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Joshua Alan Doetsch

~ Author & Scrivnomancer

Joshua Alan Doetsch

Author Archives: scrivnomancer

Nostalgia Hiccups PART 3

17 Monday Dec 2007

Posted by scrivnomancer in Uncategorized

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africa, dee, dr. logsdon, genenda, joanna tweedy, memories, nostalgia, the emerald green glow

Still sorting. Still sifting.

Wanna dance with me through the shuffle?…

Found the very first complete short story I ever wrote (titled “The Emerald Green Glow”) from early on in high school (if you don’t count the allegorical story I wrote in grade school in place of the essay that the teacher assigned as punishment to the whole class, because a few students were talking—the story stressed how unfair this was, replacing human students with anthropomorphic raccoons…though I did not know what “anthropomorphic” meant at the time).

Found a manilla envelope I received from one of my favorite college teaches (Dr. Logsdon). I don’t actually recall how this envelope was delivered to me as the only address reads:

Josh Doetsch
Famous EC Grad
Noted Actor and Writer
Sworn Enemy of Dullards

Found a letter I once got from Dee, accompanying her Christmas gift to me: a signed headshot and a lock of her hair—because in a prior conversation she asked what the most egotistical gift an actress could give someone and that was my answer.

Found a letter from the Peoria Health Department that had warned me that my meningitis vaccination was a from a bad batch and didn’t offer “full protection” and listed all the high risk countries (which included every African country I had been to). I received this letter several months after visiting Africa. I had a long laugh.

Found my first writing contract.

Found a Valentine’s day card from Genenda.

Found a bit of flattery…once upon a time, my grad school writing class was assigned to pair up and write a fake blurb that might appear on the dust jacket of your partner’s supposed novel. This was written by the very lovely Joanna Beth Tweedy Willmore:

“Like Mesmer, the last name Doetsch may well become eponymous for the author’s ability to draw readers into worlds from which they may find it happily impossible to return. Joshua Alan invites readers to the outer edge of surrealism where horror, mythology, stand-up, and Mother Angelica won’t agree to meet, but metabolize in a fantastical and satisfying gumbo. You don’t have a hair on your rumpus if you’re not hipwaggin’ it to be the first in line for the next ladle full.”

[NOTE: Joanna actually uses words like “rumpus” and “hipwaggin’” and phrases like “cicada cadence” and is such a thorough delight that she glows in the dark.]

Found the printed rules for Vampire Tag.

Found my and Nick’s beer-pong champion certificate. We are mighty in the art of drunken pong.

Found a raggedy Andy sort of a doll that my godmother made me when I was born. It’s as old as I am. This makes me nervous as I’m not sure at what point a doll gains sentience…

Found a translated copy of the Malleus Maleficarum.

Found a music CD Torrie made for me (entitled “Josh’s Chubby”).

Found a box of Magnum XL condoms and a box of razors—props for the magic act Nick and I did for a burlesque show. The items on my shopping list, that day, included magnum condoms, razors, a banana, bikini briefs, lemons, and a few other items. The checkout girl watched me with very wide eyes (probably wondering what I had planned for that night).

Found several abstracts—some I quickly pocketed—some fluttered away—one got caught in a spiderweb trying to fly out my window…

Found a hipbone from Cro-Magnon man.

And the excavation continues…

Nostalgia Hiccups PART 2

15 Saturday Dec 2007

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nostalgia

 . . . and I’m still going through boxes and I come across a set of handcuffs and the memories attached there are not as conventionally sweet…but they do come with their share of  smiles.

My frowns are fickle things, no staying power at all.

He-he-he!

Predawn Nostalgia Hiccups

14 Friday Dec 2007

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nostalgia


Early a.m. and reorganizing and moving furniture, in preparation for my new bed (phase 2 of the plan to improve my sleeping habits).

Come across an old high school letter.

Smile.

Smile unfurls.

Things left unsaid.

Things I couldn’t say back then.

And I’ve managed to lose track of her–all contact info two steps behind the years.

Argh!

Hey.  You out there?  You reading this now? . . .

. . .

No.  Probably not.

Bah!

By Grabthar’s Hammer…you shall be avenged!

12 Wednesday Dec 2007

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book of dead things, dark scribe magazine, grabthar's hammer, rock band

So my friend Dori bought the video game Rock Band today.

He, Nick, and I played. It was quite fun. You can design your own rocker (all the way from looks and hair and ink and face paint and accessories and even movements and so on) and put them together to form a band. We made computer versions of ourselves and rotated between drums, guitar, and vocals.

Our band’s name is Grabthar’s Hammer.

If the writing thing doesn’t work out…I’ll fall back on that…



Vote Dead Things!

The anthology, Book of Dead Things from Twilight Tales, has been nominated by Dark Scribe Magazine for the “Best Dark Fiction Collection” prize in their Black Quill Awards.  Click on the link and give us a vote, if you feel so inclined.  If you don’t know the anthology, then just click HERE to read a handful of the short stories found in the book (including mine: “Blood, Snow, and Sparrows”).


“By Grabthar’s Hammer…what an anthology!”

My Humble Dreams

10 Monday Dec 2007

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random musings

Someday, I will be rich and I will own a race horse and I will name him “Catherine the Great’s Death”.

UnStill Life in Ghost Plasma

07 Friday Dec 2007

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driving, ghost plasma, scarecrow gods

I’m driving.

It’s night.

These are good roads.

These are back roads twisted and windy—curvy roads, hug the curve and I get butterflies in the stomach like a nervous high schooler in the back seat—twisted roads, no straight lines, no grids, no mundane workman’s web, no banality—bogs and wetland and river bridge and repeat. Good night drive roads—more hobgoblins per capita here—I can think on these roads, head haunted by caffein, understand Ray Bradbury love affairs with October.

These are good, twisted roads.

They’re some cthonic monster’s spine.

And I’m a jolly shiver.

Lots of skeleton trees on these roads—skeleton branches—post-October claws—giant, scarecrow hands reaching greedily for handfuls of stars or the moon, some kind of game that the scarecrow gods play but I don’t understand, cosmic jacks in the void. Spoils? I don’t know. But I once heard tell that the moon starts the month empty and dark—then fills with luminous souls, and when full, releases the ghosts whither they go.

I accelerate.

Scarecrow gods snatch more franticly.

Mayhaps their game comes to a close.

And sometimes I wonder: are there any ghosts that resist the moon?—space vacuum muting their necro-howls, as they claw the earth, gripping so tenaciously they tug the tides. And sometimes I wonder: where do moon-dumped souls go?—maybe the winnings of some lucky scarecrow.

I accelerate.

I hug a curve.

Did I mention that I love curves?

The full moon and the skeleton hands are in my driver’s window. The perfect song plays on my speakers—I accelerate to the perfect speed—I hug the curve at the perfect angle. I bob my head, it’d look strange to a passerby, but I bob my head, crane my neck, undulate my viewpoint—partly to the music, but mostly to make the moon, through my eyes, dance in the perfect manner: bouncing through branches, alluding bone hands.

I accelerate . . . maybe a little too much.

But speed limits and “no smoking” signs support the common fallacy.

Habits loose all their poetry if they can’t kill you.

I put it all together, my multi media artwork—the song, the speed, the curve, the moon motion on scarecrow orgy backdrop . . . and I hit it, a perfect moment. Just a split second. The moon oozes through the smudged glass, bleeding ghost plasma on my dirty window.

Perfect.

A truck passes, high-beam-bubble-bursting.

Snap back.

I realize this is silly. I realize that this little work is too etherial, as etherial as they come—just this one moment, for an audience of me, and no way to record it not way to crystalize it and share it with another pair of eyes. Hell, if someone was sitting in my passenger seat I still couldn’t have shared it, would have to stuff them in my skull windows. But then, another fast curve seduces me and with a hiccup and a cackle I realize and I know that etherial is important. This is important.

That I do this.

That I don’t stop.

That I never stop.

Oneiromantic Infidelity

03 Monday Dec 2007

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7-11, book of dead things, cafe aeon, halloween, john, medieval times

Sleep is the wife that I neglect for things like work and other pursuits.  She isn’t pleased.  She says we never spend any quality time together anymore.  Even when I do manage to get her in my embrace, it’s always fitful, never very deep, and rarely lasts long.  She always stalks off, leaving me alone, red eyed and clutching a pillow.  She’s threatening to divorce me for good . . .

Let’s see…it’s been awhile—what’s gone on in the last month:

Flattery Will Get You Nowhere

On Wednesday, I had to pull yet another 33 hour 3rd-shift/day-job/3rd-shift day.  During the day I subbed for a friend, teaching an after-school magic class.  I was told the kids were “wild”…but the children turned out great.  They were wild because they were very young (the youngest I’ve taught), but they were just very enthusiastic.  Many were actually trying to be helpful.  I even found two of the little girls waiting outside the room when I left—they were worried I might get lost.  It was the most fun and easy $100 for an hour of work.

That night, I sat on the sofa, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, watching Boston Legal with my parents to pass the very short hour before I had to go to 7-11 for the night shift.  I’d been awake for well over 20 hours.  I wasn’t happy.

My mom got up to get a drink.  “You have a cute ass,” my Dad said.

“I appreciate it,” I said, groggy and gloomily, “But, man….that’s just not cheering me up.”

Bubbles and Bullets

The weekend before Halloween I got to visit my goddaughter, Reese 🙂  Her grandfather took me and her daddy out shooting his handguns.  I don’t have much experience with guns.  But, as it turns out, I’m a pretty good shot and did the best that day.  Afterwards I got to play in the bubbles with Reese and her mother gave me the coolest Halloween card ever.

I had to work Halloween night 😦

The weekend after Halloween, I did manage to go to a Halloween party at Jerry and Robb’s apartment.  I went as the great pumpkin.  My mask never came in the mail…so I had to get creative with make-up.  I didn’t manage to get any pictures…other than these webcam shots (the makeup was a bit smeared by then and I didn’t have the costume on):


Of Music and Memories

A friend and neighbor, John, died just over a week ago, suddenly and unexpectedly of some sort of heart problem.  He was only 53.  I got the call about it just before going to bed, after the 3rd shift.  My family and I rushed over to his house for any emotional support we could offer his wife, Deb.  The police had to shoo us out right away, though, as the coroner hadn’t even been there by the time we arrived.

His wake was a few days later.  My little sister, Danielle had never seen a dead person before and I think it weirded her out a bit.  A lot of people came out.  John touched a lot of lives.  He’d told me stories about his wild days working at a ranch and entertaining.  He always wanted to sit down with me and put those stories to pen and paper.  Meeting him later in life, these exploits were just stories for me…until I saw some of those character manifested at his wake.  For music, they just plugged in John’s iPod.  I think this was a good move.  It was his music.  I was impressed how an iPod could become a sacred reliquary of someone’s life.  Another neighbor made a touching speech about John, about how he and Deb had a big family with lots of other siblings (the other neighbors on the block) and a lot of kids (us neighbor kids growing up on the block).  Deb pulled me aside at one point to tell me how proud he always was of me.

There’s more to type . . . but not in the scope of this entry.  Maybe later—all the normal clichés this type of thing inspires.  But I hate to be cliché…I might have to filter the sentiments through odd, metaphorical characters—maybe in this case it would be dialogue between a living vampire pumpkin and manic-voiced anthropomorphic personification of nostalgia (in this case, personified by a talking pogo stick with a chicken leg and rabbit head).  Maybe.

I’ll really miss John come the next Buffett concert.

I have a tremendous compulsion to keep my iPod updated.

7-11 No More

On a particularly impulsive Wednesday, I quit 7-11.  I’m going to write my novel full time, for the next couple months, get that done and work on fixing my shattered sleep cycle.  I’ll worry about regular work after that.

Book of Dead Things:  A Nomination

On November 25th, I and some of my fellow anthology authors did a live reading and book signing at Café Aeon, for our book, Book of Dead Things.  It was fun.  We sold a few books.  I love doing live readings and Café Aeon is a great place to do them (the other authors agreed).  And now a few copies of Book of Dead Things can be found on the cafe’s shelves.

Also, over at Dark Scribe Magazine, Book of Dead Things was nominated for Best Dark Genre Fiction Collection.  If you click the link and register, you can vote for us (come on! do it!!!).

Coming Soon

Danielle got the job as princess at Medieval Times!  She’ll start up sometime in January.  You should go there, eat without utensils, and cheer my sis on.

Conclusions…

Me and Sleep are getting along a little better.  She’s even shared the same bed with me a little.  I told her we might get therapy.  Maybe there’s hope for us after all.

Reading/Signing Event at Cafe Aeon

23 Friday Nov 2007

Posted by scrivnomancer in Uncategorized

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book of dead things, cafe aeon

Several of my fellow authors and I will be doing a book signing and reading event over at the darkly atmospheric Cafe Aeon, to promote our book, Book of Dead Things (published by Twilight Tales)

The show starts at 7:30 pm on Sunday, November 25th at:

Cafe Aeon
3918 W. Main St.
McHenry, IL 60050


Cafe Aeon’s Website

Cafe Aeon’s MySpace Page

So come on out–hear some stories about dead things in the sort of venue that they’re meant to be read in–stories running the gamut, from horror to humor and even with heart…and sometimes all three–and enjoy some tasty works of coffee alchemy while you’re at it.

Italian Spiderman

15 Thursday Nov 2007

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italian spiderman

Good God!

This just might be the best thing ever.

Period.

 

Great Pumpkin, Revisited

11 Sunday Nov 2007

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the great pumpkin



When I was a boy,
Watching Charlie Brown cartoons didn’t make me want to go
To the pumpkin patch to find The Great Pumpkin…

I wanted to BECOME The Great Pumpkin.
And all–and still,
Someday,
When I grow up,
I’d like to be Lord of the Patch,
And breathe fire
And cinnamon,
And ghost stories

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