Tag: Writer

  • That’s One Sick Kid

    If you are not aware, besides being a theatre artist and a writer and a sketchbook enthusiasts, I am also a stay at home parent. I like to see how many hats I can put on over the course of a day, as every day is a balancing act. I make time for my family and try to take time for myself.

    But all of it will come to a crashing halt when the kid gets sick, which happened this morning. She woke up groggy and not hungry, which were yellow flags that something was up. And then there was a cough, followed by her repeating to us that she felt warm. Ahh… the final red flag.

    I took her temperature and immediately thought of how when everyone is a kid, they think they can force their body to have a fever to get out of school. Too my sad surprise, the kid actually had a fever. Holy Crap! It’s just the second week of school; is that even possible?

    The answer is yes. And as the day has gone on, the fever has slowly crept up. Nothing scary, but it went from 99 to now resting at 100. Tylenol and Gatorade be damned! Nothing will kill this bug!

    What was I planning on doing today?

    Doesn’t matter. This is a day of toast making and YouTube watching. Reading stories, and playing games.

    The writing I wanted to do today? Ha! Dream on, sir! There is a little girl that needs her dad.

    And deep down, I know I’d rather take care of the kid than do anything else.

    Even though I might pitch a story idea to a comedy blog, and write a couple of short story reviews.

    Who am I kidding? I’m going to let the kid paint my nails.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Tottenham Woes, Submitting, and Ice Cream

    (The past wasn’t that good, and the future isn’t that bad…)

    Though I hate to admit this, I think it is time to say out loud that Tottenham will not make it to the Champions League next season. Ange Postecoglou has done a very good job with turning the team around and stopping the slide to a middle of the table team. And this was going to be a hard season, as it was the first without Harry Kane. But with 7 points behind Aston Villa, and matches against Liverpool and Man City yet to come, the odds are severely stacked against the team. No Champions League for next season, but there will be a birth in the Europa League. But hey, this was a better year, and next year will have extra competition, and more chances for trophies.

    Not on purpose, but I roundabout took the month of April off when it came to submitting stories. But I am coming back for the month of May. I’ve sent out four submissions thus far, and in the back of my head, I have a good feeling that I accidently messed up on somebody’s submission guidelines. Like, I didn’t put the page number in the correct corner. One time, I sent out a story and misspelled the editor’s name in the cover letter. Yeah, there’s no coming back from that.

    And it is true, ice cream does make everything better. Are you having an awful day? Have some ice cream. It won’t solve any problems, but it does make you feel better. And out of all the wonderful joys and experiences I have had with becoming a father, getting ice cream with my daughter is damn near one of the best.

  • Paul Auster (1947 – 2024)

    I read the news today that Paul Auster had passed away. Kind’a always thought that Paul Auster would just be hanging around forever. Somewhere in Brooklyn, scribbling away, and walking around. I don’t know if any of that is true, it’s just what I expected.

    I first read Paul Auster in 1997 or 1998, and the book was Hand to Mouth: A Chronicle of Early Failure. I’m not 100% sure how this book came to me, but I’m pretty sure it was a Christmas gift from my parents. Maybe I put it on a list, but for whatever reason, it was the right book at the right time. For you see, I had just dropped out of college to peruse my career as a writer/artist, and then I read this book, wherein Paul Auster is pretty much telling me that I have ten awful years of struggle, disappointment, and failure headed my way. But he told it is such a funny and depressing way that, for all the wrong reasons, this book inspired me to continue following my path in the arts. And also, to read as many books by Paul Auster as possible.

    I had hoped to have met him one day. Not to have a conversation, or tell him how much I enjoyed his work. No, I just wanted to say “hi” to him on the street, like neighbors. And that’s the other great thing that Paul gave to me; he presented New York City (Brooklyn, actually) as this great place to meet and make friends with people who are nothing like you. There are all kinds of great things about the City, that artists have been talking about for years (the arts, nightlife, money, danger, excitement, scandal…) but he always gave me this feeling that, yes those things are here, but the people of this place, these characters of the City, are what makes this place magical.

    The other thing that I loved about Paul Auster was that the guy just wrote all the time, and produced so much work. This is the “hard working American” side of me that still sees production as one of the measuring sticks of artistic excellence. He created nonstop. He tried things, and sure, maybe not all of it was The New York Trilogy, but I have respect for the people out there that keep trying something new and producing.

    So I guess, thanks Paul Auster. Thanks for trying to talk me out of being creative.

  • Nothing in Particular

    It would be easy to write something about Valentine’s Day. I could put something down about my amazing and wonderful wife. I could write a quick whim about my daughter and her excitement this year of buying cards for us, and her school party. That would clearly be the easy choice.

    I could also talk about the anniversary of the Pale Blue Dot photograph, but honestly, there is no way to top let alone approach what Carl Sagan already wrote about it.

    I even thought about working on something about a couple of new bands that I have started listening to of late: The Hails, Sure Sure, and Kid Bloom. But I have never felt very confident in writing about music.

    What I am is wishy-washy today.

    I spent a good hour at a local coffee shop this morning after dropping off the kid at school, just writing in my journal, and that kind’a zapped me. Which sucks, because I have a good bit of free time today, and there are several things I want to work on. So, I need to push through this block. I’m at 186 words before I started this sentence, and I aim for at least 250 for a post, which means I’m closing in on my goal.

    And I have a storage unit project that I need to start on. That’s just finding a new, cheaper unit that’s closer to our apartment. But I have to look, and make phone calls… That feels like a Thursday thing.

    Anyway, this post is clearly going to be a part of my Greatest Hits Blog book.

  • That Was A Fast Rejection

    So, I had a flurry of submissions that I sent out at the end of January. On the 31st of January to be exact. The month had flown by, and I had fallen behind on some projects, but I made a promise to myself that I was going to get submissions out before the end of the month. I sent out a handful, all to lit journals that I felt my work complimented. Just playing the game like a million other writers.

    I do appreciate that the readers and editors of these journals can get inundated with submissions, and though they try their best, it can take time before they are able to respond. (I once got an email from an editor apologizing for taking so long on my submission, and then a month later they rejected me.) Everyone wants an answer sooner than later, and I do like that some journals says that you should expect a response after three months… if not sooner.

    This afternoon I just received a rejection, after only nine days.

    They were fast; I do like that.

    It was substantially shorter than three months; I don’t like that.

    In all fairness, it’s a rather odd duck of a flash piece.

    See, I want to believe that there was a little bit of a debate over there. Like the reader is fighting for my piece, but the editor is holding strong that there really isn’t a place for my story in their publication, even though it is well written. Then other editors and readers start weighing in. The debate starts getting tense. Voices start rising. People are getting mad. Resignations are threatened; accusations of favoritism are made; mass chaos envelopes the office!

    But, then cooler heads prevail. Drinks are had; apologies given; laughs are shared; everyone starts talking about why they got into publishing in the first place; the power of words and ideas; given people opportunities to share their voices and insights. It’s a thankless job; always on the verge of collapse; no one makes any money.

    “We do this because we love it.” Someone says.

    Everyone agrees, and smiles.

    Then the managing editor adds, “But we got to reject that story.”

    “That’s true,” the reader agrees.

    “Send him the form letter of death!”

    They all start laughing…

    I guess what I’m saying is that if they would have held onto it for at least a month, then my ego wouldn’t be so bruised.

    But, rejection is part of the game.