David Winnick's Blog, page 2

Best Left Dead

If I have learned anything from horror movies, it is that some things are best left dead. Just this week, it was announced that��Full House would be revived on Netflix with a new series called��Fuller House. To this I give a resounding NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

Here is the deal, I don’t hate Full House, quite the contrary in fact. I liked the original show and have seen every episode at least once. I grew up watching it and even now, I will watch an episode or two if there is nothing else to see. I know that seems a bit surprising to people who know me. Most people would recognize it as a bit on the icky sweet side for my current tastes, and it is. Yet, it still gives me a bit of kick. It is a throw back to the time when all I really had to worry about was whether or not my parents were going to make something I liked for dinner. A time when the world was small and its worries were not mine.

The big problem with this idea is that Full House had its time. It was clearly a product of the ’90s. It focused on issues of that time period and the increasing number of unconventional familial unites. Instead of a mother and a father, the girls in the series were treated to three males who banded together to raise them. Each of these men struggled with their concepts of identity and masculinity, as they walked a fine line between father, friend and mother. The girls themselves were the center of stories which revolved around major concerns of the time including teen smoking, body image, and gender identity, but all in a very wholesome TGIF manner. My problem is that this show has served its purpose. I don’t need to see D.J. struggle to raise three sons (what a plot twist).

The same can be said of a plethora of shows which keep being dragged back from cancellation like Boy Meets World, Heroes, Twin Peaks and Arrested Development.��So far two of these shows have already aired new seasons and both of them have been underwhelming at best. Girl Meets World is essentially unwatchable. Where its predecessor was filled with charm and characters the viewers actually gave a damn about, the current show is simply derivative and the characters are irritating. The new version of this show has done nothing to move the story forward. Corey and Topanga’s daughter is obnoxious and her best friend is a complete rip off of the Shawn Hunter (a character played much better by Rider Strong). Corey has been slid into the role of Mr. Feeny, but he is not nearly as commanding a presence. To cap it off, no public school would allow a teacher to teach his or her own daughter unless there was no other choice. To be honest, I didn’t even make it all the way to the end of the first episode.

Arrested Development on Netflix simply lost its charm. Once again, this is a situation of a show completely mired in its time. The original revolved around the economic downfall of a rich family due to corporate greed and malfeasance. It could not have been more timely. The show which aired in 2003 almost perfectly predicted the housing market crash and the negative behaviors of large companies and banks. Upon its resurrection, the Bluth family became mired in an insanely meta-fictive tale about attempts to get a movie made about them. It simply left a bad taste. Some of the once likable characters were forced to do horrible, unlikable things and the show kept throwing in references to when it was actually funny (wink wink). By the end of the Netflix season when George Michael punches his father in the face, I felt like I was on the receiving end of Michael Cera’s weak jab.

So many shows are now attempting to recapture their glory days. For Heroes, that was season one of the series. The writer’s strike of 2007-08 caused almost irreparable damage to the second season, which was forced to wrap up loose ends in a frenzy for fear that it would never get another chance. By the time the series had finished, I think I was the only person left in the world who actually gave a damn. I know that I am going to give��Heroes Reborn a look, but I am not holding my breath that it will be any good. Only a smattering of the original cast members are coming back. In the long run, with all of the superhero stuff out right now, is this show even going to matter at all?

So often, I turn on my computer or the television and hear about some group petitioning to bring back a show that they loved. A show that was wrongfully canceled or treated poorly by executives. These groups are all hoping for a brilliant coda akin to the Firefly film��Serenity but that was an anomaly. Firefly was not actually a story of its time like so many others, it was a tale of the future. A tale of what could be. Yet even the die-hard Firefly fans can’t seem to accept that it is done. Wash and Book are dead. Deal with it and move on with your life.

The sad truth is that resurrections almost never go off correctly. In the end the fans are generally left with a hollow, soulless, husk of their former loved ones. A mass of characters and rehashed scenarios, shambling through their paces, looking to devour your brains.

I Am The Worst

It is sad but true, I am THE WORST. In the scheme of good and bad people, I am, overall good. Unfortunately, when it comes to entertainment, I AM THE WORST. I readily admit it. What makes me THE WORST is that I knew it. What is “it” exactly? “It” is everything. I know all of the plot twists, all of the reveals, everything before it ever even airs. This isn’t because I spend every second of the day seeking out spoilers. On many levels, I do my best to avoid spoilers. The real problem is everything that exists within my head, spoils everything I watch and read.

My girlfriend and I enjoy watching television and movies together. It is a nice way to unwind after a long hard day at work. When we first started dating, we developed a bit of a trade-off system. She showed me Parks and Rec. and I introduced her to King of the Hill. She loved��Doctor Who��and when my turn came, it was��Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The problem is, I knew it. Be warned, that from this point forward, there may be spoilers peppered through this piece.

As we sat one evening watching Doctor Who, I turned to Molly and immediately identified exactly what River Song’s true identity was. My revelation came more than an episode before the reveal. So far, while watching Downton Abbey, I have accurately predicted three character deaths and a plethora of other plot twists. I long ago took a vow of silence when it came to entertainment which is new to the person I am viewing it with, but I do feel like if the film or show is only new to me, I have the right to voice my prediction. I don’t want to be the guy who ruins films and t.v. for people but if they have already seen it, I feel it is a bit of a no harm, no foul situation.

To me, predicting the future of a television show or movie is more than just for bragging rights. It is a puzzle; an exercise I use to keep my own personal story telling skills up to par. I feel that if I can test myself against some of the most popular work currently in circulation, I must have a good grasp of the story telling techniques of the current time period.

I have long pondered how it is that I know the outcomes weeks, months or sometimes even years in advance and the only answer I have to give is that all fiction adheres to a series of patterns and tropes. Each and every genre has a specific set of rules which can be subverted but never completely removed. Once this concept is stacked on top of the fact that I have spent almost my entire adult life analyzing fiction, first as a student and then as a college instructor, no show or movie has a chance.

Almost all entertainment is either character or plot driven. With that in mind, it only takes a few mental questions to determine what would best move the plot or lead character forward. I the case of Downton Abbey, the show is heavily plot driven. Yes, there are interesting characters who certainly deserve their screen time but the overall story is about how the comings and goings of these people effect the estate itself. That means that not a single character is safe. Anyone can die at almost any time and if the character is no longer moving the plot forward, it is only a matter of episodes before he or she is written out of the show. The same can be said of Game of Thrones.��

As for Doctor Who, the entire show is completely character driven. Note the difference in title names. between these three shows. This in turn means that everything which takes place on Doctor Who, must have some sort of personal ramification that will eventually effect the Dr. and how he changes as a character.

Each of these shows will also follow the conventions of its genre. This means that there are certain plot twists which can be ruled out all along. For example, we will never find out that Lord Grantham is actually a serial killer who has been making tapestries for the estate out of the dyed flesh of his victims. This is obviously an extreme example but it is valid nonetheless. Therefore, familiarity with the conventions of genre are a must.

Then of course, there is character. Each character in every piece of fiction will always fit some sort of predetermined arch. In order to be true to the character, his or her actions and reactions are almost predetermined. A hero can fail or fall from grace but he or she must always maintain a level of self. A villain may become a hero, but the darker tendencies still exist which means that he or she can never be fully trusted.

Context clues are also a factor in guessing the eventual plot twist. Everything that every character does or says is key to making these logical leaps. Even the things that they don’t say matter. Last night I made two predictions.

WHAT FOLLOWS IS A DOWNTON ABBEY SPOILER IF YOU ARE NOT PAST SEASON 3. While Molly and I watched Downton Abbey, I knew that Matthew was going to die. He had done everything in his power to right the family’s finances. He had produced a suitable male heir, and thus effectively outlived his usefulness to the success of the estate. This meant that he had to go. The only question was when. It had to be some sort of tragic accident, as Matthew was clearly in good health. My first prediction was that he would be trampled to death by a buck. It was set up in the show that he is not the world’s best shot and I thought he would hit the buck but not kill it. The buck would charge him in anger and that would be the end of him. My mistake was in making his death to early in the episode. Then he had to get to the hospital. There it was, a car accident, how perfectly mundane. A bland death for a likeable but overall bland character.

END SPOILER

This is the process. It is the same exact process that�� allowed my friend Steve and me to predict the exact layout and movie titles of Marvel’s Phases 2 and 3 at the end of Phase 1. Does this mean that I don’t enjoy entertainment? Of course not. I love t.v. and movies. For me, it is about how well the product is made. It doesn’t really matter that I knew it. Rest assured however that if you haven’t seen it before, I promise I won’t tell you.

Daredevil: Why Violence Matters

I will admit that I have not yet finished Daredevil on Netflix. As of this very moment I have watched the first six episodes. I am going to attempt to avoid major spoilers but I won’t make any promises so please read this at your own risk.

So many have spoken about the violence level in the new Marvel and Netflix show Daredevil. This violence is considerably higher than that in any other Marvel property as of the moment. The only films I can think of which may have matched Daredevil in the level of blood are perhaps Blade and the always awful Punisher: War Zone (a movie I had high hopes for, as I was a huge fan of Lexi Alexander’s Green Street Hooligan’s). Daredevil is the first time that we have ever been privy to the idea that real violence has real consequences

The brilliance of what Marvel and Disney have done in conjunction with Netflix is that they have taken the most adult content oriented material and placed it on a pay-for-view platform, allowing it to blossom. This is not the large blockbuster movie where the hero can be beaten up but at the end of the day goes home and shrugs it off. Here, in the land of streaming television, a punch leaves a bruise and a stabbing leaves a bleeding hole.

Time and time again, we have been treated to men and women of godlike powers and skills who never make mistakes in battle, who deal out one hundred hits for every single one they receive. Though these tales are fun, and I am happy to shell out my money every summer to watch the spectacle play out on-screen, this is not the real world. In the real world, a fight is a battle of attrition. A person only wins when his or her opponent is physically or mentally broken and can no longer continue forward.

Unlike Thor, Hulk, Iron-Man and the other Avengers, Matt Murdock is simply a man. He is not a highly trained government assassin or a super soldier. The only thing that makes Matt super is his will. Matt is not a world level savior, he patrols Hell’s Kitchen, a portion of New York which is not even one square mile in area.

So, why does the show have to be so violent? Quite simply, because this level of violence would be the truth of a real life street level vigilante. Murdock does not have the crazy gadgets of Batman, all he has is his fist, feet, and billy clubs. This means that the odds of him being able to restrain an assailant are slim, particularly if there is more than one assailant. He must beat them into submission. This is what has always made Daredevil one of the grittier Marvel heroes. Even his childhood before his fateful accident was steeped in violence. Matt was raised by a father who’s only true skill was fighting. His entire world has been built around fists. Violence is what put food on the table.

The key component in the brilliance of this series is how the violence is handled. As a third degree black belt, I have spent many years covered in the bruises of unblocked kicks and punches. Hell, sometimes even the blocked stuff leaves bruises. We watch Matt show up at Claire Temple’s place time and time again searching for true medical assistance. He winces and moves stiffly after his long nights of fighting crime. He takes a hit, and he stops to regain his bearings and asses if he can continue forward or must retreat to fight another day.

There has been much discussion of the now famous hallway fight in the second episode. The true greatness is not in the fight�� however, it is the broken moments between the punches; the stops in action where Matt leans against the wall or stays prone on the floor gathering his breath. To the martial arts student, these silent moments are life. This is what is referred to as recovery time. It is the second or two in which the brain can asses the situation and the breathing and heart rate can be brought down just enough for one more push. A martial artist will always know how to maximize the amount of recovery time he or she gets and we see that with Matt. His moves are precise and not wasteful, everything has its purpose. The use of recovery time and the minimalistic approach to fighting is the difference between winning and losing.

Then there is Wilson Fisk, a man who to the point I am in at the show has only used his physical prowess once. He too is a violent man who to some level is disgusted by violence. Fisk has no desire to get his hands bloody often leaving the dirty work to underlings. He would much rather focus on the finer things in life. Art, food, love; these are the true passions of The Kingpin. Yet when push comes to shove, Fisk will shove hardest. He, like Murdock understands that violence is a necessary evil. This is incredibly funny when we consider how truly identical these two characters are. Both want to control the city in which they live and both will go to any lengths necessary to mold their home in his own personal image.

It is interesting to think that Matt’s crusade against Kingpin would break the city into warring criminal factions. While if Fisk were in control, the level of violence within the city would likely drop to all time lows. We root for the vigilante who claims to love the law while spending his nights assaulting the citizenry, yet the man who is carefully orchestrating the violence in the city making sure that it will eventually hit record low due to his strangle hold over the criminal element is the most derided character in the whole show.

Y: We Are Not Millennials

Recently I have had several conversations which revolve around what used to be conceptually called Generation Y. In more recent years, anyone born much after 1982 has been lumped into a large group called the Millennial Generation. It is a funny thing though, many of my friends and I seem to be clinging to our roots as Generation Y. We see ourselves as a completely different entity which came between Generation X and the current generation. Over the past few days, I have been ruminating about why we are so insistent that we are our own entity.

I was born in 1983. I have an older sister, eight cousins on my father’s side of the family and two on my mother’s. On my father’s side, six of these cousins are older than I am. The other two are only slightly younger. My sister was born in 1980, leaving her on the razors edge which separates the generational gap. I spent my entire life surrounded by Gen X. They exposed me to their world, and though I was young, it had a profound effect on me. My identity was molded in many ways by these cousins and their friends.

There is so much more to being Generation Y than simple proximity to Gen X. I grew up in a world that was very different from that of the Millennial generation. I am not very good with computers. I learned to type on an Apple 2e, a beast of a machine which required I load the word processing program off of an eight inch floppy disk. Its only display color was a flickering green which haunted my dreams when I had a big project due. I had to feed the printer each individual sheet of paper, one at a time.The internet did not exist as we know it today. It wasn’t until junior high that I remember being told I had to type in “http://www.”; before every single web address. Search engines were far off in the future.�� I thought the net was a fad.

The world changed in a massive way in late 1991 when the USSR fell. I was eight years old and I remember feeling a sense of relief, knowing that the looming threat of war with the Soviets was over. Not long after its announcement on television, my family and I were in a Costco where they were selling bottles of Stolichnaya marked “Product of the USSR.” My parents purchased one. It sits in a cabinet still unopened to this day. Every time I look at that bottle, I flashback to the Cold War.

I grew up watching The Simpsons,��which launched its first season in 1990. I remember the conservatives of the time attacking the show for being inappropriate for young viewers. I never really understood the controversy, as I didn’t understand the innuendo and euphemisms laced within the show. As an adult, I love going back and re-watching the first eight seasons and being amazed at what the FCC let them get away with.

We were alive for The Gulf War (which lasted less than a year). I watched the news in second grade when “Stormin” Norman Schwarzkopf led his forces in a war that lasted just a bit longer than a blink of the eye. So we watched Bush Sr. battle Saddam Hussein.

We lived in peace time, with a few small hiccups.

Generation Y listened to Korn, Slipknot and Eminem. Blink-182 and The Offspring were our punk. Nu Metal was our jam and as much as we hate to admit it, most of us have heard “Nookie” by Limp Bizkit more times than we should have. Some people think Rob Zombie is creepy, but for us, he is our Astro Creep and we will follow him with The Devil’s Rejects through the House of 1000 Corpses. Eve 6 and the New Radicals were easy listening. On my way to the comic shop on Wednesdays, “Dig” by Mudvayne and “The Way You Like It” by Adema blasted out of the stereo in my friends truck (which had a sticker on the back touting, “Life’s a Beach).

We were alive when Image Comics was formed. When nothing was cooler than Youngblood��and��Spawn. Generation Y watched Superman die at the hands of Doomsday (we were already jaded enough to know it was a publicity stunt). We even watched an industry almost die at the hands of speculators. I had cut an article out of the LA Times about Marvel filing for Chapter 11 and taped it to my bedroom door. At the time, I wasn’t sure what it meant for the world of comics, but I knew it was important. That article stayed taped to my door for a decade.

We know that the only good Star Wars films were episodes four through six. Episodes one through three sucked. We hope that “The Force Awakens” will be good, but we aren’t holding our breaths.

Generation Y has long been aware of the racial divide in this country. We witnessed the beating of Rodney King in 1992. This type of footage was rare at the time because it actually required a bystander to have a camcorder and not a cell phone (which were about the size of a brick at the time). We watched on the television as LA erupted into a week of riots. On the first day of rioting, Gen Y saw Reginald Denny pulled from his truck and beaten within an inch of his life by The LA Four.

We watched a white Ford Bronco prove that a slow speed chase is just as effective as a high speed one. If you don’t get this reference, you aren’t Gen Y

We saw Bush lose to Clinton. We watched Dole grip his pencil tightly in his hand and speak about himself in the third person. Ross Perot melted down right before our very eyes.�� We saw Clinton muse about the definition of the word, “is”. On Saturday Night Live, Phil Hartman crammed his face full of McDonald’s, pointing out our President’s love for fast food (he is vegan now).

In 2000, some of us even got the chance to vote in a presidential election for the first time. I missed the cut off. What I didn’t miss was the first time since 1888 that a man became the president while losing the popular vote. I also learned about chads (and that doesn’t refer to the guy who sat behind me in English class).

I graduated high school in 2001. Just before I entered college, two planes flew into The World Trade Towers and one into the Pentagon. I was 18 years old. Some of the people in my graduating class went to college and some went to war. I lived through my undergraduate work while politicians talked about instituting the draft. I wondered, if it came to pass which of us would be the first to be chosen to go to war. Would it be me?

One day, I turned on the television to find that our troops had shifted gears from searching for Bin Laden to fighting Saddam Hussein (wait, Bush vs. Hussein, haven’t we lived this life before?).

I suppose what I am saying is that what separates Gen Y from the Millennials is the changes we have seen in the world. We have seen so much of what is going on right now happen before. Generation Y lives in a perpetual state of Deja Vu. We even stand to watch another presidential race between Bush and Clinton this year. The only difference is we don’t have to keep a quarter in our shoes to call home anymore.

A Comic Is Not A Book

I have not written anything on this site in a very long time, but today something happened that I simply could not ignore. As I was perusing the aisles of my local Barnes and Noble, I came across a father and son having a conversation in front of the fantasy novels. The father was holding a copy of Piers Anthony’s book The Source of Magic. He was waving it around and yelling at his son in Spanish. When I was the boy’s age, I was a huge Anthony fan so I knew from the start that the father had already made a horrible mistake, he was holding book two of the Xanth novels and not A Spell for Chameleon (book one). The true issue however was not that the father had the wrong book but it was instead the words that were coming out of his mouth. Granted my Spanish is more than a bit rusty, but there was no way I could misinterpret the words I have heard so many times before, “UN COMICO NO ES UN LIBRO!.” That’s right, a comic is not a book. This man, could not have been any more right and any more wrong all at the same time.

No, comics are not books, they are a different beast all together. They require the ability to intake both written words and pictures at the same time, sometimes forcing the reader to blur the line with the occasional onomatopoeia as both picture and word. They force the brain to work overtime, remembering large amounts of information in order to follow decades of story arcs and characters. In essence, the life of a comic book reader is one big memory game.

According to Dr Neil Cohn’s research, the sequences of panels and art actually engage the same sections of the brain as reading a prose novel. They require the intake of pieces of information which must be processed and understood, “Sequential images have a grammar like sequential words do.” So why is it that the comic book should be viewed as something lesser? I suppose that this is the ever present legacy of the horrible Dr. Fredric Wertham, a man whose crusade against comics did more damage to the genre than Adam West’s Batman and Halley Berry’s Catwoman combined. Wertham’s “research” about the corrupting ability of the comic book has been discredited by Carol Tilley, who proved that his findings and records were mostly falsified. Yet the comic book fans are still being forced to stand up for the medium.

Back at Barnes and Noble, I stand by the books and watch the father and son argue more. The boy does not seem to have the capability to explain why a comic is just as good as a novel and I am sure that if he did, the father wouldn’t care to listen. The father continues to insist that a comic is not a book. I suppose he doesn’t know that Time Magazine named Alan, Moore’s book Watchmen one of the top 100 books of the century. He probably also never heard about how In 1991, Neil Gaiman’s comic The Sandman won the World Fantasy Award for short fiction.

This is the moment where I come to the big problem I have with what happened today. The father places The Source of Magic back on the shelf (in the wrong place) and tells his son they are leaving. So not only does the boy leave without a novel, he leaves with nothing to read at all. This is exactly the kind of experience that turns people off to reading. No doubt, this young boy will forever remember being berated by his father in the book store, in front of a complete stranger for the things he wanted to read. The reality is, it doesn’t matter what you want to read, just as long as you are reading. Be it comic’s, memoir, horror, science fiction, classics or the back of a box of Cheerios, it is the intake of ideas that matters most.

A Whiff of Sulfur

Hey everyone,

The book is getting close. I am waiting on print proofs which should be here any day now. The publisher has been kind enough to let me give a little sneak peak. So without further ado, I give you the first six pages of Sulfur.

Chapter 1: The Package

“Brother, your language savors of impiety. Too much free thinking’s made your faith unsteady, and as I’ve warned you many times already, ‘twill get you into trouble before you’re through” –Tartuffe

It was a damn cold morning. The wind was blowing like the business end of a bellows, freezing everyone down to the bone as they went about their business. Mike stood on the corner of Main and First Street, a cup of Starbucks in his right hand, the remains of a croissant in the other. A gust of air whipped his black trench around, causing it to trail out behind him like the cape of a superhero. He took a long swig of his coffee to find nothing but bitter remnants of burned grounds. Mike cringed at the acrid taste. He popped off the plastic lid and slid the last corner of croissant to the bottom where it soaked in what little liquid was left. After replacing the cap, he walked over to the trash can at the edge of the sidewalk with calm measured steps and deposited the cup. He looked up toward the empty apartment building where the deal was going to go down, removing a stick of gum from his coat’s interior pocket and popping it in his mouth.  The cool mint flavor mixed with the leftover coffee film which encased his tongue. The gum wrapper met the same fate as the coffee cup. Mike stepped away from the trash can making sure he would be out of sight from the windows across the street.

He and his crew had been following Dan for a while; sometimes, in fact, it seemed like forever. He wasn’t about to let the job get botched by a screw up as simple as standing where he could be seen. Rookie mistake number 1, being seen, and if anyone was a rookie in this group, it damn sure wasn’t him. He was there because he was the best. Well, the best there was since Lu was gone. The boss had confidence in Mike, knowing he could do even the most difficult of tasks to perfection. He was the big guy’s right-hand man, trusted above all others. The wind kicked up hard again; Mike stood stone still, not even allowing the cold to touch him. His earpiece began to hum.

“Hey, Chief,” came Ariel’s voice. “So you really think today’s the day?”

“Yeah, I do. That’s what Amy’s intel said and she’s never been wrong before,” Mike rumbled back. “Why?”

“I’m just a little bit nervous. I mean something doesn’t seem right about this whole thing. Why has it taken them so long? What would inspire them to spend so much time screwing around with this? Dan’s contacts have had the package for what, like two months now? It seems pretty risky for them to hold on to it for such a long time. I mean, come on, Mike. The cost alone to store the thing has got to be a bit pricey, and most of these guys are two-bit thugs anyway. Plus the risk of getting caught with it. I mean these guys would never get out of jail. The whole thing just doesn’t seem like it was well thought out, and you know how this stuff gets when it’s not well thought out. It gets messy; Mike, really messy, and I end up patching up one of our guys in a back alley.”

Mike rubbed his forehead. Ariel was the best patch-up man they had, but he was always just a little bit on the jittery side.

“Look, Ariel, there’s nothing to worry about. This is going to be easy. Everything is going to go just as we planned it. The exchange is going to be made between Dan and the thugs. Then they are going to part ways. Jan and Israel watch Dan as he leaves with the package and follow him for a little bit. When he is somewhere nice and quiet, Israel swoops down on him from out of nowhere. We’ve got it all wrapped up and we can be home before the sun even starts to set.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Ariel.

Mike shook his head, knowing full well Ariel couldn’t see him from the drug store across the street where he had been posted.

“Guys, you want to help me out on this one?” Mike pleaded with the rest of his team.

“Sure thing, Mikey Boy,” came Israel’s response. “There’s nothing to worry about on this one, Big A. There are four of us and one of him. This whole thing is wrapped up tight, my friend. There isn’t anything to be concerned about. Right, Jan?”

“Right,” said Jan. “There is no way Dan is going to get out of this. Let’s face it, once Israel shows himself, Dan isn’t going to know what to do. He might be big and tough, but thinking on his feet was never his strong suit. I would even bet you the idiot shits himself.”

“Nice, Jan. Very ladylike of you,” Mike said.

“Come on, Chief. Lighten up a bit,” Jan retorted.

“Come on yourself. You know darn well the boss wouldn’t like to hear you, or any of us for that matter, saying those kinds of things. Try to keep it clean, will you?” He hated coming down on them before a job but there was no need for vulgarity.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, sure.”

Mike brushed a lock of blond hair from his eyes. A fly buzzed nearby, the sound of flapping wings drawing his attention. With the flick of his hand, the fly was encased in flesh. Mike stood still, holding the it in his closed fist. He could feel it flapping its wings trying to escape from its prison. He tightened his grip, squeezing, sensing the small insect crunch under the pressure. Mike allowed his fingers to unfurl, revealing green-gray goo with two shattered wings stuck to it. He wiped the hand on his pants, leaving a streak of guts. “Keep an eye open, everyone. I think they might be watching us. Stay sharp and everything is going to be fine. I want radio silence from this point until the deal starts to go down. We don’t want to get picked up on someone’s radio by accident. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they all responded.

The next hour and a half passed as though moving through frozen molasses. Mike constantly checked his watch, a black Skagen with silver showing through the chipped paint on the titanium band from a decade’s worth of hard wear. People heading to work walked zombielike past him. A never-ending stream of cars began to flow through the streets, the sounds and movement from the vehicles almost hypnotizing. There was nothing quite like waiting for something to happen to put someone into a catatonic state. Mike had been doing this kind of work for a long time, and he had learned to believe in the old saying “a watched pot never boils.” It was unfortunate for Mike a large part of his job was to watch pots. The sun began to rise over the horizon, a purplish haze as the light refracted off the thick film of smog, which was hanging in the air. Mike took a breath, a deep, long inhale; he could taste the dirt, carbon emissions from diesel trucks, smoke from factory stacks five miles to the east. He was ready; he knew today would be theirs.

The whole thing started without warning. Mike was leaning against a lamp post when he saw them coming, three very large men with the package in tow. They were walking in a V formation with the group leader two steps behind. The men in the front were dressed in blue jeans with white button-down shirts, sports jackets, and paisley ties. They walked with conviction toward the unoccupied building, its exterior in desperate want of attention. Mike watched, careful to remain hidden, as a man peeled off from the group. The man reached into his the side of his jacket and from the hidden holster removed a gun, a .45-caliber Desert Eagle. Those types of guys always carried the biggest thing they could get their hands on. It didn’t even seem to matter to them that the larger the caliber, the more recoil, and the more they would have to readjust for the next shot. A well-placed small slug would kill anyone just as dead as a large one, but it’s all about looking cool and tough for guys like them. The thug reached over to the door, turned the knob, and entered with the muzzle of his gun leading the way. A few moments later, he emerged from inside. He nodded to his boss, indicating the building was all clear. It was a good thing too, the leader was beginning to get a little nervous about having the package out in the open for such an extended period. It would be just a matter of time before Dan showed up.

Mike stepped around the corner, removing himself from view of the building. It was all quite simple. If he couldn’t see the building, Dan couldn’t see him. It was up to Jan and Israel. They were the ones who were going to have to keep watch now. Mike spoke into his headset.

“Jan, Israel, the package is inside the building. Keep your eyes peeled. I want to know the second Dan hits the scene. Copy?”

“Copy, Big Mike.”

Two minutes passed until Jan’s voice broke in. “I got visual.”

“What do you see?” asked Mike.

“He’s heading south on First toward the building,  wearing a gray trench coat, a black wide-brimmed hat, dark blue shirt, black pants, and a black tie. He is carrying a black leather suitcase. I assume it’s full of money he intends to use to pay the guys for the package. Man, that guy is huge. I always forget how big he is.”

“It’s OK, Jan,” Israel interjected. “I’ll take care of him. Like Cassius Clay baby, float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, one punch and T.K.O. He’s gonna fold like a piece of paper.”

Mike’s ire rose. “Keep the chatter down. What else you got, Jan?”

“He’s at the house, Chief.”

“It’s show time,” said Israel

“Good. Ariel, hit the microphone we placed in the building. I want to hear everything they say.”

The microphone clicked on just as Dan turned the knob on the front door.

Author Picture

I promised to keep you all updated with what is new in the world of my novel “Sulfur.” Today, my author photo was accepted. This is the picture of me that you will find associated with the book. I hope you all like it. Currently I am working on some more stuff like an author bio and synopsis of the book. I will continue to keep all of you posted. Thanks for all of your support and kind words.

 

 

Author Contract Signed for “Sulfur”

Seven years ago, I started work on what would become my first novel, Sulfur. Sulfur was written to be my creative writing masters thesis project. In 2009, I defended this work and earned my M.F.A. Since that day, I have been working very hard to find a home for my novel while continuing to write. Today, I signed my Author Contract with Charles River Press.

I know that there will be a long road ahead of editing and other projects which must be worked on before the novel’s release in the Summer of 2014. Over the next year, I will be using this blog to bring you updates about the progress being made on the book. I hope that you will all come with me on this journey.

April O’Neil anyone but Megan Fox

I am a big Ninja Turtles fan. In my massive collection of collected editions, three of my favorite books are my IDW Ninja Turtles Ultimate Collection books. This is why I am horribly offended that Megan Fox was chosen to play April O’Neil. April is not some sexpot with no personality. She is intelligent, funny, and pretty damn tough. Ms. O’Neil functions as a stand-in for the viewer. She is there to witness and react to the craziness of the world the Ninja Turtles exist in so  that the audience can willingly suspend disbelief. I am under the impression that almost any actress would be better for this role than Megan Fox (shudder) but I have decided to provide three alternatives.

Kristen Connolly- Connolly was amazing in The Cabin in the Woods. As lead character Dana, Connolly was pulled into an insane horror world. She proved that she is capable of making anything seem believable. By the end of the film, it is almost impossible to think that all of the insanity isn’t real, thanks in large part to Connolly.

Kate Mara- Though she hasn’t received the same critical acclaim as her sister Rooney, Kate Mara is a top-notch actress. She has the right edge to make April tough enough to deal with the darker aspects of the Turtles world. She can also easily keep Casey Jones in check.

Olivia Thirlby- Thirlby played the psychic Judge Anderson in last years Dredd. She stole almost every single scene she was in. By the time that the film was over, I really didn’t give a damn about Judge Dredd as a character. I couldn’t wait to see a sequel just to see what Anderson would be up to.

Casting News: The Amazing Spider-Man 2

This weeks casting news just made me scratch my head and say, “what the hell.” I thought that Jamie Fox was an odd choice for Electro then yesterday I read something that confused me even more. It seems that there will be a second villain in The Amazing Spider-Man 2 and it will be The Rhino. I think this is a super cool idea. We haven’t really seen a villain who is beyond Spider-Man’s strength level. The choice for actor on this monster, Paul Giamatti. My rule has always been not to judge until I see the film but it does seem a bit odd.