Can I Read What You Wrote?

(Picture that attempts to capture the mood and important setting of my new novel)

The first two readers have now finished the manuscript for my new novel. There's always a bit of nail-biting nervousness as you wait for a reaction from the first pairs of eyes besides my own to peer at the pages. Part of me always believes that the latest thing I've finished is my best, but there's always that nagging voice that tries to convince me it is the worst. It's impossible to really know where it stands until you have a reaction. Well, I'm pleased to report the response from both readers was exceptional and confirmed my belief that I've written a novel of merit. Now, it's off to the publisher...and renewed nervousness as I hope they share my belief.

Looking back, it's kind of a miracle that I ever became an actual author with published books, because in my teenage years and college years, I NEVER shared my writing except on a few odd occasions to a very select number of people. It's not that I didn't think it was any good, it was just the subject matter for most of my writing is typically very personal and potentially embarrassing as it's usually about thoughts and experiences I tend to hide. I need not point out the irony that these thoughts now make up most of my books widely available in print.

It still amazes me that so many teenagers are willing to share their writing with me. Perhaps it has to do with our online culture of expressing every unimportant fact of our daily lives that there is no longer a sense of privacy (very much one of the central themes of my new novel). Or perhaps they are just more confident than I was, because I know that my 17 year old self would be horrified to share one of the many odd stories he had written with an author that I admired. (though I'm glad others do, I enjoy reading it). Obviously, I'm very used to it at this point in my career. Now my nervousness isn't so much fear as it is hope that all the hard work I put into something will be appreciated in the way I anticipated.

Give Me Those Old Fashion Pages

I know some people who prefer only to read hardcover books and would rather a new copy of a book the one that has seen many years. Not me. I love old paperback books. I love spending hour upon hour in a dusty Used Book Store trolling the shelves for some rare treasure until I'm sneezing and my fingerprints are covered in dirt from running over an endless river of broken spines. There's a charm in those old books that a junk collector such as myself cannot resist.

I love the brittle, yellowing paper.

I love the smell that reminds me of old classrooms in the summer when school is out.

I love the beautiful covers.

I love how the story, after being pressed inside the covers for so long, jumps off the pages.

I will always be a sucker for an old paperback edition of a book. Having recently plowed through a pile of to-be read books that I've had for years in some cases, I'm about to embark on a shopping spree from my ever growing wishlist of books. Needless to say, I will be look mostly for old editions.

Here TARDIS, TARDIS, TARDIS!

Fear not Earth, Doctor Who has returned...be it in a new form. His eleventh form to be exact. For those of you out there who aren't nerds like me and may not know the ins-and-outs of Time Lord science, the Doctor regenerates and when he does, he takes on a new form. He has once again taken a new form for Season 5. I admit to being a little tentative about the new doctor. I've been a total nutter about this show for the past few years, and David Tennant was aces in the role. However, I remember being a little nervous when he took over...so, I suppose change is just unsettling.

I'm happy to report, my fears were ungrounded. Matt Smith as the new doctor has been, to quote the Doctor, brilliant.

Also, this season is marked by Steven Moffat taking over as the head writer. Moffat has written most of my favorite episodes over the past years. "Blink," "End of Time", "Silence in the Library" and "The Empty Child." Now, as a writer, I take notice of television writing. A poorly written show irks me. Moffat is a wonderful writer. Watch those listed episodes and you'll see a very interesting style of storytelling. He just knows how to pace a story and keep you intrigued by layers and intelligent twists. He definitely adheres to a classical sci-fi aesthetic which is sorely missing in most sci-fi today. So far, this season has lived up to his previous episodes.

Another thing I've noticed about the show, starting really with the previous season, is much more focus on elements geared toward children and the inclusion of child characters. My guess is that this has to due with the popularity of the series with kids in the UK. In many ways, there are now a lot of Middle Grade story elements in the show, which I find fantastic. In many ways, this show has been one of the main inspirations for my interest in writing middle grade fiction over the past two years.

I think a big mistake that book people often make is that there is no value in television. I disagree. Television and movies can spark the imagination in so many ways. You just have to watch the right programs. Like books, there is much trash on the airwaves just as in the pages of most mass market racks. As always, it's all about the way in which a story is told. Do yourself a favor...get acquainted with the incredibly rich mythology of Doctor Who...it trumps Tolkien any day of the week.

The Great Rabbit Wars Pt. 18

Entry from Recovered Rabbit Child's Diary 001 (access previous documents)

The eleventh day of Rabbit Month, Year One

Dear Journal,

I finally saw the angel girl again today. I tried to see her more times. For three whole days I wandered away to look for her, but she was never in the woods again. It made me sad not seeing her. I thought maybe she was dead by the rabbits. That would be sad, even though it's not supposed to be sad for me. That's what Bianca says anyway. She says the humans that aren't with the rabbits are nothing but beasts.

I don't like Bianca.

This morning, I ran away from our party because she was being mean and cruel. I don't even want to tell you the awful things she did to human who used to be her brother. It wasn't a very fun party and I ran away. I ran to the edge of the old city and that's where I saw her. The angel. She wasn't alone this time. There were many many people with her. More people than I ever remember seeing. (Don't tell anyone, but I think Fival has been stealing our memories).

The people with the angel were dirty and skinny. But they looked happy. Bianca always says people are never happy if they aren't taken care of by rabbits. She's a liar. But still, I know people are dangerous and I stayed pretty far from them. Then the angel girl saw me and waved. She even smiled. The other's were scared. I was scared too, so I ran back to the party. But really, I wish I could've talked to her. I bet she wouldn't lie to me like Bianca.

I'm going to keep her a secret from the rabbits. I know that's not allowed, but it feels like the right thing to do. Tomorrow, I'm going back.

Good Night Journal.

Signed,

ME

So That's Where This Came From

I've been trying to catch up on my graphic novel reading the last few months. Besides being an admirer of drawing, I really appreciate the story telling style of graphic novels in that they are picture books for older people. Two weekends ago, I read Book I and II of Yoshikazu Yasuhiko's Joan of Arc series. I have a strange relationship with these books that I thought I would share...I think it gives a sort insight to how a writer's mind functions and why we are such odd people, for the most part.

I first saw these books way back in the early months of 2002 on the shelves of NYPL's Teen Central. I was there to do a reading from Pure Sunshine. We arrived early and I browsed their graphic novel section and was drawn to these books because ever since I was 11 or so, I've been fascinated with Joan of Arc. I immediately ordered these books a few days later, though for whatever reason never got around to reading them until now.

When I first glimpsed the covers, I immediately recalled these drawings I'd made of Joan of Arc when I was 13 or so. Like writing, drawing is something I self-taught and was petrified to share with anyone as a young teenager. But I remember these Joan of Arc pencil drawings being some of the first that I was really proud of. It was an interesting memory and I wondered if I could work it in my writing somehow.

At that time, I was just starting to work on my novel Perfect World. I could easily see how the main character Lacie would be drawn to a figure like Joan of Arc. I not only worked my own memory into her character, but also the rediscovery of it which stemmed from seeing the book in the library.

The librarian keeps looking at me . . pushing her glasses up on her nose and clearing her throat each time I begin to use the eraser . . narrowing her eyes at the crumbs that I brush away onto my lap . . onto the floor of the school library. I call it a library but last year they changed the name of it to Media Center when they put in new computers and more televisions and took away most of the books because no one wanted to read them I guess. I don't mind making a mess in a Media Center . . there is nothing that makes it special like a library.

Some books are still here though. This one is . . the one of Joan of Arc with all the old drawings in it that I like to copy.

I've copied most of them already . . but this one I can't get right. The three dead people hanging in an open filed . . the clouds so beautiful and the fields of wheat so peaceful that the bodies look like angels and that is why I copy them . . that is why I copy all the pictures from the book . . because they're beautiful and she is so beautiful. Sometimes I like to think she was like me . . the way she lived with ghosts and talked to them . . made her different. I know I'm different. But maybe I can be brave and beautiful too.

-That's really cool. You're good.- A strangers voice beside me . . near me so close and sitting down across from me.

I cover up the picture. I fold my hands over the piece of paper and let the pencil drop.

from Perfect World pages 199-200

In many ways, I've always thought the writer's brain has to work on a type of collage circuitry. We piece minor events and feelings together and layer them into a cohesive picture. In addition to the Joan of Arc images, the Media Center bit comes from my own High School, the drawing of the three hanging figures is another drawing I did when I was 15 or so. And the stranger...well that's Chan from the book I'd written previously Tomorrow, Maybe.

So you can see why it becomes imperative to always have a notebook in the pocket. Any tiny memory can be a spark. As for the graphic novels, they weren't as much about Joan as I would have liked and the art was less my style than the cover would indicate, but they were entertaining.

Weekend Music Roundup

Been on a bit of binge lately, but what else is new. Always after finishing a huge project and finding myself with all of the time and mental energy, I usually sink it into musical discoveries and appreciation. I've built up quite a catalog of music to be listed here in the coming weeks. I've also begun to reorganize my swelling collection, trying to consolidate some CDs into booklets. As I started that project yesterday, I realized there was so much good stuff that I hadn't listened to in quite a while. I've decided to spend some time in the next few weeks reaquainting myself with them. But that's for the future, here's this week's roundup of fuzzy warbles.

efterklang - Under Giant Trees: This amazing EP is the first of the gems I unearthed in my reorganization. Dating from long ago 2007, I loved it then, but admit that I sort of forgot what it sounded like...so much so that it was misplaced on my shelves which are organized into mood. This is a beautiful, slow kind of mood record that I had placed on the instrumental metal shelf...way off. It's hard to define, it has very rich transporting sound. Great summer evening kind of record.

The Stills-Young Band - Providence, RI: My renewed Neil Young phase shows no signs of receding anytime soon (this is one of several Young albums to come). Now, I confess to being a huge fan of the Stills-Young LP Long May You Run, even the Stephen Stills tracks (gasp!). So I was really eager to hear this live bootleg. It's top quality for sure. A tremendous setlist of greats by both artists and CSNY classics.

Brenda Lee - All Alone Am I: A few weekends ago when I rummaged through a dark dusty record shop, this was the prize find of the 10 vinyl LPs I purchased. A first pressing DECCA mono in mint condition. Now, it should be noted, I'm total fanatic for early Brenda Lee. This album is superb. It's more traditional pop and less of the country twang of her work that came before this, but her voice is unbelievable. 5 stars.

The Banana Splits - We're the Banana Splits: The dANIMAL passed this on to me upon my request. I thought there would be a nostalgic appeal, having grooved the show on USA's Cartoon Express in my childhood. What I didn't expect was that this is actually very good musically. It sounds like The Animals, if they wore giant mascot outfits. "You're the Lovin' End" is fantastic.

Donovan - Barabajagal: Another vinyl buy, I picked this up because I have a unhealthy love for Donovan even though it seems each album has some duds. This is no exception. "I Love My Shirt" might be most annoying song he's ever done. But then there's the brilliant side of Donovan, like the title track, "Superlungs My Supergirl" and "Atlantis." A decent effort, but not his best, that's reserved for the amazing double album A Gift From a Flower to a Garden. Also, related is Mark Fry's Dreaming with Alice that copies the cover art from this album and is actually a better album of hippy folk.

Bonzo Dog Band - Let's Make Up and Be Friendly: A contractual throw-away album recorded by a band that had already broken up, this is one of those records for music geeks only. Though there is a tongue cheek style to the band's music, there is also a Captain Beefheart seriousness as well. If you're in the right mood, it's really entertaining.

Country Joe & The Fish - He We Are Again: Their fourth album in a two year span, this is easily the weakest of the four, but that's okay, it's still top notch psychedelic rock. "Here I Go Again" is one of my favorite songs of theirs. Also, it completed my vinyl collection of Country Joe & The Fish albums. Any fan of San Fran late '60s rock needs these four albums...all of them.

A Silver Mt. Zion - He Has Left Us Alone...: The bands first album from 2000 is definitely more minimal than their 2010 release, which I love. Now, I certainly like me some slowcore, but this is just a little too slow to be exceptional. Still a solid mood record and I'll certainly listen to it, especially while writing.

Fleetwood Mac - Future Games: One of those bands that I completely wrote off early on in my musical development despite the fact that in early childhood I had an affinity to them as my elementary school was named Fleetwood School. But I can't be to blame, knowing only the horrible Stevie Nicks version of the band. However, I recently learned that they were more of a British Blues band once upon a time. I'd been meaning to check them out for months when I picked this earlier album up on vinyl and was pleasantly surprised. It's a bluesy pop album, and though from England, there's a California sound to it that I dig. I can't wait to check out the albums prior to this one, which are supposedly even more traditional blues rock.

Guided by Voices - Sunfish Holy Breakfast: Recorded in the band's mid-90's heyday of Bee Thousand and Alien Lanes, this is vintage GBV lo-fi indie bliss. This period of the band's catalog is certainly one of the dominant influences on indie-rock of the last decade. If you are unfamiliar, by all means, dive in and be prepared to be blown away by the sheer wonder.

Dreaming of Wonderland

It's been an amazing dream week for me. Following an animated dream (a rarity) the other day, and a flying dream (just as rare), last night I was rewarded with a Dream of Wonderland, a place I've hardly ever visited.

Things there weren't so pleasant in Wonderland. Everything was a little off and totalitarian. There was this dark-haired little girl creating everything with her imagination. She was pretending to be my friend, but I could sense she was evil, or trying to trick me, and that I knew I was being held in this ever expanding Emerald City kind of building for something devious.

Certain that I was to be boiled alive, I decided to flee. I found that when I out-raced her imagination, I discovered flaws in the scenery...parts unfinished...deformed characters...that type of Coraline-esque thing. I eventually escaped only to find the card soldiers in my own front lawn. I followed them to the elaborate Martian-like rock pit that magically appeared at would-be the top of my driveway. The formerly flat card soldiers were then transformed into old men set to judge me. They had conducted a computerized vote over radio waves. All of the evil girl's imagined people voted and I was guilty of course. Of course, the ruling was initially "Off with his head" which they chanted in sunstroke laziness. Before my execution, I somehow managed to sink through the center of the sunlight that blazed upon us.

I woke into another dream. This time I was in a flea market type boardwalk carnival setting. I saw the evil girl again, this time dressed in one of those cheap Disney Snow White costumes. She was very nice. She offered me a hot dog. Like Alice, I realized it must have been a dream.

Why do I share this? After all, nobody likes to read about dreams. But if you kept with it, I'll tell you. You see, several key elements of this dream were directly influenced from scenes in my new novel. Dreams have always been deeply connected to my writing. I often use elements from my dreams in novels. As a reward, I often have the joy of getting some of novels in the form of dreams.

I truly believe Wonderland exists. I don't think Lewis Carroll invented it. He simply gave a name to the place where our imaginations spring from.