games. My tiny hometown of Charleston, Arkansas even has a “womanless beauty contest.” And, of course, in New Orleans there is Mardi Gras and Southern Decadence, both of which involve extensive costuming and cross-dressing.
I’ve already learned that the term “transvestism” was coined by Magnus Hirschfeld in 1910 in Germany. Hirschfeld had several things working against him during the later Nazi period and had to flee the country. He was Jewish, gay, a cross-dresser, and a foot fetishist. Worst of all, he was a medical doctor.
Finally, one book I read during the Lost Days deserves special mention. This is Nightblood by T. Chris Martindale. What an excellent action horror novel. It’s one of the best I’ve read in a long time. Great characters and action mixed with atmospheric horror and vicious vampires. I’ve read one other horror novel by Martindale, Where the Chill Waits, and it was even better. I’m reading a third one by Martindale now, and have a fourth one ready. That’s apparently all he wrote. One rather odd thing I’ve noticed about Martindale is that he, more than any other writer I’ve ever read, reminds me of my own writing style. I’m talking about the style I used in Cold in the Light particularly.
All right, time to make the Google Reader rounds.
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Lana is still uploading videos from the Lost Days so I won’t steal that thunder. I’ll post here when they’re ready. The process is slow.
In other items, I finally managed to respond to my Google Reader feeds yesterday. When I got back online I found 198 posts waiting for me, and in a moment of “Oh my God, I can’t do this,” I hit “mark all as read.” Sorry about that, and about the great posts I'm sure I missed. But sanity required it. I’m still behind but I’ll start getting caught up today, and will resume making individual responses to comments on my own posts.
I’ve got to get started quickly, however, on three new reference articles for a book on mental health. I’ve got new pieces to do on the topics of “fear” and “transvestism,” and have to update an entry on Neuropsychology. I sent in a list of ten topics I’d be willing to work on, chosen from their master list of topics, saying that I only wanted three assignments total. This is the three.
The “fear” one is a natural for me since I’m interested in horror fiction and have given presentations on fear and horror before. And since I’m a biological psychologist, the neuropsych one is straightforward. I threw the transvestism topic in as a possibility because it’s something I don’t know much about, but I find it interesting as a disorder since the act of cross-dressing is so prevalent in our society. It seems like every TV sitcom has had some episode where a guy dresses as a woman and everyone laughs. I’m not quite sure why. I don’t know if they still do it, but there used to be a group of male Washington Redskin fans who dressed as really “ugly” women for the games. My tiny hometown of Charleston, Arkansas even has a “womanless beauty contest.” And, of course, in New Orleans there is Mardi Gras and Southern Decadence, both of which involve extensive costuming and cross-dressing.
I’ve already learned that the term “transvestism” was coined by Magnus Hirschfeld in 1910 in Germany. Hirschfeld had several things working against him during the later Nazi period and had to flee the country. He was Jewish, gay, a cross-dresser, and a foot fetishist. Worst of all, he was a medical doctor.
Finally, one book I read during the Lost Days deserves special mention. This is Nightblood by T. Chris Martindale. What an excellent action horror novel. It’s one of the best I’ve read in a long time. Great characters and action mixed with atmospheric horror and vicious vampires. I’ve read one other horror novel by Martindale, Where the Chill Waits, and it was even better. I’m reading a third one by Martindale now, and have a fourth one ready. That’s apparently all he wrote. One rather odd thing I’ve noticed about Martindale is that he, more than any other writer I’ve ever read, reminds me of my own writing style. I’m talking about the style I used in Cold in the Light particularly.
All right, time to make the Google Reader rounds.
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Thursday, September 04, 2008
Back Online At Last
Just a short note to say Lana and I got our power back this evening and can finally start to claw out from under our backlog of messages. Some initial priorities included baths. Four days without electricity in southern Louisiana, meaning no AC and no running water, can...well...let's just say that it's a good thing this net thing doesn't allow smellovision.
We came through the storm OK, and we'll be giving some updates as time permits. Lana did some short videos that she'll be showing over this week, too. Our main problem was the electricity going out on Monday morning about 8:00, and then getting trapped in our neighborhood by rising flood waters. Our house and cars survived, but for three days we weren't even able to move out of our driveway unless we walked.
Anyway, more later. For now I'm going to try to catch up on critical emails and dream of a night sleeping with AC.
We came through the storm OK, and we'll be giving some updates as time permits. Lana did some short videos that she'll be showing over this week, too. Our main problem was the electricity going out on Monday morning about 8:00, and then getting trapped in our neighborhood by rising flood waters. Our house and cars survived, but for three days we weren't even able to move out of our driveway unless we walked.
Anyway, more later. For now I'm going to try to catch up on critical emails and dream of a night sleeping with AC.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Sunday Evening Update, Gustav
Well, it's a bit after 10:00 pm here at Fortress Gramlich, and so far we've had no trouble. A band of rain squalls came through around dusk but there wasn't much wind with them. We lost internet for a while, and we've had two brownouts, but nothing to worry about as of yet. I can see on radar a much thicker band of rain squalls headed our way. They should be on us before long but they don't actually look terribly heavy. Of course, the storm won't make landfall until tomorrow so we've got some waiting to do.
In the meantime, I watched "Duel" again on TV, and it wasn't quite as good as I remember. Dennis Weaver was a bit of a whiney bitch. I've been doing some reading, as well. Don't feel as if I could concentrate on much writing at the moment.
Well, more updates as time passes. Internet access allowing. Take care all.
In the meantime, I watched "Duel" again on TV, and it wasn't quite as good as I remember. Dennis Weaver was a bit of a whiney bitch. I've been doing some reading, as well. Don't feel as if I could concentrate on much writing at the moment.
Well, more updates as time passes. Internet access allowing. Take care all.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Technicolor Zombies
Yesterday, I finished reading Bits of the Dead, the zombie anthology I’ve mentioned here. Although it has hits and misses like any anthology, I thought the majority of the stories were pretty good. And I’m not just saying that because I have a piece in it. Since all the stories are short, flash fiction pieces of 1 to 3 pages, it also doesn’t take long to finish one you don’t particularly enjoy and move on to one you do. Especially in these days when concern about Gustav is always in the back of my mind, I appreciated the short pieces. They took me away for moments at a time from my worries, but didn’t require the lengthy concentration a novel would have. I actually wish I had a few more of these flash fiction anthologies around for just this reason.
The stories were salient enough so that last night I dreamed of zombies. I don’t remember all the details, but the gist of it was that people who were pretending to be zombies were attacked by real zombies. The real zombies had your standard gray, monochromatic appearance while the pretend zombies were done up beautifully in Technicolor hues. The fake organs and intestines they’d glued on were brilliant reds and pinks. They had bold slashes of yellow across their faces, and the pure white of fresh bones showing artfully through the fancy rags of their carefully selected costumes. The strangest part was when the pretend zombies were bitten and became real zombies, and how they hunted people now with their faces made up like zombie hookers. Outside, they were works of art; inside, they were gray and empty of all but hunger. I remember one, in particular. He was trying to eat his own fake intestines. He’d shove them in his mouth and bite down, then make a face and spit them out. Only to try a fresh bite moments later.
The stories were salient enough so that last night I dreamed of zombies. I don’t remember all the details, but the gist of it was that people who were pretending to be zombies were attacked by real zombies. The real zombies had your standard gray, monochromatic appearance while the pretend zombies were done up beautifully in Technicolor hues. The fake organs and intestines they’d glued on were brilliant reds and pinks. They had bold slashes of yellow across their faces, and the pure white of fresh bones showing artfully through the fancy rags of their carefully selected costumes. The strangest part was when the pretend zombies were bitten and became real zombies, and how they hunted people now with their faces made up like zombie hookers. Outside, they were works of art; inside, they were gray and empty of all but hunger. I remember one, in particular. He was trying to eat his own fake intestines. He’d shove them in his mouth and bite down, then make a face and spit them out. Only to try a fresh bite moments later.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Gustav
Although Gustav is at current a tropical storm only, the coast is taking this one seriously. Xavier has already cancelled classes as of this Friday afternoon and only plans to reopen Thursday of next week, September 4. This seems a little bit of an overreaction to me. Since the storm is not going to even get close until Sunday at the earliest I'm not sure why Friday classes needed to be cancelled. And I guess it seems early to cancel classes next week when we are already off on Monday for Labor Day. However, all predictions are that Gustav will become a hurricane again, possibly a category 3. And that's nothing to sneeze at. Anyway, I'm not making the decisions, and I'm glad I'm not. I wouldn't want the responsibility.
I'll be posting again before the storm approaches, but if it comes close at all we'll surely loose our satellite internet connection. I may be out of touch for a few days next week. Let's hope it won't be longer than that. After Katrina it was months before the grid was back up.
As long as it's no more than a category 1, Lana and I will probably ride it out in our home. For a category 2 we'll have to strongly consider its direct track before making a decision. And if it's a 3 or better we're out of here.
I'll be posting again before the storm approaches, but if it comes close at all we'll surely loose our satellite internet connection. I may be out of touch for a few days next week. Let's hope it won't be longer than that. After Katrina it was months before the grid was back up.
As long as it's no more than a category 1, Lana and I will probably ride it out in our home. For a category 2 we'll have to strongly consider its direct track before making a decision. And if it's a 3 or better we're out of here.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
A Change of Pace
I’ve started the commute to work again and that means listening to the radio. I have a CD player but I tend to listen to the radio because they also have traffic reports. And I’m reminded in my travels of a rant that I’ve shared with the seagulls and the lake on occasion. That is, why do they have to play the same songs over and over and over? Many of them bad songs, of course. To explain, I only get three radio channels, and a fourth one when I’m in range in the evening going home, that I’ll listen to. One is classic rock, one new rock, and the other oldies. I’ll listen to the oldies when the other two channels have nothing but talk talk talk on, which is far too often. But even when the rock stations are playing music they tend to play only the standards.
Now, I like a lot of the standards. Love “Stairway to Heaven,” “Radar Love,” “Sweet Home Alabama,” and many more. But there are plenty of other good songs that never get played: "Space Lord" by Monster Magnet. "Suicide Messiah" by Black Label Society. Etc. And, lets face it, there are some commonly played rock tunes that just frankly suck. They sucked the first time I heard them, and they certainly haven’t aged like fine mead. So, without further ado, here is my top twelve list of “rock” songs that I wish every radio station would lose from their catalogue.
12. “Home Sweet Home” by Motley Crue. I really like a lot of Motley’s songs. Their second album is especially good. But this song nearly made me stop buying Crue CDs forever. I eventually recovered and continued to pick up new Crue releases. But this tune is a wound I’ll never get completely over.
11. “Pour some Sugar on Me” by Def Lepperd. The Lepp had some good music back in the day, but this is simply godawful. It should be titled pour some “saccharine” on me, then shoot me in the head with a large caliber handgun before the bees sting the hell out of me because they feel gypped.
10. “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas. Kansas could play some pretty decent mellow songs, like “Cheyenne Anthem.” This isn’t one of them. And although it was OK the first couple of times I heard it, it really wears on one, sort of like how dust in the wind erodes the hardest rock. I’m worn down already.
9. “Mr. Roboto” by Styx. You know how I said I almost stopped buying Motley Crue albums after “Home Sweet Home?” Well, I did stop buying Styx albums after “Mr. Roboto.”
8. “The Other Side,” by Aerosmith. From it’s limp wristed opening to the insane babbling at the end, this one sucks all the way through. I’d rather listen to white noise. In fact, I have listened to white noise when this was all that was on.
7. “November Rain” by Guns & Roses. I’ve never made it all the way through this song. Not once. Maybe it gets really, really good at the end. But I doubt it. I’m not willing to suffer through the first part to find out.
6. “Nevermind” by Nirvana. Sorry grunge fans, but Nirvana hadn’t the faintest idea how to rock. Except for “Smells like Teen Spirit.” “Nevermind” is a freaking lullaby. I could sleep to it probably, if it didn’t make me feel faintly nauseated. You know, kind of like somebody soaked my pacifier in Scotch.
5. “The Lemon Song” by Led Zepplin. Is it really necessary to hear about the “juice” running down Robert Plant’s leg four times a day? I cry enuff’s enuff.
4. “We are the Champions” by Queen. How can you follow one of the hardest rocking pieces in rock and roll, and by that I mean “We Will Rock You,” with one of the all time lamest pieces of drivel? It’s blasphemous is what it is. And there isn’t even a decent break between the two. I try to catch the exact moment of the change so I can press a button to flee the station, but I sometimes fail and the first fragment of “Champions” bleeds through and nearly convulses me. Please, radio stations, stop while you’re “rocking me.”
3. Anything by Poison, but especially, please, I’m begging you, never, ever play “Every F*$@#*& Rose has its Thorn” again. I mean, I’m gagging on my own bile here. And that’s because I’ve already emptied everything else in my stomach.
2. “Beth” by Kiss. I was never a big fan of Kiss. I remember that it was not long after I’d discovered rock music that I was gleefully listening to the radio when “Beth” came on. What’s this, I thought? Isn’t this pretty weak? But, knowing that some rock songs start out slow and then burst into explosive acoustics, I listened to the song all the way through. I still shudder to think of that experience. Makes me wish I was better at repressing memories. I believe this is where I first used the term “wimp shit.” I have reused that term a lot, though, so the incidents kind of run together.
1. “Black Hole Sun,” by Soundgarden. Not only is this one of the lamest songs ever, but they play it on both the classic rock station and the new rock station. A double dose of agony, although as soon as I hear the first strains of this--I hesitate to call it music--I’m punching radio buttons. ANY radio button.
So there you have it, my 12 songs of shame. I can’t imagine anyone would disagree. ;) But if you want to argue, have at it.
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Now, I like a lot of the standards. Love “Stairway to Heaven,” “Radar Love,” “Sweet Home Alabama,” and many more. But there are plenty of other good songs that never get played: "Space Lord" by Monster Magnet. "Suicide Messiah" by Black Label Society. Etc. And, lets face it, there are some commonly played rock tunes that just frankly suck. They sucked the first time I heard them, and they certainly haven’t aged like fine mead. So, without further ado, here is my top twelve list of “rock” songs that I wish every radio station would lose from their catalogue.
12. “Home Sweet Home” by Motley Crue. I really like a lot of Motley’s songs. Their second album is especially good. But this song nearly made me stop buying Crue CDs forever. I eventually recovered and continued to pick up new Crue releases. But this tune is a wound I’ll never get completely over.
11. “Pour some Sugar on Me” by Def Lepperd. The Lepp had some good music back in the day, but this is simply godawful. It should be titled pour some “saccharine” on me, then shoot me in the head with a large caliber handgun before the bees sting the hell out of me because they feel gypped.
10. “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas. Kansas could play some pretty decent mellow songs, like “Cheyenne Anthem.” This isn’t one of them. And although it was OK the first couple of times I heard it, it really wears on one, sort of like how dust in the wind erodes the hardest rock. I’m worn down already.
9. “Mr. Roboto” by Styx. You know how I said I almost stopped buying Motley Crue albums after “Home Sweet Home?” Well, I did stop buying Styx albums after “Mr. Roboto.”
8. “The Other Side,” by Aerosmith. From it’s limp wristed opening to the insane babbling at the end, this one sucks all the way through. I’d rather listen to white noise. In fact, I have listened to white noise when this was all that was on.
7. “November Rain” by Guns & Roses. I’ve never made it all the way through this song. Not once. Maybe it gets really, really good at the end. But I doubt it. I’m not willing to suffer through the first part to find out.
6. “Nevermind” by Nirvana. Sorry grunge fans, but Nirvana hadn’t the faintest idea how to rock. Except for “Smells like Teen Spirit.” “Nevermind” is a freaking lullaby. I could sleep to it probably, if it didn’t make me feel faintly nauseated. You know, kind of like somebody soaked my pacifier in Scotch.
5. “The Lemon Song” by Led Zepplin. Is it really necessary to hear about the “juice” running down Robert Plant’s leg four times a day? I cry enuff’s enuff.
4. “We are the Champions” by Queen. How can you follow one of the hardest rocking pieces in rock and roll, and by that I mean “We Will Rock You,” with one of the all time lamest pieces of drivel? It’s blasphemous is what it is. And there isn’t even a decent break between the two. I try to catch the exact moment of the change so I can press a button to flee the station, but I sometimes fail and the first fragment of “Champions” bleeds through and nearly convulses me. Please, radio stations, stop while you’re “rocking me.”
3. Anything by Poison, but especially, please, I’m begging you, never, ever play “Every F*$@#*& Rose has its Thorn” again. I mean, I’m gagging on my own bile here. And that’s because I’ve already emptied everything else in my stomach.
2. “Beth” by Kiss. I was never a big fan of Kiss. I remember that it was not long after I’d discovered rock music that I was gleefully listening to the radio when “Beth” came on. What’s this, I thought? Isn’t this pretty weak? But, knowing that some rock songs start out slow and then burst into explosive acoustics, I listened to the song all the way through. I still shudder to think of that experience. Makes me wish I was better at repressing memories. I believe this is where I first used the term “wimp shit.” I have reused that term a lot, though, so the incidents kind of run together.
1. “Black Hole Sun,” by Soundgarden. Not only is this one of the lamest songs ever, but they play it on both the classic rock station and the new rock station. A double dose of agony, although as soon as I hear the first strains of this--I hesitate to call it music--I’m punching radio buttons. ANY radio button.
So there you have it, my 12 songs of shame. I can’t imagine anyone would disagree. ;) But if you want to argue, have at it.
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Sunday, August 24, 2008
Cool Stuff, at least to me
Language sure is fun. Just in the last couple of days I’ve heard new words, new to me at least, which seemed obvious after I heard them.
Velvis: A term for a velvet Elvis. I thought to myself, how stupid not to have thought of that. How perfect.
Fourgy: A term for an orgy between four people, particularly two couples.
Probably many of you have heard these terms but they were new to me. Sometimes I’m amazed at how much creativity is left in language.
Another thing, cool to me at least, is the publication of Bits of the Dead, a collection of flash fiction zombie stories from Coscom Entertainment. My story “Once Upon a Time with the Dead” appears therein. It begins: “Alkali dust under the white blaze of the Mexican sun. Riders are coming. To a village standing idle on a ghostly quiet day.”
Some of the more famous authors in the book include Piers Anthony and Nancy Kilpatrick. It's available at Barnes & Noble and Amazon, of course.
Last night, Lana and I watched The Spiderwick Chronicles and we both thought it was good. I think I liked it better than she did. At first I didn’t really care for the primary kid character, and I never did really come to like him, but the story itself was fairly compelling and the special effects were great. There was a lot of action for what is essentially a kid’s movie.
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Velvis: A term for a velvet Elvis. I thought to myself, how stupid not to have thought of that. How perfect.
Fourgy: A term for an orgy between four people, particularly two couples.
Probably many of you have heard these terms but they were new to me. Sometimes I’m amazed at how much creativity is left in language.
Another thing, cool to me at least, is the publication of Bits of the Dead, a collection of flash fiction zombie stories from Coscom Entertainment. My story “Once Upon a Time with the Dead” appears therein. It begins: “Alkali dust under the white blaze of the Mexican sun. Riders are coming. To a village standing idle on a ghostly quiet day.”
Some of the more famous authors in the book include Piers Anthony and Nancy Kilpatrick. It's available at Barnes & Noble and Amazon, of course.
Last night, Lana and I watched The Spiderwick Chronicles and we both thought it was good. I think I liked it better than she did. At first I didn’t really care for the primary kid character, and I never did really come to like him, but the story itself was fairly compelling and the special effects were great. There was a lot of action for what is essentially a kid’s movie.
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Thursday, August 21, 2008
Taking Stock
As usual, I underestimated the mass of work that slams me during the first school days. I tried to have as many things done ahead of time as possible, syllabi and so on. But some things you can’t foresee. Xavier is about to undergo accreditation, an event that takes place every ten years, and which takes several years to complete. That means updating faculty vitas (resumes) and filling out many other forms. We also have to turn in an annual (but more extensive now) update sheet that basically tells the university administration everything important we’ve done in the past academic year—from August to August.
The areas in which our updates are made in are: Teaching, Scholarship, University Service, Public Service, and Collegiality. We also have a section labeled “Other Pertinent Information,” for things that don’t fit the big five categories.
For teaching, I list courses that I’ve taught and any new developments for those classes. For scholarship, I count non-fiction pieces only, and only those that have some relationship to the areas I teach in. I count writing articles, for example, since I teach “Writing in Psychology,” but a piece on “Sword & Sorcery” wouldn’t count. As for fiction, Xavier, as does most universities, looks askance at fiction and poetry publications for anyone outside the English Creative Writing Department. I have been known to mention some of this stuff under “Other Pertinent Information,” but I doubt it’s ever helped me. In fact, I’m sometimes convinced it works against me. Maybe I’m not working hard enough at my career if I have time to write a novel, for example.
For University service, I mention committees I serve on, particularly the Internal Review Board (Human subjects committee), which I’m chair of. And for public service I mention public lectures that I’ve given on various issues related to psychology, or writing, or evolution, or dreams. I do list the talks here that I gave at Babel Con and similar venues.
I’ve actually never minded much doing these updates. It gives me a chance to take stock, to put into writing the things I feel I’ve accomplished over the year. As a person with a streak of OCD, I rather like making lists, and updates are kind of like lists. Just expanded ones.
How about you? How often, if ever, do you “take stock?” What categories are important in your life? Your career?
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The areas in which our updates are made in are: Teaching, Scholarship, University Service, Public Service, and Collegiality. We also have a section labeled “Other Pertinent Information,” for things that don’t fit the big five categories.
For teaching, I list courses that I’ve taught and any new developments for those classes. For scholarship, I count non-fiction pieces only, and only those that have some relationship to the areas I teach in. I count writing articles, for example, since I teach “Writing in Psychology,” but a piece on “Sword & Sorcery” wouldn’t count. As for fiction, Xavier, as does most universities, looks askance at fiction and poetry publications for anyone outside the English Creative Writing Department. I have been known to mention some of this stuff under “Other Pertinent Information,” but I doubt it’s ever helped me. In fact, I’m sometimes convinced it works against me. Maybe I’m not working hard enough at my career if I have time to write a novel, for example.
For University service, I mention committees I serve on, particularly the Internal Review Board (Human subjects committee), which I’m chair of. And for public service I mention public lectures that I’ve given on various issues related to psychology, or writing, or evolution, or dreams. I do list the talks here that I gave at Babel Con and similar venues.
I’ve actually never minded much doing these updates. It gives me a chance to take stock, to put into writing the things I feel I’ve accomplished over the year. As a person with a streak of OCD, I rather like making lists, and updates are kind of like lists. Just expanded ones.
How about you? How often, if ever, do you “take stock?” What categories are important in your life? Your career?
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Tuesday, August 19, 2008
A Mistake to Remember
I know better, but I made a mistake the other day in a story submission. I wanted to send a story to an anthology featuring strong women characters. The editor’s first name was “Roby.” (Let’s say the last name was “Doe.) I went to the market’s website, as I always do, and checked the submission guidelines and the section on “about.” There was no mention of Roby’s gender. Since I know a man whose first name is Roby, I addressed my email, written like a business letter, to the editor as “Mr. Doe:”
Big mistake. I didn’t hear from the editor herself, but from another woman at the market who took me to task for referring to Ms. Doe as Mr. Doe. I received a brief lecture on how I should check the website so I wouldn’t make such mistakes. She even sent me links to the website, which were the same ones I’d already investigated and which didn’t mention Ms. Doe’s gender.
Although I thought the lady’s response was rather out of proportion to my mistake, the truth is it was easy to avoid. All I would have had to do is address the letter as: “Dear Roby Doe:”
Because of a single moment of carelessness, I pissed off an editor and quite possibly lost a potential market. Don’t do what I did.
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Big mistake. I didn’t hear from the editor herself, but from another woman at the market who took me to task for referring to Ms. Doe as Mr. Doe. I received a brief lecture on how I should check the website so I wouldn’t make such mistakes. She even sent me links to the website, which were the same ones I’d already investigated and which didn’t mention Ms. Doe’s gender.
Although I thought the lady’s response was rather out of proportion to my mistake, the truth is it was easy to avoid. All I would have had to do is address the letter as: “Dear Roby Doe:”
Because of a single moment of carelessness, I pissed off an editor and quite possibly lost a potential market. Don’t do what I did.
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Saturday, August 16, 2008
I'm Backkkkk
Back from Arkansas. As I expected, there was no time to blog or check blogs. I spent the days visiting with mom and family. And doing a fair amount of eating. My favorite pie is lemon, so family members baked me not one, but two lemon pies. I think I’ve had enough lemon pie for a while. I also ate home-grown steak and ground beef, which was nice and lean, and a variety of vegetables from the garden, including green beans, tomatoes, corn on the cob, potatoes, purple hull peas, and spinach. What I didn’t eat, although I was offered them about 100 times, was okra and onions. My mom and brother Paul David just love okra, but they must have gotten all the okra genes in the family because the stuff reminds me of something that might have been edible eons ago but which has been mummified in dry desert air for a few too many millennia.
One thing I didn’t get done in Arkansas is any real writing. I tried a couple of times to sit at the laptop but in a small town where everyone knows everyone there are always visitors dropping over. Besides that, about a quarter of the town of Charleston is related to us, if not by blood then by marriage. That’s a lot of family to see in a short time.
As always when I go home to Charleston, I was overwhelmed by memories. On a couple of afternoons I rode around in the countryside with my brother and it seemed like every field and woods and dirt trail were haunted with the ghosts of the past. I imagine that would settle down if I moved back to the area permanently, which Lana and I have talked about doing after I retire from teaching. We have land there, some of which I’ll eventually inherit, and I wouldn’t mind building a house along the creek where I spent a many hot summer day.
Rita, my sister-in-law, asked how I’d get in and out if I lived back along the creek and I told her I only needed to get in. She asked what Lana thought of that, and I had to tell her that Lana loves the idea. My wife is not a social butterfly. She and I are both pretty intense introverts.
Well, it’s off now to do a little catch up blog visiting, but I’m sure I won’t be able to comment on every post I’ve missed. Seems like most of us here in blog land are pretty prolific posters. Plus, I’ve got to turn up the back-to-school engine big time to get syllabi and other such tasks done before school starts next week. When I got off school in early May it seemed like the days stretched out forever in front of me. Now that the summer escape is over it sure did seem to go fast.
Later
One thing I didn’t get done in Arkansas is any real writing. I tried a couple of times to sit at the laptop but in a small town where everyone knows everyone there are always visitors dropping over. Besides that, about a quarter of the town of Charleston is related to us, if not by blood then by marriage. That’s a lot of family to see in a short time.
As always when I go home to Charleston, I was overwhelmed by memories. On a couple of afternoons I rode around in the countryside with my brother and it seemed like every field and woods and dirt trail were haunted with the ghosts of the past. I imagine that would settle down if I moved back to the area permanently, which Lana and I have talked about doing after I retire from teaching. We have land there, some of which I’ll eventually inherit, and I wouldn’t mind building a house along the creek where I spent a many hot summer day.
Rita, my sister-in-law, asked how I’d get in and out if I lived back along the creek and I told her I only needed to get in. She asked what Lana thought of that, and I had to tell her that Lana loves the idea. My wife is not a social butterfly. She and I are both pretty intense introverts.
Well, it’s off now to do a little catch up blog visiting, but I’m sure I won’t be able to comment on every post I’ve missed. Seems like most of us here in blog land are pretty prolific posters. Plus, I’ve got to turn up the back-to-school engine big time to get syllabi and other such tasks done before school starts next week. When I got off school in early May it seemed like the days stretched out forever in front of me. Now that the summer escape is over it sure did seem to go fast.
Later
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