Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 352

A brilliant way to turn incessant texting into something splendid and amusing

A tweet that I saw a couple days ago:

@DaveHolmes: Right now my friends and I are sending vague texts to the people in our contacts whose names we don’t recognize.

Brilliant. Right? I sent two yesterday. Both said the same thing:

Can you believe that guy? Does he really think we are going to believe that?

I have yet to receive a response from either contact.

Today I feel like a real author – which doesn’t happen often – and not for any reason that you might imagine.

I’m not sure if other authors feel this way, but most days, I don’t feel like a real author.

Its ridiculous but true.

I’ve published three novels – two with Doubleday and one with St. Martin’s Press – and I have a fourth publishing in September. My last book was translated into more than 25 different languages and was an international bestseller.

   

All three of my novels have been optioned for film or television.

I receive emails and tweets from readers all over the world daily about my books.

And yet when I’m completely honest with myself, I don’t ever feel like a real author. At best, I feel like I’ve fooled people into believing that I’m a real author, and at any moment, the literati will discover the truth and my last book will be my last.

Someone recently asked me, “When did you know that you had finally made it?”

Without any attempt at humor or self-deprecation, my instant response was, “You’re probably the only person on the planet who thinks I’ve made it. I’m not even close to making it. I don’t even know what making it looks like. I don’t think I’ll ever make it.” 

I have no evidence, but I suspect that these feeling are true for many authors.

Thankfully, there are moments when this stupidity is challenged. Yesterday a reader send me a photo of her Book of the Day calendar. March 18 had been given over to my last novel, Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend.

Oddly enough, this tangible mention of my novel, sitting atop a reader’s desk on a square of paper, made me feel more like a real author than many of the moments that should’ve convinced me long ago.

And I have no idea why.

This is the real reason you go shopping before a snowstorm

Daniel Engber of Slate offers an explanation as to why people behave like idiots before a snowstorm, rushing off to a grocery store that will undoubtedly be open at some point the next day.

The word is hunkering, in the specifically American sense of digging in and taking shelter. It’s the anxious form of self-indulgence, where fear is fuel to make us cozy.

I agree that hunkering is part of it, but I also think there is something even larger at play:

People want to be involved in momentous events. They want to feel like they played a part in a historical moment. By role playing panic – which is essentially what a person does when he or she is willing to wait in an endless line for milk that will be readily available in 24 hours – people feel like an essential part of the oncoming snowstorm. They are like actors, committing to a part that their friends, colleagues and the local media have been undoubtedly hyping for three days.

It’s no fun to be liaise-faire. Being able to remain calm in an actual emergency is a skill that is valued by all, but remaining calm in a fake emergency is no fun for anyone involved. It just makes the people pretending that they are in the midst of an emergency feel stupid or angry or both. It’s like when little kids are running around the playground, pretending that a dragon is chasing them, but one kid just stands there and shouts, “There is no dragon! There is no dragon!”

But there is no dragon, people. New England just experienced one of the worst winters in terms of snowfall ever, yet in my part of Connecticut – which received near-record snowfalls – there was never a storm that kept the roads from being cleared and the stores opened within 24 hours, and most of the time, considerably less than that.

In most cases, the roads were impassible for a few hours at best and the stores never actually closed.

My wife and I never went shopping before a storm this winter – despite the fact that we have two small children who drink a lot of milk and eat a lot of bread – and we were never wont for either item. If you don’t have enough food in your house to survive 8-24 hours, the problem isn’t the storm. It’s with the way you shop for groceries.

If you’re looking for something to panic about, why not make it climate change. I realize that it won’t allow you to go shopping (which also plays a role in the pleasure of pre-storm pretend panic), and you won’t find yourself in the midst of the pretend panicked nearly as often, but at least you’ll be panicking over something that is real and worthy of your concern.

This is the real reason why you go shopping before a snowstorm

Daniel Engber of Slate offers an explanation as to why people behave like idiots before a snowstorm, rushing off to a grocery store that will undoubtedly be open at some point the next day.

The word is hunkering, in the specifically American sense of digging in and taking shelter. It’s the anxious form of self-indulgence, where fear is fuel to make us cozy.

I agree that hunkering is part of it, but I also think there is something even larger at play:

People want to be involved in momentous events. They want to feel like they played a part in a historical moment. By role playing panic – which is essentially what a person does when he or she is willing to wait in an endless line for milk that will be readily available in 24 hours – people feel like an essential part of the oncoming snowstorm. They are like actors, committing to a part that their friends, colleagues and the local media have been undoubtedly hyping for three days.

It’s no fun to be liaise-faire. Being able to remain calm in an actual emergency is a skill that is valued by all, but remaining calm in a fake emergency is no fun for anyone involved. It just makes the people pretending that they are in the midst of an emergency feel stupid or angry or both. It’s like when little kids are running around the playground, pretending that a dragon is chasing them, but one kid just stands there and shouts, “There is no dragon! There is no dragon!”

But there is no dragon, people. New England just experienced one of the worst winters in terms of snowfall ever, yet in my part of Connecticut – which received near-record snowfalls – there was never a storm that kept the roads from being cleared and the stores opened within 24 hours, and most of the time, considerably less than that.

In most cases, the roads were impassible for a few hours at best and the stores never actually closed.

My wife and I never went shopping before a storm this winter – despite the fact that we have two small children who drink a lot of milk and eat a lot of bread – and we were never wont for either item. If you don’t have enough food in your house to survive 8-24 hours, the problem isn’t the storm. It’s with the way you shop for groceries. 

If you’re looking for something to panic about, why not make it climate change. I realize that it won’t allow you to go shopping (which also plays a role in the pleasure of pre-storm pretend panic), and you won’t find yourself in the midst of the pretend panicked nearly as often, but at least you’ll be panicking over something that is real and worthy of your concern.

Malcolm Gladwell on shorter attention spans, inherent unfairness, and the selfie.

From an interview with Malcolm Gladwell in The Guardian comes a few of his more interesting comments:

I don’t know why people think attention spans are getting shorter. Thirty years ago, you could go and get a sandwich in the middle of a Kojak episode, come back and still follow it. Today, if you get a glass of water in the middle of Homeland you have to pause and go back.

Running teaches you about the inherent unfairness of the world. Two people can work exactly the same, in fact, one can be infinitely more devoted and train much harder and not do as well. An object lesson in how unfair life is.

On a personal note, the inability to acceptance that life is inherently unfair seems to be one of the greatest stumbling blocks in people’s lives and the reason why so many fail to realize their dreams. I rarely receive more pushback from readers than when I write about this. 

Gladwell also prefers the selfie when someone who has recognized him request a photo, mostly because it’s quicker to take a selfie than get a third party involved to take the picture.

I’m not so sure about this opinion, mostly because I almost never get recognized, and when I do, no one wants a photo with me.

The single greatest death bed regret of Generation X (and maybe beyond) will be this:

On their death beds, the people of my generation will lament the time the spent driving – sometimes daily – from grocery store to grocery store, chasing the freshest produce, the finest meats, the best seafood, and the lowest prices, when they could’ve been spending that time reading, watching a film, climbing a mountain, writing a novel, playing with their kids, or having sex.

My mother shopped in one grocery store for all of her life. She went shopping for groceries once a week. She made a plan. Made a list. Shopped. Moved on with her life. 

Today she would be considered an aberration. An outlier. A dinosaur.

There are grocery stores that have managed to place almost every grocery item you’ll ever need under one roof, and yet people in my generation now prefer to shop in stores that deliberately avoid stocking every item, necessitating trips to multiple stores throughout the week.

It’s insane. 

It seems as if more time is spent traveling between grocery stores and pushing carriage up and down aisles than is spent actually eating the food.

It makes no sense.

There are more than 30 full size or midsize grocery stores within 15 minutes of my home.

Good food is important, but time is by far our most valuable commodity. My generation has chosen to spend a significant portion of its time looking for parking spots, pushing carriages, waiting in checkout lines, and plucking food items off a multitude of shelves in a multitude of stores.

The 90 year-old versions of themselves are going to be so annoyed.

I didn’t respond to a stranger’s unsolicited manuscript for 48 hours, so his angry response was probably justified. Right?

On Wednesday of this week, I received an email from someone who I don’t know. This is the entirety of his message, minus his name and the Word document that was attached.
___________________________

I play poker in las vegas, and not a week goes by that someone doesn’t say your the politest poker player.
Poker is a nasty brutal game but it doesn’t mean I have to be like all the others.
most people mistake politeness for weakness.
I am not a writer and doing this hard for me
I have attached my personal project on winning, poker, aggression, OODA LOOPS, women, the marines, alcohol, loneliness, insanity, hell and my 2 cents on all of the above
enjoy the quotes
back to my cave of darkness
___________________________

Two days later, the same person sent me this email:
___________________________

I know how extremely busy you are – so to take time and reply with such an awesome and considerate e mail  is something I will always remember

OH I FORGET- YOU COULDN`T EVEN BE BOTHEREDT TO HIT REPLY AND SAY THANKS FOR YOUR INTEREST OR DROP DEAD–

I know it would have taken maybe 2 seconds
Oh well just another dick
will ignore you in the future

___________________________

I’d like to say I was surprised, but I really wasn’t. I receive messages from people like this from time to time. Sadly, I’ve become fairly accustomed to this level of surprising vitriol when I fail to respond to someone in what they perceive to be a timely manner.

A couple years ago, I was in the process of reading the first 30 pages of an unsolicited manuscript that I actually liked a lot when the writer emailed me and told me to delete her manuscript from my computer immediately. I had taken too long to reply to her unsolicited request, so she called me a bunch of terrible names and demanded that I never read her story.

I can’t imagine what these people are thinking when they do this kind of thing. Is burning a bridge really going to help?

Nevertheless, I replied to my most recent attacker, hoping that perhaps he would reconsider such actions in the future.
___________________________

Seriously? You sent me something on Wednesday, and two days later, you send me this?

Listen, man. I’m an elementary school teacher. An author on deadline. The founder and producer of a storytelling show that has three shows in the next two months. I was teaching a storytelling workshop on Wednesday night. I’m have six pages of a comic book due on Monday and an entire musical that should’ve been finished a month ago. I had parent-teacher conferences this week. I spent the week reviewing report cards. I’m the father of two kids ages six and two. Both of them are sick. Oh, and I’m a husband, too. 

Yeah, it’s true. Your email was sitting in my inbox, waiting to be opened. 48 hours later and I hadn’t had a chance to reply or even read it yet. You weren’t exactly my priority.

Are you kidding me?  

Your email was insanely rude. I can’t believe how rude it was. I hope, with all sincerity, that you learn from this mistake going forward. There’s no need for this level of rudeness. It gets you nowhere.   
___________________________

Less than 24 hours later, he replied.
___________________________

I DID NOT READ YOUR RESPONSE-

I can only hope that is how your are treated
___________________________

I replied instantly.
___________________________

I don’t believe you.
___________________________

No response from him yet.

Sequel Protection Service: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (The Millennium) series

So many times in my life, I’ve wished that I had avoided one or more of the sequels to a book or movie. Spoiling the beauty of an original story with a disappointing or (even worse) destructive sequel is a tragedy that should befall no human being.

Thus behold:

Matthew Dicks’ Sequel Protection Service.

Having suffered through scores of horrendous and damaging sequels, I have thrust the mantle of Sequel Protection Champion upon myself in order to spare future consumers the pain that so many of us have experienced. 

I will tell you which sequels are worthy of reading or viewing and which should never be seen.

Quite heroic of me. Don’t you think?

Today’s subject:

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (The Millennium) series:

If you weren’t sucked into the literary frenzy of these three books a few years ago and are just starting to read them now, I urge you to stop with the first book. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is a taut and unexpected thriller that I enjoyed a great deal. It was edge of your seat suspense, and most importantly, it was relatively believable.

As with many sequels, the ratcheting of action and suspense required to make the sequels successful also stripped the second book – The Girl Who Played With Fire – and the third book – The Girl Who Kicked Over the Hornet’s Nest – of any plausibility.

 

Lizbeth Salandar – the pseudo-protagonist – goes from a badass hero in the first book to superhero in the second and third, and she encounters villains with even more implausible super powers. The story becomes convoluted, and little is revealed by way of the character’s backstories in the two subsequent books to made their reading worthwhile.

Stop after reading The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. You won’t be disappointed.
_______________________________

Also, I plan for this to be an ongoing series of posts and would like a logo or banner of some kind for the Sequel Protection Service. If you are so inclined to  design one and I like it (and I probably will since I currently have nothing), I will publicly recognize you here and be eternally grateful.

A student wrote something that made me cry while reading it aloud. And thanks to the rules of my “Make your teacher cry” contest, my tears were caught on video.

For the past five years, I have offered a challenge to my fifth grade students:

Write something that makes me cry.

The contest was born from Sharon Creech’s Love That Dog, a book I once read to my students but no longer do because I always get weepy at the end.

There is nothing wrong with crying. There’s nothing wrong with crying in response to something you read. There’s nothing wrong with crying in response to something you have read many times before. 

But crying in front of two dozen merciless fifth graders?

Not good.

Rather than reading Love That Dog, I’ve challenged students to write something that will make me cry in the same way Sharon Creech’s story makes me cry.

Here is how the contest works:

If you write a piece for the contest, I will read it aloud to the class while the writer records my reading on video. If I cry or get weepy in any way during the reading, I agree to post the recording of the reading to YouTube with a caption of the student’s choice.

For five years, dozens of students have tried. All have failed.

Until now.

Here is a recording of me, reading Julia’s piece aloud. Unlike previous contestants, Julia decided to write memoir rather than fiction. Clever girl. And in my defense, Julia begins weeping in the middle of my reading, which may or may not have contributed to my tears as well.

Regardless, I got weepy, so Julia wins. It’s a brilliant piece of writing, so she deserves the glory that comes with her victory. Enjoy.

 

Outdoors at last!

The snowpack is finally low enough to not swallow up our children, and temperatures have finally risen enough to not risk frostbite and hypothermia in our little ones.

It’s been the winter of too much snow and subzero temperatures, which has forced us to remain indoors more than we would’ve liked.

Finally, it’s time to play.