Journey to Good Hope

The Ghost of Christmas Pesent

2009-12-11T10:26:00.007-06:00

The Blogazine Supernatural Fairy Tales is a new market for speculative fiction published by fellow writer and Humble Fiction Cafe' member Dorlana Vann. I have been fortunate enough to be one of her featured writers twice, and On December 15th, my latest short story, And all of Their Degree will appear as part of a three-part Christmas feature at her site. Each story is inspired by one of the three Ghost of Christmas from Dickens's A Christmas Carol. My story is about the Ghost of Christmas Present, but it takes place in the future. Confused? Visit the site on December 15th, and read for yourself, or go there now and read Dorlana's story inspired by the Ghost of Christmas Past.

Keep reading!

Gary

THE ODYSSEY

2009-09-30T23:31:00.007-05:00

"It's not the destination God is interested in, it's how you make the journey."

Yeah, I know. I haven't had much to say for a while, but that doesn't mean I'm not working. Actually, Kelli's the one who's been working, but until she is done, I'm not writing another sentence on Good Hope.
Allow me to explain.

This summer, one of our Humble Fiction Cafe' writers, Kelli Meyer, had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to attend Odyssey, the Fantasy Writing Workshop.(Click on the title of this post to visit the web site.)
Now, let me tell you, Odyssey is a big deal.
It's a very exclusive workshop that only allows the best and brightest to attend, and 53% of Odyssey graduates go on to become published authors.
Kelli was honored to be accepted, and spent six weeks in New England polishing her writing, and learning the art of critique. Since her return, our group has hung on her every word at a series of classes where she has offered up the condensed version of what she learned at Odyssey. At each class I find new concepts, better understanding, and clarity into my own issues with writing, so much so, that I have thrown out my first draft of Good Hope. Well, actually it's in a file at my writing desk, but I have "let it go" for all other intents and purposes, and I am almost ready to attack the story again from a very fresh and rejuvenated point of view.

Kelli has two more classes to teach, and November is rapidly approaching, which normally means a new project for National Novel Writing Month. However, this year I'm sitting NaNoWriMo out, and dedicating my time to Good Hope with my new found education and understanding, courtesy of Kelli and her excellent classes.

So, I'm not slacking, I'm learning, I'm preparing- I'm running sprints before the big race.

I was reminded tonight of Plato's famous line "The unexamined life is not worth living." Rest assured that right now, I am examining my character's lives and the world that they live in so I will have a better story to tell, and a better story to give to you, and I know you will thank me for the effort.

If I may paraphrase Plato, "The uneducated writer is not worth reading."

Beating a Draft Horse

2009-07-17T09:54:00.011-05:00

There are many famous quotes regarding first drafts. Terry Pratchett, British author of the Discworld series, said a first draft is "just you telling yourself the story." In a characteristically less polite way, American author Earnest Hemingway famously said the following: "The first draft of anything is shit."

That's a classic example of British subtly and American directness, and I totally agree with both of them. But, the question is, how many drafts does it take to complete a novel?

According to New York Times bestselling author Eric Nylund, "about seven serious drafts and about five lesser revision cycles." That surprised me, because Eric writes novelizations of the HALO video game series. I assumed that since he already had an established world with established characters and conflicts that it would be easier to create a novel from that "base camp."

Apparently not.

I've reviewed the blogs of several authors and the consensus for drafts is anywhere from two to twenty. So, where does that leave me?
Somewhere between two and twenty.
Or, as Craig Furguson's novel about suicide suggest, somewhere "Between the Bridge and the River."

I've done three drafts, three plot outline revisions, and revised and edited the second and third drafts. And now, I've come to the sad realization that some of my main characters need an overhaul, and that my supporting cast of archetype characters are not relating the way they should according to elements of the Dramatica theory.

So here I am, reworking the story, characters, motivations, and relationships from the beginning- again. This will be followed by a fourth draft. When I'm done, the manuscript will be reviewed by several of my writer friends, who will undoubtedly give me feedback, which will take me through yet another revision. That revised manuscript will then make the rounds of the publishers who will also supply me with further revisions, or possibly, another draft.

All in all, I'll be lucky if I can do this in five drafts and as many revisions.

Anyway, the object of this post is to help me realize that I may only be at the halfway mark. That is good and bad. "Good" because I realize that I'm very much where I should be in this process. On the other hand, I also realize that I'm moving through that middle ground where so many novelist give up out of sheer frustration.

Don't worry. I'm not the type that gives up easily. In fact, I'm more the type who will persevere in the face of overwhelming odds. When others would sensibly pick themselves up from the ground, brush themselves off, and go home after flinging themselves over the edge of a cliff, I'm the one who will climb back up the hill for "another go at it."

So, I'll plod (or is that plot?) along because, like my protagonist, I realize that this is a journey, and the lessons are not learned by reaching the destination port.

Not at all.

The valuable lessons are learned by crossing the ocean.

Gary

The Art of the Slack (Top 10 ways to delay writing a novel)

2009-07-08T09:43:00.005-05:00

A friend of mine reminded me that I am overdue for a post.
She's right, and I appreciate the jab. (Thanks Linda!)
As you may know, this blog is a chronicle of my efforts to write a novel for publication, but since I haven't worked on the manuscript for a few months, I haven't posted.
What have I been doing? In my own defense, here is a top 10 list.

1. Making short films for Irony Coast Productions. This has taken the majority of my creative energy since May. We have done two short films, and one of them (Happy Father's Day) is being considered for awards at the Austin 48 Hour Film Festival. We'll know more next week. We might be in the running for "Best Picture" and it will be great to finally get the recognition for all of our hard work.

2. Music production. I have worked on several new songs, two of them for the films, and some others so that I have something fun and creative to do- besides write.

3. Learning to use my new Yamaha digital recorder and production equipment. Kinda goes with number two.

4. Ghost Busters, The Video Game. It was a lot of fun, and as a fan of the films I also appreciated the great writing and story line. Yes, even when I'm not writing, I can appreciate the craft from an "audience" point of view.

5. Summer. Okay, I know it's a lame excuse, but summer for a father of two is very busy. I have kids to convoy back and forth to neighbors and friends houses, pool days, taco runs, etc...

6. Weight Loss. It's hard to regard this as a way of slacking, but I have lost twenty pounds since February, and I've been exercising at least 3 times a week at the gym. I've lost several inches from my waist, and put on some much needed muscle. My ankle injury last year had me sidelined for a long time, and I'm very glad to be active again.

7. New Writing Projects. Aside from script writing for Irony Coast, I've also been writing a weekly skit for our church Wednesday night bible study. I have to act in them too, so that takes some rehearsal time as well. The Humble Fiction Cafe is also getting ready for it's second publishing project, a group of stories centered around a mysterious town called "Moot" and it's odd, sentinel-like lighthouse at the edge of town.

8. Teaching my son to drive. This is a dual edged sword. I can't wait for him to become more independent, (read: GET A JOB) but I'm also terrified that "something" might happen. However, since he won't have a full licence for at least 6 more months, I'm enjoying being shuttled around like a celebrity anytime I want to go somewhere.

9. Changing Jobs. I was relocated in April to a new facility. The new environment, people, processes, and equipment have totally eaten into my mental capacity for creating worlds on paper, but overall it has been a positive experience, and I'm no longer bored at work or worried about my employment.

10. Percolating Plot Ideas. No kidding. Sometimes you have to take your hands off the keyboard and let ideas, themes, and chapters float around in your mind. It may take a while for everything to eventually settle down into plausibility, but sometimes its the best thing to do, otherwise you end up with plots that go nowhere, or ideas that just fizzle out because they haven't been cushioned with a dose of "existence." Even if that means it exist in your own head, it still helps as you mentally edit, revise, or reject things that don't work for the overall story- all this while you're standing in line for coffee.

Okay, that's my list. I do intend to get back to work, but since I have been so busy, I have pushed my draft deadline back to October. The ideas are sill percolating, and I have different feelings about the opening chapter of Good Hope. That issue has me mired for the moment, but I'm sure that while I'm working on a film, recording music, or gripping the hand rest as Justin stalls the Honda in a busy intersection, the right idea will pop into my head and I'll be anxious to get back to the keyboard.

Just as soon as I get out of the body cast.

Gary

What's in a Premise?

2009-04-23T00:31:00.006-05:00

I've gone back to square one a few times already on my re-write for Good Hope, and I admit that it's been frustrating. But, after reviewing Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Mass, I realized that my premise was weak. So I've spent a week tweaking and reviewing, and I also submitted the premise to my writer's group for feedback. It sparked some debate among them, but I'm glad that I had at least enough of a story idea to create that much disagreement. I've just finished revising the premise one last time, and however flawed it may be, I'm sticking to it.

Breakout Premise: Randall Grayson, A middle-aged husband and father, finds his life adrift after his own uncaring father, who left home when he was six, dies. His wife Ayla and his children try to understand and support him, but Randall's carefully constructed veneer of accomplishment and success gives way to an almost comic obsession with pirate tales and sailing ships. After he enters a contest to become a crewman on the 1877 square-rigger Elissa on a journey to the Cape of Good Hope, Ayla takes over the family business and Randall finds himself free to leave his comfortable life for the uncertainties of severe weather, the trials of ship life, and the threat of real pirates off the coast of Somalia. He also finds himself amid a crew of men who are on their own journeys: The driven Elliot Rhine, ship captain and former Texas oilman who becomes a father-figure to Randall, and Gene Reynolds, whose sexual orientation is in constant debate, but whose zeal for life is unmistakable. And somewhere, in the fog, a phantom ship and a phantom captain who hunts the Elissa to settle a deadly score. Through his adventures, Randall will find the strength and the courage to face not only the trials of the journey to Good Hope, but also the questions that plague his troubled soul: Does he have what it takes? What does it mean to be a "real man" when so many examples have failed him? Is he destined to follow in the footsteps of his father, and will he ever return from Good Hope?

Currently, I'm working on increasing the stakes of my story with my plot outline which will take me another week. From there, I will write and revise all of my character bios before I tackle the new chapter-by-chapter rewrite. I am beginning to identify with my main character more and more as I see the challenge ahead as being almost a struggle against impossible odds. And while I know that is true, I am more encouraged to move forward than I have been in a long time.
Thanks to all of you for your continued support and comments. Keep them coming!

Gary

Why we edit: The Story of a Sign

2009-04-12T22:36:00.006-05:00

I was browsing the net today (instead of editing) and I came across this little gem of a film on Listverse. Listverse is a blog you should check out when you're attempting to avoid doing something for a few hours, like editing your novel. You can get there by clicking on the link to this post.

However, the film that I've selected for you is an excellent example of why editing works. Sometimes an author writes something, but if he or she is willing to accept a little feedback, those words can be transformed into a message that actually moves people.

Enjoy the film, and yes, I'm getting back to work right now.

Good Tidings Nautical Gifts

2009-04-11T13:24:00.003-05:00

I'd like to call attention to one of my readers.

It's not so much a "who" as it is a "what."

The folks at Good Tidings Nautical Gifts, (or at least someone there) leave comments on my entries from time to time. I just signed up for their e-mail notifications today, and I'm planning on treating myself to something from their very cool selection (since no one has taken the hint and done it for me.)

Click on the link contained in the title of this entry and check out what they have to offer. If you have any love for the sea, ships, or the classic decor that comes from our nautical history, then I'm sure you won't leave the site without finding a favorite piece.

They are located in my former home state of Wisconsin, and I only wish I had known about them while I lived there. The store is located in a historic building in Algoma, Wi. So, if you're heading takes you there, don't forget to stop in and tell them Gary sent you. (I'm really pulling for a discount here...)

Why We Do What We Do: A Top 10 List

2009-04-07T16:16:00.016-05:00

"He must turn from evil and do good; he must seek peace and pursue it."

1 Peter 3:11

I have a great nautical adventure story in Good Hope, but all of my scenes and sequels depend on one specific turn- the hero of the story has to get on the Elissa in the first place. In earlier drafts my readers were entertained with the story, but when it came to the simple act of the hero committing to a year-long adventure of sailing to the Cape of Good Hope on a Nineteenth Century square rigger, no one was buying it.

So, I've researched the topic of motivation, and I'd like to present to you what I think are the Top 10 Reasons we do the crazy things we do. And I’m not talking about Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs here. My audience for Good Hope likely has shelter, a toilet, access to food, and possibly sex on a somewhat regular basis, so that list didn’t help me at all.
For my purposes, I started with the bias that all motivations occur in two simple camps- we are either moving away from something (Avoidance), or moving toward something (Pursuit). There is a third camp, but I will reveal that at the end.

WHAT WE AVOID:

1.We Avoid Pain. Pain can be inflicted physically, mentally, or verbally. We avoid situations where our lives are threatened, our physical body could be harmed or our mental well being is compromised. In effect, we run away from death physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
2.We Avoid Fear and Uncertainty. We don’t walk into a barn that looks like it could fall down. We run from the dark hallway to the lighted kitchen when we get up in the middle of the night. We run away from the idea of death. If we are not certain of the outcome, we may avoid making a choice either because we fear a possible outcome, or the uncertainty of success paralyzes us.
3.We Avoid Judgement. And we avoid those that are under judgment. We tend to avoid those who persecute or judge us for out beliefs. This item is very similar to fear, but I think you will agree that it has every right to be its own entry.
4. We Avoid Boredom. Even comfort and luxury can be boring. We want something to stimulate us or we do not feel alive.
5.We Avoid Oppression. Don't confuse this one with judgement. We abhor being slaves in the gross sense of the word, or in the lesser sense, we reject restrictions on our life and our liberty.

WHAT WE PURSUE:

1.We Pursue Pleasure. Do I have to explain this one? In all ways, we want to be pleased, fed, satisfied, or sated.
2.We Pursue Acceptance: When you are looking for that shoulder to cry on, whom do you go to? Why, the person most likely to accept you, of course. We want encouragement. We need words of affirmation. We desire recognition for our deeds.
3.We Pursue Excitement: I have included the pursuit of knowledge and understanding in this entry. The new technology, the new movie, the new religion, the new anything is exciting because it helps us feel alive and engaged. We bungee jump. We go back to school. We read a new thriller. We feed our curiosity, because it is exciting.
4.We Pursue Life: The new diet, the new health craze, the new doctor. We don’t want to die, and we are attracted to those things which affirm or contribute to our life and our health. Water is a reflection of life. Think about it. How often do we use water as a decoration in our civilizations? Pools, fountains, falls, wells, beaches, shorelines. All of them symbolize life and we are attracted to them.
5. We Pursue Freedom: I’ve heard it said that you can judge a country based on how many people are trying to get in, and how many people are trying to get out. America still appears to be a land of freedom in that regard, but I wonder for how long?

And what is the third camp I mentioned earlier?

It is the absence of movement- a motivation to do nothing. It is comfort in its negative form or the state at which we have become too comfortable to change, or too comfortable to risk change. This, I think, is the worst and most dangerous motivation of all. The greatest sin among sins is to see a need, and do nothing.
So, once again, I ask my readers to add to this list, come up with your own, or comment. We talked about freedom last time, but now it’s time to get even more personal. What motivates you? What are you running from? What are you running toward? And where in your life do you find yourself sitting on your hands?

P.S. And what motivation did I pick for my main character? We are told in seminars and books on writing to create dynamic, vibrant characters that are not one-dimensional, but leap off the page. So, as it turns out, there was not one particular motivation that fit my character, but several. It was a great lesson for me personally, and as a writer. I've found that my own motivations for doing things can be complex and sometimes contradictory. It's what makes me human. In the same way, my main character is motivated out of fear, uncertainty, and boredom, but he also desperately wants excitement and freedom. He is now much more interesting to write about than the one-dimensional character he was in my first draft, and, I must say, he's also much more human.

Gary

Re-Titled

2009-04-07T11:27:00.003-05:00

Yes, the title of this blog has changed. I am enrolled in "31 Days to a Better Blog," and our lesson yesterday was to refine the mission of our blog and write an "elevator pitch."
Since my blog is more of a personal essay on the challenges of writing the novel Good Hope, I decided that it needed a slight overhaul. I hope those of you who follow will appreciate the changes that are on the way. You will also be happy to know that I have finally resolved my issue with motivation for my main character, so I can continue the rewrite of Good Hope with much more assurance and speed.
Full Speed Ahead!

Gary

Something Different...

2009-04-06T17:06:00.005-05:00

On of my fellow Humble Fiction Cafe' members, Kelli D. Meyer, has posted her award-winning horror story, "Terrible Twos", on her blog at http://www.kellidmeyer.com/. It's a creepy new take on zombies with a twist you won't see coming, so check it out! I have to admit that even if I didn't know Kelli personally, I would still be a fan of her work.

Gary

What a Ship Is...

2009-03-21T20:13:00.006-05:00

"Wherever we want to go, we go. That's what a ship is, you know. It's not just a keel and hull and a deck and sails. That's what a ship needs. But what a ship is... what the Black Pearl really is... is freedom." – Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean.

For a silly franchise movie, Pirates did produce at least one bit of memorable dialogue. For me, anyway. The concept expressed in that particular quote is part of why I wanted to write Good Hope. The characters involved in my modern-day nautical adventure all want one thing- freedom.

There is a parking lot near my home where several classic car enthusiast park on Saturday nights to show off their hot rods. Beautiful things: tail fins, massive grills, and real V8 engines. I was pointing out a few of them to my wife tonight, and remarking about how flair and style are no longer part of automotive design, and she asked why I thought it was important in the first place. It struck me that Marie looks at a car as a means of practical transportation, because at heart, she is a very practical person. So to her, it's all just decoration. But I realized, at that moment, why classic cars of the Fifties move me in the same way as elegant ships from the Age of Sail. It's because they represent the same concept- Freedom. Freedom of the open road, freedom from small towns and small ideas, freedom of expression in fire-striped decals and shiny black paint jobs.

In this new century, our cars are aerodynamic and designed with efficiency in mind, because we aren't really going anywhere anymore. Are we? Other than just back and forth to work?

Sadly,the freedom of our automotive past has gone the way of our nautical past. Our culture is very different than it was back when '57 Chevy Bel-Airs ruled the blacktop. We don't cruise Route 66 or take cross-country drives to the coast. Are you kidding? Who wants to drive all the way to Atlantic City or San Diego? We get on a plane for that. And the mystery of "What's around the next turn?" disappeared with the invention of GPS navigation devices.

I guess we find our freedom in other ways now, and maybe I'm wrong, but with all of our advances, there just doesn't seem to be as much freedom around as their used to be.

I'd like to see some comments about this, dear readers. Do you yearn for freedom? How do you find it? What do you do? What is your freedom?

Gary

The Lost Art of the Sail Makers

2009-03-02T01:31:00.006-06:00

Last September, hurricane Ike, the third most destructive storm to make landfall in U.S. history, devoured Galveston Island. Ike’s twelve-foot storm surge raised the iron-hulled sailing ship Elissa, moored at pier 21 on the northwest side of the island, nearly level with the concrete sidewalk that leads to her visitor’s center. One-hundred-and-ten mph winds tore at her for twelve hours but never managed to find a grip on her lines or mast. However, one of her most important sails, the fore lower topsail (ironically referred to as the “storm sail”), was shredded like a formal dress shirt ripped apart by a pack of snarling wild dogs.
Nearly five months later, sail maker Jim Brink has traveled from San Diego to Galveston to create a new storm sail for Elissa. Since there is no available building large enough to act as a sail loft in Galveston, this skilled craftsman, who has designed and constructed sails for movies such as Pirates of the Caribbean, is using the grand ballroom of the Ashton Villa, a historic 1859 residence, to spread out the required 630 square feet of sailcloth.

I have to admit, after all the research I did on Elissa’s history for my novel Good Hope, including walking her decks and interviewing her crew, it never occurred to me that there are only six people in the nation with the skills necessary to refit her sails. That’s right-six. Skills that were once considered essential to our seafaring heritage are now almost lost to antiquity.

So what does this have to do with writing?, you ask.

Let me tie it in for you.

Recently, a friend and fellow member of the Humble Fiction Café sold a short story. All of the members of the HFC feel a sense of kinship when someone makes a sale because many of us contribute to the early development of these stories with suggestions, critiques, and editing. So we were somewhat surprised when the publisher returned the story with some proposed corrections for “grammatical and punctuation errors.” Now here’s the rub. Not only were the suggested corrections wrong, the publisher’s letter proposing the changes contained punctuation and grammar flaws. Any English major could see it.

Now don’t get me wrong, most of the HFC members are not qualified, professional editors-but the writer who submitted the story is. She is an editor for a local Houston magazine and has seventeen years experience in the industry. We sometimes refer to her as the “Comma Queen” for her ability to turn our drafts into red-streaked pages that look like they came from the floor of a Victorian barber shop.
Our author was ready to pull her submission if the publisher insisted on printing it with their changes. She prevailed, and I’m glad to say that everything turned out for the best, but the incident makes me wonder about the current literary culture and the vanishing trade of the copy-editor.

Right now in Japan, the largest growing market for literature is called the “cell phone novel.” These stories are not only read on cell phones, they are written on cell phones, and mostly by amateurs who use text shortcuts and questionable grammar. Even with glaring flaws that traditional publishers would reject after reading the first paragraph, the demand for cell phone novels is booming. Granted-they’re free, so there isn’t a huge demand for them to contain expertly polished prose, but consider this: three of 2007’s top five bestselling Japanese novels were written on cell phones.
The closest thing America has to this type of market is fan fiction, and while it still carries the stigma of being written by hacks and amateurs, the number of Harry Potter inspired stories at Fanfiction.net is nearly 400,000, and the demand continues. I won’t even speculate on how long it will take for Twilight-inspired fan fiction to surpass that total -okay, maybe fifteen minutes, but again, most of these free-to-read short stories, novels, and novellas are full of punctuation, grammatical, and stylistic errors.
So how are publishing companies responding to this trend?
They are laying off editors by the hundreds.
After all, if the public is willing to pay for novels that editors at publishing companies previously rejected, like the current bestseller Still Alice, then why retain those services? I’m sure Still Alice contains easy to read sentences and is relatively free of punctuation errors, but the point is, author Lisa Genova had to edit the novel herself. Or, in much the same way that Jim Brink was hired to shape the sails of Elissa, maybe Ms. Genova hired a free-lance editor to help shape the prose of her manuscript.

Fast-forward.

Imagine a celebrated fiction writer in the year 2150 who desires to create a late twentieth century hardbound copy of his current masterpiece-just for nostalgia. The plot, characters and story may be novel for the time, as the word implies, but where will he find someone with the skills to make his prose flow from the pages like a refreshing stream? Who will help edit the text so his readers won’t be yanked out of his beautifully created world by jarring sentence constructions and gross misspellings? And how many practitioners of that ancient skill will be left in the world? Twenty? A dozen? Six?

I’m afraid it will be a lost art by then. My editor friend and those like her may become tomorrow’s sail makers.

I only hope somewhere in that rapidly approaching future, the Elissa will still be sailing, and when someone in the Galveston Historical Foundation gift shop hands visitors a copy of my book, it won’t be titled Gud Hop.

Doers of the Word

2009-02-02T15:24:00.005-06:00

This post is for you fellow bloggers out there!

A few friends sent me a link to an application that analyzes the writing style of your blog post and gives you a profile based on the Myers-Briggs personality standards.

It's a cool little app. Here is what it says about my blog:

"ESTP - The Doers The active and playful type. They are especially attuned to people and things around them and often full of energy, talking, joking and engaging in physical out-door activities. The Doers are happiest with action-filled work which craves their full attention and focus. They might be very impulsive and more keen on starting something new than following it through. They might have a problem with sitting still or remaining inactive for any period of time. "

Interesting evaluation. It also gave me the cute little picture in the corner. I have no idea if all the little pictures you get are male or female, but maybe that is just my insecurity kicking in.
Overall, I'd say it's a good fit. I do have issues on follow through, so that is why keeping me focused on the rewrite of Good Hope is something I'm encouraging everyone who reads my blog to do. Post a comment, send an e-mail, or just shout at me through your computer. I'm sure I'll get the message.

If you'd like to try the analyzer for your personal blog, or for blogs that you follow, here is the link:

http://www.typealyzer.com/

Enjoy!

Sea Change

2009-01-25T01:18:00.004-06:00

Yes, I have some new decor thanks to the folks at Jelly Pages. Since the novel I'm working on is nautical by nature, I thought it was time for a seafaring makeover. This format helps me focus on the task at hand, and I hope it puts you, my readers, into a "rudder and tackle" frame of mind- minus the sea sickness of course.

The title of the novel is Good Hope. It chronicles the adventures of Randall Grayson, a modern, middle-aged business man who joins the effort to recreate a historic voyage to the tip of Africa aboard the Elissa, the official Tall Ship of Texas.

The story of Good Hope began as a National Novel Writing Month project back in December 2007. Now, three re-writes later, it is the subject of a Six Month novel writing project that the members of the Humble Fiction Cafe' have selected as our 2009 project. We have specific goals to reach each month, and the intent is to have a finished product available for review on July 4th of this year.

This will pose as a double adventure for me. Good Hope was my first completed novel, but revising it into a manuscript for publication will be a unique experience and no easy task. Secondly, much like my main character, I'm very likely in over my head, but as I persevere I will be able to keep you up to date on the tragedies and triumphs along the way.

It will be an interesting six months, so strap yourselves into your bunks, and get ready to take on water, because this is indeed an adventure of fictional proportions.

Music Update:Takamine Jam

2009-01-10T02:23:00.004-06:00

If you've followed the blog, then you may remember the post on Takamine Jam- my project to restore some of my brother's lost music.
Well, the project is finished and all of the cuts from that album are now on my music page. Go on over and listen to the full album! Just click the title of this post, or look in the upper right corner of my main page for a link to my music files.
Stacy and I would love feedback on your favorites, so please post comments.
Enjoy!

Resolutely I Hobble

2009-01-01T18:34:00.004-06:00

I’ve spent the last six months being afraid of the following: Running, Walking, Stairs, Ladders, Showers, Uneven sidewalks, and movement in general.

What I initially thought was a sprained ankle from jogging last June, turned out to be something more. Tarsal Coalition is the clinical name, but what it means is that two of the bones in my foot began to carry on an illicit relationship and formed a bond of connective tissue between them. So, why is that bad? Well, those bones are supposed to move, fluidly and in harmony with the other bones of the foot. But when those two formed their lusty connection, it created discord among the other bones of my left foot. Not to mention that it was painful.
Very painful.
Constantly painful.

It’s like having two friends in your personal circle of friends who start dating. And if that isn’t bad enough, they constantly remind you that they're dating. They do this by arguing, kissing, crying, shouting and generally changing everyone’s plans and insisting that you listen to one talk about the other unceasingly.
If I subjected you to a continuous source of pain like that, it would force your already occupied mind to pay attention to it, only it, and it would then threaten to take dominance over your life. It’s very similar to the sensation I experience while watching Disney Channel Sitcoms with my daughter. Don’t believe me? How many Hanna Montana products do you have in your house?

I would have been happy to let those two intimate bones in my foot carry on their crush outside of my body, and I'm sure I would've been quite content to start hanging out with a completely different set of feet, but that never worked out. So, I’ve had to learn just how much I previously enjoyed my own freedom, and how inconvenient it is to have that blessed liberty taken from me.

Mainly I missed running. And I’m not talking about marathons here; I mean just the short run it takes to avoid my wife’s very solid shoulder punches.
I couldn’t run across an intersection if a bus was bearing down on me.
I couldn’t catch our runaway puppy who likes to bolt out the front door as soon as he sees a two millimeter gap.
I couldn’t even run to the bathroom, and I found that I could no longer jog passed two houses on my way to the mailbox.

But, instead of complaining, I guess I should be fair, because the Tarsal Coalition did bring me one thing: A cane.

A friend at work, whom I will refer to as “Subordinate” said this to me: “It makes you look distinguished. Sort of like Hugh Laurie in House. Really, man- that cane works for you.”
So I beat him with it.

As he lay dying, I reminded Subordinate that jolly old Hugh Laurie can happily chuck the cane and run off for an abusive game of rugby whenever he bloody well feels like it. I however, had started parking closer to the door at work and home because I wanted to shield the world from my new "distinguished" three-legged walk, and, honestly, because the pain was driving me slightly insane. Besides, have you seen House? He’s a real happy guy, huh?

Speaking of doctors, the treatment for my condition involves taking a very long shiny needle and inserting it deep into the side of my foot and wiggling it around, randomly spewing steroids into the wound, in an effort to break up the connection between the two bones. But like splitting up those two annoying friends I used to hang out with, this will take time. Usually three injections spread out over a period of months.
So far, I’ve had two injections, and I’m very happy to report that I’ve gotten better.

So, here I am, six months after my original injury, and at the start of a new year. The cane (still covered in bits of Subordinate’s hair and skull fragments) is standing in a corner in my bedroom, and I am outside helping my daughter raise the seat on her bike because she got a new pair of long, slender legs for Christmas. At least I think she did, since that seat was just fine three months ago. After I make the adjustment, she starts to ride away, but her foot slips on the pedal and the bike spills her into the driveway. I’m by her side in an instant; helping her up, telling her its okay, and looking at the slivers of peeled-away skin on her leg. As we walk inside the house I step on the uneven threshold of the front door and I feel a sudden hot stab in my foot. Yes, it’s still there, but I just took three quick steps in the driveway and I didn’t even notice.
So, that is what I got for Christmas.
Three quick steps.

I’ll take it. In fact, now that I'm sitting here writing about it, I think it’s one of the best gifts ever.

By the way, Dr. Jason Miller, DPM, is the guy who figured out what was going on with my foot, and he’s the guy working on separating the two bones.
He’s like a podiatrist divorce attorney.

You know, I forgot to send him a Christmas card. Maybe I’ll jog down to the mailbox tonight and drop one in there for him.

Takamine Jam: Birth, Death, and Rebirth.

2008-12-12T08:00:00.002-06:00

This story begins with a birth and is followed by three more.

BIRTH ONE. During her first labor and delivery in 1993, my wife Marie lost focus. Her well-practiced Lamaze breathing went right out the window, her epidural didn't take, and things got --well, unpleasant. Five years later, in the winter of 1998, she was pregnant with our second child, and Marie was determined not to lose focus again or "people were going to pay", and since I was likely to be standing closest to her, I was equally on board with the whole "focus" thing.

This time Marie wanted something to help set the mood, and she thought music might help. One day, she mentioned how much she enjoyed listening to my brother Stacy play guitar, and that it might help to have a tape of his music playing during the delivery. She gave me some simple criteria: the songs would have to be acoustic, and the tunes should be simple but with repeating, relaxing rhythms.
I presented this idea to my brother and I could tell right away that it sparked a creative fire in him. He worked diligently over the next several months- laying down multiple tracks, coming up with new compositions, and trying out several new riffs. All of the songs would be composed using a special guitar called a Takamine, and he would use it's distinctive voice to canvass Marie with musical relaxation- no needles required.

BIRTH TWO. In December 1998 he presented us with his creation on a simple cassette tape. Takamine Jam, he called it. He previewed a few selections from it and Marie and I were very surprised at the quality of the music and my brother's incredible guitar work.

BIRTH THREE. A month later, Marie and I presented our creation; Hope Susan Denton, born January 29, 1999.

The music from my brother's tape permeated the delivery room that day. Several nurses asked about it, and all of them said they'd never heard anything like it. As far as concept albums go, Stacy nailed it. The songs were all simple repeating tunes with some variations and specific tags thrown in. He included his own compositions along with some classic guitar standards like Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here, and Eric Clapton's Wonderful Tonight.

And it worked! The distinct, rich, deep cords and base line blended perfectly with the rhythm of the fine, sparkling, clear notes of the melodies. Marie kept her focus and remained calm, even when it looked like we might be heading for an emergency C-section. Through it all, the mood in the delivery room was one of peace, and the music helped maintain a prevailing certainty that everything was going to be just fine.
After the delivery I played the tape over and over; at home, at work- but as my daughter grew and our world changed from analog to digital entertainment, the tape ended up in my car where my only remaining cassette player resided.

Over time, I moved on to other interest and pursuits, but the cassette stayed put- right there in my car in the center console.

There are a few deaths in this story too. Sadly, a few years after Stacy had finished working on Takamine Jam, a flood destroyed his recording studio. Everything was gone: sheet music, original recordings, and the beloved Takamine guitar. Stacy was sure that Takamine Jam was now lost to the ages, and he called me soon after the flood.
"Do you still have that tape?" he asked.
I searched around and finally found it, but the Texas heat had worked it's damage on the cassette. The recorded songs now sounded flat and contained pops and dropouts- not to mention the hideous tape "hiss" that seemed to be louder than I remembered.

For the most part, Stacy's fears were founded. Takamine Jam was a bright memory and nothing more.

A few more years have gone by now, and I have been dabbling with digital music recording and I've learned how to produce my own music. Recently, I acquired the skill to take old audio tapes and make new digital masters from them. This skill was cemented only a few weeks ago when Stacy and I reworked a copy of a song on tape that he had made with a friend who committed suicide several years ago. The digital copy wasn't perfect, but he was satisfied with the results. "What about Takamine Jam?" he asked. "I'd really like to hear that again. I wonder if we could use this technique to save it?"

We had just made a digital copy of a tape. That was it. What he was proposing would be like raising a shipwreck off the ocean floor and making it seaworthy again. But, I could hear the yearning in his voice. He had given up his music career after the flood, and I realized that Takamine Jam represented more to him that just a recording, it was his Silmarillion; something that a master craftsman can only make once in a lifetime.
I told him I'd see what I could do...

BIRTH FOUR. Making a digital copy from an audio cassette is one thing- repairing and remastering a damaged source tape is a totally unique undertaking and one that requires commitment to a single firm principal; first and foremost, you must LOVE the music you are trying to save.

I copied, spliced, remixed, and remastered. I quit and started over. I rejected takes and eliminated files. Finally, after a week of struggle and frustration, I had digitally remaster copies of all twelve Takamine Jam songs from that ancient cassette.

Some of the songs still have a margin of dropout and a skip here and there, but the overall product is the best I was able to achieve. However, a few weathered the storm better than I would have hoped and have regained their shine and shimmer.

I can't wait to present the finished product to Stacy. And I'll do just that in a few weeks, but more so than the entire project, I am amazed at the timing.

Just as Stacy presented Takamine Jam to us on December, 25, 1998, I will now be able to present to him the new, digitally remastered version as a Christmas gift on December 25, 2008.

A ten year journey has now come full circle. And apart from the music, I now have a lifelong memory of one of the greatest Christmas gifts I have ever had the privilege to receive, or give.

Last night as I drove my daughter Hope to a Christmas program, I put the new CD of Takamine Jam in the stereo to make sure it was playing properly and to test the acoustics in my car.
"What is that music?" Hope asked. "That sounds awesome!"
I had to wipe at my eyes. "Let me tell you a story about this music," I said.
"This story begins with a birth..."

To hear two of the cuts from Takamine Jam, follow the link at the top right of the Blog to "Gary's Magix Music Page." You'll find the selections there along with lots of other great music!

I WON!

2008-12-08T01:13:00.005-06:00

If you haven't visited in a while, then let me introduce myself. I'm Gary Denton, a member of the Humble Fiction Cafe' and a contributing author to our group publishing project SPLIT.

I'm also famous in the group and elsewhere for my attempts to achieve something other than SECOND PLACE in a writing competition.

Second Place (Shudder).

It's not first- I don't care what you've heard, and as the famous Ricky Bobby once remarked, "If you ain't first- you're last."

So, I'm officially adding a blog entry that may undo some of that bad karma, because I finally WON something!

I participated in National Novel Writing Month in November and I won!

That's right!

And I have the cute little web picture to show for it.

It even has a ship on it.

I like ships.

Now, some of you may know very well that several thousand authors participated in NaNoWriMo this year, and a good portion of them also won by typing the requested fifty-thousand words in thirty-one days. Yes, that is 50,000 words in one month.

50K.

Some of them didn't make it, but a lot of them did.

And I'm one.

The Humble Fiction Cafe can boast of several NaNoWriMo winners both past and present in their ranks, and I'd like to invite them to post comments to this entry just to show off. They deserve it. It is an amazingly crazy thing to do, and an even more amazingly crazy thing to actually accomplish it.

So there. I won. I came in "Finished."

...And that is better than Second any day.

Old Recordings- New Life

2008-12-07T23:20:00.004-06:00

I love music.

Most of you know that I am an amateur composer and music arranger. There is a link to my music page at the upper right of this blog, and it's there because this blog is related more to my personal adventures in life and my pursuits in writing and editing.

The music side of me needed it's own page :)

I have read recently that old 1980's music groups and hair bands have found new glory and revitalized careers thanks to all of the new music oriented video games that are now available for systems like the PlayStation, X-box, WII, and even the handheld Nintendo DS. These games feature some new songs from contemporary artist, but the remarkable thing is that they include several old guitar standards from bands like Boston and Blue Oyster Cult, and guitar legends like Eric Clapton and Jimmy Hendrix.
All those old song catalogues have been hanging around for a while, growing old like the legends who performed them while they wait for re-issue in some newfangled future format, or to be picked up for Diet Coke commercials.

But then, a new wave of music games comes along and suddenly those old tunes are hot properties; making lots of new money for their old artist.

I'm all about bringing back those songs and introducing them to a new audience. My son Justin now has almost the same recall of 1980's music as I do, except he can actually get through the solos on Guitar Hero on expert, while I strum away on beginner.

Another cool thing about our digital age is that I can take old music that I recorded on cassette tapes back in the 1990's and bring them back to life.

Cassette tapes were okay for their time, but their biggest drawback is that they don't age well. Not well at all.
After I had upgraded all my music to CD's by the late 90's and phased out all my tape players at home; well the old cassettes just ended up in the car where I did have a cassette player. That wasn't a great place to store them. The Texas heat scorched and degraded them even further than the standard loss of magnetic quality they experience over time.

However, I just managed to convert some of those songs over to a new digital format. Some of them fared better than others and sound great, but others suffer from horrible tape hiss that I cannot completely eliminate because the source was already too far gone.

But I'm finding a revival of my own material very satisfying - thank you very much.

As I sit here enjoying my creative projects from nearly a decade ago, I wonder if somewhere Eric Clapton or Thom Scholz is picking their way through Guitar Hero and wondering how they ever managed to nail those solos at a live gig with all the smoke, amplifier noise, screaming fans, and all that hair.

All of it is long gone for us now- especially the hair.

(To hear the selections from my pre-digital recording past, click the link at the top of my page to visit my MAGIX Music files. They are all MP3 files that were added on Dec 8th.)

Gary

Daybreak

2008-10-12T21:57:00.002-05:00

Good Morning!

You may be reading this at any time of the day, but I want to temporarily beam you to an eastern shoreline as the sun breaks over the wide Atlantic.

I have added a new composition to my Magix music files so look for the link to my Magix Music page at the upper right. Look in the files for Daybreak. You''ll find two different files. One with the sound of wind and surf (my wife's preference) and one without- just in case you want to enjoy a sunrise without getting sand in your imagination.

I'm posting about it here because my Humble Fiction Cafe friend Linda, challenged me to compose this piece. I mentioned to her that I was working on a sunset piece, but she said that I should consider a sunrise; everybody does sunset stuff. And I have to admit- this was more challenging than I would have thought.

I hope you all enjoy the music, and the sentiments of a blessed beginning to your day- anytime you should desire to start it.

Enjoy!

Gary

Wretched Excess

2008-10-08T23:09:00.006-05:00

Click on the title of this post to be transported to the personal library of Priceline.com owner, and all around rich-guy, Jay Walker.

Yes- I said it's his PERSONAL library. I'm serious. Click on the link and see what I'm talking about. Otherwise this post is just a bunch of blather and remarkably indistinct from my other post containing blather.

It makes me wonder what the personal library of other "famous for being famous" celebrities would look like? Can you imagine Paris Hilton's personal library? Nah, she would likely see it as a waste of closet space.

How about your own personal library?

My writing table sits next to a four-shelf bookcase with about 90 or more books crammed into it like subway riders. So what if Mr. Walker's library is "eclectic?" My library is eclectic...also. It features authors from a wide and diverse range of talents. All the way from Douglas Adams (The Complete Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy) to Christopher Vogler (The Writer's Journey). There are a few Michael Connelly paperbacks, my coveted copy of Tom Wolfe's The Right Stuff (Signed! -by the guy who gave it to me. Thanks David!) and a near messianic volume which no one is allowed to touch; a hardbound copy of To Kill A Mockingbird. Also signed! ...by my Governor's School Drama coach.

My friend Kevin Sean Raper's first book, Elise Eingebildet is actually signed by the author, and so is my copy of SPLIT. Well, naturally. I wrote that one.
Oh, Okay. Fine. I was a contributing author.

There are also several Bibles and books on writing which, I admit, get more page turning time than my NIV. Some self-help books are taking up valuable space, and when I get time, I'll take a look at the one on procrastination. Stevenson's The Study of Human Nature sits right next to my college Psychology textbook, which I think cancels them both out nicely. And somehow, the last book in the Harry Potter series (The Deathly Hallows) has taken residence between my 1938 edition of Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, and my 1929 edition of English Poetry and Prose of the Romantic Movement. Both tomes are beautifully aged and look like they could easily have come from the Hogwarts Library.
How appropriate.

Anyway- the point of this post was to point out that Mr. Walker has a damned fine library. Personal Library -that is.

I only hope that his beautiful treasures do not end up sitting in the long-forgotten darkness after Mr. Walker takes a sudden interest in model railroading.

Like any treasures stored on earth- they can't last forever.

BOOK REVIEW: Into that Good Night by Ron Rozelle

2008-05-07T13:49:00.003-05:00

The world changes around us, but our memories are like dynamic imprints- preserved on a mysterious gossamer fabric in the mind. But if that fabric is disturbed by trauma or disease, memory can dissolve into wisps of smoke that filter through the searching grasp of our thoughts, and leave nothing but a residue of disconnected feelings and emotions.

In his memoir, Into That Good Night, Ron Rozelle illustrates that which is so difficult to explain, the tapestry of memory, and how it's gradual unraveling from the affects of Alzheimer's disease impacts the relationships of a father and son. However, the book is not so much about memory lost as much as it is about memory found.

Rozelle's own recollections of his journey through time are as touching and heartbreaking as the scenes depicting the gradual loss of his father's keen mind. Of particular note is Rozelle's account of racial issues in the early 1960's. This facet of the narrative strikes it's first bitter cord in a seemingly causal, but emotionally frustrating instance in the author's early years and interlaces throughout the story. The slow acceptance of integration in the small, East Texas town of Oakwood, where his father was Superintendant of Schools, appears to be a separate theme. But it honestly depicts how a potentially damaging culture shock was cushioned by one stoic, tolerant, principled man and only through memory is this made clear. Lester Rozelle's almost invisible methodic approach to the situation left not even a ripple in a process that could easily have left a wide gulf of ignorance and confusion, and had he been anything less than the man he was, then his son's memory of the events would have been tragically different.

Even as the author describes the slow progression into dementia, the static parts of his father's life- his fastidious manners, his genial, good-natured acceptance of even the most tragic circumstances, remain intact. At the end of the book you are aware, that even a quiet, humble life well lived is worthy of recollection and honor.

This is a powerful, well written memoir and after reading it, I am left with a bittersweet impression: the people and situations described within the pages are now part of my memory, and considering the subject matter, it is a sobering thought.

Highly recommended for anyone who is dealing with the loss of one or both parents, or the slow theft of cognizance by Alzheimer’s disease.

Book Review: The Windows of Heaven

2008-04-28T11:12:00.003-05:00

Death by drowning contains it's own special horrors, but the death of an entire city, submerged under a fifteen foot storm surge is beyond description.
Well, almost.
Ron Rozelle manages to take you to Galveston, and place you in the middle of her busy streets, dangerous seaport wharehouses, and elegant Victorian mansions during the late summer of 1900. The many stories you will encounter are interesting enough to hold your attention, but since they are unified by one world changing event- the Great Storm of 1900- each one takes on a special significance, as death reaps it's bitter harvest across the island and life struggles for higher ground.
If you live on the Gulf Coast of Texas, then the storm is part of your history and heritage. Those who live outside the region have become familiar with the tale through such non-fiction books as Issac's Storm. Even though this tale is a fictional account, Mr. Rozelle has included enough real history in his pages to give a sense of depth to his characters and stories, most of which are interwoven from different points of view. This style allows you to deeply identify with each of the main characters, but it did leave me wanting to shout "get on with it!" during some of the middle chapters as stories overlapped.
By the end, I felt that I had my own personal window into the events of that tragic day, and I mourn for the loss of life that Mr. Rozelle clearly illustrates with his prose. The people of the island become so real to you that the next time the skies darken and thunder rattles your windows, you will be haunted by their memory.
This is a well researched story, and if you are going to visit Galveston, I reccomend picking up this book before you make the journey. Better than any travelouge, this novel will give you a sense of the history and geography of the island, and if you find someone crying as they stand on an umarked stretch of sand near the eastern shore - you'll know why.

..And you'll likely join them.

I'm a Guest Writer

2008-03-28T08:50:00.004-05:00

Click the title of this post to be transported to the supernatural realm of Humble Fiction Cafe member, Dorlana Vann. Her blog, Supernatural Fairy Tales, is a fun place to hang around! You can check out the other fairy tale inspired stories, order unique candle creations, and see the promotions for her new novel, Jaclyn's Ghost.

Oh, and you might also check out the story on the home page. I wrote it :) It's called Flint and Steel, and was inspired by the classic Hans Christian Anderson story The Tinder Box.

Dorlana asked me to submit a fairy tale inspired short story before the end of March, and even though I'm deeply behind with my NaNoEdMo project (I have about 10 hours to go as of today), I decided to give it a shot. I'm rather please with how it came out, and I hope you enjoy it also. Please leave a comment on the site with your opinions. Dorlana likes the traffic!

Gary

Blog Tag- 10 ID Tags of a story by me.

2008-03-05T14:02:00.005-06:00

Dorlana Vann, a fellow blogger and H.F.C. member has tagged me with this writing challenge.

I have to list 10 ways that a person could recognize a story written by me. Now Dorlana is really stressing me out, because I have to write a fairy- tale inspired feature story for her blog this month as a guest. If you have visited her blog, then you know it's a tall order. If you haven't visited her blog, the check out her link in my list over there on the right. (Go on- do it.) Plus I am working on NaNoEdMo, and another project for H.F.C.

Dang. I wish I was getting paid for all of this literary genius!

Ok. If you notice these 10 items in a story- then I'm very likely the author/and or offender.

1.This cute little punctuation ... Yes that one (...) Me likey the hanging pause!

2. A challenge to authority. (Snarky aren't I?)

3. Broad humor, or humorous dialogue.

4. Dialogue in general - and lots of it!

5. The Hero's Journey structure to plot- I don't know how I fumbled my way into this, but if you are familiar with the Hero's Journey then you know why.

6. Family issues or conflicts. -You write what you know:)

7. If you are editing my writing, you will certainly find misspellings. I personally don't cee it, but most pepole point that out to me.

8. A dark turn. Even in my comedies, there is always a dark dangerous middle.

9. Strong females. I was raised by women- much like a pack animal, and they have influenced my life and my stories.

10. Male leads who are dreamers/writers at heart. See comment on 6 :)

Okay. Now I have to post this or someone in Macomb, Alabama won't eat for a month, or some such chain-letter nonsense.

...And I have to tag 6 other bloggers.

So...If you're reading this, and you have a blog- beware!

Gary

National Novel Editing Month!

2008-02-29T23:15:00.003-06:00

Yes kids, it's that time again!

National Novel Writing month has long since passed us, and if you can remember way back to November 2007, you may even recall that you wrote a novel (or at least attempted one) in that cool, gray month! If so, then get it out, dust it off, and get your inner editor out of the trunk in the basement. It's time to turn loose that nitpicking, insufferable prat!

National Novel Editing Month (or NaNoEdMo for short) begins tomorrow, March 1st!

Much like the goal for novel writing, the goal of this exercise is to log at least 50 hours of editing during the month of March. I did it last year, and while it was the single hardest writing task I have ever undertaken, it produced enough of a coherent story from my 2006 NaNoWriMo novel to give it life here in 2008. I just entered it into the Fort Bend Writer's Guild Spring Novel contest!

My only fear is that they will love the first two chapters that I submitted...and ask for the rest.

The "rest" is not ready, so I am using "EdMo" to get it prepared, in the event that a fabulously wealthy, literary agent from Fort Bend county should show up on my doorstep and demand that I allow him to present my heartbreaking work of genius to Harper Collins.

Care to join me?

No, not in delusions- in editing.

Head over to http://www.nanoedmo.net/xoops2/ and sign up, or if you're just curious, check out the pages and see the bizarre cast of characters that shows up for this annual event of self-abuse and loathing.

Best regards for a safe and sane March! (isn't that the name of the mad hare in Alice in Wonderland?)

Gary

Manuscript for GOOD HOPE submitted to FBWG Great American Novel Contest

2008-02-25T22:32:00.003-06:00

I'm going to bed now...

I worked very hard this weekend. I took a crude, cluttered manuscript and hammered it into shape. Then, with the help of many of my Humble Fiction Cafe friends, we took that image and refined it into a beautiful mosaic, selecting each perfect pebble with a discerning eye.

I think that is as close to a physical example I can come for what it takes to write a novel. The story and plot must be cut from the marble of your imagination, but the selection of the individual pieces, the true "word-smithing", is an art of delicate discipline.

For those of you who have followed my blog, let me refer you to my 2008 goals. "Enter a novel contest in February" is an achievement that I can now scratch off the list.

I want to thank my friends for all of their help. Many of them have links to their blogs below, so maybe you can go and visit them as a way of paying forward my blessings and respect to them.

I haven't slept properly since Thursday. I'm looking forward to sleeping tonight, and, at least for the moment, I hope to NOT dream of Tall Ships, the Elissa, or of Good Hope.

That will have to wait for March and NaNoEdMo :)

Gary

Split Review

2008-02-15T18:13:00.005-06:00

I checked in with my mom yesterday, who is still reading Split, (which is available now at LULU.com for those of you who can't wait for it to appear on Amazon or Barnes and Noble).

She hasn't read everything, maybe a story or two each week, but here are her impressions so far:

Her favorite stories in the anthology- (Aside from the obvious high praise regarding her grandson's Knowledge story): Fade to Grey, and Prisoner of Time.

As a mother, she could really relate to Prisoner, and when I first asked her about her favorites she said she liked the one by "Teresa Laws," and then told me the title. Teresa is one of our contributing authors, and I'm sure she will be glad to know that she now has "name recognition" among our early (that is, first) readers.

Regarding Fade to Grey, from contributing author Kelli Meyer: My mother said she was so shocked and surprised by the events of the story that she would stop reading and start over from the beginning, "then I'd cry a little bit, and keep going." She said the story was "horribly believable," and that she could really picture something like that happening, and is sure that it has, but, given the circumstances, we would never hear about it, because "families are so good at keeping such nasty secrets". If you'd like to know more about the story, then why don't you order a copy of the book? :)

I told her to keep reading and asked if she would like to submit a review to LuLu when she is done. She said she'd love to, and I'll get all the information from her next week.

Overall she says she loves the book, because the stories are just short enough to enjoy when she has a break, but the themes and ideas are thought provoking enough to stay with her for several days, and this is coming from a woman who struggles with memory loss.

I can't think of a better compliment.

Well, so far, I think that should count for one satisfied customer :)

Let's hope there are many more.

Gary

...Like a Bad Penny- an essay from the HFC blog

2008-01-23T16:40:00.000-06:00

“See a penny, pick it up, and all the day you’ll have good luck.”

I left my clinic to get some lunch Monday afternoon. It was one of those unusually cool days here in Houston, and I had neglected to bring a jacket. I shoved my hands into the deep pockets on the front of my smock/scrubs and stepped into the spittle of rain. A flash of amber light caught my eye and I looked down to see a scared and battered penny on the ground. It only flashed the dim light back at me because the scratches across the face of it were deep enough to reveal thin coppery lines of clean metal. There was a sudden urge to pick it up and that old familiar rhyme echoed in my head. Instead, I shoved my hands deeper in my pockets and quickly ran to my car, but, as soon as I got inside and closed the door, I felt a pang of guilt and sadness.

The poor neglected penny lay on the smooth blacktop, and I could almost hear its shocked cry for attention:
“Hey! Here I am! You forgot to pick me up! Don’t you want to have good luck today? Well, okay then, but wouldn’t you like to be a penny richer? No? Why not? I mean, I have value, don’t I? Yeah, not as much as I used to, but hey, I still count! At least- I think I do. Uhm, then how about an engraving of our 16th president? Come on! Abe Lincoln! He still matters to you, right? Hey, aren’t you coming back?”

The truth is I didn’t pick up the penny because it was lying on a dirty parking lot, and certainly had seen its better days. With the gloomy weather, and my occupational exposure to people who are coughing and sneezing, I can’t take the chance of getting sick, especially from whatever germs were still clinging to that penny. And, as far as luck goes, I guess I stopped believing in luck a long time ago. After all, it was just a penny. If it had been a quarter, then sure, I would have picked it up. That at least had some practical use on the toll way.

I pulled out of the parking space, and as I passed the spot where it lay, I couldn’t help but glance in the general direction. I didn’t see it. Had someone else picked it up, or was the shine that made it stand out the first time, now gone in a puddle of dirty oil-streaked water?

So much has changed since I was a young boy, but I do remember stopping to pick up a penny as I came out of a grocery store with my mom. “See a penny, pick it up…” I began.
“And all the day you’ll have good luck!” she finished.

I kept the penny in a box where I squirled away other boyhood treasures: rocks, string, a broken guitar pick. I don’t know if that penny ever brought me luck, but I do know that, at the time, I was much more willing to believe in a simple rhyme, a simple truth, and a simpler way of living.

After lunch, I paid for my meal with a debit card, but then I saw a box of mints on the counter.
“How much for the mints?” I asked.
“Ten cents,” replied the cashier.
I searched my pockets. Nope, no change at all. So, I gave her a dollar and bought five mints. She gave me two quarters in change, and I left. On my way back to the car, in the parking lot, I dropped one of the quarters. I quickly turned to pick it up, saw its silver surface shining up at me, and then drew my hand back.

Maybe there is a new rhyme I don’t know about. Maybe a mother and her young son or daughter will leave the restaurant in a few minutes and he or she will look on the ground and say “Hey mom! See a quarter, pick it up…”

“Put that nasty thing down!” She’ll say. “Do you want to get sick?”

Gary

Resolute Honesty

2008-01-19T14:51:00.000-06:00

I don't make New Year's resolutions.

Not that I am opposed to the concept- not at all. I think more people should make resolutions, but more to the point, I think they should be "goals" that are expressed specifically, positively, and are geared toward answering the question, "What do I want?"

So, yeah, I make resolutions, but I don't do it on January 1st. I wait til the end of the month.

January 29th, to be exact.

I was born on that date, so aside from making my birthday anti-climatic after the Holidays, ("You want what for your birthday? Come on, kid! We just had Christmas! Here's five bucks-now get outa' here.") it also gives me a chance to look around, collect my thoughts, and make my goals more realistic and obtainable. That way, I'm not creating the "knee-jerk" gotta-lose-weight-and sober-up type resolutions that are frequently made on the fuzzy-edged, nausea filled morning of January 1st.

I just finished teaching a seminar today at the TEC Counseling office, in Atascocita. Our topic was "Setting Lifestyle Goals", and I am very pleased with how it turned out. We didn't have a big audience, but those who did show up were ready to work, and they left with a clearer vision of what they want, how they intend to get it, and how they will feel when they get there.

So, in the interest of practicing what you preach, here are my new Goals for 2008.

Gary’ Lifestyle Goals

I want to experience greater joy and more enthusiasm in my life, and with my family. I can achieve this by making choices that positively influence me mentally, physically, and spiritually. In order to get what I want, I will take the following actions:

I will lose 15 pounds by June, 2008. I will do this by losing 3 pounds a month for the next five months. I will lose the weight by following a lifestyle diet outlined by Dr. Phil McGraw in The Ultimate Weight Solution. I will also exercise 3 or 4 times a week by using my home gym equipment, walking, jogging, or playing sports with my children. When I have lost the 15 pounds I will re-evaluate my ideal weight and take action to maintain it.
I will write for at least 3 hours each week. I will enter one writing contest in February, and one additional contest before August. I will enter, and complete, the National Novel Editing Month challenge and edit for 50 hours in the month of March. At the end of March, I will re-evaluate my novel manuscript and begin the final re-write, and start my search for a publisher.
I will present another seminar at TEC counseling, either on Setting Goals, or a new topic, by May.
I will share these goals with my Humble Fiction Café members, my co-workers, seminar participants, my friend Greg, and my wife. I will allow them to hold me accountable, and I will also allow them to encourage, help, and guide me on the way to meeting my goals. I will also seek God's will for my life by praying each morning before work, and by praying with my family in the evenings.
When I have met these goals I will feel accepted by myself, valuable, illuminated by God, and free to create a positive reality for myself and my family.
I will post this goal at work, near my desk at home, and keep a copy in my wallet. I will read and evaluate this list each week, and change, add, or subtract as needed to ensure I achieve what I really want.

Okay. There you have it: Focused on what I want, measurable, accountable, realistic, broken down into obtainable steps, connected with behavior and feelings and set into a specific time line.

If you want to hear more about setting goals, and you live in the Humble, Kingwood, Atascocita area, then send me an e-mail or add a comment. I can perform the seminar again at any time, as long as I have 5 to 10 people, and I will probably teach on this topic again by July.

Have a blessed New Year!

And if you happen to have been born in January like me, my daughter, and my niece Emilee, then let me tell you how much I feel your pain.
I really do.
How about five bucks off admission to the seminar? :)

Gary

Teenage boys become "Enchanted"

2008-01-09T20:42:00.000-06:00

I saw Enchanted with my 8 year-old daughter, and two disgruntled, teenage boys who wanted to see the PG-13 rated Juno, but opted out at the last minute due to one very adamant mother who insisted that her child not see a comedy about teen pregnancy. The boys sat low in their chairs and stared straight forward at the blank screen in abject silence. I mean- could this be more of a chick-flick? However, my daughter was more receptive and by the end of the film- so where the boys :)

If you don't want all the details below, then let me sum it up for you in three words:

Cliche', Silly, Entertaining.

Enchanted starts off as a blatant, cookie-cutter Disney Princess story. Even the classic-look animation can't shake you out of the feeling that you've seen this film a hundred times, and it borrows quite liberally (and intentionally) from all of those other films. You can follow the formula right along in your handy Disney Princess Movie program:
The cute as a button Princess Giselle, who is prone to break into song more quickly than an American Idol hopeful?
Got it.
Fuzzy, wide-eyed forest animals who provide back-up vocals while lending a hand with the sewing and cleaning?
Yep. Seen it.
The dashing, wide-mouth Prince Edward, with excellent hair, and an ego the size of several giant, green ogres?
Check.
Did we get the wicked step-mother, Queen Narissa?
Roger that.

The hotter-than-she-should-be Queen is not about to turn over her throne to some rosy-cheeked upstart, so she conveniently changes her appearance into that of an old hag, (saw that coming, did you?) and tricks our innocent princess into standing too close to a magic whishing well. The wicked Queen then shoves Princess Giselle over the edge of the well; banishing her to a world where there are no "happily ever afters." This is where the movie is supposed to magically transport you and the princess into modern day New York City through a portal that connects the whishing well in enchanted, animated, Andalasia, to a manhole cover in real-life Times' Square. What it manages to accomplish instead it to take you quickly, and thankfully, away from the Cliche' opening sequence.
Finally- the movie starts! And here is what you get in New York: More of the same old story with a few fun twist and turns- just not animated.

In live action, the flesh and blood Princess Giselle's appearance and dress do not look enough like her cartoon version to make the transition convincing. Actress Amy Adams is fine in the role, and her voice is distinctive enough to connect the opening animated character to her real world counterpart, but you wonder why they didn't try harder to make it more convincingly visual. It is a movie, right?
You also get the standard, practical-minded, "we-don't-have-time-for-fairy-tales" Patrick Dempsey who is the divorced father of the little girl who befriends our heroine. His character comes to find the lost princess affectionately amusing- if not a little nuts. Mr. Dempsey is very good with his hang-dog expressions, and he gets to use them quite often here, but like Adams, he manages to be charming enough to keep you interested.
Most of the plot, however is actually an exercise in suspension of belief, so much so that you are expected to take at face value an impromptu musical that occurs in Central Park involving every gay man in New York City.

Let me tell you right now: The whole movie feels like it's just a mad rush to get each plot element together so it can bring all of the principals together for one big, expensive showdown in the end.
Oh, it's fun getting there:
Amy Adams has a beautiful scene where her character realizes she can experience anger, and the subtle shift from her goofy, make-believe princess to a real woman confused about her loyalties and feelings is understated- but exceptionally well done. A surprise appearance from Susan Sarandon is fun as she leaves chewed up bits of scenery in her wake, and Timothy Spall has some interesting scenes as the evil queen's henchman who begins to question their dysfunctional relationship. All of the performances are better than you would expect, and it is the skill and talent of these players that lifts Enchanted from similar Fairy-tale-mixed-with-reality movies that you've already slept through.

For all of it's faults, the movie is still entertaining. My son and his teen friend laughed in all the right places, and both temporarily forgot the troubles of their earlier attempt to see a more "adult" movie.

And that is the point, I think.

Enchanted doesn't fail to make you smile, and you may just forget about the troubles and realities of our bland, grungy, real-life world... if only for a little while.
Even cynics like me may walk out of the theater remembering their youthful belief in the magic power of "love's first kiss".

For the Kids: Four out of Five.

For me: Three and a Half out of Five. (Extra points for making two teenage boys enjoy a much derided "Chick-Flick." )

Gary

Sheltered Path

2007-10-05T16:49:00.000-05:00

Here is the short story that won second place in the Fort Bend Writers Guild Spring 2007 Competition. I hope you enjoy it.

SHELTERED PATH

“Keep walking and don’t turn around.”

The man’s voice was thin and nasal with a country twang that made April think of chainsaw horror movies. She pushed the images from her mind and tried to concentrate on her footing, but her hands tied behind her back made balance tricky. Light and shadow filtered through the blindfold that pulled at the edges of her eyes, and if she tilted her head back too far, tiny blossoms of light bloomed into a blinding white sheet of pain.

“The path leads down some stone stairs,” he said from behind her, “so move real slow and don’t fall, cause I ain’t picking you up again if you do; and keep quiet.”

April placed each foot deliberately and carefully. Oh God, please don’t let me fall again, she thought. He jerked her back upright last time, and his hands felt rough and knobby against her bare arms. She didn’t want him that close to her again, she didn’t want him to touch her again; she didn’t want him to have control over her again.

April could tell the path was turning downward, and soon she felt the sharp edge of the first stone through the sole of her shoe. She stepped down and placed both feet on each stair as she went. She tried to control her breathing, but the gag was so tight she had to breathe around the edges of it. Her lips were dry and cracked.

She could smell his combination of cheap after-shave and musty summer sweat. He was right behind her. Not close enough for her to turn and kick, but close enough to feel the shadow of his tall lanky frame, pressing her forward. She felt a sharp stab just under her right shoulder blade. He must have picked up a stick somewhere she guessed, and he’s using it to poke me in the back. He did it again now. Hard. This time it was lower, and the knife-edge pain lingered near the soft, tender area above the waistline of her jogging shorts.

April managed the next several unevenly spaced stairs, but when she reached for the next step, her foot found nothing but space. She tumbled sideways, and pain shot up her right hip as she crashed into a wood structure. Its support was indifferent to her, but she was grateful it was there. Like a sturdy old friend, it had kept her from falling. She propped herself against it, and her quick breaths hissed in and out around the gag.

She heard him laugh - an ignorant wheezing sound that was almost too high-pitched to be a man’s laugh. “Not bad girl,” he said. “I thought you were going down the hard way that time. Shoot, I was hoping you wouldn’t find the side rail. That makes it too easy.” There was a loud whiplash sound as he swung the stick through the air near her head. She ducked and nearly lost her balance again. His weird laugh was louder this time. Was he getting closer? “Oh well, there’s a bridge coming up on the right,” he said. “Let’s see if you can manage to get across it.”

A bridge? she thought. She smelled magnolias and honey suckle when he first pulled her out of the back of the van, and she could hear the distant rumble of trucks away to her left. A bridge…A tiny little bridge that crosses over a shallow creek. Suddenly her surroundings became clear to her, and in her mind, the blindfold was gone.

She knew where she was.

She was in the park behind the World War II memorial.

This past year was incredibly difficult for her, and the park was the place she came when she was lonely, disturbed or just flat out frustrated. She would walk along the path, climb down the stone steps and linger for a while at the bridge. She never quite released all of her tensions, but the thick foliage and heavy canopy of trees gave her a sense of shelter. This was where she felt serene, this was where she felt calm, this was where she felt safe.

This was her park.

She began to move a little faster but then realized she was getting ahead of herself. Not yet, she thought and slowed her pace.

Her shoes made contact with the wood timbers of the bridge, and she could hear the water gently rolling over the smooth rocks below. She remembered the bridge curved slightly to the right before it straightened out over the creek. She moved steadily along and let the rough wood of the railing brush against her arm.

“There you go. Keep it steady,” he said. “Just a little further there’s a spot where we can stop for a nice rest. You’d like that wouldn’t you - a little rest?” He was closer now, and she could smell his coffee-stained teeth. “I’ll just let you lay there on the grass. Heck, I might even join you. Wouldn’t that be nice? Yeah, I think a rest will do us both some good.” He laughed again and poked her with the stick. This time it struck hard tensed muscles along her spine. He pulled it away fast, and then she heard it whip through the air as it passed over her head again.

She ducked, spun her body around, then bent forward, and thrust herself toward him.

“What the… ,” he managed before the top of her head came crashing into his midsection. He exhaled with a loud “Huh!”, and she felt him crumple over her back. She managed to get her whole body under him and pushed up with both legs. He was heavier than she would have thought, but she managed to lift him off the ground. April let her backside lean against the railing, and with a power lifter’s grunt, she stood straight up. His body rolled off her back, and the suffocating pressure of his form slipped away. In a moment, she heard a heavy thud below the bridge followed by a small splash.

The long sinews of her legs seared with pain but she turned and ran as fast as she could toward the other end of the bridge. She tried to scream through the gag and managed to get out a ragged horrible sound, but just as her feet hit the loose gravel of the path, two strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Whoa! Hold it!” said a deep, resonant voice.

The man pushed her back slightly, and his grip bit into her arms.
“Now, just a minute, calm down!” he said. “Let me get this blindfold off.” His hands reached around her head and fumbled with the knot. He jerked the fabric free, and she squinted in the piercing light.

In front of her stood a burly uniformed police officer.

“Damn it,” he said. “What are you trying to do? Kill someone?” He roughly pulled at the sides of the gag around her mouth. “Cockrell!” he called out over his shoulder. “Go check on Palmer. See if he’s OK.” A sandy-haired, young police officer came from behind him and ran to the bridge.

Finally, the gag was loose. She breathed in a gasping lungful of air and bent over. She spit out small pieces of lint and tried to work the stiffness out of her jaw.

The burly police officer stood in front of her with his hands on his hips.

“Sergeant Harmon,” April said. She took a moment to breathe and smooth out her dry lips with her tongue. “I thought it was….the best option…to make an escape attempt.”

“Awfully risky, don’t you think?” Harmon tried to make her feel smaller with his gaze, but she met it with her own and did not blink. He broke off first and kicked at some of the loose gravel in the path, then looked up at the young officer who was leaning over the bridge. “Don’t just stand there gawking, Cockrell!” Harmon said. “Get him out of there!”

A tall thin man stood up in the middle of the creek. He was drenched; his light blue T-shirt stained with creek water and his lank hair hung in his eyes. “Are you alright, Palmer?” asked Harmon. “You look like a drowned cat.”

“Yeah, I’m okay!” Palmer said in his drawling nasal voice. He looked directly at April with narrowed slits. “Just what the heck are you trying to prove, Weller? I coulda’ broke my back falling over that rail! That wasn’t part of the exercise.”

Officer April Weller shook the gag further down onto her neck. “Poking me in the back and swinging a stick at my head wasn’t part of it either, Officer Palmer.” She spat on the ground and pulled with her shoulders as Harmon freed her hands from the nylon rope. She massaged her wrists, and fixed her intense gaze on her Sergeant. “Pass or fail?” she asked.

Harmon shrugged his shoulders and his frown pulled up at one side. “Pass. But take it easy during the next phase, will you? It’s your turn to be the assailant.”

April spun around and stood on her toes. “You hear that Palmer?” she yelled down at him as he retrieved a baseball cap from the creek bed. “You get to be the victim next time!”

“I’m already a victim,” he said, and slapped the wet cap against his thigh; his nasal tone slightly muted by a bloody nose. “Now somebody help me out of this damned creek.”

THE END

Taking Second...

2007-08-28T16:24:00.000-05:00

Yipeeee!

I just got word that I won second place in the Fort Bend Writers Guild short story contest!

I'm very happy about it, and I want to thank all of my friends in the Humble Writers group for encouraging me and for helping refine the story into something that actually doesn't make judges violently ill, as apparently other submissions of mine have in the past.

I submitted a story called "Sheltered Path" which is the same story I'm submitting to my local writing group for our group publishing effort entitled "Split." "Split" is a collection of dichotomies- stories with vastly different subjects but common themes such as War and Peace, or Night and Day. My individual story deals with the dichotomy of Victim/Offender and I was very happy to get a second place nod for it.
....Well, sort of....

When it comes to writing contest, there is a lot left to interpretation. If you manage to win a slot in the top 3, then it's usually a given that your story was good, but didn't quite meet the expectations of the judges, or it just isn't the type of story that appeals to them. In effect, coming in second or third is as good as a win in my book.

....except that it isn't first.....

I watched part of "Taladega Nights: The legend of Ricky Bobby" last night, and the main character lived by a misguided philosophy that if "you're not first- you're last." The emphasis of always winning or coming in first can be a real emotionally crippling disease, and I'm afraid that I might just have to go and get myself fitted for some emotional crutches, because I know that coming in second is as good as a win.... but it sure ain't FIRST!

Okay. I need to get over it. I'm honored that I placed as well as I did. Two other writers from my group also placed in the short, short story contest. The story had to be less than 5 hundred words, and, (can you believe it?) they tied for 3rd. I'm very happy for them also, but I know they are secretly wondering "why wasn't mine just that much better than hers?" They won't admit it.....oh, but I know....it goes through your mind.

At least I don't have to share my honor with someone else, so coming in second is starting to look pretty good right now. Besides, who goes back for "firsts?" You go back for "seconds." And sometimes you go back for "Thirds," ...but not when anyone is looking. So, don't worry. I'm good. Second place is just fine.

- but it still isn't first....

Gary

PS. I'll post the story in a future blog. I hope you enjoy it, and that you can see for yourself the incredible genius of my prose and wonder aloud, as I have, why it didn't merit first place. Then, I want you to write your congressman, and plead for him to revoke the charter for the Fort Bend Writers Guild.
...what a bunch of hacks.

Confidence Game

2007-07-09T22:15:00.000-05:00

“Do you feel like you have enough confidence?” my wife asked in the waning hours of the afternoon as we lay on our two-person hammock.

“Yeah, I suppose so,” I replied. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t have enough, and sometimes I have too much, but it all evens out.”

“Do you ever think it comes across as arrogance, or self-righteousness?”

“Of course not,” I said looking down at her from a great height. “No one would ever say that about me, and by the way, you’re not fanning me fast enough with that palm frond. Could you speed it up a little?”

Well, no- I didn’t actually say that. If I had, then I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t be sitting at all.
But, even more absurd than my possible list of smart-aleck replies is the question of why my wife has an issue with confidence in the first place.

Our fifteenth wedding anniversary is next week. That alone should convince her that she is an amazing woman. I did the math a few days ago- my mother was married twice and both relationships lasted just over ten years. My wife’s parents were married about ten years before they split up, and while both of them have remarried, they are still only twenty years into their second relationships. We’ve almost caught up to them, but this is our FIRST marriage. I’d say that gives us a good five year handicap so the next time any of our parents decide to dish out marital advice I’m going to ask to see their counselor’s license and a list of references.

Then there is the issue of being married to ME for fifteen years, which is its own accomplishment. No matter what perspective I come from, my wife is an amazing woman.

She graduated from college, has two beautiful well behaved children, mentors women is substance abuse programs, and works outside the home. She is well respected in her church, she is considering going back to work on her masters degree, and, if I may say so- she’s a hot babe. I mean it.
Gorgeous.
So what reason does she have to lack confidence?

I stayed outside on the hammock by myself longer than I should have, and as I entered the house a little groggy from “resting my eyes” my wife was sitting on the couch combing our eight-year old daughter’s hair. The TV was on and I realized they were watching “Age of Love,” the new reality show where a group of young women compete against a group of “seasoned” older women for the affections of some dashing bachelor with a weird Kathleen Turner accent. I watched as the women competitors ran a grueling race that ended with them paddling a surfboard out to a yacht were their suitor stood waiting at the railing to give them a hand as they crawled aboard.

“There it is,” I thought. No wonder women like my wife lack confidence in themselves and their abilities. Reduced to cheep circus entertainment, these women deserve to be kicked in their silicone enhanced backsides. And while that statement doesn’t even make proper medical sense, I know that they are not totally to blame. Media is part of the problem, but it appears to me that many of the women I know lack confidence in themselves and their abilities. Those that have confidence and some sense of pride are often thought of in very negative terms by their female peers. I do not pretend to have the ability to shift through the last century of cultural flotsam and jetsam to present to you the single defining moment of the female inferiority complex, but doggone it- this kind of television program can’t be helping. And then part of me takes a step back and wonders if I am the problem. If I think less of these women for making fools out of themselves, then am I contributing to the overall decline in feminine confidence? Am I?

Nah, never mind that, I am going to judge them. In two words-
How pathetic.
And that may come across as arrogant or self-righteous, but… I’m okay with that. As I told my wife today after rattling off a list of the things she has accomplished that make me so very proud of her, maybe I have too much confidence because she has so little.

“But isn’t that co-dependant?” She asked.

Remind me to find the person who invented that phase.
More backsides need a good kicking.

Mom, Can I be a Buccaneer?

2007-04-13T17:36:00.000-05:00

NOTE: This post was originally published on 1UP.com in June, 2006

"Mom, Can I be a Pirate when I grow up?"

I don't know if I ever asked her that, but if it ment I could now shirk all my worldy responsibilites, pick up my pack, and sign on with a square-rigger bound for Port Royale, I'd call her right now.
"Mom?"
"What is it honey?"
"I want to leave Marie and the kids and become a sailor on the Elissa, in Galveston Harbor."
"Aren't you going to paint my living room? Can it wait till after that? Come on over, I'll make you some chicken."

Actually I wouldn't go. Why?

I just taught my 7 year-old daughter how to ride a bike today. In fact, I made a bet with her cynical 13 year-old brother that I could teach her how to ride it in 30 minutes. After two hours of sweaty pursuit, running beside her in a back-breaking, knee-jarring lope, she looked up at me and said in wide-eyed amazement, "I can ride a real bike!" I was very proud of her- she accomplished something she thought she couldn't do.
And that's why I love video games...

Huh? Okay- I did a flyby, so let me explain.

I'm a father of two. I work very hard to keep my kids in clothes, my wife financially secure, and my bills paid. I will be 40 in less than 6 months. I reasearched building a sailboat in my garage this summer and after looking at the nearly $5,000.00 price tag, considered that it may be my "retirement project." So here is my reckoning:

1. I will more than likely never cross swords with a man who is trying to kill me. So I practice fencing in the backyard with a wooden beater sword, and relax by playing Devil May Cry: Dante's awakening.
2. I will probably never travel to Mexico and dig around the ruins of the Aztecs while being pursued by a demon with a grude, because I just stole a purple amythyst eye from his shrine. So, I spend an evening with Laura Croft, and delve deeper into a Tomb, jumping from ledge to ledge and avoiding the spikes below.
3. I drive a Pontiac Bonniville- and while the raw, awsome power of a true V8 engine gives me a thrill in the passing lane, I have never "checked traffic" and scored a Crash-Breaker Take Down while launching a Dodge Viper off a roof in Europe. Nope. Never done it. ...Except with a dual-shock in my hand.

I play games to experience things I can't do in my real life. Things I thought I could never do are suddenly open to me with the press of a button, the investment of a little time, and a few hours on the weekends. Like my daughter on her bike this afternoon, I beam with anticipation and feel the exhillarating sense of accomplishment when I've made it to the next level, or found a secret room. I go to lands I've never seen, breath in vistas from unreal planets, and load the cannons while I tack into the wind- my heart beating in my chest as I finally position a broadside between two enemy ships.

You see, I'm a dreamer...

But in this Walter Mitty life I lead, the guns are always loaded, and the runway is clear for takeoff as long as I have a few hours, in the dark, with the sound turned down and the glare of the TV illuminating the hallway to the kitchen. And while I take out the last ship in the drone fleet, or fell the red-eyed monstrosity that guards the Sword of Thunder, my daughter is upstairs sleeping. Dreaming of tomorrow when she finally learns to turn her two-wheeler without taking a dive into the saftey of the grassy patch above the curb-

...and there's a Nintendo DS under her pillow :)

G-man

all your Wii are belong to us

2007-04-13T17:01:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I know I said I wasn't going to buy a new game console this year, but hear me out.

As you know, I have two kids. Justin is 14, and Hope is now 8, and incidentally- I'm 40. So I can officially decree my midlife crisis and if I want to buy a Wii, I'll gol-darn buy a Wii! Yeah, you heard me!
Oh- and the kids wanted it.

I had no interest in updating graphics for $600 "a la" PS3- and I still don't. If I want to play great looking games then I have a bad ass PC for games like Oblivion and The Battle for Middle Earth. Heck, even some of my old PC games like "Aquanox" and "Secret Weapons Over Normandy" look better than anything the PS3 has out right now. Sorry- no sale.

The Wii is a return to gameplay and that is what attracted me. At the moment the graphics are simply functional and take a backseat to control, but what you get is something closer to imersion.

Imersion.

That is something I haven't felt in a long time. It is a concept that sold me a Playstation all those years ago after I rented one from Blockbust and tried out games like Descent and Tomb Raider. That feeling of the living room metling away and looking through the eyes of the screen at my new world has returned- albeiet with a silly name.

My son tells me that Nintendo development follows a cycle of "Revolution/Evolution," and the Wii is the new Revolution with a promissing "Evolution" on the way. In much the same way that the Super NES was the evolution of the NES, I expect the next generation of Nintendo's Wii to be an apex in gaming history, and I'll likely be standing in a line in a late November three or four years from now with my pre-order ticket in hand.

Now if you're really smart you've probobly already figured out that I am just supplying justification for breaking my staunch hard-line refusal to by a new game console. But if you are really, really, really smart- you'll just shut up and join me for a midnight session of Wii sports Bowling practice.
Hey, I gotta get in some hours cause the boy is kicking my ass.

G-man

Thank you for earning Don Imus a bigger paycheck!

2007-04-13T16:27:00.000-05:00

Note: The following exchange is purely fictional - but probably accurate.

Memo to: Don Imus

From: Your Agent

Hey Don. You're program is really staring to slide, dude. Some people remember you as the number 1 DJ in New York BEFORE Howard Stern. The rest either don't care anymore or don't even know who you are. Time to step up to the plate and piss somebody off. Oh, by the way, your contract is due for renegotioation next year. Better make it something racial; you've never had a good cross sectional demographic.

See you in the press clippings buddy.

Love,

Benjamin Freakin Franklin.

As a former disc jockey and news reporter, I want to call your attention to one very important element at the center of this whole stupid firestorm: PUBLICITY. Celebrities must keep their name in the public frey and if they have to create a little controversy every once in a while, then so be it.

To paraphrase my former news director, "If Angelina Jolie goes for a nude swim in the town square fountain; that's not news. If the Mayor does it; THAT"S news." One is seeking publicity, the other is a misguided representative of the community and local government who's actions have a direct bearing on his office, the law, and other civil matters. However, the media of today see this whole concept inverted- because it makes them money.

Don't worry about poor unemployed Don Imus. He will be back on the air soon enough and his ratings will temporarily soar. As a bonus, the advertising fee for a 30 second commercial spot on the debut broadcast will probably double.

You should always admonish yourself for paying attention when a celebrity makes big news. They are just like urban myths and e mail scams; the only power they have is given to them by way of attention and curiosity. And in almost every circumstance, it's a waste of time and attention.

I think the concept of freedom of speech has been pulled down from it's lofty origins and desecrated with big steaming piles of pride and greed. It's no longer about getting a message out to the public to sway hearts and minds on policy, social causes, or awareness of government injustice. It's now more about "What can I get away with?" Or in Imus' case: "My old routine is just that- old. I need to keep shocking people or they get bored, and what was shocking yesterday just won't cut it today."

Increasingly our freedoms have become slaves to the power of economics. Religion, press, assembly, speech, even the right to bare arms- if you call it a freedom someone else has found a way to profit from it.

Here is my 21st century motto for what we commonly refer to as the Right to Free Speech:

"Listen at your own risk."

If you'll think deeply about that one for a while, I think you'll find some sad truth to it.

Now, piss off.

G-man.