It occurred to me this week that I stopped self-publishing my poetry even though I had a ton of material, so I'm going to be getting back on that. I sort of made a vow to stop self-publishing, but mostly in terms of my fiction. I may make an effort to be published more traditionally with poems, too, but the crazy amount of material, I seriously doubt any publisher would be like, "Sign me up for that."
So I'll keep you posted about that, for all those just dying to see it happen...
Saturday, September 21, 2019
Sunday, September 8, 2019
Older Than Eddie...
Holy crap. I'm now older than Eddie Guerrero.
This will take some explaining. Eddie Guerrero was a professional wrestler. He died in 2005, and I still remember him as my all-time favorite in the ring. He had personality to spare, and was one of the most gifted athletes the business had ever seen, a pioneer of a more dynamic style that has come to dominate wrestling today. He first stood out for me at Starrcade 1997. Goldberg was on that card, by the way, a little before he truly broke out (stuck in a meaningless feud with another former football player, Steve "Mongo" McMichael, whose career never reached anywhere near Goldberg's heights, even at that point). The main event was "the match of the century," between "Hollywood" Hulk Hogan and Sting, who was wrestling his first match since adopting his Crow persona and becoming WCW's champion against the nefarious New World Order. But it was Eddie, in his match with Dean Malenko, who really stood out that night for me.
In his WCW years, Eddie was a heel, which is wrestling for bad guy. He especially loved giving a hard time to his nephew (who, thanks to how things worked out in the family, was more or less the same age), Chavo, who looks a lot like a cousin of mine who had been killed in a bar in 1994. When Eddie made the leap to WWE in 2000, he took a massive leap in charisma by adopting the "Latino Heat" gimmick, which was in theory another of those horrible stereotype roles wrestling frequently uses, but Eddie made it his own (didn't hurt that Jerry Lawler on commentary so excitedly repeated the nickname all the time). Later, in 2003, Eddie was beginning to be recognized as an elder statesman, and his career reached its pinnacle in 2004 when he beat Brock Lesnar (yeah!) for the heavyweight championship. In his final year, Eddie spent most of it in an extended showcase feud with Rey Mysterio, but his last program was with Batista, something that sort of instantly solidified the future Drax as another favorite.
Eddie died at 38. It seems impossible, now, to think of everything he achieved in such an abbreviated life. He struggled with sobriety at one point in his career, which led to a gap in his time with WWE, but rallied to enjoy arguably the best time he had as a wrestler. He was about as inspiring as anyone I've encountered.
And as of today, I'm a year older than he ever got, and that seems wrong, not only because he achieved so much in his time here, but because I'm still working toward feeling even a tenth as accomplished. I mean, I know I've done a lot. It doesn't matter how many people see that, or what my goals are, what I envision in my future. When I think of Eddie, I see someone who positively burst with enthusiasm for the opportunities presented him, and yes, even an ability to overcome challenges. He's as big a source of inspiration for me as anyone who's told stories in other ways (because wrestling itself, at its best, is storytelling), in mediums that are more traditional for writers to be drawing on.
I can only hope that if Eddie saw my life, he'd give one of those crooked grins of his and at least laugh appreciably.
This will take some explaining. Eddie Guerrero was a professional wrestler. He died in 2005, and I still remember him as my all-time favorite in the ring. He had personality to spare, and was one of the most gifted athletes the business had ever seen, a pioneer of a more dynamic style that has come to dominate wrestling today. He first stood out for me at Starrcade 1997. Goldberg was on that card, by the way, a little before he truly broke out (stuck in a meaningless feud with another former football player, Steve "Mongo" McMichael, whose career never reached anywhere near Goldberg's heights, even at that point). The main event was "the match of the century," between "Hollywood" Hulk Hogan and Sting, who was wrestling his first match since adopting his Crow persona and becoming WCW's champion against the nefarious New World Order. But it was Eddie, in his match with Dean Malenko, who really stood out that night for me.
In his WCW years, Eddie was a heel, which is wrestling for bad guy. He especially loved giving a hard time to his nephew (who, thanks to how things worked out in the family, was more or less the same age), Chavo, who looks a lot like a cousin of mine who had been killed in a bar in 1994. When Eddie made the leap to WWE in 2000, he took a massive leap in charisma by adopting the "Latino Heat" gimmick, which was in theory another of those horrible stereotype roles wrestling frequently uses, but Eddie made it his own (didn't hurt that Jerry Lawler on commentary so excitedly repeated the nickname all the time). Later, in 2003, Eddie was beginning to be recognized as an elder statesman, and his career reached its pinnacle in 2004 when he beat Brock Lesnar (yeah!) for the heavyweight championship. In his final year, Eddie spent most of it in an extended showcase feud with Rey Mysterio, but his last program was with Batista, something that sort of instantly solidified the future Drax as another favorite.
Eddie died at 38. It seems impossible, now, to think of everything he achieved in such an abbreviated life. He struggled with sobriety at one point in his career, which led to a gap in his time with WWE, but rallied to enjoy arguably the best time he had as a wrestler. He was about as inspiring as anyone I've encountered.
And as of today, I'm a year older than he ever got, and that seems wrong, not only because he achieved so much in his time here, but because I'm still working toward feeling even a tenth as accomplished. I mean, I know I've done a lot. It doesn't matter how many people see that, or what my goals are, what I envision in my future. When I think of Eddie, I see someone who positively burst with enthusiasm for the opportunities presented him, and yes, even an ability to overcome challenges. He's as big a source of inspiration for me as anyone who's told stories in other ways (because wrestling itself, at its best, is storytelling), in mediums that are more traditional for writers to be drawing on.
I can only hope that if Eddie saw my life, he'd give one of those crooked grins of his and at least laugh appreciably.
Saturday, August 24, 2019
The words are starting to form...
I know when a story's getting close when the words start coming, the ideas start solidifying, and I can feel the shape of it.
Writing, at least for me, isn't just about having an idea and an interest in writing. Writing is a complex art. Everything has to come together. Finding the voice of the story, which isn't always the voice of a main character, is like finding the story itself. It's perhaps easiest to see what I mean in movies. You know when a movie has a voice. Usually it's a style, but sometimes it's the distinct shape of the story, or the given instincts of a director, or following an actor's lead (or letting the actor lead, which some critics don't seem to understand). Stories are the same way. What frustrates me most when reading budding writers is when they clearly don't grasp this, and resist all attempts to explain the absolute necessity of it. I mean, there are given genres for a reason, to give even the common writer somewhere to hang their story.
Anyway, the story I'm working on now is Kiss Me Quick. At this point it's sort of what I wanted to do with Montague (Or, In the Leviathan) (as I've since stylized it; check label records for details), but in a more contemporary fashion. What sort of spurred me on was coming across The Sun Is Also A Star in the employee breakroom. This was one of those young adult novels that became a movie recently, although the trailer didn't make it look like a young adult story at all. Anyway, I hadn't seen the movie, hadn't even considered reading the book, and then I had a look inside, and I started to read a little, and realized this was a style I could handle. I mean, it's what I've been doing anyway. All I needed was a story.
And I already had it. So the impetus began, and percolated.
I already had an opening few lines I thought were good, but then today came up with some new ones. Some of what's inspired me lately is a scholarly book about the writing of The Great Gatsby (Careless People by Sarah Churchwell), which has reminded me all over again of discovering the work of Hemingway for myself, which I've been doing in recent years, which was the result of Corey Stoll's brilliant portrayal in Midnight in Paris.
And Churchwell brings up how Gatsby is roughly 50,000 words, which is a target goal I hit many times over the past decade or so, with ease, but have never really considered as a potential end point for a longer story. Seems as good a time as any.
I'll keep you posted.
Writing, at least for me, isn't just about having an idea and an interest in writing. Writing is a complex art. Everything has to come together. Finding the voice of the story, which isn't always the voice of a main character, is like finding the story itself. It's perhaps easiest to see what I mean in movies. You know when a movie has a voice. Usually it's a style, but sometimes it's the distinct shape of the story, or the given instincts of a director, or following an actor's lead (or letting the actor lead, which some critics don't seem to understand). Stories are the same way. What frustrates me most when reading budding writers is when they clearly don't grasp this, and resist all attempts to explain the absolute necessity of it. I mean, there are given genres for a reason, to give even the common writer somewhere to hang their story.
Anyway, the story I'm working on now is Kiss Me Quick. At this point it's sort of what I wanted to do with Montague (Or, In the Leviathan) (as I've since stylized it; check label records for details), but in a more contemporary fashion. What sort of spurred me on was coming across The Sun Is Also A Star in the employee breakroom. This was one of those young adult novels that became a movie recently, although the trailer didn't make it look like a young adult story at all. Anyway, I hadn't seen the movie, hadn't even considered reading the book, and then I had a look inside, and I started to read a little, and realized this was a style I could handle. I mean, it's what I've been doing anyway. All I needed was a story.
And I already had it. So the impetus began, and percolated.
I already had an opening few lines I thought were good, but then today came up with some new ones. Some of what's inspired me lately is a scholarly book about the writing of The Great Gatsby (Careless People by Sarah Churchwell), which has reminded me all over again of discovering the work of Hemingway for myself, which I've been doing in recent years, which was the result of Corey Stoll's brilliant portrayal in Midnight in Paris.
And Churchwell brings up how Gatsby is roughly 50,000 words, which is a target goal I hit many times over the past decade or so, with ease, but have never really considered as a potential end point for a longer story. Seems as good a time as any.
I'll keep you posted.
Saturday, August 10, 2019
I swear I'm going to write something soon...
Earlier this year (you'll recall I yammered on and on about it) I completed a fairly lengthy writing project. It always seems after I've finished something like that it takes a while to start another one. I've got plenty of stuff I want to write, which is certainly not the issue. I just haven't gotten around to start writing any of it. The likeliest suspect is the annual family Christmas poem (which isn't really a long project), for when I finally start up again. And hopefully I can bother to actually submit stuff, too, which is a horrible thing for a writer to admit.
So that's sort of what's happening, when there isn't really...anything actually happening.
And maybe when I am writing something again, I'll start yammering about it here again. Because that was kind of fun, and it certainly kept things lively.
Oh! Here's something: Last weekend I went to the Tampa Comic Con, for the second year in a row, with a satchel full of my books, in case I was brave enough to actually do something with them. Last year: nothing. This year? I gave a book away! Yeah! I also met Peter David, who was a big element of my '90s reading life (even though I sort of hated him for the next decade or so), and bought a book from him. But I gave a book away! (Sapo Saga, for the record, which went over so well in the virtual book tour earlier this year.)
I hope at some point to have a publisher who'll set me up at a table at things like this, in the future. It'd be fun. I would vow not to spend all my time staring at a phone while my assistant does all the work. And I would probably succeed at that. Maybe for the first few such appearances. Maybe it's the best way to pass the time. But Peter David was pretty lively, which is doubly good because he had a terrible healthscare a few years back. So I resolve to be more like Peter David!
So that's sort of what's happening, when there isn't really...anything actually happening.
And maybe when I am writing something again, I'll start yammering about it here again. Because that was kind of fun, and it certainly kept things lively.
Oh! Here's something: Last weekend I went to the Tampa Comic Con, for the second year in a row, with a satchel full of my books, in case I was brave enough to actually do something with them. Last year: nothing. This year? I gave a book away! Yeah! I also met Peter David, who was a big element of my '90s reading life (even though I sort of hated him for the next decade or so), and bought a book from him. But I gave a book away! (Sapo Saga, for the record, which went over so well in the virtual book tour earlier this year.)
I hope at some point to have a publisher who'll set me up at a table at things like this, in the future. It'd be fun. I would vow not to spend all my time staring at a phone while my assistant does all the work. And I would probably succeed at that. Maybe for the first few such appearances. Maybe it's the best way to pass the time. But Peter David was pretty lively, which is doubly good because he had a terrible healthscare a few years back. So I resolve to be more like Peter David!
Sunday, July 14, 2019
The Burrito & Boo
I haven't actually written about the Burrito, or Boo, too much here, but a few weeks back they both moved to San Antonio, and here I am...without them.
Burrito is my niece. I wasn't there when she was born, but three months into her life I entered it in a big way. I agreed to watch her during the day, for two months, while my sister attended leadership school. It was a wild crash course in babysitting for a guy who had never really babysat before. My one experience was with a brood of young children that somewhat almost completely spiraled out of control, until they finally, finally went to bed, and the only real disaster was my inability to figure out where exactly the milk went in the fridge, which ended up in a milk jug that fell out of the fridge, and...Well, I never babysat again, until Burrito.
And even though it was occasionally frustrating (she wouldn't stop crying sometimes, until I took her for stroller rides, or carrying walks), it was also completely magical. I had no idea I loved babies, and then I fell in love with Burrito.
And I stuck around for nearly another year, in a supporting capacity, and then my sister asked me to watch her again...for a year. She was headed out for a tour in a delightful Asian land, and once again needed someone to look after Burrito. Burrito and I headed off to Maine, and my dad's house (the one I had lived in while my mom took on her last few years battling cancer), and...my dad was not especially inclined to spend too much time helping out directly, so...I went into another crash course in babysitting.
This was life as an uncle raising a toddler: Wow. I mean, wow. It was beautiful. Taxing, certainly, trying to do it all day every day with occasional breaks (and learning to yearn for that illusory hope of a three hour nap, a three hour nap). But beautiful.
Some will say that the man who emerged on the other side spent too much time merely being Burrito's friend, and that my subsequent, previously unfathomable career as a program assistant in a child development center is flawed for that same reason. But I've taken to the idea that being a child's, especially a young child's, chief advocate is perhaps the best thing you can be if you find yourself in positions like this. Constant encouragement. Endless fun. And always, always worrying when things don't seem to be working right.
All I can say is, if you look at small children and your first thought is how much of a nuisance they are, you are not among my first choices for shining examples of humanity. Maybe you have good reasons to think that, but for me, small children especially are my favorite people. They're the only ones who get to truly just enjoy being people.
Now, my experiences are with babies and kids just up to the age of five. My nephews in Maine are my closest working experiences outside of that range. Funny enough, but at the moment I have two babies with their exact names. Let's call them Bert and Ernie. Bert is the older one, Ernie the younger. The baby version of them is actually the reverse (Ernie's older). Bert was my best friend in those years while my mom was dying. I got to spend additional time with him during the Burrito year in Maine. Ernie is probably more like me when I was a kid, which has been difficult to appreciate practically, since Bert always tries to monopolize my time. I haven't gotten to spend time with either of them since I followed Burrito to Florida in the fall of 2017.
And now Burrito is gone. My sister has a new family in San Antonio now, and so the makeshift one that was in place for the past near-four years has come to an end. I struggled a great deal with this initially. I wanted to remain an active part of Burrito's life. But eventually, it seemed more rational to let the new family exist on its own terms. A reboot.
Yeah, reboot. Boo is my sister's cat. I've had her in and out of my life since December 2004. For whatever reason, she warmed to me immediately. My happiest memories with her are from the 2005-2007 period where my sister and I shared an apartment in Massachusetts, and every day I returned home from work Boo would warmly swash back and forth across my legs in greeting. That's where she became a botanist, "pruning" plants meant to decorate the dinner table. That's where she stole Lando's blaster, to defend her food from ants. That's where she was exposed as a gravy vampire. That's where she became obsessed with the common laundry room across the hall, dashing out of the apartment at every opportunity to sneak her way in, if she didn't sabotage herself by liberally helping her claws to the stiff carpeting along the way...
Recently she'd taken to relaxing next to me, spent most of her time in my room, and joined me at night. And I find myself missing her, actively, in these recent memories, most of all. I keep expecting to see her amble into view.
And I miss Burrito's penchant for constant possibilities, her endless inventiveness, her restless repackaging of reality, and yes, even the goofy winter hat and mittens right in the middle of sunny Florida...
But they're a part of some other narrative. Maybe mine will find a family, one day. We'll see.
Burrito is my niece. I wasn't there when she was born, but three months into her life I entered it in a big way. I agreed to watch her during the day, for two months, while my sister attended leadership school. It was a wild crash course in babysitting for a guy who had never really babysat before. My one experience was with a brood of young children that somewhat almost completely spiraled out of control, until they finally, finally went to bed, and the only real disaster was my inability to figure out where exactly the milk went in the fridge, which ended up in a milk jug that fell out of the fridge, and...Well, I never babysat again, until Burrito.
And even though it was occasionally frustrating (she wouldn't stop crying sometimes, until I took her for stroller rides, or carrying walks), it was also completely magical. I had no idea I loved babies, and then I fell in love with Burrito.
And I stuck around for nearly another year, in a supporting capacity, and then my sister asked me to watch her again...for a year. She was headed out for a tour in a delightful Asian land, and once again needed someone to look after Burrito. Burrito and I headed off to Maine, and my dad's house (the one I had lived in while my mom took on her last few years battling cancer), and...my dad was not especially inclined to spend too much time helping out directly, so...I went into another crash course in babysitting.
This was life as an uncle raising a toddler: Wow. I mean, wow. It was beautiful. Taxing, certainly, trying to do it all day every day with occasional breaks (and learning to yearn for that illusory hope of a three hour nap, a three hour nap). But beautiful.
Some will say that the man who emerged on the other side spent too much time merely being Burrito's friend, and that my subsequent, previously unfathomable career as a program assistant in a child development center is flawed for that same reason. But I've taken to the idea that being a child's, especially a young child's, chief advocate is perhaps the best thing you can be if you find yourself in positions like this. Constant encouragement. Endless fun. And always, always worrying when things don't seem to be working right.
All I can say is, if you look at small children and your first thought is how much of a nuisance they are, you are not among my first choices for shining examples of humanity. Maybe you have good reasons to think that, but for me, small children especially are my favorite people. They're the only ones who get to truly just enjoy being people.
Now, my experiences are with babies and kids just up to the age of five. My nephews in Maine are my closest working experiences outside of that range. Funny enough, but at the moment I have two babies with their exact names. Let's call them Bert and Ernie. Bert is the older one, Ernie the younger. The baby version of them is actually the reverse (Ernie's older). Bert was my best friend in those years while my mom was dying. I got to spend additional time with him during the Burrito year in Maine. Ernie is probably more like me when I was a kid, which has been difficult to appreciate practically, since Bert always tries to monopolize my time. I haven't gotten to spend time with either of them since I followed Burrito to Florida in the fall of 2017.
And now Burrito is gone. My sister has a new family in San Antonio now, and so the makeshift one that was in place for the past near-four years has come to an end. I struggled a great deal with this initially. I wanted to remain an active part of Burrito's life. But eventually, it seemed more rational to let the new family exist on its own terms. A reboot.
Yeah, reboot. Boo is my sister's cat. I've had her in and out of my life since December 2004. For whatever reason, she warmed to me immediately. My happiest memories with her are from the 2005-2007 period where my sister and I shared an apartment in Massachusetts, and every day I returned home from work Boo would warmly swash back and forth across my legs in greeting. That's where she became a botanist, "pruning" plants meant to decorate the dinner table. That's where she stole Lando's blaster, to defend her food from ants. That's where she was exposed as a gravy vampire. That's where she became obsessed with the common laundry room across the hall, dashing out of the apartment at every opportunity to sneak her way in, if she didn't sabotage herself by liberally helping her claws to the stiff carpeting along the way...
Recently she'd taken to relaxing next to me, spent most of her time in my room, and joined me at night. And I find myself missing her, actively, in these recent memories, most of all. I keep expecting to see her amble into view.
And I miss Burrito's penchant for constant possibilities, her endless inventiveness, her restless repackaging of reality, and yes, even the goofy winter hat and mittens right in the middle of sunny Florida...
But they're a part of some other narrative. Maybe mine will find a family, one day. We'll see.
2018 Box Office Top Ten
This is something I've been blogging about for years. This year (rather late) I decided to movie it here, just to give readers some insight into what interests me. I used to make ridiculously extensive lists, but I'm going to limit it this time, as the title indicates, to just the top ten, and then again, because I figured it'd be interesting to do it for the US and international box office results. All numbers are derived from Box Office Mojo, as of today (7/14/19).
US 2018 Box Office Top Ten
US 2018 Box Office Top Ten
- Black Panther ($700 million) This was a surprise phenomenon that sort of caught on with cultural developments, went well beyond merely the typical MCU response.
- Avengers: Infinity War ($678 million) Having now seen Endgame, I think I prefer the setup, with Captain America's dramatic return being the highlight.
- Incredibles 2 ($608 million) I'm the rare movie fan who doesn't obsess over every Pixar movie, and who didn't get swept up in the hoopla for the first one (which everyone claimed "was what the Fantastic Four ought to look like in the movies"). I still haven't gotten around to seeing this one.
- Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom ($417 million) I actually haven't seen any of the films in this franchise past the first one. I did read the Michael Crichton books back in the day, however. Crichton is a rare common factor between me and my dad, and I remain a big fan.
- Aquaman ($335 million) I adored Justice League and thought Jason Momoa's performance in it was the highlight, so I was eager to catch this one. It was amusing, but there's room for improvement.
- Deadpool 2 ($318 million) I wasn't wild about the first one, but this one (and I loved how there was a "family friendly version," called Once Upon a Deadpool, released later) I really got behind. Highlights include Domino (best superpower ever!) and the Brad Pitt cameo.
- Dr. Seuss' The Grinch ($270 million) I'm a huge fan of Jim Carrey, so I admit partisanship with the live action version, but the vocal performance from Benedict Cumberbatch was an intriguing hook for me.
- Mission: Impossible - Fallout ($220 million) Henry Cavill steals this one, even if he ultimately can't beat Tom Cruise. But that's kind of to be expected, right?
- Ant-Man and the Wasp ($216 million) I think the Ant-Man films are going to age incredibly well, possibly better than most of the rest of the MCU. Wait for the Luis recap!
- Bohemian Rhapsody ($216 million) I still haven't seen it, but it's still funny to me that the Rami Malek performance that was the consistent source of buzz for this one kind of got lost in the shuffle of everyone complaining that the movie wasn't faithful enough to Queen history.
- Avengers: Infinity War ($2,048 billion)
- Black Panther ($1,346 billion)
- Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (1,309 billion)
- Incredibles 2 ($1,242 billion)
- Aquaman ($1,148 billion)
- Bohemian Rhapsody ($903 million)
- Venom ($856 million) Tom Hardy is another of my favorite actors, and I'm happy he got this successful spotlight.
- Mission: Impossible - Fallout ($791 million)
- Deadpool 2 ($778 million)
- Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald ($653 million) Made more than 75% of its international haul outside of the States, which is a fairly common figure when movies are bigger hits this way. I keep saying this is one of my favorite Harry Potter franchise films, and I absolutely mean it. Johnny Depp's Grindelwald is a perfect representation of the poisonous kind of politics we're currently enduring, with a chilling finale matched only by Ralph Fiennes's debut as Voldemort in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which remains my favorite of the film franchise.
Saturday, June 22, 2019
Updates, June 2019
I'm getting closer to writing again, I swear.
Actually, I really am. I'm moving into an apartment and will have a lot more spare time on my hands, and I intend to use it writing. So I will tackle George & Gracie, and maybe getting BOLO! lettered (the pages I have, with entirely revised captioning and possibly no dialogue) and hopefully set free into the world.
And submitting again.
And maybe other stuff related to writing. I loved the energy, fast receding into the past, of working on Crisis Weekly, which was something that because it was tied up with DC properties, will have to remain tied to DC properties unless I do stuff like disentangling original concepts from it like I did for the A-to-Z Challenge poems.
And I hope to begin blogging regularly again.
Actually, I really am. I'm moving into an apartment and will have a lot more spare time on my hands, and I intend to use it writing. So I will tackle George & Gracie, and maybe getting BOLO! lettered (the pages I have, with entirely revised captioning and possibly no dialogue) and hopefully set free into the world.
And submitting again.
And maybe other stuff related to writing. I loved the energy, fast receding into the past, of working on Crisis Weekly, which was something that because it was tied up with DC properties, will have to remain tied to DC properties unless I do stuff like disentangling original concepts from it like I did for the A-to-Z Challenge poems.
And I hope to begin blogging regularly again.
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