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As stated on numerous occasions: this document was intended for a readership of one - myself. But I find that readership expanding, in spite of my intentions. An expanded readership affects the nature of the postings, and the blog drifts from its original purpose toward something unintended, something tangential to the writer's goals ...
Do we write to get noticed or in an effort to Be True? Just as living effectively means turning inward, writing at full capacity (for me) means a turning away from the white noise of the public square. I can no longer confine what I have to say to the claustrophobic dimensions of an entry in a digital journal, and no longer care to try. I need to focus on current writing projects, the optimum completion of which requires my undivided attention - without concern for the opinions of others. I sincerely believe that this drilling down into myself at the expense of outward expansion is what will facilitate the next stage of my journey as an artist.
Late summer-autumn 1968: Kurtz's patrols in the highlands coming under frequent ambush. The camp started falling apart ... November: Kurtz orders the assassination of three Vietnamese men and one woman. Two of the men were Colonels in the South Vietnamese army. Enemy activity in his old sector dropped off to nothing. Guess he must have hit the right four people. The army tried one last time to bring him back into the fold. And if he pulled over, it all would have been forgotten. But he kept going, and he kept winning it his way ... - John Milius, APOCALYPSE NOW
Last night, Senator Hillary Clinton urged interested viewers of her "concession" speech to go to her website and leave their comments. I obliged.
Hillary:
You've had your 15 minutes. Now sit down and shut up.
Love and kisses,
Jamie
Work on the redraft of Time Out is going quite well. My agent has given me until August 5th to have something to her, and I should meet that deadline easily (despite other projects and full-time work at Lawton).
A friend recently noted in a private e-mail that I don't allow comments on my blog. True. Is this bad form? Particularly in view of the fact that I occasionally drop comments on the blogs of others? My response: no. This document exists primarily as a record for myself. If others pop in from time to time and read, then fine. But I'm not so egotistical as to believe my random musings are of such moment that others will tune in regularly and/or oblige with comments.
Stormclouds have swept in over the farm, bringing a drop in temperature. It's a cold, misty gray outdoors at the moment. The sheep are penned up and the crops are covered. A shift in town this evening, and then home for 48. Today is my Friday.
Have crested the "hump" into uncharted territory. Am not setting any particular schedule for myself, but am rather going wherever inspiration leads. The journey is intensely interesting.
To see that your life is a story while you're in the middle of living it may be a help to living it well. It's unwise, though, to think you know how it's going to go, or how it's going to end. That's to be known only when it's over.
And even when it's over, even when it's somebody else's life, somebody who lived a hundred years ago, whose story I've heard told time and again, while I'm hearing it I hope and fear as if I didn't know how it would end; and so I live the story and it lives in me. That's as good a way as I know to outwit death. Stories are what death thinks he puts an end to. He can't understand that they end in him, but they don't end with him.
Among the time-worn rules of science fiction: the mad scientist always gets destroyed by his own creation.
The same may be said of our culture and television.
These people are roaming our streets!
Thing is: it plays havoc with vibe in the place. A nice, settled groove is the preferred norm in any writer's life (- reading Caitlin's recent blog entries, with their tales of packing peanuts and U-Hauls and storage bins fills me with horrified compassion). Detailed biographies of famous authors are replete with writing rituals and methodologies (places, brands of drink or cigarettes, positions of desks, lamps, typewriters, kudu skins). Most of these have to do with "getting into the zone": engaging that Rain Man/OCD control-space we need in order to produce.
For me? My "groove" is a closed office door, thermostat turned to 20 to 25 degrees Celsius, drawn blinds, lights out. Coffee. Laptop headphones and onboard mp3s within easy reach in case the phone or doorbell rings so I can stay shut in my own little world. Perhaps it's anti-social ... but it works. And now, so must I.
On the recommendation of my agent, have begun shouldering back into Part II of Time Out for a re-write. Had been considering it for some time already when her suggestion came, its direction consonant with my own thoughts. She even offered some useful ideas based on the synopsis. Such advice helped improve Echo immeasurably. I'm confident the same will be true here.
Sent off the latest short piece to Fantasy and Science Fiction Magazine on the recommendation of my peer-reviewers. "Definitely an upscale market for this one," one reader observed. I feel the piece, entitled "Learning to Hunt," is my best ever. Ironically, had longed to continue some of its themes in subsequent work but had no idea how to begin until the idea of re-imagining Time Out hit. A comfortable arc of congruence emerged, along which I feel justified travelling.
When younger, spent a great deal of time trying to enforce my will upon the work. Am now finding the work has a will of its own. Am following threads that emerge not so much from my conscious mind but from somewhere out of the wind ...
Habitually begin planning the next story as I approach the end of whichever one I happen to be working on. But have just now finished a pretty fine 5,000 word piece that I'll be mailing off in a few days with no idea whatsoever of what comes next. None. This unusual state of affairs (which finds me adrfit in a creative Sargasso all my own) suggests that perhaps time has come to dip into the idea well: a Microsoft Notepad file to which I consign bits'n pieces that may or may not bare fruit in future efforts. Haven't opened it in a while. Will dust 'er off and double-click. See what happens.
For inspiration finishing this latest, have been sampling excerpts from Now Is the Hour by Tom Spanbauer. I love Tom's work because he's successful at writing important things while remaining true to himself - most probably because he's remained true to himself. Tom has been a major inspiration to me for many years, now. I consider him one of the more important living writers in the English language.
It's so easy to lose yourself in this process - to begin conceiving of your work as a commodity. Jack Skillingstead once mentioned to me in an e-mail that he can spot a "pointless" story right off. So true! If it doesn't have meaning for the writer, then it can't ever possibly hope to resonate with the reader. The whole point of writing (in my view) lies in trying to set up these magical sympathetic vibrations across space and time using ink and paper that serve to remind people of their common humanity. Otherwise, what's the point? I suppose the price of digging deep in search of things to write that meet this standard is these periodic lulls.
So. Sails becalmed, the search begins anew ...
Thirty years ago, the city of Shenzhen didn’t exist. Back in those days, it was a string of small fishing villages and collectively run rice paddies, a place of rutted dirt roads and traditional temples. That was before the Communist Party chose it — thanks to its location close to Hong Kong’s port — to be China’s first “special economic zone,” one of only four areas where capitalism would be permitted on a trial basis. The theory behind the experiment was that the “real” China would keep its socialist soul intact while profiting from the private-sector jobs and industrial development created in Shenzhen. The result was a city of pure commerce, undiluted by history or rooted culture — the crack cocaine of capitalism. It was a force so addictive to investors that the Shenzhen experiment quickly expanded, swallowing not just the surrounding Pearl River Delta, which now houses roughly 100,000 factories, but much of the rest of the country as well. Today, Shenzhen is a city of 12.4 million people, and there is a good chance that at least half of everything you own was made here ... read the rest
- Will Self, The Independent, May 10th, 2008
Am writing more slowly of late and the results are telling. The newer pieces have more depth and curvature, are better able to unfold within an organic architecture for being unhurried. The farm helps: growing things takes time. Stepped around mounds of shit in the sheep paddock today as I went out to say hello to the girls. They unabashedly defecate where they eat, knowing (perhaps) they're fertilizing their own food supply. Am undecided as to whether this is clever or foolhardy. But one thing's for certain - a liberal spinkling of bullshit aids the growth process.
Ganked my calf in that apprehension Wednesday. Had to beg off kung-fu yesterday afternoon. Sifu was understanding.
- Location:The farm
- Music:The click of dog paws on laminate flooring
"No."
"I said, 'You're under arrest.' Now turn arou -"
"No!"
Fourteen and already a fighter. Crashing against me, trying to shoulder past. But I won't allow it. Because I'm not her dad, her teacher, her boyfriend or any of those other poor bastards against whom she routinely uses PC "kiddies-first" legislation as a fulcrum to lever them out of the way. No: I represent the System. And she has broken the Law.
"You can't touch me!" she snarls.
"Hate to break it you, but I can. Now get over there ..."
I hear her friends, all four of them, muttering and prowling behind me, contemplating the wisdom of an attack. I am keyed up but calm. Focused. The Dragon: preparing to ride the wind and take advantage of any opportunities. I'd hate to think what would happen if they made a move. But they don't, wisely deciding to abandon A---- to her fate and take their chances on a header. Seconds later, they've vanished across the parking lot and it's just me and her. Her hands come up, feinting. Blue: a flash of glass in her fist. The bottle.
Wrong move.
I block her Bitch-fu. A brief scuffle and, a moment later, it's in my hand. So is she, elbow clenched in my talons as I hustle her, screaming and thrashing, through the doorway. She fights me every step of the way until we're in a narrow bottle-neck of hall, where she manages to wrestle free and whirl on me.
"Let go of me you fucker! You can't touch me! You -!"
"I can," I storm. "You're comin' with me. You're under arrest. You can cooperate. Or I'm gonna' handcuff ya'. Understand?"
Never thought the bust would go down this way: a fourteen year-old girl surrounded by a swarm of friends, all eager to stop the inevitable. But they couldn't. I derive no pleasure in taking down a teenager. But justice, administered, is sweet as can be. Today, the Good Guys won.
- Location:The squad room
- Music:CSI Miami theme
Encountering a tale from a writer who is willing to "go there" and bring us the story adds a compelling dimension to any work of fiction. Having characters who are broken is good. Having characters who are broken and moving toward wholeness is great. It's said that the ancient Hebrews constructed animated man-figures called "golems." Once the golem was made, the thing that brought it to life was a small tablet slipped under its tongue and imprinted with the Tetragrammaton ("name of G-d"). I believe that good fiction requires a similar animating element. I call it "heart's blood." The story has to bleed, its best elements dredged from the goop at the bottom of our personal emotional devastation.
Tom Spanbauer says, in his workshops (one of which I hope to attend someday), "go where it hurts and write." And Mishima said: "Life is a line of poetry written with a splash of blood."
Caitlin, whatever she says, is a brilliant author who writes with terrific emotional resonance. I'll look forward to reading whatever she publishes next.
- Location:Here. Now.
- Music:The motor of a passing car.
... and when the woman arrived at the river and waded outward into its mud-colored shallows, it came to Emile Cander for the first time that perhaps she was indeed a lunatic - a lunatic of the most dangerous sort. For he had heard of women - unnatural women, exempt from the slightest trace of maternal love - who slashed or starved or abandoned their children in dumpsters and it occured to him that this weeping woman, this woman in white, might be just such a person - a psychopath, a monster in maternal clothing. And he felt impelled to do something. What, he wasn't sure. But something ...
- Location:El rio
- Music:Sarah McLachlan, "Possession"
The following survey has appeared on the websites of numerous friends/colleagues. Below is the Jamie edition.
TECHNOLOGY
Q. What is your wallpaper on your computer?
A digital graphic from the David Howell Chess Site.
Q. How many televisions do you have in your house?
One (and that's one too many).
BIOLOGY
Q. Are you right-handed or left-handed?
Generally a rightie (although I'm discovering that my left hand gets more clever as I age).
Q. Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
Yes (most recently, a tooth for which I could not afford a root canal whilst living in the U.S. How fucked up is that?)
Q. What is the last heavy item you lifted?
An Intellex surveillance system router.
Q. Have you ever been knocked out?
Does being choked out count?
BULL*OLOGY
Q. If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
Nah. Surprise me!
Q. If you could change your name, what would you change it to?
Since when do I need permission?
Q. What color do you think looks best on you?
Black.
Q. Have you ever swallowed a non-food item?
'fraid so ...
DAREOLOGY
Q. Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100?
Depends how cute he is.
Q. Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?
Categorically not.
Q. Would you never blog again for $50,000
I'd never blog again for $5.
Q. Would you pose naked in a magazine for $250,000?
Sure. The question is: would anyone buy it?
Q. Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000?
No. (Although I'd happily watch someone else do it for $1000 ... provided I get to pick the person.)
Q. Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000?
No. Killing is a sign of weakness. (So is greed.)
DUMBOLOGY
Q: What is in your left pocket?
Most recently my left hand, in search of an answer to this question.
Q: Is Napoleon Dynamite actually a good movie?
Never seen it. (But judging by the name, I'd say probably not.)
Q: Do you have hardwood or carpet in your house?
Neither: bamboo laminate, courtesy of Canadian Home Hardware.
Q: Do you sit or stand in the shower?
I take baths.
Q: How many pairs of flip flops do you own?
None. I prefer to go barefoot.
LASTOLOGY
Q: Last person who texted you?
Nobody ever has.
Q: Last person who called you?
My friend Orianna.
Q: Last person you hugged?
My dog Raven (who's a better person than most humans).
FAVORITOLOGY
Q: Number?
13
Q: Season?
Autumn
Q: Color?
Brown
CURRENTOLOGY
Q: Missing someone?
No. If they're not in my life now, they're not worth missing.
Q: Mood?
Kolinar.
Q: Listening to?
Robert Fripp and the League of Crafty Guitarists Intergalactic Boogie Express "Asturias." (And the new NIN.)
Q: Watching?
La Femme Nikita, Season 3.
Q: Worrying about?
Nothing.
Q: Wearing?
Sweat pants, t-shirt, bare feet.
RANDOMOLOGY
Q: First place you went this morning?
The kitchen.
Q: What can you not wait to do?
Get back to work on a short story I'm writing for a horror collection.
Q: Do you smile often?
No. I don't like how I look when I smile.
Q: Are you a friendly person?
When I was younger. Since turning forty, I've become polite but distant. And that's sad.
- Location:The office
- Music:My heartbeat.
Summer is icumen in. With it, job postings for security personnel and (more importantly) new music releases. Am gainfully employed with Lawton, so the former is moot. As for the latter, have been losing myself of late in a Fripp/LGC track entitled "Asturias" (available gratis at dgmlive.com). Also? The Slip, the newly-released free download album from Nine Inch Nails. (I'm not really a NIN kind of person, but who can pass up a freebie?) These are two musical experiences a universe apart. Finding balance between them is galvanizing the new story.
And causing me to reflect: on the importance of music. Necessary as food or sleep. Mood regulator, experience enhancer, thought provoker, art inspirer: the all-important melodies are the grace notes of existence. Finding the music in language is an important element of the Striving. Separating the music from the ideas, then judiciously reecombining them, lies at the core of Art.
After this afternoon's shift: two days off. Praise be.
- Location:The kitchen
- Music:Running water
Still. Have managed to be surprisingly prolific in spite of it all. Simultaneously finished "Ida's Last Dance" and a re-vamped version of "The Meditation Machine," mailing (yes, actually mailing) both manuscripts off to periodicals in Ontario and Alberta respectively. Total postage: $2.97 (about one-tenth of what I spend when forced to send stuff into the States). Thank Goddess for e-mail.
Am pleased with both tales. Following suggestions from the good folks at On Spec, I managed to rip about 1,600 words of backstory from "TMM," re-imagining it as the text of a hurried e-mail sent under semi-apocalyptic circumstances. "ILD" is also quite short, but (upon review) surprisingly powerful. I hit the bull's eye. Whether or not that's of interest to anyone else is (frankly) incidental. I'm pleased with the result. My dedication to this craft is transforming from a frantic scramble to a combination back-room hobby, periodic lottery entry. So be it. I'm having a blast and the finished product is improving.
Despite (or perhaps because of) a conscious decision to pay more attention to writing than marketing of late, the current stats are:
NUMBER OF OUTSTANDING SHORT-STORY SUBMISSIONS: 9
NUMBER OF OUTSTANDING SUBMISSIONS TO AGENTS (the novel): 3
AVG. PERIOD OF SUBMISSION OUTSTANDING, STORIES: 2.5 months
AVG. PERIOD OF SUBMISSION OUTSTANDING, AGENTS: 1 month
TOTAL # OF SUBMISSIONS OUTSTANDING: 12
And the rest, as they say at Tikkun, is commentary.
- Location:In front of the keyboard
- Music:The hum of the hard-drive
There is a lot that we liked about this story, but the length tends to drag it some. We think it could be re-worked into a nice punchy short-short. Rip out as much of the back story exposition as possible ... we will gladly look at this again. It was enjoyable and could be even better.
La guerre continue ...
- Location:The keyboard
- Music:The theme from "A Bridge Too Far"
