Metaphysical jet lag puts bags under the mind’s eye.

“I don’t understand why I sleep all day,
And I start to complain that there’s no rain.”

All I can do is write a book to stay awake 😉

I’m correlating voodoo lore and an ocean of old notes on my epic. I’ll finish doing that tomorrow night (doh! tonight). I’ll start the writing, in earnest, on Thursday (throwing in the bits and chapters that I already have done, as I get to them). I hope to have the first arch (the real world) of the story done by the end of next week. Then it’s a month sprint to the finish line. Oh God.

I started, the other day, working on a photo/prose/poetry book with my Dad. He’s scanned some of his better photos into a program that allows you to make a book, send it via the internet, and pay a company to print it out for you. He’s supplying the pictures and I’m doing the words – the working title is VISIONS: poetry in words, light and shadow.

Still no word from White Wolf (not sure when I hear from them).

And a shout out to all you fine, young cannibals out there – people are Atkins friendly.

Torrie made some kick ass south park versions of me, Wil, and herself…so I’ll post them up here as well. Enjoy.

Hey everyone, it’s Lenore’s birthday!!!

Well…it’s yesterday, by a few hours (7/13). She is one year old and 37 inches long. She was about 16 inches when I got her eleven months ago (she gained nearly two feet in her first year).

Here’s a little photo review of the year…

LENORE YEAR ONE

SLIP N’ SLIDE!!!

Some of you know what that means. The rest need to find out. Every year, Nick and I throw a slip n’ slide party. The back yard gets covered in tarp, the hoses are turned on – and then it’s sliding and torches and music and food and drink through the night and (usually) to the other side of morning.

The next Slip N’ Slide part is:
Saturday, August 6th (starting at about 4:00pm and running all night…so don’t worry about showing up late).

Location:
3911 Hale Lane
Island Lake, IL 60042

Any questions, just call the home phone at 847-526-2119 or my cell at 224-627-6836.

For those who have a long way to drive, we can put folks up for the night (before or afterwords).

So come one come all (don’t miss!). And spread the word. My invitation system is not, repeat not, organized. I’ve grabbed the email addresses I recognized in my book and spreading the word to friends. If you think someone should hear about this that hasn’t, chances are you should tell them. Bring a friend.

We put out some food and drink, but anything you bring is appreciated (but not required).

And, so you can start practicing your sliding form…here’s some pics from last year’s party.

“I’m flat broke but I don’t care
I strut right by with my tail in the air.”
-Stray Cats, “Stray Cat Strut”

The other day I had a magic gig (walk around tricks) at a local restaurant. I also received my check from White Wolf Publishing (for getting to round two of the writing contest…I still have some time to wait before I hear about the next round). Two paychecks in two days for things I actually like doing. A drop in the credit and school debt bucket, but it makes me happy. Now I’m organizing a few things in my room and getting ready to hit this thesis full blast. Two months of heavy writing ought to give me my draft.

WORD OF THE DAY

viscous adj : having a ropy or glutinous consistency and the quality of sticking or adhering

Malcolm and Tommy laughed when the ancient shop owner told them the bucket of green, primordial sludge was ectoplasm (the physical manifestation of a ghost) – they laughed when Malcolm jokingly asked the putrescent puddle for its name – but ceased laughing when it answered, “Bob,” in a drippy, viscous voice.

So I’m leafing through Stephen King’s ON WRITING book, realizing that I’ve read much more of his non fiction than I have of his fiction, and I come to a place in his text that I can really empathize with.

He talks about people getting mad at him because of things his characters do, say, or think. Maybe a character is racist or swears or clubs people with dead cats. Somehow, people get offended and angry – as if these characters were the mouthpiece of the author. But their not. They are characters that come into the story…they have to live and breath a little and the author has to let them do what they do…or they don’t breath and they die and they become 2 dimensional.

It’s the author’s job to be honest, and present (in fiction) what that person would actually say. People don’t say “oh beans” when they hit their finger with a hammer. They say “Oh shit!!!”

In his words:

“The point is to let each character speak freely, without regard to what the Legion of Decency or the Christian Ladies’ Reading Circle may approve of. To do otherwise would be cowardly as well as dishonest, and believe me, writing fiction in America as we enter the twenty-first century is no job for intellectual cowards. There are lost of would-be censors out there, and although they may have different agendas, they all want basically the same thing: for you to see the world they see . . . or to at least shut up about what you do see that’s different. They are agents of the status quo. Not necessarily bad guys, but dangerous guys if you happen to believe in intellectual freedom.”

Ok, this is something I posted on my good friend Rich’s journal. But it kept going and ranting and I’m too tired to make my own post now. And since many folks seem sad and uncertain lately, I’ll just put it here. If you’ve been depressed about chasing your dream (whatever it may be) and find that there are shrill people trying to pull you down…then just fill in your name for Rich and enjoy.

Cheer up kiddies – if not to be happy, than at least to piss off the forces bringing you sorrow.

Misery loves company my friend.

…………Oh! Tell the next “realist” you meet that there are only a couple of businesses in this world that are truly recession and depression proof – one of them is organized crime – the other is entertainment.

The novel deadline is coming up. Thursday. I need an expanded synopsis and a first chapter to enter the next round of the contest (and a chance to be one of five people who get a thousand bucks and write the whole novel…for a chance at ten thousand and publications). Work is in full time progress and the deadline is buzzing at my ear like pregnant flies.

One of the metaphors I use for the “research” stage of a story is investigation. Figuring out the plot and who is involved in that plot and how it is told and lots of thousands of more subtly nuanced questions, is solving a mystery. Only you get to choose the paths that your investigation takes. The clues lead you to other clues and then to decisions and its as if the trail existed for you to follow all along, as if it wasn’t random.

You follow clues in song lyrics and anecdotes and memories and movies and literature. Day dreams become hard data with poignant leads. Accents and road maps and ghost stories are forensic evidence. Characters from books and film become witnesses and suspects. You gather the clues and the story and the people take shape.

Today was the last day of my investigation. So it was busy. Lots of leg work. I go to places where my suspects hang out – like bookstores and libraries and the internet. I bring along my utility belt…well, it’s more of a bag (satchel is the right term), my old friend, my uncomplaining Watson. Inside is my investigation kit which, at the moment, contains [I’m rummaging through it right now]: few books, my little leather journal, pens, my synopsis, a pocket rhyming dictionary (you never know), Advil (for headaches) and a condom for…wait a sec…why do I…uh…never mind…

I had to talk with my informant, Poe – had to visit the crime scene at the Rue Morgue – talked with an opium fiend and asked him why he was so obsessed with the lady Ligeia – asked a monomaniac why he had pulled out the teeth of Berenice – went to Key West to ask a self proclaimed Baron why he stole the body of his “beloved” and lived with it for years – visited Sin City and asked Marv why he went up against all odds for a dead hooker named Goldie, sat in the rain and listened to how Sin City folk talked, watched the action to see how noir and pulp mysteries play out – read up on the order of proceedings during crime scene investigations and autopsies – talked with forensic pathologists – conversed with a caravan of Yugoslavian Gypsies about their belief that pumpkins left outside to rot, become vampires – got a first hand account of the effects of excessive absinthe consumption…

…and all of these led me to a place.

My other metaphor for the research stage is Grave-digging. With a mad scientist’s planning, I dig up all sorts of body parts…character quirks, voices, arms, legs, metaphors, phrases, rhyme schemes, an eyeball, a brain. I tend to right stories in chunks, rather than straight through. Maybe I figure out a paragraph in the middle before I write the beginning. Maybe I write the end first. I gather these pieces together. I dig in my old journals and sometimes old stories for characters or anecdotes or strange facts that don’t have a permanent home yet. I take all these bits and sew them together. Then, I throw the switch. Revision is the process of making the stitch marks more seamless until you’d never know. Frankenstein made his mistake when he thought he could get a beautiful being out of his first draft. Lazy bastard…

Well. I’ve got the mystery. Got the body parts. Time to assemble them together…at least for a first chapter (we’ll call that the head). I’ll sew it together tomorrow night and put a brain in it and throw the switch sometime on Thursdays before I email the monster in.

But the sun is up and it’s time to sleep now.

I’ve got grave dirt everywhere…

“There are three rules for writing the novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”
-W. Somerset Maugham

The new premiere of Black Days went very well. Mike’s new editing, cuts, and effects were great. We also got to see a music video of the movie, with a song written for it by a local Chicago musician. Also, Mike, after the movie, publicly thanked Nick and I for our hard work on the movie (on and off screen). He even went as far to say that the movie wouldn’t have happened. It was nice of him. While I can’t help but agree that we worked hard on that very sleepless winter break, those are the kinds of favors that can be overlooked and the appreciation was much appreciated.

And the cast/crew party was a blast I got to hook up with some past friends from the set (it was a grueling, often hectic shoot, and everyone bonded), with an exchange of phone numbers and the promise of future hook ups.

The best part about wearing a suit is wearing a batman shirt underneath, so that, when you finally have to leave, you can suddenly turn to the friends and/or strangers around you and say “I must shed my everyday disguise!” – then rip open your shirt, revealing the emblem, and dash out the bar.

Monday I get to be paid to sit in Wrigley Stadium 🙂