Kyle Garret's Blog, page 23
May 4, 2012
Free Fridays: Young Zombies in Love
Hey, it's the second Free Friday here at KyleGarret.com!
Right off the bat, I should point out that "Young Zombies in Love" has no actual zombies in it, unlike last week's selection, "Unrequited."
"Young Zombies in Love" ePub
"Young Zombies in Love" for Kindle
YZiL, as I have just now dubbed it, is connected to "Unrequited," yes, but not directly connected. Well, not really. Whatever, you should read it and you'll see what I'm talking about. It's the story that convinced me I should do an entire collection of short stories around "Unrequited." Your mileage may vary on that.
YZiL has never seen the light of day until now! The only other person who has read it is my lovely and talented wife, Nicole.
Here's a funny story about last week's story: I wrote it before I met Nicole. Not long after we started dating, I let people read it. Across the board, all of them assumed that I had based the female lead on Nicole. Granted, this means that I'm waiting for the day to arrive when she is revealed as a fictional character that my fevered brain conjured up to keep me out of trouble.
If you enjoyed "Unrequited," I'd appreciate it a great deal if you could head on over to Amazon or Goodreads or BN.com and say something nice. The eBook is available at two of those three sites.
Anyway, hope you enjoy "Young Zombies in Love!"
Right off the bat, I should point out that "Young Zombies in Love" has no actual zombies in it, unlike last week's selection, "Unrequited."
"Young Zombies in Love" ePub
"Young Zombies in Love" for Kindle
YZiL, as I have just now dubbed it, is connected to "Unrequited," yes, but not directly connected. Well, not really. Whatever, you should read it and you'll see what I'm talking about. It's the story that convinced me I should do an entire collection of short stories around "Unrequited." Your mileage may vary on that.
YZiL has never seen the light of day until now! The only other person who has read it is my lovely and talented wife, Nicole.
Here's a funny story about last week's story: I wrote it before I met Nicole. Not long after we started dating, I let people read it. Across the board, all of them assumed that I had based the female lead on Nicole. Granted, this means that I'm waiting for the day to arrive when she is revealed as a fictional character that my fevered brain conjured up to keep me out of trouble.
If you enjoyed "Unrequited," I'd appreciate it a great deal if you could head on over to Amazon or Goodreads or BN.com and say something nice. The eBook is available at two of those three sites.
Anyway, hope you enjoy "Young Zombies in Love!"
May 2, 2012
Go Fictionalize Yourself
I prefer writing fiction to writing non-fiction. I realize that's a strange statement coming from a guy whose only published book is non-fiction and who has a blog that consists almost entirely of true stories.
My difficulty with writing non-fiction is that I get bored easily. Most of the negative reviews I've gotten for "Pray" focused on the fact that the book is the story of the story, and that I've got three separate timelines going at once. That's how I keep myself entertained.
I take a lot of material out of my life, but invariably twist the hell out of it to serve my purposes. This has gotten me in trouble a few times because people sometimes assume that if one thing in my story is true, then all of it must be true, which is never the case for any writer ever in the history of the world, unless all they write is non-fiction -- and even then, it might not be true.
Last Friday (assuming it worked), I posted a short story called "Unrequited." I've gotten nearly as much feedback on that story as I have on "Pray," and substantially fewer people have read "Unrequited." All of that feedback has been positive; even people who dislike the ending still enjoyed the story.
I wrote another short story not too long ago that is connected to "Unrequited." I'll withhold information on how, exactly, it's connected, because I don't want to ruin it for you. But it turned out really well, and it made me realize that there's a certain amount of juice to "Unrequited," and that everything that stems from it seems to inherit some of its energy.
So I decided to put together a collection of short stories that are all somehow connected to "Unrequited."
One of these stories has a familiar theme: the story of the story. I'm going back and writing a fictionalized version of how I wrote "Unrequited" nearly ten years ago. This, of course, affords me the luxury of mixing and matching which parts of my life I pull from, and how much I change them to suit my purposes.
It's a strange thing, to write about yourself as a fictional character. I actually do it an awful lot. I would imagine a reasonable argument could be made that all of my characters are pieces of me in some way.
I've said in the past that I use a pen name because my life as a writer is different than my life as a regular person. Basically, there's the stupid part of me and the responsible part of me. The former would stay up late writing every night if the latter didn't tell him we have to go to work the next day.
But working on this new short story, I've started thinking that perhaps there's a third Kyle -- the fictional one. Or, I suppose, the many fictional ones.
I have found that when I write about a fictional version of myself, I tend to take parts of my personality to the extreme, because in a story that's tolerable, while in real life I would have no friends. I enjoy whiskey, but fictional me drinks pretty much all the time. I over think everything, but fictional Kyle thinks to the point of debilitation. I'm a reformed hopeless romantic (because, in the end, it turned out to not be hopeless), but that guy I write about who is a lot like me spends way too much time thinking about girls.
It will be interesting to see how this new short story turns out, and how people who know me respond to it. Fortunately, most of them will probably read this blog post first.
My difficulty with writing non-fiction is that I get bored easily. Most of the negative reviews I've gotten for "Pray" focused on the fact that the book is the story of the story, and that I've got three separate timelines going at once. That's how I keep myself entertained.
I take a lot of material out of my life, but invariably twist the hell out of it to serve my purposes. This has gotten me in trouble a few times because people sometimes assume that if one thing in my story is true, then all of it must be true, which is never the case for any writer ever in the history of the world, unless all they write is non-fiction -- and even then, it might not be true.
Last Friday (assuming it worked), I posted a short story called "Unrequited." I've gotten nearly as much feedback on that story as I have on "Pray," and substantially fewer people have read "Unrequited." All of that feedback has been positive; even people who dislike the ending still enjoyed the story.
I wrote another short story not too long ago that is connected to "Unrequited." I'll withhold information on how, exactly, it's connected, because I don't want to ruin it for you. But it turned out really well, and it made me realize that there's a certain amount of juice to "Unrequited," and that everything that stems from it seems to inherit some of its energy.
So I decided to put together a collection of short stories that are all somehow connected to "Unrequited."
One of these stories has a familiar theme: the story of the story. I'm going back and writing a fictionalized version of how I wrote "Unrequited" nearly ten years ago. This, of course, affords me the luxury of mixing and matching which parts of my life I pull from, and how much I change them to suit my purposes.
It's a strange thing, to write about yourself as a fictional character. I actually do it an awful lot. I would imagine a reasonable argument could be made that all of my characters are pieces of me in some way.
I've said in the past that I use a pen name because my life as a writer is different than my life as a regular person. Basically, there's the stupid part of me and the responsible part of me. The former would stay up late writing every night if the latter didn't tell him we have to go to work the next day.
But working on this new short story, I've started thinking that perhaps there's a third Kyle -- the fictional one. Or, I suppose, the many fictional ones.
I have found that when I write about a fictional version of myself, I tend to take parts of my personality to the extreme, because in a story that's tolerable, while in real life I would have no friends. I enjoy whiskey, but fictional me drinks pretty much all the time. I over think everything, but fictional Kyle thinks to the point of debilitation. I'm a reformed hopeless romantic (because, in the end, it turned out to not be hopeless), but that guy I write about who is a lot like me spends way too much time thinking about girls.
It will be interesting to see how this new short story turns out, and how people who know me respond to it. Fortunately, most of them will probably read this blog post first.
April 30, 2012
Degrees of Storytelling
My wife works at Pixar. It's basically as cool as you might think.
The company I work for has an office fairly close to Pixar, so every Wednesday I drive over to have lunch with the Mrs. And it's great (and not just because of where she works -- getting to have lunch with your wife at least once a week is a pretty nice perk). It's also a little torturous, because it's a campus full of creative people making stories.
As you can probably imagine, I sometimes wonder what it would be like to work there or in the writers' room on a television show or with an artist on a comic book. I like the idea, but I also know that it's a completely different type of writing than I'm used to.
It's not so much the collaborative aspect that's foreign to me. What's weird for me is the ability to access that creativity every day on a regular basis.
Which I guess isn't as hard as I think it is. There's a new girl in our department at work. And the other day one of my co-workers told her that I'm funny, and that I make up crazy stories. While I don't really think of myself as a funny guy, I do make up ridiculous stories pretty much every day at work. It's just the way my brain works. Sometimes those stories are a bit too weird to have really been said out loud, but on average they're more or less acceptable for a general audience.
It's always been difficult for me to write. Part of that is very real, but part of that is rationalization. I've never really taken to the whole drunk writer mythology, but I'll admit that sometimes I've fallen into it. For some reason, I have it in my brain that it's often easier for me to write if I have some liquid courage.
I think this stems from the fact that a lot of what I write is extremely personal, even if it's fiction. And for as much as I might babble on and on about myself, I have always had a hard time of actually getting past the surface. There are a lot of things that aren't easy for me to get to, which is, honestly, another issue entirely.
So in an effort to get myself to open up, I sometimes get a prescription from what Warren Ellis refers to as Doctor Whiskey. And it works. It's worked pretty well for years (although I suppose an argument could be made against that, given how I'm still struggling to get published). It's pretty damn cool to read something you wrote and see that it's actually really good, which is surprising, both because it's good and because you don't particularly remember writing it.
Like I said, a lot of this is rationalization. There's no real reason to believe I couldn't get to these places without any chemical assistance. I've actually written an entire book without any kind of mind altering substances. It takes longer, sure, but those hidden places are still accessible. It's also just much harder to get there on my own. Heck, it's hard regardless.
The thought occurred to me, then, that there are, perhaps, degrees to storytelling. And if that's the case, then I seem to be writing on only one setting most of the time. I think that's probably a bad thing.
Then again, I should also mention that the few nights of the week when I have the time to really sit down and write, it's a lot like a vacation. Instead of a beach and sunshine, I have my office and a single lamp at night. Instead of Mai Tai's, I have whiskey. And instead of heading home at the end of the trip, with a lot less money and probably a few extra pounds, I slowly but surely tell stories.
That seems pretty good to me.
The company I work for has an office fairly close to Pixar, so every Wednesday I drive over to have lunch with the Mrs. And it's great (and not just because of where she works -- getting to have lunch with your wife at least once a week is a pretty nice perk). It's also a little torturous, because it's a campus full of creative people making stories.
As you can probably imagine, I sometimes wonder what it would be like to work there or in the writers' room on a television show or with an artist on a comic book. I like the idea, but I also know that it's a completely different type of writing than I'm used to.
It's not so much the collaborative aspect that's foreign to me. What's weird for me is the ability to access that creativity every day on a regular basis.
Which I guess isn't as hard as I think it is. There's a new girl in our department at work. And the other day one of my co-workers told her that I'm funny, and that I make up crazy stories. While I don't really think of myself as a funny guy, I do make up ridiculous stories pretty much every day at work. It's just the way my brain works. Sometimes those stories are a bit too weird to have really been said out loud, but on average they're more or less acceptable for a general audience.
It's always been difficult for me to write. Part of that is very real, but part of that is rationalization. I've never really taken to the whole drunk writer mythology, but I'll admit that sometimes I've fallen into it. For some reason, I have it in my brain that it's often easier for me to write if I have some liquid courage.
I think this stems from the fact that a lot of what I write is extremely personal, even if it's fiction. And for as much as I might babble on and on about myself, I have always had a hard time of actually getting past the surface. There are a lot of things that aren't easy for me to get to, which is, honestly, another issue entirely.
So in an effort to get myself to open up, I sometimes get a prescription from what Warren Ellis refers to as Doctor Whiskey. And it works. It's worked pretty well for years (although I suppose an argument could be made against that, given how I'm still struggling to get published). It's pretty damn cool to read something you wrote and see that it's actually really good, which is surprising, both because it's good and because you don't particularly remember writing it.
Like I said, a lot of this is rationalization. There's no real reason to believe I couldn't get to these places without any chemical assistance. I've actually written an entire book without any kind of mind altering substances. It takes longer, sure, but those hidden places are still accessible. It's also just much harder to get there on my own. Heck, it's hard regardless.
The thought occurred to me, then, that there are, perhaps, degrees to storytelling. And if that's the case, then I seem to be writing on only one setting most of the time. I think that's probably a bad thing.
Then again, I should also mention that the few nights of the week when I have the time to really sit down and write, it's a lot like a vacation. Instead of a beach and sunshine, I have my office and a single lamp at night. Instead of Mai Tai's, I have whiskey. And instead of heading home at the end of the trip, with a lot less money and probably a few extra pounds, I slowly but surely tell stories.
That seems pretty good to me.
April 27, 2012
Free Fridays: Unrequited
I've decided that it's time to start being a bit more aggressive with getting my work out into the world. There's one sure fire way of making this happen: give it away.
Starting this Friday and on every Friday after that until I run out of stuff to post, I will be giving away digital copies of my work.
First up is my short story, "Unrequited." Click anywhere in here to download it.
Oh, and here's the Kindle version.
Sure, this book is only 99 cents on Amazon, B&N, iTunes, etc, but let's just eliminate the middle man. I think an .epub version will work for everyone but Kindle users, but let me know if you'd like me to throw up a PDF version.
For those who don't know anything about "Unrequited," it is, at its core, a love story. It also happens to have zombies in it. Here's the cover by the super talented Roger Fleming:
Pretty sweet, huh? I hope you enjoy it!
Starting this Friday and on every Friday after that until I run out of stuff to post, I will be giving away digital copies of my work.
First up is my short story, "Unrequited." Click anywhere in here to download it.
Oh, and here's the Kindle version.
Sure, this book is only 99 cents on Amazon, B&N, iTunes, etc, but let's just eliminate the middle man. I think an .epub version will work for everyone but Kindle users, but let me know if you'd like me to throw up a PDF version.
For those who don't know anything about "Unrequited," it is, at its core, a love story. It also happens to have zombies in it. Here's the cover by the super talented Roger Fleming:
Pretty sweet, huh? I hope you enjoy it!
April 24, 2012
I should stop writing and start doing heroin.
I imagine the people who read this blog are either a) friends of mine, b) have "met" me online, c) have read something of mine, d) and/or are writers of some sort. I realize not everything I write in this blog appeals to all of you, but I like to think there's at least few gems here and there.
Anyway, I mention all that because those of you who write can probably relate to this entry, but I'm hoping the rest of you will enjoy it, too.
So I got cut from the Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest. And as with most of the times I get rejected, it's made me wonder why I'm in the position to be rejected at all.
This isn't a "woe is me, no one appreciates my writing" deal. This is a "sweet fancy Moses, I'd be so much happier if I didn't write" deal -- because I feel like that a lot.
Every aspect of my life gets divided attention. I feel a bit weird about the fact that the people at work know I'm a writer, because they also must know that's my ultimate goal -- to write, to only write. I've said it before and I'll say it again: any job I have is second fiddle, no matter how good it is. I sometimes wonder if I'd be better at my job, or at least more proactive about it, if my heart was in it, or at least not somewhere else.
There are plenty of times I think about the fact that I don't really make as much money as I should, particularly given how much I've learned over the last few months at my job. If I really put myself to it, I could probably find a job that paid me more. But this theoretical job probably won't have the short commute my current job has. It probably won't have the understanding and entertaining people that I work with now. It would probably require more of me than I'm currently willing (able?) to give.
A few weeks ago, a cousin-in-law of mine asked me when I found the time to write. That's a fair question, given that I have a full time job and I now live in a house that requires a certain level of upkeep even when we're not doing things like fixing up the master bedroom. I told him I write whenever I can, and try to make those writing sessions as long as possible to make up for the days when I don't have the time.
But I do have time, which is something I doubt I'll be able to say when we have kids. I have no idea what I'll do then.
It's not unreasonable to ask why I continue to do this. Let's face facts, I haven't really managed to do a whole lot. Yes, I've got a few things out there in the world, but, again, I still have to have a day job. And I realize that I'm addressing this as an all or nothing situation, but that's also just the way I am. Whether correct or not, I define success as being able to write for a living.
At what point do I read the writing on the wall and call it quits? My life would be much easier if I did. I sometimes think it's possible I would be happier. Yet I can't stop. For some reason, I have to do it, and I wish that wasn't the case, I really do. I wish I could just be happy with the life I have -- god knows I have plenty of reasons to be happy.
That's the bottom line -- why can't I just be happy with what I have? I feel like most people can do that. Why can't I?
Writing is a strange addiction. I wonder what rehab would be like. I also wonder if, when I finally have kids, if that's when I'll give it up. What will it take to get me to stop? Because constant rejection doesn't seem to be doing it.
Anyway, I mention all that because those of you who write can probably relate to this entry, but I'm hoping the rest of you will enjoy it, too.
So I got cut from the Amazon Breakthrough Novel contest. And as with most of the times I get rejected, it's made me wonder why I'm in the position to be rejected at all.
This isn't a "woe is me, no one appreciates my writing" deal. This is a "sweet fancy Moses, I'd be so much happier if I didn't write" deal -- because I feel like that a lot.
Every aspect of my life gets divided attention. I feel a bit weird about the fact that the people at work know I'm a writer, because they also must know that's my ultimate goal -- to write, to only write. I've said it before and I'll say it again: any job I have is second fiddle, no matter how good it is. I sometimes wonder if I'd be better at my job, or at least more proactive about it, if my heart was in it, or at least not somewhere else.
There are plenty of times I think about the fact that I don't really make as much money as I should, particularly given how much I've learned over the last few months at my job. If I really put myself to it, I could probably find a job that paid me more. But this theoretical job probably won't have the short commute my current job has. It probably won't have the understanding and entertaining people that I work with now. It would probably require more of me than I'm currently willing (able?) to give.
A few weeks ago, a cousin-in-law of mine asked me when I found the time to write. That's a fair question, given that I have a full time job and I now live in a house that requires a certain level of upkeep even when we're not doing things like fixing up the master bedroom. I told him I write whenever I can, and try to make those writing sessions as long as possible to make up for the days when I don't have the time.
But I do have time, which is something I doubt I'll be able to say when we have kids. I have no idea what I'll do then.
It's not unreasonable to ask why I continue to do this. Let's face facts, I haven't really managed to do a whole lot. Yes, I've got a few things out there in the world, but, again, I still have to have a day job. And I realize that I'm addressing this as an all or nothing situation, but that's also just the way I am. Whether correct or not, I define success as being able to write for a living.
At what point do I read the writing on the wall and call it quits? My life would be much easier if I did. I sometimes think it's possible I would be happier. Yet I can't stop. For some reason, I have to do it, and I wish that wasn't the case, I really do. I wish I could just be happy with the life I have -- god knows I have plenty of reasons to be happy.
That's the bottom line -- why can't I just be happy with what I have? I feel like most people can do that. Why can't I?
Writing is a strange addiction. I wonder what rehab would be like. I also wonder if, when I finally have kids, if that's when I'll give it up. What will it take to get me to stop? Because constant rejection doesn't seem to be doing it.
April 19, 2012
I wrote an essay about Buffy the Vampire Slayer and it's in a book
I've mentioned it before, I know, but just in case you've forgotten, I have an essay in this book:
Book book of Whedon essaysI received my comp copy of it in the mail today (and, believe me, the thrill of getting a comp in the mail from Random House was pretty great) and it's a killer book. It's packed to the gills with essays on pretty much everything Whedon has ever done.I hadn't read my essay since it was originally published on Popmatters a year ago. I was a little worried. I probably wrote it over three days, which doesn't seem like enough time for something that's in a book that everyone can read, particularly a book filled with essays by actual scholars.
So, being the self-absorbed person that I am, I read my essay first. And, surprise surprise, it was actually pretty damn good.
I had some problems with it here and there, but overall I was kind of shocked at how well I spoke "critical essay." I suddenly realized that all those years of college had actually paid off...in the form of one essay in a 500+ page book, for which sole payment is the copy sitting on my coffee table.
Still, I'm looking forward to reading the other essays. And I'm thankful Popmatters and Titan Books had the smarts to go with my essay on Xander and not my essay on sex, which I wrote in less than two days while on a cruise ship.
It was a fun project to be a part of -- I think I'd like to do something like that again someday.
April 18, 2012
Insomniac Doze
Crazy bonus points for you if you get the reference in the title of this blog post.
A while back, I was seeing my doctor for something or other. It was probably a sinus issue or something like that. Anyway, she asked me how I slept, so I told her. And she told me that it was bad.
Up until that point, I had always considered insomnia to be what they show in the movies. Insomnia, I believed, was sitting on a couch, watching television in the wee morning hours because you couldn't fall asleep. Apparently, I seemed to think that lying in bed meant that it wasn't insomnia.
Better yet, I did fall asleep at some point, it just took a few hours, so obviously that couldn't be insomnia. Sure, I woke up more or less every hour and stayed awake for anything from five minutes to an hour before falling back to sleep, but I was still sleeping, right?
Apparently, normal human beings do not lie in bed for hours before falling asleep. And, evidently normal human beings can sleep for many hours at a time without waking up. Who knew?
So for some time now I've had a prescription for sleeping pills. I try not to use them that often, but even when I don't, I end up self-medicating in some way. I've got particularly sensitive sinuses, so it's not unusual for me to take benadryll at night, and that does a pretty decent job of getting me to fall asleep. And, of course, there's alcohol, which might make it easier for me to fall asleep, but certainly doesn't give me real rest.
Every once in a while, I try sleeping with no chemical assistance and it all comes back. Now that I know what it is, I see the pattern to insomnia very clearly. It's a lot like the stages of grief:
Denial -- "It's not that late. I can still get X number of hours of sleep. It's fine."
Anger -- "Why the fuck can't I fall asleep? I just want to sleep! Why won't you let me sleep?"
Bargaining -- "I just need enough sleep to make it through the day and then tomorrow I'll go to bed super early."
Depression -- "The the sun is coming up. My alarm will go off in two hours. I want to cry."
Acceptance -- "I've done it before, I can do it again."
I don't know what the usual causes of insomnia are. I suppose it's probably stress. I know, for me, it's the fact that my brain won't stop. I usually have about a dozen thoughts every two minutes, and those thoughts seem to create some kind of kinetic energy in my head. The only way to stop it, generally speaking, is with chemicals.
The upside to insomnia is that I'm in good shape when Nicole and I have kids. I'm not really going to lose sleep because you can't lose something you don't have.
A while back, I was seeing my doctor for something or other. It was probably a sinus issue or something like that. Anyway, she asked me how I slept, so I told her. And she told me that it was bad.
Up until that point, I had always considered insomnia to be what they show in the movies. Insomnia, I believed, was sitting on a couch, watching television in the wee morning hours because you couldn't fall asleep. Apparently, I seemed to think that lying in bed meant that it wasn't insomnia.
Better yet, I did fall asleep at some point, it just took a few hours, so obviously that couldn't be insomnia. Sure, I woke up more or less every hour and stayed awake for anything from five minutes to an hour before falling back to sleep, but I was still sleeping, right?
Apparently, normal human beings do not lie in bed for hours before falling asleep. And, evidently normal human beings can sleep for many hours at a time without waking up. Who knew?
So for some time now I've had a prescription for sleeping pills. I try not to use them that often, but even when I don't, I end up self-medicating in some way. I've got particularly sensitive sinuses, so it's not unusual for me to take benadryll at night, and that does a pretty decent job of getting me to fall asleep. And, of course, there's alcohol, which might make it easier for me to fall asleep, but certainly doesn't give me real rest.
Every once in a while, I try sleeping with no chemical assistance and it all comes back. Now that I know what it is, I see the pattern to insomnia very clearly. It's a lot like the stages of grief:
Denial -- "It's not that late. I can still get X number of hours of sleep. It's fine."
Anger -- "Why the fuck can't I fall asleep? I just want to sleep! Why won't you let me sleep?"
Bargaining -- "I just need enough sleep to make it through the day and then tomorrow I'll go to bed super early."
Depression -- "The the sun is coming up. My alarm will go off in two hours. I want to cry."
Acceptance -- "I've done it before, I can do it again."
I don't know what the usual causes of insomnia are. I suppose it's probably stress. I know, for me, it's the fact that my brain won't stop. I usually have about a dozen thoughts every two minutes, and those thoughts seem to create some kind of kinetic energy in my head. The only way to stop it, generally speaking, is with chemicals.
The upside to insomnia is that I'm in good shape when Nicole and I have kids. I'm not really going to lose sleep because you can't lose something you don't have.
April 13, 2012
Story of a Band
From time to time, I go through a period where I listen to music by bands I was in. I have recordings from 4 of them, spanning 8 years. That's not a lot of time, as far as would be musicians are concerned, but it left me with a decent collection of music.
I was watching NPR's Project Song earlier, which featured Chris Walla from Death Cab For Cutie and J. Robbins from Jawbox, Burning Airlines, Channels, Government Issue, and so on. There was one particular bit where they are basically going around the studio, picking up random instruments to see what they can do with them. It was clear that, no matter the instrument, they would have at least some knowledge on how to play it.
Knowing how to play a bunch of different instruments is, I would imagine, a luxury born of being able to live on making music. I thought about how nice that must be. It made me start wondering what my life would have been like had I stuck with music.
There was a point, during my senior year of college, when being in a band was all that really mattered to me. I remember being at a party and hanging out with Jason and Mike, two people who I would eventually end up in a band with, talking about how we didn't care if we had to work at a gas station, as long as we could still make music.
The three of us, along with our friend Bob, formed a band called The Local Arm which, hindsight being 20/20, was kind of a bad name. As with any band consisting of 4 guys in their 20's, The Local Arm was often a battle of egos, even if we didn't realize as such. None of us could really sing (Jason probably had the best voice), yet that didn't stop any of us from writing songs for just that reason.
To a certain extent it was also a matter of ownership; we didn't want someone else singing a song we'd written.
The Local Arm had a weird life span. We were basically together from the fall of '98 until the spring of '99, but later played a show in the fall of '99, and still another show winter of '01, that last show coming after we'd all moved to Atlanta.
This probably comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me, but I've spent the intervening 10 and a half years re-writing The Local Arm songs in my head. All of the re-writes (and new songs, too!) are a reflection of my new musical sensibilities, which have evolved over the years. It makes me wonder what The Local Arm would sound like, if we were still together today. Would we have evolved as a group?
Mike is still playing music, but he's moved from post-punk emo to bluegrass. Bob still plays music from time time, his last band being a metal band. I have no idea if Jason ever plays music anymore.
I think we'd be a better band, if we were still together. I think we'd be a better band if we got together again now. It is probably the biggest "path not taken" in my life.
All that said, I wouldn't change any of it, aside from wishing there was less yelling in our songs. Setting aside making music gave me more time and energy for my writing, which, I think, is where my heart and talent lie.
Besides, it doesn't require trying to get four people on the same page at the same time; I can barely get myself on the same page.
I was watching NPR's Project Song earlier, which featured Chris Walla from Death Cab For Cutie and J. Robbins from Jawbox, Burning Airlines, Channels, Government Issue, and so on. There was one particular bit where they are basically going around the studio, picking up random instruments to see what they can do with them. It was clear that, no matter the instrument, they would have at least some knowledge on how to play it.
Knowing how to play a bunch of different instruments is, I would imagine, a luxury born of being able to live on making music. I thought about how nice that must be. It made me start wondering what my life would have been like had I stuck with music.
There was a point, during my senior year of college, when being in a band was all that really mattered to me. I remember being at a party and hanging out with Jason and Mike, two people who I would eventually end up in a band with, talking about how we didn't care if we had to work at a gas station, as long as we could still make music.
The three of us, along with our friend Bob, formed a band called The Local Arm which, hindsight being 20/20, was kind of a bad name. As with any band consisting of 4 guys in their 20's, The Local Arm was often a battle of egos, even if we didn't realize as such. None of us could really sing (Jason probably had the best voice), yet that didn't stop any of us from writing songs for just that reason.
To a certain extent it was also a matter of ownership; we didn't want someone else singing a song we'd written.
The Local Arm had a weird life span. We were basically together from the fall of '98 until the spring of '99, but later played a show in the fall of '99, and still another show winter of '01, that last show coming after we'd all moved to Atlanta.
This probably comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me, but I've spent the intervening 10 and a half years re-writing The Local Arm songs in my head. All of the re-writes (and new songs, too!) are a reflection of my new musical sensibilities, which have evolved over the years. It makes me wonder what The Local Arm would sound like, if we were still together today. Would we have evolved as a group?
Mike is still playing music, but he's moved from post-punk emo to bluegrass. Bob still plays music from time time, his last band being a metal band. I have no idea if Jason ever plays music anymore.
I think we'd be a better band, if we were still together. I think we'd be a better band if we got together again now. It is probably the biggest "path not taken" in my life.
All that said, I wouldn't change any of it, aside from wishing there was less yelling in our songs. Setting aside making music gave me more time and energy for my writing, which, I think, is where my heart and talent lie.
Besides, it doesn't require trying to get four people on the same page at the same time; I can barely get myself on the same page.
April 11, 2012
Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest
As frequent readers of this blog probably already know, my first YA book is currently in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest. What I may have neglected to mention is that you can actually read my excerpt and pitch on Amazon, and even rate and review it.
You can find the entry for Master of the House here.
Amazon had this to say about the first 20 pages that make up the excerpt:
"There was nothing amiss here. The author had good characterization, plotting and setting. The selection has a good hook to keep the reader's interest."
Sounds good to me!
If you have a Kindle, Kindle app, or even just a laptop, please feel free to check it out. As much as I enjoy dystopian young adult fiction, I rather like the fact that my book takes place in the present, and is more in line with books like Harry Potter and Percy Jackson. In other words, it's meant to be a fun read, with twists and turns, not to mention a good amount of teen angst (and teen romance!).
MotH has made it to the round of 250 (down from 5000!). The next cuts are announced on April 24th, when there will only be 50 entries left. Fingers crossed!
You can find the entry for Master of the House here.
Amazon had this to say about the first 20 pages that make up the excerpt:
"There was nothing amiss here. The author had good characterization, plotting and setting. The selection has a good hook to keep the reader's interest."
Sounds good to me!
If you have a Kindle, Kindle app, or even just a laptop, please feel free to check it out. As much as I enjoy dystopian young adult fiction, I rather like the fact that my book takes place in the present, and is more in line with books like Harry Potter and Percy Jackson. In other words, it's meant to be a fun read, with twists and turns, not to mention a good amount of teen angst (and teen romance!).
MotH has made it to the round of 250 (down from 5000!). The next cuts are announced on April 24th, when there will only be 50 entries left. Fingers crossed!
March 30, 2012
Further Lessons In Social Media
Interestingly enough, being called a racist by a comic book creator on Twitter does crazy things for the traffic on your blog. That blog post got more views in the two hours after I put it up than most of my posts have gotten in their entire existence.
I got a lot of nice responses from people, too. I got them on Facebook, in the comments section of a friend's blog, and even in person. But notice what's missing from that list; I didn't really get any on Twitter.
The comic book creator in question was Steve Niles. It occurred to me that, while I was taking the high road by not naming him, he called me a racist in a public forum, so fuck that noise.
Anyway, Steve Niles and I both have public profiles on Twitter. We also share a few followers, which means that there were more than a few people who could have seen both sides of my exchange with him. And aside from one person making my tweet about my blog a favorite, no one said anything, either during or after. Nothing like "hey, man, that's not cool" or "you're really taking this too far."
This was, I will admit, a bit disheartening. I'll also admit that it was only disheartening when my wife pointed it out to me. The only person to jump into the fray, so to speak, was a friend of mine from high school who seldom uses Twitter.
Here's the thing: I understand it. The fact that people who know me and know Steve Niles in some way, didn't make any kind of comments is a product of the social networking system. I know this because I've stepped into arguments between two people that I follow and watched as it quickly turned into an argument between one of them and me.
This all leads me to a list of reasons why no one got involved:
1) Experience. Like I said, I've jumped in to defend someone before and been lambasted for it. I'd probably react the same way if it happened again, but I know what a pain it can be.
2) It's arguing on the internet. There are few things as stupid as arguing with someone online. I say that as a man who is constantly sucked into exactly that. Even worse, I'm so neurotic that I obsess over these arguments. Just imagine how many times I refreshed my browser, waiting to see that the aforementioned Steve Niles had read my comments. Imagine my disappointment when I saw what he wrote.
3) Fear/Denial -- Let's face facts, a big part of my shock about this whole thing stems from the fact that I really respect Niles' career as a comic book creator. I would imagine a lot of people who follow him on Twitter feel the same way. So when he has a moment when he acts like an asshat, would any of those people step in? It's far easier to write it off as a one-off, that he's still the respected creator we thought he was. Or, on the flip side, it's easier to just ignore it, for fear that he'll block us if we speak up, because that's exactly what he did to me.
4) No one cares. It's no coincidence that a friend I've had since high school was the only one to take to Twitter in my defense. My wife was going to, but I asked her not to. These are both people I know well, and who care about me. While I've met a lot of the people I interact with online in real life, I can't say that I really know them or they really know me. A dust up between me and some comic book writer may make them cringe, but there's no reason to believe it will bother them to the point of getting involved.
5) This happened? Seriously, I follow enough people on Twitter to know that it's often impossible to keep track of everything that happens. And while I managed to talk about it over the span of a few days, it's entirely possible that people who follow either or both of us didn't see any of this go down.
Still, like I said earlier, it was disheartening, and feels like a lesson on social networks. For all the lack of civility that most people see, there's an element that swings to the opposite extreme, particularly on Twitter. It is the easiest way for us to connect with those we admire, and no one wants to ruin that. I surely don't.
But, apparently, I did.
I got a lot of nice responses from people, too. I got them on Facebook, in the comments section of a friend's blog, and even in person. But notice what's missing from that list; I didn't really get any on Twitter.
The comic book creator in question was Steve Niles. It occurred to me that, while I was taking the high road by not naming him, he called me a racist in a public forum, so fuck that noise.
Anyway, Steve Niles and I both have public profiles on Twitter. We also share a few followers, which means that there were more than a few people who could have seen both sides of my exchange with him. And aside from one person making my tweet about my blog a favorite, no one said anything, either during or after. Nothing like "hey, man, that's not cool" or "you're really taking this too far."
This was, I will admit, a bit disheartening. I'll also admit that it was only disheartening when my wife pointed it out to me. The only person to jump into the fray, so to speak, was a friend of mine from high school who seldom uses Twitter.
Here's the thing: I understand it. The fact that people who know me and know Steve Niles in some way, didn't make any kind of comments is a product of the social networking system. I know this because I've stepped into arguments between two people that I follow and watched as it quickly turned into an argument between one of them and me.
This all leads me to a list of reasons why no one got involved:
1) Experience. Like I said, I've jumped in to defend someone before and been lambasted for it. I'd probably react the same way if it happened again, but I know what a pain it can be.
2) It's arguing on the internet. There are few things as stupid as arguing with someone online. I say that as a man who is constantly sucked into exactly that. Even worse, I'm so neurotic that I obsess over these arguments. Just imagine how many times I refreshed my browser, waiting to see that the aforementioned Steve Niles had read my comments. Imagine my disappointment when I saw what he wrote.
3) Fear/Denial -- Let's face facts, a big part of my shock about this whole thing stems from the fact that I really respect Niles' career as a comic book creator. I would imagine a lot of people who follow him on Twitter feel the same way. So when he has a moment when he acts like an asshat, would any of those people step in? It's far easier to write it off as a one-off, that he's still the respected creator we thought he was. Or, on the flip side, it's easier to just ignore it, for fear that he'll block us if we speak up, because that's exactly what he did to me.
4) No one cares. It's no coincidence that a friend I've had since high school was the only one to take to Twitter in my defense. My wife was going to, but I asked her not to. These are both people I know well, and who care about me. While I've met a lot of the people I interact with online in real life, I can't say that I really know them or they really know me. A dust up between me and some comic book writer may make them cringe, but there's no reason to believe it will bother them to the point of getting involved.
5) This happened? Seriously, I follow enough people on Twitter to know that it's often impossible to keep track of everything that happens. And while I managed to talk about it over the span of a few days, it's entirely possible that people who follow either or both of us didn't see any of this go down.
Still, like I said earlier, it was disheartening, and feels like a lesson on social networks. For all the lack of civility that most people see, there's an element that swings to the opposite extreme, particularly on Twitter. It is the easiest way for us to connect with those we admire, and no one wants to ruin that. I surely don't.
But, apparently, I did.
