tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62147555995341266782024-03-12T22:44:58.085-04:00Bittersweet TrailGetting you more lost than you already are. Now 20% more free.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-53989476065609964402013-06-30T22:22:00.004-04:002013-06-30T22:22:43.014-04:00The Trail Has Moved!Bittersweet Trail has moved here <a href="http://bittersweettrail.wordpress.com/">http://bittersweettrail.wordpress.com</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-8228326321702841422013-04-19T20:46:00.004-04:002013-04-19T20:55:38.325-04:00Alright!While getting my MFA at Western Connecticut State University, I distinctly remember having an argument over whether "alright" was a word or if it was a mistaken attempt at the words "all right." I was a huge proponent of "alright" being, well, all right. But it turns out, upon further review, that most grammar sources consider the word "alright" not a word at all.<br />
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Who cares you might ask? Well, until just today, I sure didn't. A wise young lady pointed out to me that the beauty of language is that it changes over time anyway, so I'm perfectly alright with "alright." But "all right" is all right with me, too.<br />
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Why did it start mattering today? Well, I was listening to the song "Revolution" by the Beetles, a song that poignantly asks, "Don't you know it's gonna be all right"?<br />
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Is it, now?<br />
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This year has been filled with tragedy. Newtown. Boston. Aurora. The list goes on. If a friend of mine told me he or she had decided to never leave the house again out of fear, I could almost understand that. I would argue, but I would understand.<br />
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And the times we live in are getting so damn confusing. We're a country that invented the atom bomb, yet is shocked at the extent to which bombers would go to make sure their bombs did the most damage possible. We think our nation is going to hell in a hand-basket, yet other places in the world face more destruction and evil than we could imagine--Israel, for example, where there have been 140 suicide attacks since the year 2000. The same policy makers who believe we should tighten immigration laws for our security refuse to vote for background checks on firearms in the name of freedom, and as we lament a marathon being attacked by "foreigners," American drones attack weddings overseas.<br />
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Arthur Miller stated in the published version of his play <i>The Crucible</i> that "When one rises above the individual
villainy displayed, one can only pity them all, just as we shall be
pitied someday. It is still impossible for man to organize his social
life without repressions, and the balance has yet to be struck between
order and freedom." This is evidently still an issue. We definitely deserve pity.<br />
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Where we strike that balance between safety and freedom will significantly determine the quality of life we chose in this country, the kind of life we leave for our children. How can we live as freely <i>and</i> safely as possible? It's a complex time, alright (all right?), with complex issues. We spend so much time wondering what the "founding fathers" would say if they were alive today, what they meant by playing the elaborate joke of lacing our Constitution and Declaration of Independence with so much freedom. The truth is that they'd probably say, "Just stop killing each other, knuckle heads."<br />
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But here's the deal. This isn't new. As Billy Joel taught countless high school history class students back in the eighties so their teachers could seem <i>cool</i>, "We didn't start the fire." We're talking about a world that once thought it was okay to flog and crucify individuals. Since the dawn of time it seems we've always looked back at the good old days. When were they? Humans can be violent. The potential is in us all. It always has been.<br />
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And the violence is fairly limited. The accidental explosion of a fertilizer plant in Waco, TX did more damage and had more casualties than the bombings in Boston. Yes, any loss of life is a tragedy, and when I think of the amputees, especially children, my heart breaks. But, compared to some places in the world, we are very safe. More people die in car accidents than mass shootings. We can't let this define us.<br />
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I like to say that for every bomber, for every mass shooter, for every inner city drive-by, and every cold-blooded murder that garners national attention, there are millions of broken hearts. The number of people in Boston who pitched in, sacrificed, gave blood, gave shelter to the displaced, and who continue to pitch in to help out <i>far</i> outnumbers the two men who carried out the deed. What all these tragedies show us is that people are good. People are great. Not just New Yorkers or Bostonians, not just Americans, human beings in general have an enormous capacity for compassion and love when shaken from the complacency of their everyday lives.<br />
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So that gets me back to the debate between "all right" and "alright." I'm going to use the <i>mistake</i> "alright" from now on. For certain, there are problems in this world, horrible evils that threaten us daily. <i>All</i> is not <i>right</i> on Earth, in America, or in your town. We, as humans, are not <i>all</i> right. In fact, nobody is right all the time. But even though all is not right, we will be, for certain, <i>alright</i>. As long as love and compassion outweighs evil and hatred, we're going to be alright. We will move on. We will live our lives. We will be okay.<br />
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Or is it "O.K."?<br />
<br />
Here we go again!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-49459717513587927762012-12-14T20:03:00.000-05:002012-12-14T20:26:04.201-05:00Don't Be NumbWe all play many different roles in life. I consider myself a father, teacher, writer, husband, friend, brother, consumer, voter, and the list could go on. But the two roles that I think truly define me are "father" and "teacher." And today, both of those integral parts of my concept of self had their hearts broken.<br />
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As a father, the Sandy Hook tragedy points out an essential truth. Our children are the most important things in our lives. The idea that I could be standing in front of a class discussing Huck Finn one moment and receiving a call delivering the most devastating news imaginable the next makes me ill. What if? The question is numbing.<br />
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As a teacher, I can't help but think of my high school students, all of them I've had in the past six years, imagining them years ago on a playground at one of the district's elementary schools. There's that question again. What if? What if something like this had happened in our district. What if I'd never gotten the chance to meet, teach, and care for the amazing kids I work with every day. They've had such a profound effect on my life. That idea is quite numbing as well.<br />
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But don't let it numb you. Don't let it paralyze you. Yes, today hurts. Yes, we will cry when we look at the photos being posted across the internet of parents breaking down as they realize the fate of their precious angels. And yes we will feel varying degrees of hatred and anger for the man who caused all of this.<br />
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But don't be numb.<br />
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Feel it. Really let it affect you. It was numbness, dissociation, it was a paralysis of the heart that must have allowed this man to commit this act in the first place. It would take someone so numb that he could look a bunch of beautiful, sweet, and innocent little children in the face and then pull a trigger. So don't be numb. Feel every gut-wrenching moment of it. Those innocent cuties deserve that tribute.<br />
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And when you're feeling it, realize that we are going to feel this again. Again and again. What started long before Columbine and will, God help us, continue long after Sandy Hook, seems to be only increasing. It's a never-ending cycle of violence. With it, we feel hopeless. We feel lost. And most of all, we feel helpless.<br />
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But we are far from helpless. No, we can't prevent the tragedies that have already happened. We might not be able to prevent those that come in the future. But we can absolutely do something.<br />
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I'm not talking about gun control. Though it's worth taking a look at. Unfortunately, no amendment can amend what happened. No law can subvert the laws of nature.<br />
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I'm not talking about prayer. Though I'll be praying day and night for the lives lost, those destroyed, and for the protection of those that remain.<br />
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No, I'm talking about what the Apostle Paul referred to in Romans 13:10 as "the fulfillment of the law." Love. We can love.<br />
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What better way to combat hatred and anger, the kind of hatred and anger that caused tragedies from the Holocaust to 9/11 to Columbine to today's horrific events in Newtown. Love each other. Love each other like it matters, like there's no tomorrow. Go out of your way to make others smile. Go out of your way to tell the people you care about how you feel. Go out of your way to make the outcast feel special. Spread love like a disease--an epidemic of Biblical proportions. In short, care about others instead of putting them down, trying to defeat them, or feeling jealousy toward them.<br />
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Just love.<br />
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We may never know what caused one man to lash out at the world and destroy the future of Newtown, CT. But what we can be sure of is that it had nothing to do with love. A man filled with love, surrounded by love, emitting love, could not commit a crime such as this.<br />
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After all, with love, it's impossible to be numb.<br />
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<i>Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it.</i></div>
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<i>Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it.</i></div>
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<i>Hatred darkens life; love illuminates it.</i></div>
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<i>-- Martin Luther King, Jr.</i></div>
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"All You Need is Love"</div>
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Performed by The Beatles </div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-39526682784329560152012-11-04T11:09:00.002-05:002012-11-04T11:09:47.225-05:00More Questions Than AnswersWith just a couple more days until the election, I have to admit that the results are much more up in the air than when I once posted that Obama was guaranteed an electoral landslide. What happened? Mitt Romney got on the public stage alongside President Obama and denied all of his ideas were his ideas and backtracked on all his plans. Much like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar who stares at his mother and says the cat did it, Romney's strategy was simply say, in the immortal words of Shaggy, "It wasn't me."<br />
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Obama had no answer, looked silly to America, and the entire debacle that was Romney's campaign was shaken away. Call it an Etch-a-Sketch or Romnesia or a brilliant--albeit late--pivot from primary to general election strategy (let's face it, all candidates who have to win a primary do it), it worked brilliantly, and people were no longer scared of Mitt Romney.<br />
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With all the analysis I've done of the situation, I think it all is going to come down to five questions. These are not the questions most will be asking themselves as they wait for Tuesday's results. We will probably never know the answer to these questions, but behind the scenes somewhere they will have contributed to the results of this election. Here they go, in random order:<br />
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1) Will the evangelical Christian right that pushed George Bush to victory but was not enthusiastic about John McCain vote for a Mormon. There was a piece on CNN.com yesterday about a conservative Christian voter that said he, and others like him, are merely sitting this one out. They won't vote for someone who is pro-choice, whether we're talking about abortion or gender of marriage partner, but they also won't vote for a Mormon whose view of Jesus Christ contradicts their own. If we concede that evangelical Christians carried W to re-election despite everything going wrong in his presidency, we have to admit this is probably a problem for Mitt Romney.<br />
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2) How big a fluke was Barack Obama winning in the first place? Were we really carried away by the chance to make history and by soaring rhetoric? Were we really taking George Bush out on John McCain? In short, was Obama just in the right place at the right time, or was the country really voting for his progressive agenda? The honeymoon is certainly over. Both sides were frustrated by his attempts to play nice for two years, and when he got tough, Republicans got rubbed the wrong way and now refuse to play at all. If Obama wins again, despite a failing economy, this might show us where our country is as a whole. Have we become more liberal, and have social issues like acceptance of gay marriage, abortion, contraception, and socialized medicine become acceptable to the majority? Have we become a liberal nation? Or was 2008 a fluke? That might get answered Tuesday.<br />
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3) The fact is there are about 5% more registered Democrats in this nation than Republicans. Turnout then, as usual, becomes key. The more people that actually go out to vote, the better it is for Democrats. The more people who stay home, the better it is for Republicans (assuming independent voters break even, and with the national polls tied in the final days, that seems to be the case). Who can motivate the base more to come out and win this thing? Now, I admit, that's pretty much a question every pundit is asking and goes for any election. But I think there's a different question this time in regards to this. With the apparent hatred between these two candidates, the complete and total disgust building between the polar opposites of our society, I think the question is which side hates the other side more? Will liberals disgusted by the Republican party in general come out to the polls out of anger more than conservatives who are pissed off by what they see as a socialist agenda? Who is more pissed, sickened, outraged, disgusted, and/or homicidal might be the key to this election.<br />
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4) Also related, who are the more protestyer protesters--the Tea Party movement or the Occupy movement? There is no better way to show the vast differences in America public life. Both the Tea Party and Occupy movements have had issues with both candidates, it seems, or at least think neither is either liberal enough or conservative enough to satisfy their anger. Perhaps what we're seeing through this is that both candidates are more moderate than mainstream voters gives them credit for. Some do see this and claim they're both the same candidate that really agree on most issues. Either way, even though nobody will ever be liberal enough for the 98% and nobody will ever be conservative enough to be invited to <i>this</i> tea party, they will definitely be voting for the candidate closest to their own agendas. Which side is stronger, more organized, and like in question three, the angriest could be a huge factor in this election.<br />
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5) Men are from Mars and women are from Venus. We live in a strange world right now where men are overwhelmingly going for Mitt Romney and women are overwhelmingly going for Barack Obama. This isn't new. When you watch the debates and you see that little meter going at the bottom, often the two lines, one for women and one for men, are heading in completely opposite directions. This means something. Think about it. This means that in several households--I'm not about to venture to do this math--the husband is voting Romney and the wife is voting Obama. How is that possible in this age of hatred between parties? It's true, though. Maybe this accounts for the divorce rates being so high. Numbers this varied can't lie. We like to think we live in this world where men and women are equal and the problems of women and men have now equalized. Men care about their children going to war and getting sick, too; don't they? Maybe not? Who knows? But for this election, the question may be who can make more inroads with the gender who seems to oppose them. Can Obama convince more men to vote for him? Can Romney win over women? The battle of the sexes could be the battle for the White House. Will married men vote for Obama just to keep their wives off their backs????? Okay, that last one was just a joke, but this will be interesting to watch.<br />
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There are a slew of other factors going on out there, city vs. rural vs. suburban for example. In a recent Colorado poll that has Obama up slightly, Obama leads handily in the cities, has a comfortable but more modest lead in the suburbs, but is losing in the rural towns. Will cities and lukewarm support in the burbs win despite Romney's support from rural towns. What about the Hispanic vote that Obama will win by a landslide? What will that turnout be like in states like Florida?<br />
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There's so many interesting angles this time around that I could see Obama winning an electoral landslide (not a popular vote landslide), and I could see him losing altogether. I could see Obama winning the electoral vote but losing the popular vote. Heck, there's even a chance at an electoral college tie which, though various legal messes, could end in a Romney/Biden White House. What a goldmine for SNL!<br />
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It's going to be an exciting night full of answered questions, but when it's all said and done, whoever is the president is going to have a lame-duck Congress that needs to get to work on debt reduction and the debt ceiling. Actually, the "George-Bush-tax-cuts-for-the-wealthy" issue will be the first thing to decide with that deadline for their expiration looming. What happens after the election, before the new Senate and House are sworn in, might be just as politically exciting as this election.<br />
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Well, that's my final word on this election. I'm guessing Obama wins with 303 electoral votes, but I'm not exactly sure. Romney might pull it out or Obama could win by more. There's too many questions left unanswered. We'll have to tune in Tuesday night to find out.<br />
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Peace, and may the force be with you.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Why can't this happen more often?</span></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-84992174577912723922012-10-29T10:05:00.001-04:002012-10-29T10:29:41.105-04:00Politics in 3-DI'm a liberal. Let's get that straight from the get go. But this isn't about my political beliefs. It's about theirs. The kids. The future of America.<br />
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With the election coming up, I have been engaged in quite a few political conversations with my students and ex-students in the past few months. Through these conversations, one thing has become abundantly clear--the polarization of our political system is in danger of collapse. I'm sure most of you would say, "That's great news." However, do you really mean it?<br />
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I see most of us commenting on Facebook and commenting on articles, mostly through condescending and often inaccurate memes, even analyst on television, completely dedicated to their red roots or their blue. We've identified with a party, memorized its stances on every key issue, and adopted them as their own. We make fun of the spin room crap shoveling while strapping on our own boots to join them.<br />
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So what <i>do </i>the youth believe? I read a comment the other day, and forgive me for not remembering which of my Facebook friends posted it, that said, "Everyone is a little bit Libertarian." Somehow young people in this country have been able to see past the giant donkeys and elephants in the room, to somehow ignore the red or blue glasses that tint, or perhaps taint, all of our adult viewpoints, and see another future for America, a future where political polarization and hatred are replaced by complete unity and harmony from sea to shining see. Not red states, not blue states, but purplish states.<br />
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It seems that young people, though they sometime take up their parents' (and probably grandparents') torches and argue over Obama and Romney, really do mostly agree on the problems that face our country--and the answer for them has become Libertarianism.<br />
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They realize our government has gotten too big, that social programs are being taken advantage of and leading to laziness, that government that's too big and infringes upon rights (see USAPATRIOT ACT) is downright scary. They've read <i>1984</i> and recognize Orwell's Big Brother looming over them. However, they do not see the Republicans as the solution to that problem. They are smart enough to see that the debt exploded under Republican rule.<br />
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They also see the Republicans as backward-thinking folks that infringe upon basic rights and are saturated in bigotry. They believe in marriage equality and may even be truly post-racial in some circles (if only their parents would let them be). They don't hate gays. They believe in freedom of religion, but they don't think that means ending contraception and abortion. They know that rape is rape. They are disgusted by Republicans and their attempts to send us back to the 1920s.<br />
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Let's not forget that this is a generation, like the 60s and 70s, scarred by war. For most of them, they don't remember a world where we weren't at war. Their earliest childhood memories are of 9/11, and they've known relatives that have spent more of their lives overseas fighting than arguing at the dinner table. It's a shame the way they've grown up, and they blame George Bush and Republicans for the most part for this.<br />
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They aren't too thrilled with the Democrats either. They see liberals as big spenders who want to control their lives. Yes, the Dems would let them marry who they wanted. Yes, the Dems would let them buy contraception. Yes, the Dems would care for the needy. But with the thought of being saddled with a massive debt to China, they also see the Dems as enablers of big spending and laziness.<br />
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They fear a government so big they have no choices. They fear Obamacare and socialism. They've been taught to hate Communism and that our troops have been fighting for American values by uprooting political systems around the globe that control their people too much. They've been taught to hate China and call them currency manipulators. They fear the Dems as much as the GOP.<br />
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There's a reason Ron Paul, at his age, was so popular among the youth. Most of his contemporaries probably hear about<i> hash</i> tags and think you're talking about "those hippies" and their "marijuana cigarettes." Now Gary Johnson (the official Libertarian candidate) is even becoming a darling, unfortunately for him, among those not yet old enough to vote. Why is this?<br />
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The kids today want freedom, unadulterated freedom. They want gay marriage, they want free markets, they want to legalize drugs (not to use them but because they can't understand how the government can tell us what to do under any circumstances), they want free speech and a freer press. In short, they are pure-blooded Libertarians. Even those that don't know what the term means.<br />
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I took a test the other day on isidewith.com. It told me that I matched up 83% with Barack Obama and 23% with Mitt Romney. No big surprise there, right. Well, the surprise was that I matched up with 85% of Gary Johnson's beliefs. I've made fun of Libertarianism as wanting to have your cake and eat it too for a long time. But what if you can? What if we all <i>are</i> a little bit Libertarian. I'm wondering if America knew Libertarianism existed if Libertarian candidates wouldn't win in a landslide. Think about it.<br />
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Most of us do complain about government spending and the debt. Most of us do think people are taking advantage of foodstamps and other benefits. Most of us do fear the government controlling us. On the other hand, most of us have gotten to the point where legalized marijuana and gay marriage don't scare us. Not only do most of us think contraception is okay; over 90% of woman use it and 100% of men, while not wanting to discuss it as a political point, are grateful for it.<br />
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We want freedom. America was founded on it. But it seems the Democrats and Republicans are perfectly willing to preach freedom while cherry-picking which freedoms they are for or against. The youth seem to see through this. The youth just wants to be free. After all, that's what we've been teaching them since they started school. They see that slavery can exist in many forms.<br />
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Imagine a world where 47% of America doesn't hate 47% of America. Where everyone can agree on one basic set of ideals. We were founded on these ideals. Freedom is our credo. I can't help but thinking there is a shade of purple we can all get behind, kind of like looking through a pair of those 3-D glasses, where what's right in this world will just pop out at us and not be so hidden behind the words "it's complicated." I wonder if the young folks are right.<br />
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The editor-in-chief of the high school newsmagazine I advise has written her November cover story on third-party candidates not getting enough attention. She is an adamant Libertarian. I see her fighting and arguing for the rights of <i>all </i>and freedom for <i>all</i> on a regular basis. That's what she's been taught to do. How can that be wrong? I love that about her, so how can I tell her that's not the right way just because it's not the left way?<br />
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She talked about feeling disenfranchised (though she didn't use that word), and I told her, in a rather condescending way, that she would have to get used to it because she supported a part "nobody cares about." I apologized later and told her that I meant that it was unfortunate nobody cares about it, not that it wasn't important. And that's what I truly believe. We should get to hear all sides, not just the sides the media wants us to hear.<br />
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But I was wrong. People do care. Just because they don't know the option exists, or because they are too young to vote, doesn't mean nobody cares. They do care. They care a lot. I see it on Twitter and Facebook. And if we don't beat the righteousness out of them, and don't somehow convince them they have to pick a side in the unending fight over two belief systems--philosophies that don't really truly exist in all practicality--if we let them wear those 3-D glasses and see the world in a beautiful shade of purple, maybe this will be our future.<br />
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While I'm a liberal and believe in taking care of the least among us, I can't help but think that America as a whole <i>is</i> all little bit Libertarian. They just don't know it yet. But with young people like my editor-in-chief leading the way, some day they may. A child shall lead them. Don't think it's possible? Still think we're stuck in a two-party system that will never be shed?<br />
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Look at Colorado. This state might be fully legalizing weed in a week or so. The hippies who smoked around a circle like on <i>That 70s Show</i> are now prominent leaders in government and industry. Look at inter-racial dating and marriage. We are quickly becoming more and more post-racial because of the extent of mixed-race families in this nation. As the children of those first desegregated schools have grown up, so has the idea of racial equality. Racial equality without government-coerced quotas.<br />
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So, what we as the establishment see as a crazy fringe group, a fad of the naive young people of our nation, may one day be the reality. After all, when I was in high school, sadly to us, the idea of a black president was a fantasy, an impossibility. Things change, and the youth are the barometer predicting that change. I see it permeating my classes. They're sick of leftist big government. They're sick of right-wing fundamentalist bigotry. They're truly ready to move forward. And they see that forward as Libertarianism. In a way, they're already fighting for our freedom. Who are we to stop them?<br />
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<i>What would Abe Lincoln think about this election?</i> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-78844555526439495672012-09-22T21:48:00.000-04:002012-09-22T21:48:21.010-04:00'Ya Big BabyMy son was playing soccer today when one of the other kids began crying and screaming. The coach playing with them was pretending to be Spider-man and was throwing a red piece of fabric at their balls as if slinging a web. Just a year ago, that was my Owen. In fact, this year, Owen was too scared to play without his sister holding his hand the first two weeks.<br />
<br />
So I knew what the mom of the little crybaby was going through. I thought, <i>I guess it's just a phase</i>. But is it, really?<br />
<br />
As I stood there watching Owen dribble across the wet grass, I came upon the realization that we never really grow out of that phase. Children are just more transparent than adults. Aren't we all afraid of new social situations? Don't we all sometimes want to run into the comforting arms of someone we trust? Sure, for this kid the situation was a relatively innocuous game of soccer and the someone he trusted was his mommy, but what's the difference really?<br />
<br />
How often do we leave something unsaid, avoid an awkward conversation, or sit around wondering what if because we failed to take a risk? How often do we go into a new situation without giving it a chance simply because it's different or uncomfortable? How many times do we look across the dew-covered soccer fields of our lives, see the scary coach that is our fears that we're not good enough, not smart enough, and gosh darn it, nobody likes us, and cry like little babies and run to the comfort of something we know is bad for us.<br />
<br />
No, we're not much different than children. We're just much better at hiding it, hardened by what we mistakenly call growing up. What's the difference between the child pitching a fit in the grocery checkout line and the sports coach berating members of the media after a tough loss? Both of them are just upset they didn't get what they wanted. What's the difference between the child intentionally dragging her feet to avoid going to bed and the business woman who arrives late to avoid the awkwardness of being alone with a rival? Both are simply delaying the inevitable. And what's the difference between the child hiding his peas under the edge of his plate at dinner and the politician hiding his assets in an offshore account to avoid taxes? Both have proved themselves untrustworthy. What's the difference?<br />
<br />
We are just children who have perfected hiding our emotions, masking them with other just as undesirable ones. We resort to passive-aggressive attacks, saying every negative thing we can think of but what we really mean. We may not stomp our feet anymore, but we think nothing of stomping on the hearts of others. Perhaps we never really grow up. Perhaps life is always just as scary as it was the first time we walked into a classroom and watched our mommies leave us there by ourselves. On our own. Alone. Perhaps we never do fully figure out our own feelings. Maybe we never get the point of life.<br />
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I know I haven't. But I'm still holding out hope that it's just a phase.<br />
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<i>"Forever Young"</i></div>
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<i>Rod Stewart </i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-12963939510723837452012-09-03T09:05:00.000-04:002012-09-03T09:05:36.879-04:00Labor DayIt's Labor Day. A day to sit back and enjoy the fact that you have a day set aside from actually going to work so you can get more work done while you're at home.<br />
<br />
Wait, that's not what labor day is about?<br />
<br />
In fact, the whole concept of labor day is probably enough to confuse the heck out of all of us. Proposed by a union leader, copying those socialists in Canada, and fought against by president Grover Cleveland until they came to a negotiated understanding, it sounds a lot like it's a holiday celebrating organized labor.<br />
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We are, after all, a nation of workers...workers who complain about their working conditions no matter how posh they seem to an outsider. Even the highest paid executive can never get that coffee maker to work just right, or perhaps finding a competent secretary to bring him the coffee has been difficult. We all want better working conditions.<br />
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Yet unionized workers, and the unions that protect them, are often scapegoated for just about everything from the outsourcing of American jobs to the budget crises faced by many towns, states, and even the federal government. People seem to hate organized labor, even if they are in a union. We're a nation of labor schizophrenics.<br />
<br />
American jobs are shipped overseas because unionized American labor is too expensive. They require benefits and OSHA-approved working conditions. If we would just work for peanuts, with no medical benefits, and work in factories where we could easily die the next time a machine coughs or clogs putting lead paint on toy cars America could become the great nation it once was. Damn unions.<br />
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The truth is, we are all labor in some ways. We all work for someone. So Labor Day is for all of us. And no matter how much you think "the other guy" has it easy, we all have a lot on our plates. Don't hate your boss because he makes twice as much as you. He has a boss that craps on him too, pressures a bit more pressing than yours (at least on the job), and probably is at more risk of being fired at the drop of a hat than you are.<br />
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And bosses, don't be so quick to judge your employees. If they seem lazy, unmotivated, and self-absorbed, it's because, well, you haven't given them as strong a stake in the work they are doing as you have. They don't get paid as much as you. They have families to feed, which probably weigh on their minds more than if your company makes a profit. It's the American system. Yes, I work for you, but only because it benefits me.<br />
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Then we come to us in the public sector. We are paid by society to do a service for society. And people hate us for it. It's one thing when there's a lazy employee hurting the profits of a grocery store, bank, or video store (I've worked at all three), but when that lazy person is costing <i>you</i> money, tax money, that is absolutely enraging. The truth is, though, that if the government wasn't paying that worker, they wouldn't be lowering your taxes by that worker's salary divided by the number of tax-payers. They'd be wasting it somewhere else.<br />
<br />
And don't blame teachers for their union's attempt to protect them. Most teachers, if not all, in some ways work above and beyond the contracts that have been negotiated for them. Yes, the union fought for us to have a school day that ends and begins 20 minutes after and before the bells ring, but none of us stop teaching at that point. In fact, many of us will be grading papers on this Labor Day. We stay late for kids, give up our union-negotiated lunches for kids, and even sometimes vote to forgo our union-negotiated annual raises to help out the kids. Name me one group in the private sector who would vote to forgo raises to help the bottom line at the company it works for. Yes you work hard too. Yes you take work home too. But if your union fought to protect you from doing something, would you do it anyway out of the goodness of your heart?<br />
<br />
I also understand the local towns needing to get the most they can for their buck. The battle between labor and management need not be a battle. It's sad how we use terms like "labor" and "management" to divide and dehumanize. It's that damn economics 101 pie theory. If you get more, I have to take less. Imagine a negotiation where both sides went into it trying to do the best they could for each other. Just imagine it for fun. What a beautiful thing it would be. We're all humans, and shouldn't we want to do the best we can for our fellow humans?<br />
<br />
It seems like a fairy tale, something out of the Bible or a board book. However, I recently did experience such a thing. I was trying to buy a car from an older gentleman who had priced the car at $3,500. I was sold the moment I saw the car--I was desperate after all--but he insisted I drive it first. He handed me the keys and let me drive off alone in his property without thinking twice. A bit risky, no? I could have crashed, stolen the car, whatever I wanted to really. Then, when I told him I would take it, he asked me if I want to talk price. I said I just needed a few days to get the money all in one place.<br />
<br />
He said, "Well, I could go down, ya know, maybe, say, even $3,300."<br />
<br />
I never said a thing. I never asked him to lower the price or indicated that I couldn't pay it. He was simply being an honest negotiator. He had set the price higher than he wanted in order to leave room to negotiate. He had asked for $200 more than he needed, so when the buyer tried to get it down, it would work out for him. A crafty and selfish move. But when the buyer didn't try to get it down, either his conscience or sense of social justice brought that price down anyway. It was the Golden Rule at its finest, social contract theory in action. Not a bad sign that humanity hasn't gone to hell in a hand basket, after all.<br />
<br />
It reminds me that even though our society, the one that gave us Labor Day, isn't about the American ideals of individualism and selfishness. It's about humanity, compassion, and giving. Yes, we all have a boss, but it's the same boss. The Big Guy above. We all answer to Him in the end.<br />
<br />
So bosses and employees, labor and management, whichever "side" you are on, remember, in the end, we're all on the same side here. We're all here for a purpose, and it isn't simply to get ahead. Take care of each other, through not just negotiations, but through all of your every day interactions. And remember, though those of us fortunate enough to have Labor Day off can take a moment to relax and enjoy the fruits of our labor--our collective labor--our true work is never done. For love, compassion, understanding, and self-sacrifice should never take a holiday.<br />
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Be at peace friends. Happy Labor Day.<br />
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<i>"Who Can it Be Now" Men at Work</i></div>
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<i>(Get it? Men at work? See what I did there?)</i></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-7182874358260358462012-08-25T09:16:00.000-04:002012-08-25T09:26:51.382-04:00Kids These DaysWe all do it. We take a look at the headlines, hear the stories coming out of our schools, see a kid crying in the grocery store, and then we lament on the good old days when kids had respect for adults, cared about their futures, and were afraid to defy their parents. Kids these days! Where is this country heading?<br />
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Yesterday I got my first real taste of the new school year at my now annual late summer editor's meeting and woke up this morning with one thought on my mind. If only these kids were running our country instead of Congress, we might have a chance...there might be some hope.<br />
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Sure, they get a little gaga over One Direction and giggle and whisper when boys come past the room, but if you were in that room yesterday, you might have been surprised by what you heard.<br />
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Topics of conversation included the audacity of Todd Akin's "legitimate rape" flap, the need to elect leaders by popular vote rather than the glorified board game known as the Electoral College (they even knew why the electoral college was set up in the first place), and the tragic state of our nation when one choice seems a bit weak-willed to do the job to them while the other seems to lack the compassion they'd like from their leader.<br />
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What's more amazing about the eight young ladies I sat with yesterday is what they are about to do. By the end of the year, they will have published a 224 page yearbook that will more resemble a catalog for a prestigious art school than a high school publication. At the same time, they will publish eight issues of a newsmagazine that, if only we could afford color, would make you think you were flipping through <i>Vogue</i> or <i>Rolling Stone</i>. They will be in charge of its content and production, and even have supervisory duties over the rest of the staff. They will have just one to two weeks to write a full feature story and maybe less to design their spreads with the pressure of knowing that being late for yearbook plant deadlines could cost the program thousands of dollars. (It costs about $35,000 to produce a yearbook these days by the way.) These same students are cheerleaders, singers, dancers, and even ukulele players who will be enrolled in several AP courses, some for actual college credit. And that's not even getting into the home lives some of them have to overcome.<br />
<br />
You probably haven't accomplished feats that impressive since, well, high school.<br />
<br />
So while it's easy to look at the headlines and listen to the complaints of parents, teachers, and administrators, know that you're not getting the full picture. I will have around 100 students this year. Three to five will impress me to the point where I just <i>know </i>they will go on to make the world a better place. They will totally knock my socks off. I will grow to adore another ten to twenty. At least half of them will do fairly well at their jobs of being students. A quarter of what's left will truly want to do well, they will try their best, but lack of skills or various conditions will prevent them from doing so. And in the end, only a handful will truly try to make my life difficult and show that they simply don't fit in an academic setting. And of that handful, only two or three will be the type you see in the headlines and on television that make you worry about the future of our country.<br />
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Now look at the Senate. One hundred full-grown adults elected to lead our nation. Can you say the same about that group of one hundred? I rest my case.<br />
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Now look at your community. While the kids at my high school are collecting piles of toys for needy children, what are the adults around you doing to help those less fortunate? While the kids at my school are staying late to work on their yearbook spreads, going straight to cheerleading practice, tutoring for National Honor Society, having a very late dinner, then staying up until two to three o'clock in the morning to get their homework done for an AP course load, what are your adult neighbors doing? While my editors spent a week of summer vacation at a yearbook camp, planned the ladder for a 224 page publication, redesigned templates for a newsmagazine, and worked on writing summer articles so we would have something to put on our website when school opened, how did those adults around you spend their time off from work?<br />
<br />
Sure adults give back, work overtime, and take work home on weekends and vacations. The point isn't that these kids are somehow better than adults. The point is that they aren't what you might think they are, and I have a front row seat every day to see the truth.<br />
<br />
You may look at the class of 2013, throw up your arms, and ask, "My God, is this the future of America?"<br />
<br />
But I look at the class of 2013 and say without hesitation, "Thank God, this is the future of America!" If only we don't ruin them between now and then.<br />
<br />
And if you still think there was some magic day where teens were more respectful, more civic minded, and stayed out of trouble, just look at the classic 1955 film <i>Rebel Without a Cause</i>. This is a movie from those golden years when everything was roses, sunshine, milk, and honey. Yet there we are following three teens who all end up in jail on the same night. But that movie is about the poor parenting those teens received you say? About how the adults failed them? About how they are misunderstood?<br />
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Well, I guess some things never change.<br />
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"Disposable Teens"</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-3866418399212386332012-08-18T10:08:00.000-04:002012-08-18T10:55:23.558-04:00Painful PatienceI'm dying here.<br />
<br />
Anyone else out there hate waiting? It started, I think, when I was in high school. At one point I had to get rides to school from my uncle Bob, but because of his schedule, he had to get me to school like an hour before anyone else arrived. What to do? I went to my locker, used the potty, walked around just sight seeing, I guess. I was bored out of my mind and felt embarrassed and awkward--my standard state at that point in my life.<br />
<br />
So, while I consider myself a patient person, my skills honed by all that waiting I was forced to do back in high school, I hate being patient with a passion. It just kills me.<br />
<br />
I find myself now doing that...being patient...and dying. School starts next week, and unlike most of my students, I'm dying to get back. Besides my own bed at home, there's no place I feel more comfortable than my classroom. To top it off, there have been so many changes over the summer, all that I'm fairly thrilled with, including a new floor in my room to replace the puke green tiles someone vomited there back in the sixties, that I'm freaking out wondering what life will be like when we return.<br />
<br />
The editor-in-chief of my yearbook program is hard at work setting up the ladder and visuals for our 2013 book. But knowing she has until next Friday to have it all set, she's content taking her time to get it right, which is good, don't get me wrong, but it's killing me not knowing what she'll come up with.<br />
<br />
A few readers are currently going through my third novel and giving me wonderful feedback, but it seems I might be shelving it for a while since it will need another whole rewrite. I can see where it could be a masterpiece, but not in its current state. With the school year about to kick off, I'm not sure I can give it that kind of attention. I think Talia and Tia might have to wait to be reborn.<br />
<br />
With all that going on, I have a brilliant idea, one of those "I think I know the next big thing in YA and I'm ready to write it and get it out there before someone else does" kind of things. Not that I'm trying to just capitalize on a trend; I'm hoping that my idea can lead to a trend. I've been obsessed with writing this type of novel for years, since I started in my MFA program, so like three years ago, and when I pitched the idea at a workshop, the room and instructor loved it. I'm just now seeing how it could be YA and am already visualize scenes and the character which means it must be good. I'm heading down that scary path toward inspiration, but what to do with All We Know of Heaven already on the back burner?<br />
<br />
And then there's those pesky freakin' queries. I've found some amazing agents lately. I abandoned the agentquery.com road since I feel like I've already used up all the best matches on there. Instead I've used creative Googling and found some great interviews and advice from YA agents, finding ones that specifically fit what I'm writing much better than combing through agentquery. But they've now got my query and sample pages in hand, so until I hear from them (or don't), I'll be painfully and patiently awaiting their responses (or lack of them).<br />
<br />
Which leads to the new waiting game life has dealt me. Today, I found an agent who not only wants edgy stories, but specifically wants the darkest possible--she <i>craves</i> "problem novels." This woman is excited about taking something other people don't think can be published as YA and getting it done, setting trends, shaking things up, causing controversy. Twincest, anyone? Sounds like a perfect match for The House on Bittersweet Trail, right? Pitch it to her right? Why aren't you typing that query letter and hitting send instead of wasting time writing this blog post you say? All this bitching about waiting and you're dragging your feet you say?<br />
<br />
Closed for submissions until Fall 2012. So close, yet so far. The most painful kind of wait.<br />
<br />
So, I think I need to start at least planning novel number four, which might leapfrog into novel number three. While I've been bored, I've been updating my online presence--a new website and more coming soon--and I know those agents are going to be calling any second for a exclusive. There's only four more days until I see my beloved classroom again, and three before I meet with my journalism editors for the first time. Eventually things will be going forward full-tilt and I'll miss these days of inactivity and time to think, plan, organize, and tinker with the relatively unimportant.<br />
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But for now, I wait.<br />
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And it's <i>killing</i> me!<br />
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<i>"I've been waiting a long time..."</i></div>
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<i>Love the Green Day </i></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-72083189828237411582012-08-15T11:54:00.001-04:002012-08-15T11:54:53.137-04:00Oh Boy!I've been thinking. That's never good.<br />
<br />
Here's the deal. Over the past two days I've been reading blogs, interviews, and agent bios trying to find the right agent to represent my work. Here's the problem--none of the advice agrees on one key point.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I was discouraged to read several sources stating that boys don't read, so YA agents won't touch male-centered YA novels. When they see YA and a male protagonist's name together in the same query, it's a no...no questions asked. Should I be creating characters with unisex names to trick them?<br />
<br />
However, today I've been reading that because the YA section of the book store has gotten so pink that males are afraid to even go down the aisle, agents are <i>dying</i> to find good male voices in YA to attract an untapped market.<br />
<br />
What the fuck? So am I doomed or not?<br />
<br />
That's where the logical debate begins. First, even if it's true that young men don't read, does that necessarily mean male-centered YA won't sell? Don't girls want to see "romance" and relationships through a male point-of-view? It's like having an secret inside look at how the other half lives. I read stuff written by chicks about chicks. I loved<i> Speak</i>, for example. It's kind of like having that best friend of the opposite gender there to let you in on the little nuances of the opposite sex. Cool, right?<br />
<br />
So, technically, even if boys don't read, which is probably somewhat true but not wholly, that doesn't mean girls won't buy a book with a male main character. Seems pretty obvious. But that's the "ought" not the "is." YA agents should listen to pitches about books with male leading characters because some guys might buy it and chicks could by it, too. Let's not stereotype. Let's not say this is for boys and this is for girls and that's it.<br />
<br />
But is that how it really is? Do agents care about how things ought to be or only how they are. Look at the big hits lately--<i>Twilight</i> and <i>Hunger Games</i>. Girls. Girls. Girls. Even Harry Potter was created by a woman, and he isn't the prototypical male dealing with male problems. What about us dudes? I can see in our culture why agents might be afraid to take chances on us.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, just because agents might be <i>dying</i> to add some blue to their pink YA shelves doesn't mean they're willing to take a chance on it. I also read an opinion in a comment on a blog stating that everyone in YA talks the game. They all <i>say</i> they want more male voices and that boys would read more if they had some to choose from, but they aren't willing to actually take the chance.<br />
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It sounds grim. But what does the logic of it matter anyway? Should agents be looking for male YA? Should agents be playing it safe and sticking to teenage chick lit? Who cares? At the end of the day, I wrote what I wrote. I write what I write. The golden rule is a great story with great characters will get published. So, what am I worried about? We've advanced to the point where boys can read girl characters and girls can read boy characters, and it doesn't matter either way!<br />
<br />
I know you're sitting there saying the same thing--it's stereotyping to even say there's one thing for boys and one thing for girls. This is 2012--we've got Hillary Clinton and Title 9. It's a new world! The end of gender stereotyping!<br />
<br />
Every minute in this country, 160 boys are born. How many hospitals do you think are putting the pink hat on those boys? How many of their parents have prepared a Disney Princesses nursery?<br />
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That's what I thought.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-45576212288538012522012-08-12T14:46:00.000-04:002012-08-12T14:46:33.228-04:00The Truly Rejected 99%Well, I'm just about finished polishing the first draft of my new novel All We Know of Heaven and completely done refurbishing Scout's Honor based on some great feedback by a top agent. I've been reinvigorated this summer by something I heard at the WestConn MFA residency last week, which is not surprising since when I was in the program, all my invigoratory writing came from those few days in Danbury.<br />
<br />
One of the agents giving us a little talk on the industry mentioned that he rejects 99% of the queries he receives. 99%. Think about that. Basically, my chances of getting a yes from an agent are the same as an American getting a tax cut from Paul Ryan and Mitt Romney. This got me to thinking, though. I had heard so many stories of people going through 20-30 rejections before getting published.<br />
<br />
Scout's Honor was at 41. At least.<br />
<br />
But with this new number in mind, and some important revisions based on the aforementioned agent's advice, I'm at it again. I've decided to do a query a day until I get to 100 queries. Unless my writing stinks, which I don't think I would have gotten through my MFA program and a scrutinizing mentor like Daniel Asa Rose if it did, I should get a yes from one of the 100. Basic math, right?<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I'm facing revisions on novel three, which I'll give myself until next summer to fully finish. I've got plenty of readers who want a shot at All We Know of Heaven, including former students, former classmates, and a friend from church. Hopefully their feedback will make this one a winner.<br />
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Right now it just kind of blows my mind that I've written three full novels. Published or not, that kind of kicks ass. I'm pretty proud of that. And I've had enough people read and love my work to not be discouraged by a lack of publication. What's even more mind blowing is that I think I have a series brewing...at least a trilogy.<br />
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Agents beware! If you don't grab me up soon, you're going to have quite a backlog of work to deal with. Just sayin.'<br />
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<i>Oops...what I meant to say...</i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-30066341907139028172012-08-09T09:25:00.002-04:002012-08-09T09:33:00.916-04:00Dreams Do Come TrueDespite our mounting national debt, a faltering economy, and non-stop rhetoric about tax relief and tax shelters and tax fairness, President Barack Obama and the United States government have proven that dreams still can come true--for little boys.<br />
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Just yesterday, my son, a four year-old dreamer who enjoys Wii, board games, and long walks on the beach, proclaimed he wanted a rocket ship for his birthday. "You think that's cool, little guy," I said. "Check this out." He watched with glee as I showed him a YouTube video of a space shuttle launch and pictures from Mars.<br />
<br />
So forget making the dreams of middle class families come true by investing in education, health care, and help for small businesses. Let's launch rockets. I'm shocked that the Tea Party faction of the Republican Party or Libertarians aren't frothing at the mouth to lecture the president on his lack of fiscal restraint. I'm shocked that Mitt Romney's campaign isn't jumping all over this as a waste of government money at a time when government waste and cutting departments is at the top of the list of discussion points for this election.<br />
<br />
Why is that?<br />
<br />
Well, it's because our country is currently being run my males. Males that are still trying to make their childhood dreams come true. We spend like crazy on really cool, top-secret military gadgets without many conservatives railing against it. There's stuff going on at the "Groom Dry Lake location" (Area 51) that may have nothing to do with aliens, but still costs billions of dollars and is so classified that even top military leaders aren't even in the know.<br />
<br />
Why don't we hear calls to shut that place down? Because it's <i>cool</i>. If it's not flying saucers, it's really cool James Bond shit going down there. It's like a living, breathing GI Joe movie. Why do we even have NASA? That whole race to space thing with the Soviets is long over. Does anyone really think finding out that there were microscopic organisms on Mars billions of years ago is going to help us right now? Can't we wait, say, another million or so years, once we get the budget balanced, to go play Star Wars? At least use the technology to give us those flying cars that sci-fi movies have been promising for decades.<br />
<br />
And when the terrorist did that despicable act back on September 11th 2001, destroying the symbol of American financial excess, what did we do? We got ready and started planning to rebuild our symbol of financial excess to show those terrorists that America will not compromise on it's excess. This is the country that brought you super-sized value meals, for crying out loud. You're not going to get us to reign ourselves in with one act of terror. Basically, those in charge are reinacting that time their big sisters knocked down their LEGO castles and they had to rebuild it bigger and better to show just how little her knocking it down really mattered to them, as they held back the tears.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I feel like we're in a perpetual summer vacation, 104 unending days of building crazy contraption after crazy contraption as if funding was just as unending. Isn't your country a little broke to be sending a robot to collect dirt from Mars? Yes, yes it is. Where <i>is</i> Perry anyway?<br />
<br />
What would happen if we cut the military budget for R & D by, like, half. And don't try hiding behind some $250,000 chair or $9000 box of paper clips either. As Corey Taylor of Stone Sour put it, "Classified, my ass; it's a fucking secret, and you know it!" And then we eliminate NASA all together. Just cut it. Then we just buy the little boys running this country a freakin' XBOX or let them go to some classic toys convention and buy all their old Star Wars and GI Joe action figures back. Maybe we get them sparklers or a jar to catch bugs in or something. I don't know. Can we please put an end to them putting us further and further in debt just to play their little preschool games.<br />
<br />
So next time you want to complain about cutting "entitlements" or education or healthcare, please take the time to look at all the places we could be cutting if they weren't so <i>cool</i>. I mean, old people, teachers, and doctors are just so...well, lame. Why would our society value <i>those</i> losers.<br />
<br />
Who knows? Maybe a woman president wouldn't be so bad?<br />
<br />
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<i>Watch Phineas and Ferb help Baljeet build a portal to Mars</i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-85730469393521597992012-08-05T12:52:00.000-04:002012-08-05T12:53:03.917-04:00A New Start...I'm posting a completely revised chapter one to my first novel Scout's Honor. It's become clear to me that one of the main reasons it has gotten so close so many times to landing me an agent yet failed is the lameness of the first chapter. If you would be so kind, please read and leave any feedback you're willing to give in the comments below. The novel is about a 17 year-old boy that has run off to NYC to make it as a rock start, but the true reason that he has run away from his cushy, suburban life remains a mystery until the end, even as it haunts him. Thank you for all that have the time to help!<br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Real World</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Fuck
you, kid.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
had just gotten off the train at Grand Central station and asked a nice enough
looking lady in a newsboy cap and purple scarf where the taxi stand was. I
apologized for bothering her, and she walked off glaring at the big board,
probably pretending she cared when some imaginary train was coming in just to
avoid me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">By that time, my parents had
to be in hysterics. Well, at least my mom. Jerry was probably yelling a lot
about how I was just trying to get attention and how I could never make it in
the real world alone and how he’d beat the snot out of me if he ever got his
hands on me again. He liked to <i>threaten</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> to beat the snot out of me. He never did, though. I guess I
should be grateful. My cousin Sam got the snot beat out of him by his dad so
much DCF took him away, made him a ward of the state, and paid his college
tuition. Poetic.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I started wandering about
looking for a sign that said where I could find a taxi. There were so many
people rushing here or there, all with some huge purpose, some intense pull in
one direction or the other. There were business men, dressed in the suits and
ties to make sure we all knew they were business men, tourists flipping through
brochures and taking pictures, and even a token homeless guy with an overgrown
beard and a faded, red shirt. Perhaps times were tough even for Santa Claus.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The thing that really caught my eye in
the colorless abyss of the Great Hall was this little boy with a bright blue
balloon. His parents were tugging him along, but all he cared about was looking
up at the ceiling. The mile-high green sky above, scattered with celestial
bodies, always impressed me no matter how often I visited. What I saw on the
ground, however, was about the last thing I wanted to see—cops. They were
everywhere I looked. Well, at least that’s how it seemed. I was afraid of
police enough when I hadn’t done anything wrong, and now… Well, let’s just say
I was plenty afraid. I looked back for the boy and his balloon, but I lost him
in the crowd.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then I started thinking about
my kid sister Hester. That’s right, I said Hester. My parents were very
literary in college, especially my mom Priscilla. She was big on <i>The Scarlet
Letter</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> at the time, I
guess. She taught American literature for a few years before my dad got his big
break at the firm, and then she didn’t have to work any more. She was happy, I
guess, but never had much to do. She just sort of invented things to do, like
playing tennis and watering plants and all that. They named me Truman. Yup,
after Capote. Truman Armstrong, that’s me. I told you they were literary. Anyway,
Hester would have been panicking about that boy and if he was going to let the
balloon go all the way to the ceiling out of reach. She worried about things
like that, always putting other people first.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
shuffled through the traffic and got on line to buy a MetroCard just in case,
but it didn’t take long to find the taxi stand outside the station all on my
own. The line was fairly long, and it was hot and humid. I think my sweat was
starting to sweat. Then this pregnant lady jumped in line behind me kind of
waddling along each time the line moved. She must have been fairly far along
because she was pretty huge.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Excuse
me,” I said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Yes,”
she answered, a bit frazzled by a seventeen year-old punk addressing her. The
night before, I had gotten my lip pierced and hair done. I had a thing for punk
at the time, so I had the beautician chop it, spike it, and bleach haphazard
patches of it. In the movies, whenever perps were on the lamb, they altered
their appearances.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “You
can go ahead of me if you want,” I said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Waiting
for someone?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “No.
I just thought…I just wanted to be nice.” She <i>was</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> pregnant after all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “That’s
okay. You have a heavy load.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
had my portable amp in one hand, a massive bag full of whatever I could fit in
the other, and my gig bag with my guitar strapped over my shoulder. So she was
right, I was carrying a heavy load, but her cargo seemed a bit more important.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “You
sure?” I asked. “I’d feel bad making you wait.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Where
are you heading?” she asked as the line moved up again. A few businessy looking
guys had jumped in line behind us, all trying to look oh-so important. They
reminded me of my dad. I hoped they were running late.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “China
Town,” I said. I wanted to hit street vendors to get some cheap swag, update my
look a bit. If I was going to find my way as a rock star, I was going to have
to look the part. Westport was so suburban, and my high school so uppity,
cruddy Metallica t-shirts were enough to look hardcore. I imagined it would
take more in the Big Apple.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Me
too!” she said like it was the biggest act of God since the parting of the Red
Sea. “We’ll share a cab, and then I won’t have to wait longer.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Cool,”
I said, but I really didn’t want to. I didn’t much feel like striking up a
conversation with her. I couldn’t handle it that particular morning.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The
cab came, and I loaded my crap in the trunk. We made our way through stiff
traffic toward China Town. We didn’t talk much, just an awkward smile here or
there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “So
what brings you to New York?” she asked as I gathered my stuff out of the
trunk.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Starting
a music career,” I said confidently.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Sounds
exciting.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Hope
so,” I concluded.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I
bet a lot of people have done just that same thing.” She smiled and rested her
hands on her belly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I
know. I just feel like I’ll be different.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Oh,
no,” she said. “I didn’t mean to imply you wouldn’t make it. Obviously many
do.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Oh,
okay. Sorry.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Don’t
worry about it. You know what I used to want to be?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “No,
what?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “An
opera singer?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Really?
What happened?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Life,
I guess. Just wasn’t meant to be.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I’m
sorry.” For some reason that was the saddest thing I’d heard all day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Don’t
be. I wouldn’t trade my life for anything in the world.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “What
do you do?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I’m
heading to work now,” she said. “I guess you’d call me a companion nurse. I
spend time with and help take care of an elderly woman with Down’s Syndrome.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “That
sounds tough.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “It’s
challenging,” she admitted, “but she’s the love of my life. I couldn’t imagine
going very long without seeing her. She sees things differently than you or me.
It’s refreshing.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Well,
I’m glad for you,” I said. But honestly, I really wasn’t. I felt bad for it,
though.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “It’s
coming up on the right,” she said to the taxi driver, and he pointed to a spot
in front of a brick building. We were just south of Canal Street. She turned to
me. “I’m sure you’ll make it just fine, really, but if ever need anything, give
me a call.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. “I’m
Anne.” She held out her hand, and I shook it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
paused to find a suitable name to give her. “I’m Trent,” I lied, conjuring the
name of the first rock start that came to mind, Trent Reznor.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Nice
to meet you Trent,” she said. What a fraud I was.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> When
we pulled over to the curb, I jumped out and made my way around the cab to help
her dismount from her seat. She gave me an awkward smile, probably thinking the
gesture was over the top, and it was. I just felt bad for her, that’s all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> She
said goodbye and headed up the steps into the building. I was on my own again.
Time to lace up the big-boy shoes and be a man. I had my guitar, my saved up
allowance—three hundred and thirty-seven dollars and fifty-eight cents—and a
plan. Of course, I had just come up with the plan on the train, and I forgot my
pick, and three hundred and thirty-seven dollars and fifty-eight cents wouldn’t
get me one night in some Manhattan hotels, but the moment I stepped out into
the streets of the big city and looked up at the sun-glazed sky-scrapers and
clear blue skies, I knew I’d found exactly what I’d been looking for.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
awoke from my trance, however, as a loud honk startled me from behind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Move,
ya little shit!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> A
UPS truck was trying to pull into the spot vacated by our cab, but I was just
standing there clueless, apparently looking like a ‘little shit,’ ruining the
currier’s day. He honked twice more for good measure. Welcome to the big city.
I dragged my stuff and myself up onto the sidewalk and went looking for deals
with the street vendors.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I found a long row of salesman peddling cool swag, all for under ten
bucks, and within twenty minutes I had too much junk to carry — a new wallet,
some dark, pre-ripped jeans, a leather jacket with some crazy silver rings
across the side and back, and a pack of picks, too. It was amazing. I found
myself able to just start up a conversation with anyone – any guy that is.
There were a few cute girls selling bracelets and paintings that were too
intimidating and made me feel guilty for gawking at them, but with guys I just
started shooting the breeze and whatnot. Like this one old dude selling
tchotchkes. He was eyeing me while I checked out this over-priced crystal
unicorn that was obviously fashioned out of glass.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was about to move on to the next table in a long succession of
worthless wares when he hollered at me, “Hey, kid, want a cool pocket knife?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Let me see.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“It’s a one of kind, has a unicorn engraved in the handle. Got it off a
dead guy in Central Park.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“How much?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“For you, eight bucks.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Sold.
Dead guy, huh?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Yeah.
Poor guy spent the whole night out in the cold. Winter ain’t no time to be
homeless. Made me eight bucks, though.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “How
‘bout summer?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Kid,
there ain’t no such thing as homeless in the summer. You can sleep wherever you
want, and hell, it’s not like you have to have a place to crash at night. City
that never sleeps and all that.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> He
looked like he was speaking from experience, so who was I to question him? His
graying stubble put him at about fifty, and his frazzled, matching, half-bald
scalp agreed. It was encouraging news seeing as how I had already burned a
third of my resources.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Well,
thanks a lot, sir.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Sir.
I like that. Thank <i>you</i></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, kid. Here,
that knife comes with a complimentary lighter.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “No
thanks, I don’t smoke.” I'd never even tried, actually.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “You
ain’t gotta smoke to have a lighter, kid. Take it. It used to be Henry
Winkler’s. Ya know, the Fonz?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> I
knew the Fonz.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Sure,
I’ll take it. Thanks again.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> He
tossed it to me underhand, and I made a basket catch as he answered, “No
problem.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> His
smile told me I'd just bought him dinner in exchange for a couple of second
hand nothings, but I was happy just the same. This stuff had character, a
story. I tried to flip the knife open, but it was stuck. I pushed harder and
harder, but nothing. It was rusted shut or something.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Hey!”
I called to the vendor. “Sir, this thing is busted.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Caveat
emptor,” he said with a crooked smile.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “But
I want my money back.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “I
want to be the King of England,” he said. “Always test the merchandise first,
kid. Remember that.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “But
that’s not fair,” I protested.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Hey
asshole.” The vendor next to him, an extremely large African-American with no
neck selling “silk” neckties was calling out to me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Me?”
I asked, pointing to my chest.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Yeah,
what other asshole would I be talking to?” He looked to the man with the gray
stubble and said, “Look, he knows his name.” The old man laughed. What a crock
of shit this was. “Just move on,” the neckless man commanded, like he was
performing a Jedi mind trick. I wanted to tell him it only worked on the weak-minded,
but the guns on this guy were huge, and I thought it was better to just let it
go.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
<i>suppose</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> he taught me
a lesson. And on the bright side, he confirmed for me that I really didn’t need
a place to stay, so spending my cash didn’t worry me. I could make enough each
day from playing to buy me a couple of items off the value menu somewhere and
sleep on a bus or subway ride now and again. Who needs a bed when you've got
Henry Winkler’s lighter?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> When
all was said and done, there was a whopping ninety-eight bucks left in my new,
cow-scented wallet. Way to conserve. But I worried not. And as the sun gave in
to brighter, man-made illumination, a newfound spirit of hope overcame me. I
had done all I could to screw up my life, to make Truman Armstrong a failure,
but New York had given me a second chance. I would never look back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
spent the rest of the afternoon sightseeing. From Greenwich Village to Central
Park, I was everywhere. I loved it all. The people, the food, the sights, the
sounds, the yellow cab swarms buzzing along as far as the eye could see, the
smell of garbage and ladies’ perfumes dancing together between drops of summer
sweat, the playbills, the Garment Distric princesses, the greasy feel to the
hot sidewalks, and even the drone of pure, unbridled noise, it all made me feel
at home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
ended up in Times Square. I spent an eternity just staring up into the
sleepless night sky as the glittering lights of Broadway intermingled with the
heaven’s stars. For a brief moment I forgot all the bullshit. I forgot high
school, parents, and unforgivable mistakes. I could see myself on stage at the
Roseland or Hammerstein, maybe even the Garden. I could see myself being a
star.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Then
I started feeling a bit hungry. I went up to a cart selling dirty-water dogs
and gyros and ordered two dogs. I reached for my wallet to pay and nearly
swallowed my own throat. It was gone. At first I assumed I put it in the wrong
pocket, so I stood up and felt the other. Then, in a panic, I felt all my
pockets, and each one was empty. I must have looked like an idiot there,
groping myself in the middle of Times Square. I checked my bag and even my gig
bag. Nothing. It was gone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> You
hear about things like pick pockets, but you assume that’s something that
happens to other people. Maybe they’re urban legends. But no. They’re real. And
I was broke.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Lost
your wallet, kid?” asked the man who ran the cart. He was holding a hot dog in
each hand.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I
think so,” I said in defeat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “There’s
a couple officers right over there. I’d tell them if I were you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Thanks,”
I said, but I knew I couldn’t do that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
walked away hungry. Luckily, I still had some money left on my MetroCard, so I
got on the subway and just rode around, dozing off now and then to get at least
a little sleep. The subway ran all night, but trains were infrequent, so I had
to struggle to stay awake during waits. There’s no way I wanted to sleep in the
station. An MTA cop would probably want to know why someone so young was so
alone so late at night, and who knows what kind of whack job or crack head
might mess with me while I was sleeping there. I didn’t want to just walk the
streets that late either and draw attention to myself.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Eventually
the sun rose above the skyline, and the morning hustle and bustle around me in
Columbus Circle told me that I had survived my first night on the island of
Manhattan. Sure, I’d lost nearly one hundred bucks and my new wallet, but I had
to give myself some credit. Maybe I <i>could </i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">make it the real world. I would have to make some money, though,
quickly, if I was going to make this happen. Going home wasn’t an option. It
was time to put my plan into action. It was time to become a star.</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-55695365250420476132012-07-30T09:54:00.000-04:002012-07-30T10:17:50.085-04:00Let's Get Political...With so much going on in the world, I'm not sure what to blog about. The Olympics? Too boring. NFL training camp? Now there's some <i>real </i>sports, but it's pretty quiet in Giants world. Michelle Bachman? Sure, if I were writing a comedy routine, I'd start right there, but she's quickly proving her irrelevance. Revisions on my book? That's going smoothly, so not much to tell there. I only write about my writing when I'm whining about something. I've got an agent meeting on Friday with an agent that seems perfect for everything I'm trying to do in my first book, but I've gotten excited about those before, and here I sit unpublished. So we'll just let go and let God on that one.<br />
<br />
So what to write about?<br />
<br />
I think I won't be timely. Let's look 100 days in the future, as all those emails from every Democrat in America are asking me to do. Election 2012! I was doing some research around the web, looking at poles, maps, reading articles, even checking out data on Tweets and followers for both candidates. The fact of the matter is, as much as the media is <i>trying</i> to make a story out of every little thing on the campaign, it's not much of a story at all. This is looking like another incumbent cruises to victory kind of election, and the media must <i>hate</i> that. Well, unless you Keith Olbermann, and then you're ecstatic. Your guy wins.<br />
<br />
I imagine it's time for the FOX News crew to start manufacturing things to bring Obama down, never mind the fact that all past attempts have failed. Let's face it, Hillary Clinton did a better job of vetting Obama than any Republican could. And MSNBC will get in on it too, focusing more on where Obama is vulnerable, they'll probably call it white-voters-buyers-remorse or something like that. Anything to scare liberals into thinking Romney has a chance in order to help Obama gain votes and keep people interested in their news coverage. Maybe they'll highlight voter suppression or something like that.<br />
<br />
I think back to 2008 when Keith Olbermann did the basic math about half way through the night and was all like, "With California certain to go to Obama, hasn't he already won?" and Chuck Todd chastising him with something like, "Shut up Olbermann, we still have two hours left of coverage!" These are paraphrases, of course. Don't quote me on this (or anything ever).<br />
<br />
Either way, 270towin.com, my favorite source for election hanky panky, has Obama as a 94% chance of winning, and there's nearly as good a chance of a freakish tie as there is of Romney winning. Basically, if you really focus on the maps, all Obama has to do is win Virginia OR Ohio OR Florida OR Iowa (Iowa, for crying out loud!). Obama is polling well in Ohio, close in VA, and has a shot in Florida and Iowa. I think the key to the new electoral reality we're facing is Pennsylvania. I remember during the Bush elections we used to call PA a swing state as much as Ohio and Florida, a key chunk of electoral votes. Now it is solid blue, probably with the help of Joey-B.<br />
<br />
The website runs 10,000 simulated elections daily based on crunching state-by-state polling numbers and other trends, and Obama wins 91% of the time. The mean, median, <i>and</i> mode for his electoral votes in those simulations is 303, a number I'm comfortable with and expect may be the count, unless Romney makes even more "gaffes" before election day and Obama takes North Carolina and Florida too. Right now I have the most Obama could take up in the 340's, with the absolute <i>most </i>Romney could take at 276. That means that even with Romney taking the popular vote and winning all the states that even Obama has a slight lead in right now, he would just barely make the 270 necessary to be president.<br />
<br />
Other sites seem to agree. I've seen projections of 290, 303, and 274 safe for Obama at various polling sites across the internet. That's the<i> safe</i> number with the possibility for more. So while the national polls are showing a close race, with quite a few undecided, we don't elect presidents nationally. A candidate could have a national lead by winning by large margins in states he was going to win anyway, but losing very close elections in the states he loses, but if he loses those close battles in key states and enough of them, he loses the electoral college. Ask Al Gore all about that.<br />
<br />
So, unless something drastic comes out on Obama or happens in the next 98 days, the 98% are going to be celebrating four more years of Barack-n-roll in the White House. And truthfully, with all that Obama has weathered, and all the attempts at using his past and his various connections to bring him down, if a surprise is coming our way, it's coming from Mittens, not Obama. Just think about those tax returns that must be so damaging that taking the hit for <i>not</i> bringing them out is less of a political setback than letting us see them.<br />
<br />
The good news is that if the political nonsense of false promises that can't possibly be followed through on has got you down, you now have my permission to quit watching. No matter how much the cable news networks try to hype the race, it's a foregone conclusion the incumbent is going to win yet again. If you want political drama, watch the race for the House and Senate. Most have the Senate at a tie, with VP Biden breaking the tie, and I've seen equally reliable predictions for both the Dems taking back Congress and the GOP making major gains on their majority. And let's face it, there's a lot more at stake with who is making the laws than who is signing them. We've seen already that no matter what progressive agendas the President wants to push, it doesn't matter with a block-and-blame Congress.<br />
<br />
If the Democrats take back the law-making body of government, and have Obama in the White House to put the stamp of approval on their legislation, we could see some of the most innovating, controversial, and history-making legislation of all time. We are ripe with debate in this country, and a sweep of the Presidency, the Senate, and the House could mean single-payer health care, gay marriage, legalized pot, a new immigration policy based on compassion, and the 1990s tax codes sweeping the nation. (Ahhh...Clinton-era budget reduction gets me all wispy in the morning.)<br />
<br />
If you're a Democrat and all of that excites you, get campaigning, donating, and voting. Strike hard and fight. If you're a Republican and that scares you, stop being crazy. Stop showing the nation daily that you're more concerned with hate and childish squabbling than with helping the people of this country. In fact, I even know a way you could possibly turn the Presidential race on its head. Should I tell?<br />
<br />
The fact is, nobody is excited about 2012. Obama would be winning by a bigger landslide if liberals were still excited about him, and conservatives hate their candidate. Not much excitement there or a struggling economy could guarantee Obama doesn't get a second term. So how does the GOP excite their base when all the candidates that get tea-party folks and hard-line cultural conservatives frothing at the mouth make independent voters sick to their stomachs?<br />
<br />
Condi. She's tough. She stood up to Bush and Cheney at times. She's a woman, a real woman, not a woman that sends womanhood back to the 1800's. African-American voters might give her a look, and on every controversial issue her stances wiggle right down the middle. Abortion is bad, but the family should decide. We need to be tough on immigration law enforcement while realizing we are a country of immigrants. And I love this quote, ‘“Let me be clear. I’m evangelical and I’m proud of it. I consider an
evangelical to be someone who professes faith in a way that draws others
to it.” (As oppose to scaring the living shit out of others.)<br />
<br />
Source: <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%E2%80%98%E2%80%9CLet%20me%20be%20clear.%20I%E2%80%99m%20evangelical%20and%20I%E2%80%99m%20proud%20of%20it.%20I%20consider%20an%20evangelical%20to%20be%20someone%20who%20professes%20faith%20in%20a%20way%20that%20draws%20others%20to%20it.%E2%80%9D%20%20Read%20more:%20http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0712/78489.html#ixzz2271GNLkp" target="_blank">The Politico</a> <br />
<br />
Not only do I think Condoleeza Rice could shake up this election, though probably not win it, I think she has what it takes to be the first woman president in 2016. Tell me Hillary vs. Condi wouldn't be the greatest presidential campaign story in the history of our nation. I think Rice actually brings some honesty to the table, will stand up for what she believes in even if I don't agree with her on some things, and could take the GOP in a direction it hasn't gone recently with fiscal conservatism and social sanity. What a great alternative to the Michelle Bachmans of the party. She also handles herself in an interview in such a way I think she'd be a master debater (see what I did there?), so no Sarah Palin "I can see Russia from my house" jokes on SNL<br />
<br />
Well, the veepstakes should come to a close shortly after Romney returns from his international dating game, a game he is losing, so probably in a week or two we'll know for sure. I predict he'll pick another white, male stuffed-suit that does nothing to excite and everything to simply "do no harm," ushering in another four years of Obama. The only question left to answer is what type of four years will it be. Four years of Congressional cooperation in changing the world as we know it, or four more years of block-and-blame campaigning for the 2016 presidency.<br />
<br />
I'm thinking, sadly, we're looking at the latter. <br />
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<i>Get it?</i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-35578192417383628242012-07-25T11:52:00.000-04:002012-07-25T11:53:26.990-04:00Incarnate?This week's YA Highway: Road Trip Wednesday asks if I could be reincarnating into any fictional character, who would I chose? And I'm not at all afraid to answer truthfully, I don't know.<br />
<br />
I always laugh at these kinds of questions. Why would anyone ever want to be anyone else? Sure you might want their money, or their lovers, or their station in life. Maybe they have opportunities you don't have, or maybe they're more attractive than you. But have you ever really tried to imagine what it would be like to be someone else. I just did, and it wasn't pretty.<br />
<br />
I mean, you're so used to being you. I don't want to deal with the way another person's mind works. Chances are he or she would be dumber than me, anyway. I don't want to deal with liking the kinds of foods that person likes or getting used to that person's bowel regularity or irregularity. What if the character likes sardines or mushrooms. Yuck! Maybe the person you admire gets a nasty boil on his or her inner thigh every summer or has relatively harmless kidney stones that cause a pain in his or her side when he or she is stressed. I know what my body and my life brings on a daily basis. I'm too old and set in my ways to get used to a knew existence.<br />
<br />
Furthermore, what comes with reincarnation (which I don't believe in, by the way) is a complete rebirth. I wouldn't know I was me being someone else. I'd just be the someone else, a fictitious character with enough conflict and inner turmoil to keep readers interested, and have no idea that this was novel or exciting. I would just be conflicted and full of inner turmoil. Isn't it hard enough to deal with conflict and turmoil knowing yourself like you do, let alone being a whole new somebody with all those problems.<br />
<br />
Think about it. At first glance, Franklin the turtle sounds good. I mean, he's got it pretty easy. He lives an old-school life when things were much simpler and all of your friends played nice, and even if they didn't, the learned their lessons in about 12 minutes. But he's just so darn neurotic. I couldn't imagine running around all day thinking just because some animal played with someone else that he doesn't like me anymore or not being able to sleep without my favorite stuffed animal. Wait? But I am an animal. That's just weird.<br />
<br />
What about Harry Potter? Magic powers. Admirers all through the wizard kingdom. A cute ginger girl friend. Hogwarts seems like the perfect home. But <i>really </i>think about it. The first time I got anywhere near Volda...oops...he who shall not be named, I would shit my pants ten times. I'm not cut out for wizard duels and confronting certain death at every turn. I can barely handle when a co-worker is mad at me. Nope. Not going to be a wizard.<br />
<br />
Even Super Man has kryptonite and a whole slew of villains who want him dead. I'm pretty sure right now there's no one lurking out there, believe it or not, who wants me, specifically, dead. I'm cool that way.<br />
<br />
No, I kind of like the gig I got going on for myself. I'd miss my kids too much if I changed into someone else--my biological children and the ones at school--and I'd miss my mind. I'd miss my strengths and my weaknesses. I'd miss knowing just when I was going to have to go to the bathroom each day, and I'd miss the way I could gobble as much pizza I want without feeling full but eat only a little bit of salad and get stomach cramps. I'd miss the way I can make people laugh when they're happy and make them feel like things will be okay when they're upset. I don't know. I'd just miss me.<br />
<br />
And who knows. Maybe that character--or person if you want to extend this to real life--that you wish you could be is deep down full of sorrow. Hell, who knows, maybe that nice guy is really a douche bag down deep, and you won't quite be ready to deal with that negative inner monologue. So why envy? Why not just be you?<br />
<br />
But if the question were phrased differently, if it read "if you <i>had to be</i> reincarnated into a fictional character, who would it be, then how would I answer?<br />
<br />
Mario of course! He's got princesses all over him, relatively innocuous enemies, unlimited lives for the most part, and if things start going wrong, you just press reset. You get impatient--warp zone, and who wouldn't want to have just one day where you could spit fire or ice, double your height with one mushroom, and even fly with one of those cool propellers on your head.<br />
<br />
Oh, and that Wild Wing kart is pretty badass. Just sayin.'<br />
<br />
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<i> This is self-explanatory.</i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-14990151923170605132012-07-23T10:06:00.002-04:002012-07-23T10:18:54.508-04:00Lighting the Dark NightI'm not sure I know what to say about the tragedy in Aurora, but I also know I don't want to stay silent on the matter. There's just so much upsetting about it that I don't know where to begin.<br />
<br />
I teach my writing students that when they are attempting the horror genre, the best thing they can do is find a situation that should be safe and comforting and make it the source of the horror. That's why we fear what's in the closet or under the bed. That's our bedroom, our sanctuary, and you're making it the source of fear. It creeps us out. The same goes for creepy children, clowns, or a murderous mother.<br />
<br />
Well, what's more comforting than buying a large popcorn, dowsing it with movie theater butter, and watching the third installment of your favorite super hero movie with friends and family? The thought that even a public space set up for entertainment and release from our problems could be that dangerous really freaks us out.<br />
<br />
That's almost certainly the reason for the desire we have to blame everyone we can pick out as an easy target. It's much more palatable to point to this institution or that legislation when things like this happen than to admit that we live in a dangerous world and these things happen. At least if there's someone to point your finger at, you can be sure you aren't blaming yourself. At least you can pretend it's all somehow logical, somehow makes sense.<br />
<br />
Some are targeting gun laws, which may have made a difference in the amount of carnage, but who is to say the suspect wouldn't have found another way--bombs, chemicals, or even illegally obtained firearms. Some are targeting violent movies, but most of us have watched our share of super hero movies and have never harmed a soul. I just watched Star Wars Episode III last night, and I have no desire to go all Anakin Skywalker on a school of younglings. Some of the articles I've read even sound strangely skeptical about the University of Colorado where the suspect was a PhD candidate.<br />
<br />
But you can't blame the schools on this one. This wasn't some homeless castoff that the system failed. He was a straight A student who excelled in high school and at the University of California, Riverside, and was attending an intensive PhD program with 34 other students. He had friends. He had a church. He wasn't a freak in a cave.<br />
<br />
It's almost certain that it will come out that this man was mentally ill. Like the Greyhound cannibal a few years ago, he was probably schizophrenic and had no idea what he was really doing to people and families in that theater, all around Colorado, and all around the world. The Greyhound cannibal is on medication now and going on supervised trips into the city. People are protesting and upset. They can't imagine that someone who did something so newsworthy and horrific is now just a normal guy with the help of time and medication.<br />
<br />
The same could happen with the Aurora shooter. The truth is there are very few individuals, if any at all, that do something using logical thought that can be considered pure evil. Either they are mentally ill or they <i>think</i> what they are doing is the right thing to do, or both. Even Hitler believed he was saving the world, not destroying it. As misguided as people can be sometimes, they usually aren't hell-bent on evil. There's a chance that one person asking this shooter if something was wrong, or noticing that something was wrong at all prompting him or her to even ask, could have prevented a tragedy. Or maybe not. Life's not that simple.<br />
<br />
So what do we do with this information? How do we live in a world where a top student in a PhD program guns down innocent movie-goers on a fun summer night out? How do we live in a world where innocent Greyhound passengers can be stabbed to death and cannibalized in their sleep? How do we live in a world of 9/11 terrorists, Oklahoma City Bombers, and Son of Sam killers?<br />
<br />
I think the first part of the answer to those questions is simply to realize we live in that world. To realize we've <i>always</i> lived in that world. We like to think there were some good old days, and I've discussed this before on this blog, but I'd like someone to tell me when they were. In the eighties, we were pumped so full of good touch/bad touch lessons and fear of kidnappers that decapitated and raped kids that most of the people my age can actually remember their code word they were to give strangers who claimed to be picking them up for their parents. The sixties and seventies were ripe with glamorized serial killers. Brutal killing only increases as you go back through time. Think Vlad the Impaler, the murderer released to the people instead of Jesus, or Elizabeth Bathory, the Hungarian Blood Countess of the 16th century who allegedly bathed in the blood of her victims way back then.<br />
<br />
Once we except that nobody is to blame. Once we realize that life has always been dangerous and the one thing we are guaranteed is death, we can accept the inevitable truth that our lives are the most fragile possessions we have...and the most precious. Yet living in fear and trying to protect those lives by living in crippling fear just devalues them. Like an antique vase that you pack away for no one to see, there is very little value in a life merely based on existing and not living.<br />
<br />
So in the end, in my opinion, we just need to live our lives. Mourn the victims, of course. Look for justice for those families, of course. But looking to blame isn't going to help. Unless you find a way to cure humanity of itself, these kinds of incidents are going to happen. Be open to the idea that the murderer might just be a victim in his own right--plagued by his own mind--that needs help not death. If not, if he was simply a cold-blooded, evil-doer, then punish him to the full extent of the law.<br />
<br />
Look out for each other. If something seems off, ask if everything's okay. If something seems way off, ask how you can help. Care. But most of all, remember that we're not promised anything in this world, not even tomorrow.<br />
<br />
Realize that every moment with friends and family could be the last. Make the most out of life because you don't know when it's going to end. It may sound cliche, but that's because the same dangers we think modern society should be immune from, or that some think are a creation of our modern society, have been lurking for as long as man has walked this Earth. Cane killed Abel. The first born child on Earth was a cold-blooded killer. We have to come to grips with that.<br />
<br />
While we should never get <i>used</i> to this kind of thing, I would hope that we could learn from it. Go see Batman if you were planning on it anyway. Don't live in fear. Instead, live each moment of your life to the fullest and love and care for your fellow man. Don't let this rip us apart--there's enough of that going on today in our politics--but do your part to help it bring us together. Don't let this one man--whether he was evil or ill--make our lives into one, long, dark night.<br />
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"Not Promised Tomorrow" by Stuck Mojo </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-28192827167292255322012-07-11T12:04:00.000-04:002012-07-11T12:14:02.261-04:00Hollywood Calling...It seems lately that the only true measure of literary success is getting your book adapted to the big screen. It also seems that the only good movies are the ones based on books. And we've all heard the whining complaints about how the movie ruined this or that from the book. The issue is that basically we've already directed, acted, and edited the movie version of the book in our minds as we read it, and <i>obviously</i> our movie version is better than theirs.<br />
<br />
I do this assignment after reading <i>The Crucible</i> with my high school juniors. They cast the movie, pick some songs for the soundtrack, come up with a tag line, and then make a movie poster to advertise for their movie. This leads to some strange results. Think Bill Clinton as John Proctor with Hillary as Elizabeth and Monica Lewinsky as Abigail Williams. You have to admire the extent of their historical knowledge. But no matter how terrible their versions of the movie are, once I show them the film version, other than their relief that they're watching a movie in school that's in color, they all think their versions were better. Of course Will Smith makes a better John Proctor than that goofy old what's-his-name.<br />
<br />
So, when YA Highway's Road Trip Wednesday asks our favorite movie that was <i>better</i> than the book, they're asking a nearly impossible question to answer. But alas, I can think of two. And I might get blasted for both.<br />
<br />
The first is kind of obvious--<i>The Lord of the Rings</i> Trilogy. Those who watch the movies and complain about them being too long and drawn out have obviously never read the books. Sure, they're classics and must reads, and I don't think I'd want to change a word, but...let's just say Tolkien is a bit long-winded. Was he being paid by the word? And that whole thing with the weird guy that lived in a tree that just slows down the whole exciting journey? I'm glad Peter Jackson cut him out.<br />
<br />
I have a strong imagination, but somehow while reading the books I found myself picturing a childish cartoon of a war in comic book color with the hobbits played by Jim Henson puppets. I think <i>The Dark Crystal</i> overly influenced my reading. Creepy. Seeing the epic battles and scenery in live action with great acting, amazing effects, and unbelievably dramatic timing brought the world of Middle Earth alive much more than my imagination could. Fo sho!<br />
<br />
The second is <i>The Shining</i>. Sure Kubrick's film was <i>far</i> different than King's novel (in fact, I've heard some say they really aren't much of the same thing at all.), but I kind of liked that. Kubrick was creepier. He realized that with a movie you have the advantage of visuals, of imagery through the eyes, not the mind. You watch that movie, and there are so many images that are left frozen in your mind forever: the blood river in the elevator, the creepy twin girls, "Redrum" in the mirror, the corpse-like woman in the bath tub, the little boy peddling down the hall. It's amazing how well Kubrick used the medium of film to take what King did so well in print and reinvent it. Both are terrifying. Both are memorable. But they both were able to do what they did in the perfect way for the medium both were using. Quite remarkable. I know I've been scarred for life.<br />
<br />
As a writer, though, I've heard authors talking about being sellouts for letting Hollywood corrupt their masterpieces. Not I. Sure I've yet to have a novel even published, but I can't think of a better tribute to me, my story, and my characters than to see them on the big screen. I'll be at the opening, tears in my eyes...<br />
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Criticizing every <i>single</i> change, of course.<br />
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<i>Sweet, innocent...nightmares </i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-62313216265958528542012-07-09T10:23:00.000-04:002012-07-09T10:47:23.082-04:00Dickens, Poe and Dickinson Walk into a Bar...It's that question that kids have been asking for centuries, the one every adult fears. Daddy, where do <i>stories</i> come from? Okay, so it's not the type of question that makes you cringe, but it's just as difficult a question to answer.<br />
<br />
It wasn't my kid that asked me this recently but my baptism sponsor. We were hanging out at Starbucks, me with my manly, no-nonsense strawberries and creme frappabingosomethingorother, she with her girlie, way-too-hipster <i>black</i> coffee. We were talking about organ donation and how one person can save so many lives, when an idea occurred to me--one that I'm not even sure is original. I asked her, what if you wrote a novel and it followed this group of separate characters, and you didn't know why they were all connected, but then, near the end, they all end up needed transplants and get them from the same person, another character you'd been following?<br />
<br />
She wondered aloud if that's how I lived my life. As a writer, was I always searching for a story? I didn't think so. It sounds too pretentious and writery to say (in an over-dramatic, pretentious voice), "<i>Everything</i> is a story to me. I comb <i>every</i> interaction in my life to find that *<i>gasp</i>* one...great...story!"<br />
<br />
I was pretty sure that wasn't me.<br />
<br />
After further review, though, maybe it is. I always attributed the stories I come up with to a creative mind--they just pop in there. But, alas, an examination of the facts proves that this just ain't true. So where do they come from? If you look at the novels I've written, well, I steal them.<br />
<br />
My first novel started brewing in a Brit Lit seminar on how British Colonialism influenced British novels. A discussion spawned, one day, from <i>Great Expectations</i> about the nature of crime--about how Pip identified with the prisoners in London--and driving home that day, before I even was an MFA student or graduate, before I ever was a writer, I decided it would be cool to write a novel that examined the nature of crime, that there were things we do as humans that are perfectly legal but somehow were worse crimes than those that get us locked up.<br />
<br />
Fast-forward a few months (maybe longer?). I'm driving in my car listening to Green Day's <i>American Idiot</i>, an album with such a distinct storyline that it was adapted into a Broadway show. The idea of a suburban kid running off to the city and watching his whole life crash down around him, forcing him to run home with his tail between his legs (at least that's how I interpreted the album) stuck with me. In the car that day, Truman Armstrong was born--a boy that runs away from home for an unknown reason, and once you really start to like him and feel bad for him, you learn his crime--he ran away because he got his girlfriend pregnant. Dirt bag, right? Criminal, right? He makes amends in the end and suffers for it, but I guess I have to thank Billie Joe Armstrong and Charles Dickens for that one. Two of my all-time favs.<br />
<br />
Novel number two? Well, the credit for that one kind of goes to Edgar Allan Poe. It was the (possibly) incestuous twins of The House of Usher that spawned that naughty little novel. The House on Bittersweet Trail, for which the novel is named, even falls in the end like Usher's abode. I'm glad to credit Poe with this idea, though, as many who were at my reading at WestConn probably assumed I was some kind of psycho perve. Nope. Sorry. Poe had twins doing the nasty almost 200 years ago. I was just inspired by them. The rest of the story did come from my own life, traumatic childhood moments and such, but mostly it was Poe's fault. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it!<br />
<br />
As for the novel I'm currently working on, the idea really spawned from a combination of my conversion to Christianity and writing the blog post about it. When I wrote that post, I quoted the poem about hope by Emily Dickinson. Well, thinking about her made me think of another poem she wrote, a poem about losing those close to you that starts, "My life closed twice before its close" and ends "Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell." So the novel All We Know of Heaven was born. It follows a young lady through two near-death experiences, but also the two deaths of loved ones--the true meaning of the poem. In the end, a young man she fancies helps her to find God with many of my own personal experiences finding Him woven into the end of the book. Thank you Emily Dickinson.<br />
<br />
So, if you're keeping score, which I wasn't until just now, I got my ideas from combining the classic literature I studied and now teach with my own person issues and interests. Every time, same combination. How boring. But if I weren't paying attention, and looking for a story, I wouldn't have found them in those pages, on that CD, or in my life. So perhaps I am always looking. Dreams. Daydreams. Television. Books. Conversations.<br />
<br />
I guess I'm more pretentious and writery than I thought.<br />
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<i>Basket Case by Green Day</i></div>
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<i>Music video inspired by </i>One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest<i> </i> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03627629480720815352noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-11535022536157321732012-07-02T10:38:00.001-04:002012-07-02T10:38:32.792-04:00Prom Dresses and Menstrual Cycles<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAy57ByCl0tl4Hk2vrt6RS7NP4ABHGzixVRnIU_YLK7qmMhtWZrbmNf39HfnVhAvQ28TrwQn93p4moPbjxwpVdi7KqnJdV2js0Aefbz_NXbwUkqWe4KJGpgmuEeZebfCe9kAjBu3Pz5bm/s1600/Picture+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAy57ByCl0tl4Hk2vrt6RS7NP4ABHGzixVRnIU_YLK7qmMhtWZrbmNf39HfnVhAvQ28TrwQn93p4moPbjxwpVdi7KqnJdV2js0Aefbz_NXbwUkqWe4KJGpgmuEeZebfCe9kAjBu3Pz5bm/s400/Picture+1.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>All We Know of Heaven, A Wordle by www.wordle.net</i></td></tr>
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We've all been there. You're taking on your first novel on your own since graduating from an MFA program where professional writers served as mentors helping you complete two novels. So what do you do? Run for the comfort a a familiar voice or style of character. No, you get a sex change.<br />
<br />
In writing the first draft for my latest novel "All We Know of Heaven," which I completed in a record fifteen days, I chose to write from the point-of-view of a female protagonist, a seventeen year-old girl named Tia. My former students know this isn't much of a stretch for me. I mean, as the adviser of a high school newspaper and yearbook, there's no demographic I've spent more time with in the past two years than teenage girls.<br />
<br />
Why, you ask, did I attempt to narrate from a female's perspective? Well, simply put, that's the story that came to me. I wasn't trying to stretch my horizons or anything like that. It wasn't an experiment in narrative technique or breaking out of my past habits. I simply became obsessed with the story of a girl and her struggles, so I wrote it.<br />
<br />
I may be wrong, but I think Tia sounds like a girl. In fact, she probably sounds more like a girl than some of my past characters sounded like boys. Actually, some of my old characters have been criticized as whiny or overly sensitive. Now, with Tia, I don't think that criticism will come. Which says more about gender stereotypes than it does my narration. Perhaps I've always been writing like a girl.<br />
<br />
Which brings up an interesting question. What's the difference? The only time I felt uncomfortable and actually consulted a real, live teenage girl (thanks Taylor!) was navigating the equally complex world of prom dresses and menstrual cycles.<br />
<br />
When I really think about it, there's one thing I've learned about teenage girls--they are all supremely insecure...and they all find completely different ways to try and compensate for it.<br />
<br />
But isn't that the same about teenage boys? And when you get down to it, that's pretty much true about adults, too. What became the essence of capturing a teenage girl was really pinpointing Tia's insecurities and developing how she compensates for them. When you're really afraid of losing those close to you, how do you best prevent being crippled by that fear? If you're insecure about your own sanity, how do make sure everyone knows you're sane?<br />
<br />
I think this is the psychological drama at the heart of every great piece of writing. What are our characters' hangups that they let screw up their entire lives, and how do they come to terms with them to live relatively normal lives in the end? With that as the basic question, there doesn't seem to be much difference between a male protagonist and a female one. We're all whack.<br />
<br />
Besides proms and periods, there doesn't seem to be much difference.<br />
<br />
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<i>Grow a pair! </i></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-51392616382419134222012-06-18T22:10:00.000-04:002012-06-19T12:21:37.483-04:00Jesus FreakYesterday morning I received God's grace publicly and, as Pastor John put it, chose the story by which I will live. I had read a great deal about baptism and, of course, was wondering if I would "feel different" after the ceremony was complete. However, just a couple of days before, a colleague of mine--a wise English teacher with a great soul for compassion--told me baptism was a lot like marriage or divorce. All three are just the making public of something, a transition, that has already occurred. I had already made the choice, and God had already shed his grace on me. If it weren't so, I wouldn't have been there in the first place.<br />
<br />
What led me to this great change in course, to being saved, was God's work and stemmed from several events--most deeply personal--spurned on by a couple of heaven-sent angels. I may never share the entire story publicly, though you'll probably see glimpses of it in fictions I create for as long as God grants me the creative spirit to keep creating them. But the angels will always be with me, no matter where they move to or, more accurately, where ever God sends them to do good work.<br />
<br />
The most remarkable thing about me, a devout atheist, finding God--about a man who once read Anton LeVay and cheered on Bill Maher's rants against Christianity turning coat and taking on the armor of Christ in the battle against Satan, about a devout fan of Marilyn Manson becoming a devout follower of the Christ Jesus--was also finding out just how wrong I was about Christianity. Actually, I would never say I "found God." To find God would imply I was looking for him. The reality was He was searching for me, trying to find a way into my heart. Part of what made me such a good atheist was my ability to hide.<br />
<br />
While you can probably imagine what my miscalculations about Christ were, since many of you--even those of you who are believers--currently hold these beliefs, I won't recount them all here. I want to focus on what I have learned Christianity <i>is</i>, what it truly means to be a Disciple of Christ.<br />
<br />
I found, quite surprisingly, that I did not have to throw out any of my professed beliefs to also believe in God. I simply had to start <i>truly</i> believing them and realizing that they were justified by God and Jesus and, therefore, playing lip-service to them alone would no longer do. The best way I can completely describe this is through the first piece of scripture that struck me as quotable, a passage which has become my mantra.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love; And the greatest of these is love. (1 Corinthians 13:13 NIV)</blockquote>
I learned that love is the fulfillment of the law and that love thy neighbor as thyself is the greatest of The Father's Commandments. All I thought about sin and guilt and having to be perfect to be Christian was fallacy. Christians realize we're all sinners. In the end, coincidentally, the man who imagined there's no religion, also had Christianity down cold. "All you need is love. Love is all you need." Now, it's not that simple, of course, nothing is, but it's a great place to start.<br />
<br />
In fact, the biggest surprise about studying scripture and Christianity and going to church every Sunday was that, at least in the research I was doing and at the church I was attending (a church that sanctifies gay marriage and seems more leftist than the Democratic National Convention), was the absence of Satan. The media and historians tell us that church is all about fire and brimstone, warning us to conform or be sent to Hell, yet when I began attending church, I was shocked to see the services completely devoid of Satan. On my first day of church as a Christian, I assumed I wasn't hearing the words "Satan" and "Hell" for fear of their power. By my baptism, however, I was already fully aware that those words weren't being spoken not because of their power, but because they were powerless in the house of God--evil rendered negligible by the awe-inspiring love of God.<br />
<br />
This love of God, along with the sheer bliss and utter peace His love was able to bring to my soul, was key to my conversion. I saw no fear of Hell or the punishment of God in any of it; in fact, trying to live life God's perfect way rather than my own flawed way was a reward in itself, not something to be feared or cause guilt. The term "God-fearing" is probably the most misunderstood term by non-Christians. I chose a Christian life not because I feared the wrath of God, but because I felt a love so strong that I feared facing life without it.<br />
<br />
Now, the media has done a great job of portraying Christians in a hateful light. Sure, there are fringe members of Jesus' church that do a great job of feeding that image, but what I've seen of Christianity, and what I've felt of Christ's love, has been nothing like the media image I had bought into. It was, also ironically, Bill Maher who said that Jesus needs less fans and more followers. Living Jesus' way means not judging anyone, loving everyone, and being held accountable to that standard. Hearing about a website called godhatesfags.com alone is enough to make me pray for their souls, not the souls of homosexuals, the souls of those who practice hatred and erroneously attempt to use God's Word, found in the old, pre-Jesus covenant, to justify their hatred. This is not love.<br />
<br />
Bottom line: God doesn't hate. Any time the Bible is being cited to support a claim of hatred, you can dismiss the claim altogether. God's name and God's Word can only be used to support claims of love. Judging others only serves to prove our own laziness, for it takes a concerted effort to understand them. And sloth is, after all, one of the seven deadly sins. Practicing slothful judgment is not love. The Bible is a story, after all, and it's moral is love.<br />
<br />
So now I come to the atheist's favorite target of Christianity--faith. How can you simply believe something of which you have no proof? Without going into detail, I can honestly say I believe I have, in fact, seen proof of God moving in our secular world. The more open I become to it, the more I see it. Once you've let God into your heart and soul, it's hard to doubt Him. The second a doubt creeps in, He finds a way to show you exactly where He is and how He's working.<br />
<br />
Ever just look at the clouds? I mean, really <i>look</i> at them. I'll just leave it like that. He's everywhere if you choose to look. Just try this--eliminate the concept of coincidence from your life for just a day. Imagine, if you have to, that everything that happens is scripted. And once you embrace that concept, ask yourself "why?" with each thing that happens, with each person that has entered your life. This is a truly intellectual endeavor. You'll be analyzing your entire life as if it were a classic work of fiction, trying to discern the author's intentions in creating his characters and his plots. The author, however, is God, and when you can figure out, intellectually, what the grandest of authors' intentions are, it's a moment of insight that cannot be matched by any other intellectual pursuit. That's faith.<br />
<br />
Furthermore, faith doesn't <i>only</i> mean blind belief. It also means trust. And once you put faith in God and Jesus--not just belief but trust--many of the things that plague your daily life start to dissipate like the clouds after a storm. I used to be the worst of worry-warts. It was brutal. Social gatherings, safety of friends, family, and students--all a merciless quagmire of fear. Through prayer and true faith, I've come so far. My daily life is nearly free of this paranoia, this insane desire to control the uncontrollable. Let go and let God, they say, and boy are they brilliant. Whatever happens, I know God is in my corner, and even when the worst of times come, there is so much to be thankful for, which leads to the third component--hope.<br />
<br />
Emily Dickinson found, I think, the perfect way to show us the connection between faith and hope:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />
Hope is the thing with feathers <br />
That perches in the soul, <br />
And sings the tune--without the words, <br />
And never stops at all,<br />
And sweetest in the gale is heard; <br />
And sore must be the storm <br />
That could abash the little bird <br />
That kept so many warm.<br />
I've heard it in the chillest land, <br />
And on the strangest sea; <br />
Yet, never, in extremity, <br />
It asked a crumb of me. </blockquote>
We don't consciously ask for hope; it's just there. God-given hope through the faith we have that things will be better sustains us. We all have it if we would only admit it. Sometimes the world seems hopeless, but we keep on going, and we have God to thank for that.<br />
<br />
We can also have hope that the world <i>can</i> be great, absolutely divine. Once I felt the Holy Spirit and saw It at work in my life, once I had that faith, my life became about putting myself in position to feel it again and again. I had hope. At one point in my life I would ask "How can anyone want to spend Sunday in a boring, stuffy church." Now I wonder how anyone wouldn't want to be part of something so breathtaking. Every Sunday I see humanity at its best, if for only an hour. Christianity can make this a better world, if only we could replicate that one hour on Sunday every hour of our lives. If only we all lived like Jesus every day, if only we tried to be the man or woman He wants us to be, he knows we can be, every day. God and Jesus have faith in us and hope for us. If only we returned the favor.<br />
<br />
In the end, or the beginning I suppose I should say, I find that all that held me back, all my depression, all my fear, all my anger, all my hatred, everything that made daily life uncomfortable, unhappy, and sometimes unbearable, wasn't a result of chemicals in my brain; it was the absence of God in my heart.<br />
<br />
Faith brings us alive, in tune with things we used to ignore. There are things in this world you just can't see, you can only feel. The greatest literary minds have agreed on this throughout time. There are more things in heaven and on Earth than we dream of in any of our philosophies--logic can't explain it all. Somehow we all think that to believe instead of beg for proof, to simply wonder instead of looking for evidence, makes us somehow less intelligent, less wise. It's hard to imagine why we fear to speak the words that most confirm our own wisdom--"I don't know."<br />
<br />
Furthermore, hope gives us reason to live. If we truly thought life was hopeless, we would just curl up in the fetal position and starve to death waiting for our souls to be fed. We all have hope, but we could all use more. He gives us that hope. "You only live once" has become a slogan for young people to do crazy things in the name of <i>carpe diem</i>. However, this life is temporal. God has promised us eternal life through belief in Christ. What more hope can you ask for. A daily, on-going relationship with God through the generosity and sacrifice of Jesus has given me all the hope I need.<br />
<br />
And most importantly, there's love, the true elixir of life. Bathe in love. Eat, drink, and breathe love. Pour love out upon everyone and you shall receive it back ten fold. God loves us all. I can feel it each time I pray. I can feel it each time I love others. I can feel it each time I am able to see his intentions while writing my story. He crafts my life like an author, a true labor of love, and the love He has given me has given me faith in him, which in turn gives me immeasurable hope. It all just fits.<br />
<br />
I used to look at people smiling on Facebook, those with more money, bigger houses, and better cars--cars that actually run--and wonder how they did it. How did they achieve this mysterious thing they call happiness? I've found that happiness comes from redefining what makes you happy. Living life God's way, not mine, trusting in God's plan, not mine, and tapping into God's unlimited love, not relying simply on my own human limitations for the emotion, have changed everything.<br />
<br />
How will it turn out? I don't know. At least not how it will turn out on Earth. I've just begun this wonderful journey and have only just started to learn. But that's the beauty of it. God does. So loving Him, having faith in Him, and having hope will get me there--to the promised land. This change has meant I can know at least that. In the end, there's a place for me in His kingdom, no matter what, because Jesus died on the cross for me. For all my flaws, He still made the ultimate sacrifice for me. And that has made all the difference.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="text John-3-16" id="en-NIV-26137">For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. (John 3:16 NIV)</span></blockquote>
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"Jesus Freak" performed by Newsboys </div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-12781388895395925592012-02-18T10:35:00.000-05:002012-02-18T10:35:58.128-05:00With a Little Luck...I am officially writing my lack of success in getting published off as a lack of luck...<br />
<br />
So, starting today, my career takes off in a different direction. So far my two novels have both been young adult. Well, today I'm writing what I want to write, and I have a unique thought about how to get the next one published.<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago, Levi Luck was born. Levi is the protagonist in my next novel, which has barely begun to get underway. Levi's a rock star, albeit a reluctant one (at least at first), and boy does Levi have some surprises in store for you.<br />
<br />
Born Levin Gluck, a transformation at the hands of a wannabe producer makes his first album <i>No Such Luck</i> a hit. But stardom always comes at a price, and Levi struggles to see the good in the world through the sparkling glam of the record industry. Disillusioned by a year on the road, Levi decides to spice it up a bit for his big performance as a headliner at historic Madison Square Garden.<br />
<br />
Now, I typically do some character building exercises before getting going, like finding a picture online of what I want the character to look like and writing some background stuff I won't actually use in the novel. This time, I decided to take it to the social media level.<br />
<br />
I have created a Facebook for Levi, and filling out all the information necessary has certainly helped me get to know my new character. He also has a Twitter. Now, not only did I have to sketch him out in full to create his accounts on both, but I can practice being him--sounds schizophrenic I know--with his Tweets and Facebook commentary. He will also reveal some of his character quirks and maybe some smaller plot points or tips about the plot in doing so.<br />
<br />
Having set this up, it then occurred to me that this could be a sales tool. When querying, why not give agents the Facebook and Twitter accounts for them to check out. Also, if some lucky publisher should decide to publish No Such Luck, readers of the book could actually friend, follow, and interact with the character online through social media. How cool is that?<br />
<br />
Well, I'm off to do some more pre-writing for the novel. I'll keep y'all updated, and hopefully by the end of summer 2012, Levi's journey will be complete. It'll just take a little perseverance. Oh, and a little bit of Luck!<br />
<br />
Follow Levi on Twitter @LeviLuck or friend him on Facebook!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-85427799127825369522011-11-27T09:23:00.003-05:002011-11-27T10:39:13.410-05:00Bah Humbug?"Bah, humbug!"<br />
<br />
It's already starting. Every Christmas season, we hear the same complaints.<br />
<br />
"They start the advertising earlier and earlier!"<br />
<br />
"They're just trying to get us to spend more money!"<br />
<br />
"Christmas has become about commerce and not about family and love!"<br />
<br />
This is new to you? People act as though there was some magic Santa dust that floated around coating everything in happiness and joy as far back as whenever their childhood took place that has somehow disappeared into a cloud of greed and Grinchy mock-cheer.<br />
<br />
You remember how Christmas "used to be" in the "good old days." You remember watching <i>Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer</i> every year as your house got greener and redder every day and the neighborhood began to glow in yuletide electric light. The one neighbor that you all complained took it "too far" created a pulsing tribute to holiday happiness that although you disapproved outwardly, you couldn't wait to see. The tree went up the day after Thanksgiving, you picked it out yourselves, and you merrily watched "the Grinch's heart grow three times that day" more religiously than <i>The Ten Commandments</i> on Easter.<br />
<br />
News flash! Rudolph is still aired each year, as is the Grinch--in fact you now have a movie version to choose from--and neighborhoods seem to be just as brightly lit as ever before. The bulbs are just a bit more energy-efficient and actually better for the earth.<br />
<br />
And if you think those violent Walmart rushes 'twas the night before Black Friday are a sign that commercialization has ruined the holiday since you were a child, replacing Santa with Mattel and elves with those stupid Walmart smiley faces, I have three words for you. Cabbage. Patch. Kids. Have you forgotten the violent commotion during those Christmas shopping seasons back in the 80s as the last of those little ugly bastards were sold off the shelves?<br />
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You sit back and watch <i>A Christmas Story</i> pine-treeing for a better time, a more innocent time, a time when love and family came first and commercial greed was tucked away under the tree skirt or in a stocking somewhere. You forget that the movie was set in the 1940s on the verge of WWII and on the heels of The Great Depression. So much for innocence and lack of commercial greed. Wasn't it the greed of the 1920s that brought about all that we see in that movie? America was already long gone. And the whole story revolves around a kid who thinks all is lost if he doesn't get the exact one perfect gift that he's been hoping for. The story could easily be set today with much the same results. In fact, many think the movie is set in the 1980s when the film was released. Bah humbug?<br />
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The commercialization of Christmas and loss of spirit we whine about today was actually alive and well over 100 years ago. It could be heard as the gentle subtext in the words "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" way back in 1897. In 1947 we needed a Miracle, with an address no less--34th Street in Manhattan--to renew our faith in a holiday corrupted by the commercial tyranny of Macy's. The cynic should not forget that Santa and shopping were synonymous even as far back as then. And that Grinch we watch every year to renew our spirit was necessary because of the greed and lack of charity Dr. Seuss saw ruining Christmas way back in 1957.<br />
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I want to let you in a little secret, haters. Christmas hasn't changed. You've changed.<br />
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I'm sorry to have to break this to you, but you're not kids anymore. It's as simple as that. Christmas "just ain't what it used to be" because you don't believe in Santa, you now have to supply the gifts while paying the bills, and when you wake up on December 25th, all your problems and issues that plague you all year long don't magically disappear. Ask your parents and their parents and their parents if they're still alive. Ask every generation that's ever celebrated Christmas. Of course it's not the same. You're not the same. But you now have the power to make it not just the same, but better.<br />
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Don't be selfish. Don't wallow in no Santa bringing you magic gifts and the whole world not turning to snowflakes and stars on tops of trees. Create that experience for your children. Do you want it to be like it was when you were child? Do it. Was there one part of Christmas you think could have been better? Fix it. Tradition and spirit don't just magically happen, people create them. Make it mean something. If you don't like the commercialization of the holiday, why the hell are you in that line at midnight Thanksgiving night with mace in your purse? Slow down, appreciate the special moments you create with your family, and give the bah humbug a rest.<br />
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If you think you can't afford a "proper" Christmas because of "today's prices" and "today's economy," just think back to that family in <i>A Christmas Story</i>. On the tail end of a depression, on one income, with a furnace acting up, they pulled it off. None of the gifts under that tree were very expensive, but they meant something to those kids.<br />
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So enjoy your family, enjoy the gifts you do have, not the ones from Mattel or Sony but the ones you create yourself in the hearts and memories of your children.<br />
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Oh yeah, and don't shoot your eye out!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ppOXpyhM2wA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-34599119324080853872011-09-11T08:54:00.000-04:002011-09-11T08:54:05.143-04:00Ten YearsA poem in honor of the one day, if I had the chance, I would go back and erase...<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">Ten Years</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ten years of heartache. A nagging limp or chronic breathing condition. A child, now an adult, wondering why Daddy still hasn’t come home. Rage. Non-stop cranes and jackhammers rebuilding a grave. Still forgetting that she won’t be there when he rolls over. Guilt. Replays on screens. A recorded voice announcing, “Let’s roll.” A message from Afghanistan.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ten years of life. Ten years of freedom. Ten years of beauty from sea to shining sea. Ten years of camaraderie, generosity, and service. Ten years of love. Ten short, fearless years.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ten years ago they attacked the fabric of our lives. That fabric endured, wiping our tears, dressing our wounds, streaming across our skies in a brilliant red, white, and blue, announcing to all:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We will not give up.</div><div class="MsoNormal">We will not give in.</div><div class="MsoNormal">We will not die.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ten years later, the souls of the fallen still whisper to us through glorious stars and stripes…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Never forget.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-67759783941024214842011-08-24T10:05:00.001-04:002011-08-24T10:08:29.672-04:00Writer's Block My Ass!<br />
Who the hell do we think we are?<br />
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We writers, we sit around acting like our writing is possibly the most important thing that could be done on the entire Earth ever. Earthquakes are rocking the East Coast. There's wars devastating countries from Libya to Afghanistan to places most never even think about or see on the news until someone makes a movie. The economy has been swirling around in the toilet for three years waiting for someone to finally flush us into the next Great Depression. Armageddon is basically staring us in the face, but to us writers, writing the next great American novel, a poem worth reading, or even our own freakin' memoir (talk about conceited) is "oh, so important" that we yell at our kids and spouses when they "just don't understand," we blog, tweet, and update our statuses with constant updates on "how the new project is coming along," and when we're struggling, when we can't think of how to get from point C to L without compromising the meaning of A or B, we retreat into the oldest, most pretentious excuse for lack of production ever conceived by humankind...<br />
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Writer's block. What the hell is that? Seriously? When Congress is faced with the toughest questions ever posed to the race of man on this Earth, and they get together and argue it out for months and come up with a compromise that pisses everyone off, we say they are a lazy, "do-nothing" Congress. But when we can't figure out how to have our protagonist steal from his mother without compromising his likability, we call it writer's block.<br />
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When Frodo and Sam were stuck on the side of Mount Doom, staring death, failure, and the end of all Middle Earth square in the eye--they hadn't eaten in days, had nothing to drink, and were weighed down with the burden of the single most evil fashion accessory ever to be spewed out of a black valcano of doom--did they sit around in their boxer shorts staring at Facebook and Twitter yelling at their wives to leave them alone while they "worked." No. No, they didn't. Even a fatass like Samwise Gamgee picked a dude up and hauled his ass up the side of a goddamn mountainside to destroy that mofo. That's getting something done. Writer's block my ass!<br />
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What about the soldiers risking their lives for our freedom. Think of those guys sitting there planning how to take down Osama bin Laden. Seems impossible right? Impenetrable fortress. Armed guards. No guarantee he's even in there. The only real sources of intel being some of the most despicable humans in the world. They tell us he's hiding in caves humping camels one day and that he's ordering Dominos in his bunny slippers in a mansion the next. What the hell? Give up, right? Forget that, right? Sit back and claim to have intelligence block or espionage block or international diplomacy block or whatever you want to call it, right? Hell's to the no! You fly a freakin' helicopter into his back yard, break down the goddamn doors, and shoot the bastard no matter which one of his wives tries to stand in your way. That's right. You get 'er done! Writer's block. Are you kidding me?<br />
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So, when you're sitting on your couch in your robe with fourteen different tabs open on Firefox, setting up your NFL fantasy football, reading book reviews of all the books on your "list" that you know you'll never get to, updating the world on your revolutionarily important progress on your flash fiction piece, sorting through your inbox full of agent rejections, and cataloging your internet porn while Microsoft Word is still open to the same page of your novel it was on three days ago, don't blame writer's block. Writer's block is not why you can't get your conflict to be complex or your character to be complex or your plot to be complex. It's because you're being fucking lazy. Close Firefox, retreat into the natural born creativity that's gotten you this far, think of all the people out there that can't afford to not work and blame whatever-it-is-they-do-for-a-living block, and write another chapter for crying out loud.<br />
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Writer's block, indeed!<br />
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Now that I've given you that inspirational kick in the pants, it would probably be a bad time for me to tell you I wrote this blog because I'm having writer's block working on my novel, right? Just asking.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/wEt1sFioFeE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6214755599534126678.post-55929868756140192852011-08-18T10:30:00.001-04:002011-08-18T10:32:41.450-04:00Crossroads<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/IlV7RhT6zHs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
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Here's the scoop. I'm 22,000 words into a novel that seems to be going nowhere. I've just finished an MFA program where I churned out two novels that I'm currently peppering agents with. No leads as of yet. I've got an idea I can't shake from my mind, but it's nothing like anything I've ever written. I am most certainly at a crossroads. Not a Britney Spears "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" kind of crossroads either.<br />
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I took a little break from the aforementioned train wreck novel, a project that's even boring me to write, so I'm sure readers wouldn't be able to stand it, and wrote a couple flash pieces and some prose poetry. When I went back to it, hoping some time away and a fresh outlook would help me ressurect it. No dice. It seems worse now than ever. As bad as, say, Britney Spears acting in a movie about a girl that's not a girl but not yet a woman.<br />
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I think I'm going to kill it. It's about a murderer, so that would be fitting. What does that leave. School is about to start, so time to write will be limited. Do I take a break from larger projects, maybe do some reading for inspiration, write some more stories and poems, and let the new ideas simmer to make sure they are up to my standards before setting off to write a time-wasting 22,000-word steaming pile of crap? Like, you know...Britney and all that.<br />
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The big idea, the one I've been waiting for, the one that I can't stop thinking about, happens to be a dark, cyber-punk, epic adventure novel--something I've never even thought about attempting. I blame <i>The Marbury Lens</i>, along with various metal lyrics, for drumming this bad boy up. Can I write something like this? What qualifies me? And to complicate things, the new idea will only work in third person, I think, and I've only done novels in first person. I'm not sure I can be omniscient. It sounds so daunting. <br />
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My first instinct is to read. There are the Collins books--<i>The Hunger Games</i> and the like--that could be a good starting point. But do I want to risk replicating instead of innovating? And what if I'm just getting swept up in the distopian novel hullabaloo and only <i>think</i> this is my greatest idea ever? What if I'm subconsciously just trying to capture the lightening in the bottle that distopian YA has created and by the time I write it, the whole genre is passe. Like ex-Mouskateers making it big as pop singers.<br />
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But I'm pretty sure this is the story I want to tell, not because it's in, but because I'm obsessed with the idea. It's more of a classic throwback to things like <i>Conan the Barbarian</i>, <i>The Lord of the Rings</i>, and even some <i>Star Wars</i>. My future isn't about technology; it's about retreating into superstition and post-apocalyptic self-preservation. A little Mad-Maxy maybe with a tinge of fifteenth century Eastern European blood bath? It's hard to describe. All with a boy from modern times as the protagonist stuck in this future world of despair. And he gets there without time travel--how cool is that?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>So, part of me wants to mull this over more, read a bit in the genre, try some things out in flash fiction and poetic forms, especially with third person narration, and attack this next summer when the idea is fully encrusted in my artistic sensibility and I have time to devote to it full time. But part of me wants to strike while the iron is hot. Let my vision and imagination just run wild and guide me. Capture the primitive violence of this experiment in the primitive and violent pages of this novel. Could it even be a series? A movie?<br />
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My mind is getting a cramp just thinking about it. If you have any advice or thoughts on the subject, please share. If you have any suggested reading based on what I've just shared concerning this project, please share. If you have anything at all for me, please share. Thanks!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0