Moving Day
By JohnU | September 4, 2008
The walls are bare, but for the nails where once artistic oddities hung. Bookshelves are barren, and indeed de-shelved, and flanked by boxes filled with the tomes that once filled them. Whirls of dust have free run of the place in the final days. Saturday is The Day, officially and essentially, though some things are already there and others will not leave until after. Saturday, it’s all those heavy boxes, and the furniture, and we reach the meat of the ending of a thing.
As one things ends, another begins. That whole cycles of life thing.
There’s no sadness. Anticipation, yes, and some excitement, a certain thrill at the unknown, and even some trepidition. The things that are important move with. The extraneous stuff, the unnecessaries and best forgottens, get left behind. A bit or piece may get lost in transit, but there’s time enough for reclaiming.
And there’s that new beginning waiting.
It’s not a long distance move. It’s not a high pressure or get-it-done-now move. It’s merely a transition. A change of environment. A shift of perspective. A rebalancing of life.
Time to remember what matters most.
Time to take stock, remember and put to rest.
Time to write.
It feels more momentous than it really is, I’m sure. It’s no trans-Pacific move, like the last time.
What happens next? Where do I go? Where do you go? Where do we go? You may say it’s the next step in the journey. I say, and I steal these words: the chase is afoot.
Watch this space. Tell your friends.
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More Music
By JohnU | August 14, 2008
I’ve added a few artists to the Now Playing section on the side of this site. Figured, since I’ve moved from my Gypsies soundtrack to Kings, it ought to reflect what’s actually playing.
A lot of jazz right now, a few French things, various oddities that almost fit within there and almost don’t, but all work well together and guide me through the criminally-minded bits of the current project. (For the record, I don’t really speak French; I understand about a dozen words, maybe two, so when someone’s singing in French it’s only the musicality of their voice that reaches me.)
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Surgical Removal
By JohnU | August 12, 2008
I hate cutting words.
Let me rephrase that: I hate cutting words during the writing phase. During revisions, it’s fine and natural and expected, and it happens with seemingly reckless abandon. Blue ink pours across the page as words are removed, changed, rearranged, twisted, added, and excised.
During the writing phase, I expect to keep writing until I’m done writing. Today, I went back and cut almost 8,000 words, to a point when the story went wrong. It’s a necessary and unavoidable cut, but it comes at a point when I hate to be cutting.
However, you do what you must, and sometimes you must cut words, even if some of them will be sorely missed.
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Olympic Fever
By JohnU | August 11, 2008
I know there are other things going on the world. I pay attention, sometimes, to those things. There are other things going on in my life, too, and I can’t help but pay attention to those.
But it’s the Olympics that have got me now.
I’m not a big sports person. But the concept behind the Olympic games–international cooperation, an exchange of cultural ideas, friendly competition–this year, I’m feeling it. I’m feeling it in a way I’ve never before. I’ve got friends from China, so of course that’s had an impact. And the Opening Ceremonies this year were awe-inspiring. I wish I could’ve been there to hear those drums, and feel them. Bass was lost on my TV, but it still touched me.
I’ve been watching sports, too, I’ve never watched before. Badminton, archery, weight lifting. We’ve all seen gymnastics and swimming, and while they’re excited, I’m also very interested in seeing other competitions we don’t usually see on American television. I’m hooked. Really. Rowing. Volleyball. Cycling. (Cycling in the rain. Uphill for the final 100 meters. Ouch.)
There are some I haven’t seen yet and still hope to catch: handball (which is nothing like the handball I grew up playing), taekwondo, fencing, as examples.
And this only intensifies my desire to visit China. (I’d love to walk the wall, the whole wall, over the course of 6-12 months, with a camera. I want to see Shanghai. And the terra cotta warriors in Xian. And that’s just to start.)
For the most part, I think the coverage has been fine. A few things I might wish could’ve been done a little differently. And I still haven’t figured out how to tell when something’s on that I want to see. Mostly, it’s just catching what I catch when I turn it on.
And know this, too: I’ve been getting a lot of writing done recently. I take breaks, see what sports are to be seen, flip through the three or four channels that are showing them, settle on something for a while, and get right back to work. I’m working on a few other things, too, that have nothing to do with writing, and I’m in the process of learning more about Photoshop, too. In part, I’m playing–and in part, I’m working incredibly hard–and the Olympics are the perfect background during which to excel.
I want to see countries that have never won medals win medals. I want to see long-shot upsets. I want to see favorites astound the world. I want to see the stories. Sometimes, I want to understand a little more of what’s going on. (I remember catching curling during the last winter Olympics. I was in New Zealand at the time. I didn’t understand what was going on, why they were doing the things they were doing, what their ultimate goal was, or how they would win. Those games were different for me, though, as I was on holiday, roaming a country I’d never seen, and I wasn’t as interested or intrigued or excited by the games then as I am now.)
Hopefully, you’re enjoying the Olympic games, too. And hopefully, I’ll emerge with a few private gold medals of my own.
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Welcome to August
By JohnU | August 1, 2008
If it were the first of May, we’d be calling it May Day. Instead, it’s just 1 August, or August 1, or just another sweltering summer day.
Also happens to be the anniversary of the day, back in 1981, MTV started broadcasting and changed television and music as we knew it. ‘Course, at the time, I didn’t know much except “Staying Alive” and the Brady Bunch. Though it wouldn’t be long before I started watching, on Nickelodeon, “The Tomorrow People” and “The Third Eye”, shows which may in some bear some responsibility for how I turned out.
But probably not.
It’s also Lammas Day, that day between the summer and fall equinoxes (and exactly half a year off of Candelmas), the first wheat harvest day, and happens to be Juliet’s birthday.
In this part of the world, it’s hot, and it rains almost daily, but the rain offers little relief. Thunderstorms come and go with some frequency. Other parts of the world may be more temperate, or more unrelenting, but it’s all part of some unending cycle so I won’t even begin to decipher it. It looks to be a quiet day, and currently wispy clouds linger on a bed of blue. It’s a driving day, with water at the end of the road, and with a little luck it’ll be an extraordinarily serene weekend.
Because, in the end, everyone needs a drop of serenity. Where do you find yours?
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M’s Art and Cafe Press
By JohnU | July 31, 2008
My partner, M, has a cafe press store, where she sells things like:
It’s fantasy / new-age stuff, things like postcards and t-shirts and mugs. There’s not much, no, but there’s some.
In the not too distant future, I’m hoping to get some of my photography on some of this stuff, as well, but I haven’t done it yet. I think I’m waiting to see if the stuff already there garners any interest. Thoughts?
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A Voice in the Dark
By JohnU | July 27, 2008
Nearly midnight last night, as I sat in the living room under a single light reading one of Douglas Clegg’s fantasy novels (I’m in the second of three), whilst everyone else (human and feline) slept, I heard a voice. A whisper. Barely at the edge of my ear. Distinct and indistinct simultaneously. She said, “John.”
Yep, she said my name. And yep, she was a she. There was no depth to the voice, no resonance. No surety that any voice actually spoke a word, except that it certainly sounded like my name.
I don’t spook easily. Seriously. I walked into an abandoned house one day, as part of my day job, worked from one end of a straight line to another, seeing piles of garbage in every room, and finally reached the very last room at the farthest corner of the house, when suddenly there was music. Not stereo music, or instruments, or a voice, but something that might easily have been someone’s mobile phone. Except it wasn’t. It was an overturned and seemingly broken music box. I took a picture. (Picture did not, by the way, come out.) I looked at it, as closely as I dared in this empty and unoccupied house, and I didn’t touch it. Because I knew better. Because I knew I’d somehow walked into one of my own stories. And I knew, if I touched the music box, bad things would’ve happened, and I wouldn’t be here today telling you about the mysterious music box that started playing, untouched, in the middle of an otherwise empty room in a house none of you would’ve walked into except perhaps on a dare.
What I’m saying is, I don’t spook easily. So I looked around, checked that everyone else (human and feline) slept, as I suspected, and realized someone was obviously trying to tell me something.
As I didn’t know what she meant to say, and she wasn’t any more forthcoming, I finished the chapter and turned out the light and went to bed.
Whoever she was, whispering my name so late at night whilst I was alone, she failed to make an appearance in my dreams in order to elaborate. So maybe tonight, she’ll whisper the next word.
If not, I’ll continue writing. (I’m in the fantasy section of a three-part project, oddly enough; the horror section is probably next.)
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Writing Update
By JohnU | July 21, 2008
I’m deep in a mountainous forest these days, surrounded by gypsies and god things and a poor guy who doesn’t know what he wants or where he’s going. But he’s got a compass, so it can’t all be bad, can it?
Book submissions have been set afloat through the postal service.
Necropolis is readier and readier to go, and when the time is right a proper announcement shall be made.
There are rumblings about a Midnight story. Seriously. More news on that soon.
I’ve written a handful of awful poems. My hope, of course, is that one among them is decent, and that when I gather a bunch of the decent ones from a group of these bunches, that perhaps one will rise among all others good. I’m working toward excellent, but I honestly don’t devote much time to poetry. It simply happens when it happens.
There’s a poem in that mountainy foresty novel I mentioned above.
There’s also an assassin, an underworld boss, a cop, a gang, a museum, and a ghost. Oh, and a mirror. Mustn’t forget that. All part of the same book, but different parts, and those aren’t the parts where I found myself working today.
For those keeping track, wings of the butterfly won absolutely zero awards, and the publisher is upset. He said so on a message board somewhere. I read it. It must be true. The Internet would never lie to me. {wicked grin}
I think I acquired a new First Reader today. These are invaluable persons who assist in the early stages of a novel, before it ever gets packaged up and shipped off to a publisher and/or editor. It’s a rare post, to be honest, and it’s not a role you can actually apply for. You’ve got to be chosen. I’ve been a First Reader myself. It’s not always easy. And sometimes, it wears down the blue pens.
Yes, I use blue pens when I edit and revise. Always do. Red reminds me too much of high school. Black blends too easily with the ink from the printer.
I’ll be packing up the whole office in a few short weeks, transporting the pieces, and re-assembling them in some new variation. Wish me luck.
How’s your writing going?
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Storm Front Approaching
By JohnU | July 20, 2008
Dusk. Pensacola, Florida. As the storm neared, lightning raged in the distance and thunder resounded in our ears.Which of these pictures is best?
I have only a slight preference. Yes, I played with them. I’m no expert in Photoshop, not yet, but I one day I will be. Then, it will not be a matter of playing, or even tweaking, but it’ll be a mastery which leads to perfection–at least perfection in the re-creation of my vision. Or something like that.
Yeah, it’s all uber-artistic, when I start spouting off like that. Feel free to ignore it. But if you feel like it, please, tell me which you prefer and why.
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The Magic Marble
By JohnU | July 15, 2008
a little post-apocalyptic fairy tale for everyone:
THE MAGIC MARBLE
“Give me a dollar.”
Jake looked up from his marbles. Except for the girl standing over him on the stoop, the street was empty. He’d never seen her before. She was older than him, but not much, and the way she leaned over him it was as if she was curious but unwilling to get too close. The way she spoke, she obviously expected him to obey.
“No.”
“A dollar,” the girl said, straightening and taking a step back. “It’s not like that’s a lot of money.”
“No.” Jake rolled up his marbles, gathering them in one hand and then dumping them into a plastic pouch.
“I’ll give you a marble.”
“I have plenty,” Jake said. “You want me to give you a dollar, you have to give me something I want.”
She grinned. “You’ll want this marble. It’s a cat’s eye.”
“Is it an actual cat’s eye?”
“That’s gross,” she said. “No.”
“Then I don’t want it,” Jake said. He stood and dangled the pouch in front of her. “Got all I need in here.”
“It’s magic.”
“Marbles aren’t magic,” Jake said. “You’re being stupid.”
“I’m a girl,” she said. “I’m never stupid.”
“You’re a girl,” he agreed. “You’ve got cooties.”
“I do not,” she said. She fished the marble out of her pocket and held it out on her palm. “I’ve got this.”
It was bright, sparkly, blue glass with red veins inside, and it was definitely prettier than any of Jake’s marbles. And bigger, too, twice the size of any of his shooters. He reached for it, but she closed her hand around it and shook her head. “I need a dollar.”
“What do you want a dollar for?” Jake asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Once you give it to me, it’s mine, and I can do what I want with it. And I’ll give you this marble, and you can do what you want with it.”
“It ain’t magic.”
“It’s very magic,” she said. “A fairy gave it to me.”
“There are no fairies.”
“A fairy elf.”
“There’s no such thing as elves, either, ‘specially not fairy elves,” Jake said. He thought he was being reasonable. But he wanted the marble, and he wished he actually had a dollar to give her.
“Of course there are. You don’t know everything.”
“I know there’s no elves or fairies.”
“Who takes your teeth, then?” the girl asked.
That wasn’t a fair question. Everyone knew about the Tooth Fairy. “Not the same.”
“I’m just saying,” the girl said, “that you don’t know everything, and you’re wrong, and this is a magic marble and I’ll give it to you if you give me a dollar.” She was showing the marble again. Sunlight glinted off it.
“If it’s magic, what does it do?”
“It wins.”
Jake looked up and down the street. They stood on this stoop, but all the others were empty. No kids. No adults either. He hadn’t seen much of anyone since the evening sunrise. Days ago. “I’m not playing with anyone.”
“You can play with me,” the girl said.
“You’re a girl.”
“So?”
He didn’t have an answer. “Why don’t you play with the marble?”
“I’m a girl,” she said. “I have dolls.”
“That’s silly.”
She shrugged. “Just give me a dollar. Please?”
“I can’t,” Jake admitted. “I don’t have a dollar.”
She frowned. She dropped the marble into her pocket. She looked up the street, then down, then up the side of the apartment building as if someone might look down from one of the windows.
He thought she’d go away now. Or say something else. She looked at him again, and she frowned, but that was all.
“If I had a dollar,” Jake said, “I’d buy your marble.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“You said…”
“I said I’d give you the marble if you gave me a dollar. I did not say I’d sell it to you for a dollar. That’s different.”
“Oh.” He thought about it, and said, “Then can you give me the marble anyway?”
“But then I won’t have the marble and I still won’t have a dollar.”
“What about dolls?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know. You’re a boy. What do you know about dolls?”
“I know where to find some.”
“Is there a doll shop?”
He shook his head. “Better. A five and dime.”
“I don’t want a cheap doll.”
“I don’t want a cheap marble.”
“I just want a dollar.”
“Why?”
“Because. Why do I have to have more than because?”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Jake said. “Do you want to buy something? Are you saving dollars for rainy days?”
“That’s pennies,” she said.
Jake reached into his pocket, pulled out three of those, and held them out. “Pennies, I’ve got.”
She took them, one at a time, taking a time to look at each (maybe to check the date, or the face, Jake didn’t know). “Thanks,” she said. “I suppose you want the marble.”
“You said it was magic.”
“It wins,” she said.
“How would you know?” he asked. “You’re a girl.”
“I told it I wanted to find a doll,” she said. “It led me to you.”
“A doll, or a dollar?”
“I really wanted a dollar,” the girl said, “so I could buy my doll. But I don’t know who to buy it from.”
“I can sell you a doll,” Jake said.
“From the five and dime?”
“Right.”
“That’d be nice.” The girl sat on the stoop, smoothed her skirt, and smiled. “Is it a nice doll?”
“I’m a boy,” he reminded her. “I don’t know if it’s a nice doll.”
“Will you pick it yourself?”
“Of course.”
“Then it will be nice,” she said. “Thanks.”
“You don’t want to come?”
“The five and dime,” she said, “is your secret. The fairy elves and their magical marbles is mine.”
END
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