In the Mail

So I finished the story at around 7,400 words and sent it off in the mail. I won't know until this fall whether it placed or not, but I think it was good for me to send something off. I used to be very systematic about writing and submitting stories. I've started meeting with some other writers a couple of times a month. I'm hoping it will keep my writing efforts up as well as offer me some promise in the discouraging face of trying to find a job in this economy.

R.

The Question

There are some TV shows that just leave a viewer like me plagued by questions. I know what you're thinking: if I no longer have TV, how can I watch shows? Well, many years ago, when our first child started making noise even, we stopped watching anything that doesn't have a pause button; we watch our TV on Hulu. But the point is the questions a show brings up:

Was it supposed to be irony that the A-Team was made up of misfits?

Will Tina ever find love? (From some soap opera I saw once as a kid)

Why did the GIJoes ever let that wrestling hack Slaughter act like he could get their special-forced butts trained like they needed to beat Cobra?

These are some questions from years long past. Lately, I've pondered these:

Why is there always a pineapple in Psych?

How come the women of Chuck only put mascara on their upper eye lashes?

And most importantly to me and most of my readers: How is it that Bones is supposed to be so disconnected from humanity, have such inability to connect, understand, and communicate with people, and somehow manage to write best-selling novels? I'm not well read in crime-fiction, but it seems to me that it would still have to have a strong human element to acquire readers. Isn't that why most of us read? To experience humanity in a variety of situations? It seems to me that even if she is the smartest woman around she would still need to connect.

Thanks for reading.

R.

The New Collection

Okay it's not really new; I've been writing Hobb stories for over a year now. What's new is that I've begun to think of them as Hillbilly 90210. They are packed with angst and drama. Anyways, the new one is coming write along. Angst and drama. In this installment Hobb gets his ego broken by a girl and fights with his best friend. Anyways, that's where I'm at.

R.

HD?

I just watched a news clip saying that 218,000 people will be joining me in losing TV reception this weekend. They implied that it was happening because of ignorance or poor judgment, and not a conscious choice or decision of protest.

HD, huh, what is it good for? Better picture, more channels, and better reception they say. But who are they really?

R.

P.S. I am writing again, trying to pound out a short story for a June 25th deadline. It feels good. With any luck there will be more posts on Write On about writing to go with my eclectic observations and ramblings.

And the Winner is . . . Who?

Mine That Bird? Mine what? What is riotimus talking about now?

Only this:

The Kentucky Derby. "The Most Exciting Two Minutes in Sports."

At least it was yesterday. I was going to say watch before reading on, but you might be glad for the heads up of what to watch for.



It would be cool if there was a slow motion viddy out there or something, but just so you don't have to watch it seventy-five times to figure out what happened like I did, I will give you riotimus' take on things.

Early in the race, like for first the minute-and-a-half, there is a horse at the very back of the pack. Way in the back. So far in the back that the announcer almost forgets to mention him and his place. He is Mine That Bird, moseying along with 50:1 odds against him. You get a good shot of how far back he is around :39 and :56.

The pack goes into the second and final turn and as they are about to come out of it, Mine That Bird begins sliding past EVERYONE. The jockey, Calvin Borel, guides him along the rail, out and around a jockey in red, then back to the rail to rush past the front-runners and win by 6-3/4 lengths. Mine That Bird comes up so fast that the announcer doesn't even realize he is there until he has passed everyone.

Like one commenter said, if this had been in a movie no one would have believed it. Enjoy.

R.

Compliments

My wife told me this morning that I am "handsy." I'm not sure of the definition of that, but I'm assuming it is a compliment, like handy. Or handsome.

R.

Farewell to Derek

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Who is going to be the sane person on Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles now that he is gone? I'm not sure that the show can float without that character. I suppose we'll see.

As a writer, I must admit, I was very impressed by the way they did it. It was cold. Icy cold. He comes around the corner and takes one to the head. No lame dramatic death scene for Derek; one second he's stalking metal and the next he is dead. I can appreciate the suddenness of that.

Here's one to "funny Derek." May the force be with you. Or whatever they say in Terminator world. Illegitimus Non Carborundum? It was intense.

R.

5-5-5

The challenge: From your Pictures, take the the fifth picture from the fifth file, post it, and write about it. Then you tag five people to do the same. I'm not going to bother to tag anyone; at times I'm not sure if there are five people who read this. I accepted Kel's general challenge, and I will pass it on. If you are reading this and you feel like doing it, go right on ahead. It turns out to be a silly one for me:



I'm not sure this qualifies as a picture, but it was the fifth item in my fifth folder. The image is a gif of the Gundam Heavy Arms from Gundam Wing: Endless Waltz. It is probably my favorite Gundam of all time (Gundams are a Mobile Suit, ie., a big machine piloted by a human who sits in the chest cavity). There are Gundam models, action figures, t-shirts, and multiple series of cartoons from around 1979 (making it the longest running mecha-type anime that I am familiar with). Some people can't abide it, but fortunately I am not one of those.

R.

Class Divisions

They are very interesting, these non-real life microcosms that are our classrooms. Yesterday I taught Algebra. Or I suppose I should say that I babysat a room full of kids that were supposed to be doing Algebra assignments given by their regular teacher. Throughout the day I noticed that there were students that would get the work done, students that would play around with it like my three-year-old does his dinner, and students that would not even take out their writing utensils. This last group would tell me that they couldn't do the assignment because they didn't know what to do.

Sometimes I would know, sometimes I would not; I am a writer and historian, after all, not a mathematician. It has been over eight years since I squeaked through College Algebra with just high enough marks to have it transfer when I moved and switched schools. Whatever.

For the last class of the day, it was not knowing most often. So when one of the kids who tore through the assignment finished I asked him to help some of the students who were having trouble. This is what he did, no kidding: studiously avoiding those who had not deigned to whip out their pencils, he went to all of the kids that were playing with the assignment and asked if they needed help, then helped or moved on as their response warranted.

I could speculate on and on about how and why this happened, but instead I will merely leave my observation here for your consideration.

R.

Uh-oh, It's Magic

I find that there are almost as many songs with magic as there are fantasy novels with lame magic. Like bad fantasy magic, I grew weary of sifting through lame songs to make this playlist for your listening pleasure. Feel free to skip as you please.

Yesterday I was substituting at a remedial high school, one where everyone there lives in a group home for various reasons and where a few are at about the same reading/writing/counting level as my five-year old. In between doing my best to help those that were willing to accept it an idea hit me that had me wanting to yodel like the freak in Hocus Pocus.

I'm not sure whether I'm elated or horrified, but with sudden clarity I saw a magic system that would meet most all of my overly-critical magic requirements: it would not be a regurgitation of some better (or at least more successful) author's system; it would be grounded in science; it would create more problems than it ever solves for the user. Now I must rework my world to accommodate this new development. It is bittersweet; it will be more work, but it should make the story more marketable. Or something like that.

R.

So Tired

Tired of opening my browser to Gilly's face. I submit my humble apology to my readers for the many times they (potentially) came here only to find the face of Gilly still at the top. I will write some good posts soon to make up for it. In the mean time I will give you a few random thoughts as is my default when my brain doesn't feel up to writing the post I actually want to write.

Skinny Pants - Substitute teaching has brought me face to face with style. All I can say is skinny pants look bad on girls. They look worse on boys.

Recession - Seeing all those kids decked out in their matching trendy clothes makes me grateful to be a home-schooler. I couldn't afford to send my kids to public school. I'm sure there is a connection between that and our economic crisis.

No Student Left Behind - Except for the ones who are left behind.

If you are reading this, thank you for stopping by in spite of my absence and the looming presence of Gilly.

R.

Some Work

So it looks like I will be starting next week doing some substitute teaching. I will be making less than I have since high school, but at least some money will be coming in. Hopefully I won't run into too many Gillys.

R.

Random Thoughts in January

I'm still around, slinging my resume about as if it were one of Gambit's cards. Still waiting for the bang though.

It has been a month of randonimity and so here are some crazy things that have passed through the eclectic mind of Riotimus.

• Speaking of Gambit, I saw a preview that suggests that he will be in the Wolverine movie next summer. Gambit has gone through many interpretations so if any of my fine readers ever followed the X-Men which Gambit would you like to see on the big screen? Or what do you like or dislike about the character?
• I was recently remembering this post from Blog Ing about Spam. It is one of the funniest things I've ever come across in Blog Land or otherwise. Unfortunately the pictures no longer appear to be active, but maybe Ing will fix it for those of you that haven't been through his archives.
• I heard a few tunes that I thought I would share. The first, Cath, I loved everything about and was shocked to find that it was by a band I despise. Secondly, Re-Education (through labor) has the coolest name in all songdom and really appeals to my inner eco-social malcontent. Old Enough reminds me of what I was like when I was young and what it is like to have a serious conversation with a youth. It is a shame clarity takes so much time to achieve. None of these bands are favorites of mine, but the songs are.
• I'm reading The Elfstones of Shannara. I recently finished The Sword of Shannara. I don't understand how The Sword can be so painful experience to read and The Elfstones still live up to my distant memories. Is it that Brooks grew as a writer and story teller? Is it that I can't get past regurgitated Tolkien enough to enjoy Sword? I suppose I may never know.

So that's a bit of what's been on my mind. Have a Merry Monday.

R.

Revolution

I was looking back through my archives the other day and it took me back to my most prolific days when I was pounding out stories regularly, sending them out, and collecting my rejection slips. It was both invigorating and daunting. It led to a revolutionary decision.

There were two stories that for different reasons don't fall into my usual anti-epic story approach. One involved an unexpected meeting with a lot of pain and passion twisted up in the baggage. The other told of a later meeting, the political mess it leads to, and a daring rescue by the POV character's benefactor. Both were written in the first person.

So this is what I have decided to do: I am going to combine and re-write both of those stories into one with a third person POV. Time has also clarified some of the things that were issues to me when I initially wrote them and I hope to come out of it with a lengthy Writers of the Future entry. That's the plan. Wish me luck.

R.

Pain in the Glass

Today I decided it would be good to deep clean the fridge. At one point I pulled the glass sheet out of the bottom and carefully scrubbed it at the sink. Clean as new, virtually radiating sanitizedness and sparkling, the sheet was a beauty to behold. Until it slipped from my wet fingers. Elyena said it sounded like someone dropped a jar of beans on the floor. Shrapnel struck my thumb, practically severing it. Glass tinkled to rest all throughout the kitchen and dining room. It was inconcievable the area that glass shards were able to cover. Thank goodness for shop vacs. Merry Christmas everyone.

R.

Metal on My Mind

As I sit here in the hospital, basking in the joy of our first daughter, I thought I would take a few minutes to write some random thoughts I’ve had lately. Somewhere in the Write On Archive there is a post about how when I was younger I thought that I liked heavy metal, that I was a metal head, or some sort of metal maniac. Thanks to Launchcast I learned that it is not so; I am merely a hard rocker who lists some metal bands among his favorites. Sorry for the snub, heavy metal.

So here I will take you on a tour of some of my metallic ideas of late. Let’s Rock.

I’ve found myself thinking of Anthrax lately. Because I was obviously a Master of Metal I felt that I should like them, but beyond I am the Man I could never develop a taste. The other day I heard a couple of songs on the radio. I enjoyed them, but before Bawitdaba and Adrenaline there was Caught in a Mosh. I believe that is the first mosh pit song, but I’m willing to be corrected by them of you as that know. I also put I am the Law, inspired by the comic character Judge Dredd, and their cover of Sabbath Bloody Sabbath. All in all it is a good lesson in why only the front man should have a live mike. Not really, but sometimes.

Some songs have come out lately from so called NuMetal bands, those alternative-metal acts spawned in the nineties after the well-deserved blow to butt-rock led to a metal meltdown. It is funny how things turn out sometimes. Some acts started strong out of the gate and then took the road of the power ballad or just decided to suck. For my examples I carefully selected Faith by Limp Bizkit and Mudshovel by Staind. Then I took Faith off again because the version available had a huge F-bomb right in the middle. Whatever Fred.*

Clawing our way out of the sludge, I wanted to share a few amazing tunes with you, my readers. These are from bands that supposedly sucked, couldn’t solo, and were supposedly going to be crushed under the metal wheels of supposedly better bands. You can see there is a lot of supposition in that.

The first song is Prodigal Son by Sevendust. To me they are the Hootie of metal; they’ve got a soul of steel or something like that. Prodigal Son is nothing out of the ordinary for them; it has raw verses with a hook-heavy chorus. Still rocking.

Next is Dead Memories by Slipknot. These guys make a bunch of unbearable noise with the occasionally undeniably brilliant slab of iron that makes me giddy. I have heard three tunes from their new album, and been impressed with every single one. I picked Dead Memories because Corey Thomas manages to sing the whole song without screaming or using the F-Bomb, then just in case you forgot they were a metal band they blast some double-bass drum action all the way through the second verse.

Mudvayne falls under the same category as Slipknot for me. Their new song Do What You Do is a metal sucker-punch. A groovy first verse and catchy melody set the trap, the jaws spring with the intensity of the chorus, and then just in case you hadn’t figured out that you weren’t listening to 3 Doors Down they turn the second verse on its head and play some downright metal riffage over the same catchy melody.

To end my metal monologue, I will discuss a band that started off suckin’ it up but has earned my admiration. Back in the days of yore there were a lot of bands that had a “sound.” Something about the band made it recognizable even if the listener had never heard the song before without hearing the vocalist. For example, someone might recognize Rush by the way Neal Peart uses his right hand. They might recognize Van Halen from the “Brown Sound,” that unique combination of flanger, reverb, and delay that makes Eddie’s tone so easily identifiable. Or it might be the way Kirk Hammett slathers a lead in his own wah sound that gives away a Metallica song. On and on. Except for many years now bands have not done such a thing. Please share examples if I am wrong. I suppose that that crazy chorus effect that Shaun Morgan uses on all of his solos might identify a Seether song, but nothing else really would. The band of which I come to started out rather Sickly but have garnered my attention with every passing album. I find that like so many of those older bands I can recognize them in an unheard song; I think it is something in the rhythm section because their guitar player frequently changes tones from song to song, but I could be wrong. Indestructible showcases their pummeling combination of melody and brawn.

So that is some of what I’ve been thinking about Metal. That and that Death Magnetic is an amazing Metallica record. I figured this post was dragging on long enough. I would be happy to post my thoughts on Death Magnetic in greater detail if anyone wants to have them. Rock on, people. Have a Metal Christmas.

R.

*Catherine Wheel was never NuMetal band but they rock. And Black Metallic has “Metal” in the title and that is what we are about today.

The Magic is Gone

After I made a comment on her blog stating that I had boycotted magic, Theadra asked that I explain myself. Given my longwindedness I thought it would be worth posting here, for courtesy's sake and in case my opinion could be of help to any of my other readers. Ing also said he didn't use magic and I hope to see his reasoning turn up somewhere as well.

Many years ago when I was painstakingly creating the world of my fiction I had been reading a lot of fantasy. History as always, but I was devouring fantasy like chocolate-covered cinnamon bears. In my slow, over-analytical way I started to notice that a lot of authors would use magic as a crutch for weak writing. Their characters would get in a bind and all of the sudden there would be a magical out for them. A lot of times it was completely spontaneous as if rather than work out a solution they just inserted magic so they could move on. I find this problem to be rampant. I can think of few fantasy writers who do not use magic in this way.

Another thing that influenced my decision was reading Jack Whyte's pre-Arthurian books. They were a fascinating historical-minded look at the origins of the Arthurian world, with rational, semi-scientific explanations for many of the fantastic elements. I found that very thought provoking and impressive. I can't recommend the books on account of their graphic and sometimes perverse nature, but they did influence my thinking on this matter.

So I started toying with the idea of creating a minimalist fantasy world that would be completely fictional but without any system of magic. It has been a challenge, but very fun to write. Hopefully my rant will inspire any of you using magic to go the extra mile when you are having a "I'll just use magic so I can move on" moment. Write on.

R.

Ladders

Friday was my final day with my mega-corporate employer. As I packed up my cube and exited the building I was filled with memories of the seven years I spent with them.

One day, a year and some-odd months ago, I was doing inside sales at a location. One of the outside salesmen was near my desk and asked, “What are you doing with that white hat? Or should I say yellow?” He was referring to a sweat-stained cap with the company logo on it that hung on the wall behind me.

“I keep that to remember where I came from.” He gave me a blank look and left.



Almost seven years ago I started working for The Company as a forklift operator. Ironically I had seen the job offer through a temp agency and refused to take it, applying for the job directly at a later point when I was more desperate for work. It made a huge impact on the next seven years, and probably will for the rest of my life. Within months of hiring on The Company closed that location, and because I was an actual employee and not a temp-hire I was able to transfer north as a forklift operator for another location. It was a bigger operation and I learned a lot. I also offered a lot of suggestions, tried to learn everything I could, and threw my hat in for every position that opened up. The result was always the same; they patted me on the head and told me to get back on my forklift. During this time I tried to go back to school and flunked out due to the massive amount of overtime my supervisor demanded.

A year or so later a chance came for me to transfer north again as an assistant yard foreman. I was initially very excited and optimistic. My hopes were in vain. I entered the darkest days in my time with the company. Looking back time has revealed and clarified some of the things that made my life hell and caused lasting repercussions for years. The foreman was using me as a scapegoat for anything and everything that went amiss in the yard and/or with deliveries. The people inside the store treated me like I was a leper. During this time I heard about a purchasing position that opened at the district office (the same kind of position that I have had for the last year.) Without talking to anyone at the location, I threw my resume into the ring. I was given a courtesy interview, patted on the head, and told to get back on my forklift.

I had finally come up with the money to try to redeem myself at the University and had been trudging my way through some classes. That spring I had an educational epiphany, a sort of realization of the difference between becoming educated and getting vocational training. I abandoned the training I was pursuing for the purpose of impressing The Company and set about trying to educate myself. In the darkness there grew a distant light.

The result of my new mentality and my interview was that the store manager started looking at me differently. A counter position opened and she asked me to fill it. I told her I would like to have more freedom to schedule school classes; she conceded. I was off of the forklift.

And then The Company decided they didn’t need that store and closed it down. With a full load of classes scheduled all over the place and a family to support I was in terror of what kind of job I would have to get. There were no sales positions open anywhere. Then one of the drivers took an unexpected position. I transferred east to drive truck for The Company. It had been one of my duties as assistant yard foreman, so I knew what it would mean, and it put me back under my nemesis who transferred there as well. However . . . the manager agreed to support my school schedule, so the foremen (including my nemesis) had to be satisfied.



Help came in the form of a mixed blessing. One night early in the fall I was crossing a campus street on my way to class when a sun-blinded driver turned the corner and took me out. While this long chronicle is in honor to my days and findings with The Company I think I will digress and briefly tell about this experience. The car struck me on the left side and sent me flying. The inertia must have caused me to black out briefly. I came to with a relaxing sensation of weightlessness; time moved slowly; I could see nothing but the blue of the sky; “Oh hell,” I thought as it occurred to me that I hadn’t hit the asphalt yet. The pain was amazing. I landed on my hip and elbow. My bag cushioned me in such a way as to keep my brains from smearing the road. Also amazing was that in the end there were no broken bones; a decent amount of muscle, ligament, and tendon damage, but nothing broken. Amazing.

Because of my previous counter experience I was put on the counter while the doctor had me on light duty. By the time the allotted period was past the Manager decided he needed me more inside than out. He canned one of his old people to make way for me.

Within months I had been moved up again into inside sales support. It was a grueling, high-stress position. But I did it for several years, and transferring way south (my archive has some comments about my commuting days) to perform it while I finished school. I kept the hat close by to remember that the actions I took resulted in some person working and sweating long hours in heat and cold. If I typed up 800 sticks instead of 80, it would result in someone besides me going out, possibly at the end of a long day, to pick up the excess 720 boards and bringing them back to the yard. Salesman throughout The Company screw around and screw stuff up continually without giving a damn about the extra burden they inflict with the justification of “It’s their job.” It is a shame that the consequences are so out of proportion.

I graduated a year ago and stepped into the purchasing job I wanted all those years ago. I hung the hat on my cube wall, even though in purchasing my actions rarely had any physical consequences for those at the store level.

In a way these seven years have been like a manifestation of the American Dream. I started at the bottom and ended part of a district support team. I don’t often feel that way though. In my climb up the ladder I passed people of greater intelligence, people who worked harder, and people who deserved more than me. My time with The Company destroyed my ideal that anyone who was willing to work hard and give it their all could be successful. The deck is stacked. I am grateful for what I was blessed with. It got my family through some trying times. I’m more grateful for the lessons I have learned.

Thanks for reading.

Riotimus

Quest

The holidays are upon us--whether we would risk them or not--and I fear that things will drop off for some of us. But not me. I've got time on my hands just like in that song by Styx. Hopefully some of you are still reading because I would like your help.

The quest seems to be an unavoidable aspect of fantasy storytelling. Back in the Howard days, Conan was a vagabond and even when he made himself king of Aquilonia I don't think it lasted long. Lord of the Rings set the epic quest formula. Jordan's convoluted endless drama is just a series of soap-operatic quests. Quests, quests everywhere.

Is the quest mandatory to good fantasy? I would like your thoughts and any examples you are willing to share. I am currently reading a book called The Tough Guide to Fantasyland. It is a satirical fantasy encyclopedia that addresses common cliches and stereotypes in popular fantasy stories. It is great for a laugh; it also shows the difficulty in telling a quest story with any hope of originality. I believe it can be done, so carry on if you are committed to your quest tale. Have you read any fantasy that doesn't follow the quest format? What was it and how did it strike you? Your input is appreciated.

R.

Distraction

I’ve been chipping away at reading Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. Yes, still chipping. My bookmark looks to be working its way between the one-third and halfway point of the book. It is a lot of pages, but considering I have never encountered a book before with print as small as it is I can’t really compare my progress to anything else I have read. Consequently I was beginning to lose faith in my reading abilities. I’m known as a thorough reader*, if not a fast one, so time to the finish line is a sensitive point to me.

So I made a decision.

I decided to insert a novel into the middle of my study of the Third Reich. I picked The Firm by John Grisham. I’d never read it before and it had been a long time since I read anything by him. Apparently the years I have spent writing and studying other writer’s work increased my senses to some finer points of style that I will examine on hereafter.



The first thing I noticed was that the prose was weak. I understand that is one of his early works, but I still found myself thinking of his backlist and considering Grisham as the Louis L’Amour of legal thrillers. Maybe he got better. It really has no bearing on my examination except as an insight to how my analytical skills have changed over the years.

In The Firm the characters are all static and flat. I understand that there are different terms out there and when I say static I mean that there is no character growth (the beach scene isn’t what I’m talking about) and they all have the liveliness of one of those Build Your Character sheets inserted into the text of the story. The only person in the story who inspired any emotion from me was Abby, and it was because she was married to an ingenious chump, not because Grisham wasted anytime making her a person. So it is obvious that The Firm isn’t a character story.

So why did I burn through it in less than a week? It had me on the edge of my seat. Grisham created a lot of tension. I suspect that he reverse engineered his story the way a lot of mystery writers do; he came up with how the ending would go and then worked out what would have to happen for to get there and inserted tidbits throughout the story in a way that defied notice or left the reader wondering how that was going to come into play. I wonder if he deviated at all from his outline.

It always impresses me how many different ways there are to make it as a writer. For all that The Firm kept me riveted while I read; I left it without connecting with a single character and that is rare for me. I apparently lean towards character-driven works. I was also disappointed with the end. Mitch manages to get away with everything on account of his being “smarter than [everyone else]” and Abby loses her family and ends up on the run with Captain Fidelity. Based on the bittersweet endings of some other Grisham books that I vaguely remember I suppose that it could have been meant as an ironic ending, but I expected more from the protagonist and he didn’t have it to give. Maybe Grisham was making a point about expectations.

R.