Anne

So i havent been here for months. I'm supposed to be writing but it hasn't been working. Fuck, I miss Anne.
I love Anne Publicover. Being without her feels like there's a hole inside me. Or that I'm just hollow. I'm trying here. I really am. I just wish she would somehow find her way back to me. She is my true love. I should have treated her like it. I'm sorry.

Who wants a hug?

For many years, I've wanted to give Mats Sundin a hug. I'm not embarassed to admit this although I do know it is kind of silly. Despite the fact that the guy has been making millions of dollars his entire adult life for playing the game he loves, has legions of fans and hundreds if not thousands of women vying for his attention (apparently, some women mail him pictures of themselves in their underwear along with their phone numbers - he throws them out), I sometimes get the crazy notion that he deserves a hug. A hug from me - one of his diehard fans. I realize it's silly. Sure, he hasn't won a Cup yet and there are tons of people who criticize him as a player and captain for no good reason but I doubt he's all that broken up over it. If he really needs a hug, he's got friends and family for that. His teammates hug him on an almost nightly basis.

But still I want to hug him. For all that he's done for me personally. For all the times he's brought me to my feet, yelling and cheering. All because of how he plays a game. I've wanted to hug David Usher too, for the way his music has made me feel all these years (I'm pretty sure Ive hugged Jeff Pierce on at least one occassion).
Then it occurred to me I've never really thought about hugging a writer. I tried to puzzle this out. Surely, there must be a writer whose work was as much a comfort to me as Sundin's on-ice heroics or David's (I can't refer to him as "Usher" now can I?) voice, lyrics and music? And I suppose maybe there is. But it's not the same, for some reason. I grew up reading a lot of different books by a lot of different authors. Gordon Korman's books entertained me again and again with their wacky characters and funny plots. But do I feel the need to hug him? Shake his hand, yeah, sure. But not hug him. Nor do I think about hugging any other author whom I grew up reading.

I read Jurassic Park when I was ridiculously young. So young that some of the language was beyond me and the content a little too mature for me at the time. But it was a book about dinosaurs and so it had to be read - that's how I saw it back then. I probably had to read it a few more times as I got a little older to really absorb it properly and fully appreciate it. I've read Crichton's work with regularity ever since and can always have a soft spot for him in honour of his taking a subject that meant so much to me when I was young and weaving it into a smart, exciting, well-written story that almost single-handedly brought dinosaurs back into pop culture (what with the eventual release of the movie) But I've never thought of meeting Michael Crichton and giving him a big ol' hug.

Is it because I fancy myself a writer? I can't be delusional enough to think of someone like Michael Crichton, or any published author for that matter, as a colleague. In my wildest dreams, I couldn't do what Mats Sundin or David Usher do - but will I ever be half the writer that any on my list are? I doubt it. And even if I somehow equal one or more of them, would that make me feel the need to hug any of them? I don't think so. But I don't know why.
I've spent so many hours reading, completely wrapped up in the world these people created for me and I respect and admire them endlessly. But if I met any of them, I think I'd be more shy than meeting a sports or music hero. Maybe that's it. After blathering about how I'm such a fan of their work, I'd eventually look down at the floor and mumble "I'm somewhat of a writer myself; that is, I'm trying to be," and who knows what any of them would say. What are they supposed to say? Are they supposed to get excited by this, as if they've never heard it a thousand times before and take a fanatical interest? Ask me to send them some of my material so they can maybe help me get it published?

If I ever meet Mats Sundin and have enough time to have a proper conversation with him, I imagine I would hug him almost right away if he was ok with it, then bombard him with praise and memories of some of my favourite feats of his. I did meet David Usher, briefly. I stammered that his music had meant a lot to me over the years and that I hoped he would continue for a long time to come. He was very gracious. I wanted to hug him but people literally mob the guy and it didn't seem the right thing to request at that moment.
There are lots of writers I wish I could meet. Lots I'd like to personally thank for inspiring me and filling me with awe and wonder etc. But the only one I think I'd ever care to hug is Stan Lee and that's more because of his persona than his actual work, I think. The guy invented freaking Spider-Man but others since have done a better job on him.

I never aspired to be a hockey player or a musician. Not seriously, anyway. They were more "wouldn't it be cool if" scenarios I'd sometimes play out it my head when I was likely supposed ot be paying attention in class or listening to my mother. Mats Sundin represents a team that I've loved passionately and irrationally for most of my life. David Usher represents music that was always there for me at various points in my life when I felt alone. Stephen King represents everything I aspire to be and maybe that's why I could never hug him. Writers aren't a touchy-feely group of people, anyway, it seems. So maybe it's all for the best.

Sebastion Cole - a different kind of master

I'd originally intended to write something else in here before posting the next excerpt but I've been kind of lagging in that area lately. I promise to pick it up in the near future. May has unfortunately become a month full of as much uncertainty as April was and I suppose I've been using that as an excuse to stem the creative flow as it were. But I'll soon set things right.
In the meantime, here's Cole in New York.

All this is what had attracted the Red Band Society to Sebastian. They came to know almost everything about him because that was the kind of thing they’d been doing since the formation of the club. The thirteen members had always made everything that went on in New York their business. Every vampire drone in the city was there because the Red Band Society wanted him or her to be there. They all served a purpose. The club’s vast wealth didn’t come directly from drones. Like the Masters, drones didn’t usually have jobs so the money mostly came from humans in their service. It was decided that Sebastian however, would not work out as human slave because of his arrogant and aggressive nature. The Red Bands deduced that if they tried to threaten him as they did many other wealthy people, he would try to resist them which would force them to kill him. And they did not want him dead. He controlled some very tempting assets in the city. But drones immediately inherited the programming that it was best to serve the Masters. So it was agreed (after being put to a vote, as they always did for important matters) that one of the members would bite him and turn him into a drone. Then, he would be brought before the rest of the club and told how things would work from then on. Bernard was chosen to perform the task of turning Cole.

But Bernard never came back. Instead, the evening following Bernard’s task, the Red Band Society found Sebastian Cole waiting for them in their board room, sitting in Bernard’s chair. He was a vampire, as they’d wanted, but he was no drone. He calmly explained to the shocked members that after being bitten by Bernard, but before being fully turned, he had killed the Master Vampire. He’d still been human when he managed to snuff Bernard out. Later, when the change was complete, Sebastian found that he now possessed all of Bernard’s knowledge. Naturally, included in this knowledge was the knowledge of the differences between Master vampires and drones. And Sebastian knew he was definitely a Master.

The Red Bands immediately put him to the test to prove his claims and he passed every one. Sebastian calmly and patiently (and with visible amusement) waited in the boardroom while several of the members rushed to the second floor to the archives, where all their vampire literature, material written by both vampires and humans over several centuries, was stored. Hours were spent trying to find any mention of the phenomenon that had occurred. None was found.

And so a new entry was made. It appeared that if a human bitten by a Master somehow managed to kill the Master before turning into a drone, said human would turn instead into a full Master vampire, apparently inheriting the abilities of the slain Master. None of the Red Bands were particularly pleased by this discovery but in the end they reasoned they simply had to accept Sebastian as a member. They’d respected him when he was a human and knew he would be an extremely dangerous foe as a Master vampire. Fortunately, Sebastian was completely satisfied with becoming a vampire as it gave him even more power than he’d enjoyed as a human and since he was a Master, none of the Red Bands would have any power over him as they’d originally planned.

But this did not mean the other members didn’t resent him. They all did. They often enjoyed reminding him that, while he possessed all of the abilities of a Master and all of Bernard’s prior knowledge, he was still not a true Master. They were all born vampires who had been around for centuries and he had been a man born in 1964.

Sebastian never let on that this bothered him. He accepted their glares and snide remarks with good humour and often ignored them altogether. He’d been ambitious as a man and he was doubly ambitious as a vampire and he didn’t want to waste time squabbling with the other members over things that couldn’t be changed. Plus he knew that they knew he was a valuable asset to the club. As a drone they would have simply controlled him but as their equal, he could offer his own ideas and insights and these were more often than not quite useful. As the only former human, he had an understanding of the human psyche that none of them had, despite all their centuries of life. Three of them had been around since the late fifteen hundreds but Sebastian was always teaching them things. Truth be told, the entire situation amused him to no end.

problem fixed

The excerpt posting problem has been corrected. Hossanahs, hossanahs!

Meet Adam Fairbanks

It was pretty difficult to align this properly so that it would fit. But anyway, here is the beginning of Chapter Two. That's right, no Chapter One or Prologue for you. I don't know the rules of posting excerpts from a novel - it's a tricky thing. Hopefully, I'll get better at it or learn the rules in time. Enjoy.

Trenton, New Jersey

Adam Fairbanks was doing his best to think fast. Why do there have to be three of them? was his first thought. He couldn’t have handled even one assailant on his own, but three? He recalled that his mother once said that bad things always came in threes. That appeared to be true of bullies, for sure. They were after all, very bad things. This trio consisted of the tall bully, the fat bully and their leader, the ugly bully.

It was the ugly bully who stood with the other two flanking his either side. He delivered another quick jab of a shove into Adam’s chest, knocking the smaller boy backwards a few steps.

“So you think you’re better than us, you little puke?” demanded Ugly. “Think you’re better than regular people?”

Adam took a quick glance over his shoulder. He was dangerously close to the fence. His only escape could be around his antagonists. He doubted very much he would even make it out of the playground if he tried that. He was undersized even for a thirteen year old and his legs were considerably shorter than those of the bullies. Not to mention his backpack was heavy. He silently cursed himself for taking this route home. But cutting through the playground, which was simply a fenced in asphalt area with basketball courts at each end, cut seven minutes off his walk from the bus stop. On most days, he was in no hurry to get home and he would be content to doddle, taking whichever route he pleased. But today he’d decided to chance taking the shortcut so that he could get home to grab extra batteries for his camera. He wanted to shoot for as long as he could before it got dark out.

As he faced his tormenters, Adam realized his gamble hadn’t paid off. His school uniform attracted too much attention in places like playgrounds. He couldn’t run so all he could do was try to talk his way out.

“I don’t even know you,” he stammered. “Why would you think I think I’m better than you?”

The ugly bully sneered. “Of course you don’t know me. You wouldn’t even bother to know me. Since you think you’re somehow above other people.”

“I…it seems to me that you’re the one judging me without knowing anything about me,” said Adam, regretting the words as soon as they escaped his mouth. But he went on anyway. “I mean, we’ve never met as far as I know and then you come up to me and tell me what you think I am.”

If the ugly bully was at a loss following Adam’s rebuttal, he was bailed out by the fat bully. “We know all we need to know about you. The way you walk around in that uniform. I guess you’re too good for a public school. Your parents are probably rich and send you to a private school so you won’t have to mix with non rich kids.”

Adam slowly edged to his left, trying to make his movements appear casual. He had to buy himself some more time.

“I don’t know why my parents send me to private school but it’s not like it was my idea. And wearing the uniform definitely wasn’t my idea but it’s what I have to wear. I’ve gone to public school before and I liked it fine. But when my family moved here and I was enrolled at my school, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

The ugly bully found his voice again. “So your parents are rich, huh? Maybe it isn’t your fault what you wear or what school you go to – it’s just the way they raised you.”

Here he paused and looked down at his shoes. Adam stopped his furtive movements. This couldn’t be it. Bullies couldn’t actually be reasoned with. And if they could, he couldn’t have been the one to pull it off. Something was coming.

“You’re not to blame for your situation, kid,” said the ugly bully. “I see now you don’t think you’re better than people who aren’t rich like you. So I figure you’d like to do something to even things out a little. Make things more square. I mean, you said you don’t think you’re just better than us. You don’t think you deserve things better than we do, right?”

Adam recognized the trap, but he could do nothing.

“Right.”

“So I think you’ve probably got a few things with you that you could part with. Stuff you could share with others less fortunate than yourself.”

“I really don’t have-”

“Let’s just take a look in your backpack.”

Adam darted to his left and tried to break past them. But the tall bully, while silent during the whole exchange, had evidently been paying attention and he stepped in front of Adam and caught him. Adam was roughly shoved against the fence. The fat bully stepped right in front of him to block Adam’s way, spacing out his feet to make himself even wider.

“You’re rich enough to replace whatever we take,” laughed the fat bully. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He made a grab for Adam but Adam ducked under his arm and dove through the opening between his legs. Getting to his feet quickly was difficult because of the weight of his book bag but he still managed to break into a run before any of the three had turned around. His sneakers pounding on the pavement (thank God the dress code permitted sneakers), Adam ran flat out across the playground, headed for the gap in the fence at the far end. He ran right through a basketball game being played by some high school kids, just barely managing not to collide with any of the players. He didn’t even bother to look behind him to see how close his pursuers were. He could hear well enough that they were giving chase and already catching up. But then, just before reaching the playground’s edge, he did turn as he heard a commotion behind him. The bullies hadn’t fared as well in running through the game. The ugly bully had run into the ball carrier and the other two had stopped dead as the players shouted their objections. Even though his legs hurt and his lungs were already burning, Adam didn’t stick around to see what would happen next. There was a wooded area just ahead of him. It was a place full of walking paths and the trees were too far apart from each other to provide much cover but it was only option he had.

He kept running until he was confident he was in far enough to be hidden from the view of the playground. He collapsed with his back against one of the larger trees. It took him another minute to fully catch his breath. Then he removed the damning dark blue jacket of his school uniform, suddenly realizing that he was hot and sweaty. For a moment he pondered how such a short run could have made him perspire so much until he remembered that he’d been perspiring before he’d even started his escape.

V World update

Not so much an update as a promise that a small excerpt is going to go up here really soon. Honest.

Adam Brody and the creative process

The other day I found myself reading a New York Times article via the imdb site. It was about actor Adam Brody, with the focus being his upcoming movie, In The Land of Women. I don't really know a lot about the guy. Just that he played a geek-type character on The O.C. (a show I saw about two episodes of by virtue of everyone I knew in Sydney seemed to watch it).

I found I rather liked Brody based on some of his quotes in the article. At one point, he describes himself as a "fake intellectual" - referring to the misconception most people have of him based on his characters in television. He admits he's not particularly well-read and is at times uncomfortable with people thinking that he is. I've got to respect the guy for his honesty. Plus, his acting ability is obviously pretty good if his geek character in Orange County was deemed cool enough for him to have a hot girlfriend on the show - this seeming believeable to the audience, I suppose. Now, certain scripts define certain characters as an "Adam Brody type" - that is, a somewhat low-key, loveable loser type who's actually pretty cool while still being true to his geeky roots. Quietly going about his business and getting the girl. It seems he's playing a very similar character in the movie and once more, he gets the girl(s).

It was probably inevitable that an actor would make geek culture hip and mainstream at some point but props to Brody for allegedly being the first. (he's the new Zach Braff!)

The other quote of his that really struck me went something like "I'm not really that creative (original?) I just know how to take things that I like and repackage them in a slightly different way." This struck me because maybe that's what I'm like. I want to write. I write. But so far, have I come up with anything particularly original? Not yet. My current effort is basically me standing on the shoulders of giants, my personal heroes, and trying to build on what they've shown me without completely ripping them off.

Really talented people sometimes get me upset as I don't think of myself as overly talented anyway and I've got a boatload of confidence issues besides. One of the main things that upsets me about talented people is they usually are good at more than one thing. I find myself thinking this is unfair even if the things are related. Case in point, I'm jealous of say, Ben Folds (whom I adore more than I could ever really be jealous of) because not only is he a phenomenal pianist, but he's also amazing at song writing, arranging AND the guy can sing really well. It all just seems to click with that guy. Which, don't get me wrong, is a great thing. I always wish I was better at piano. But if I was, I still couldn't write decent songs. But oh well. I'm musical, sure, (hell, ive even got an Outstanding Musician Award) but it's not really my arena.

So take any number of great writers I look up to. They all have the ability to come up with great ideas for stories and then tell the stories in really great fashion. Here's where I feel wanting - I think I really have the ability to write well. To write convincingly, to create mood, to present realistic and interesting characters, to set up action, suspense, etc. I'm still learning but I'm getting better all the time. I really do believe that. But here's the thing - the idea. Oh, the idea! So far, I'm not so hot at that. I want to write for Marvel someday. But why? Do I want to create new characters for them? Not really. I want to take characters invented by others before me and tell stories with them. I want to weave tales involving Spider Man, the X-Men and Moon Knight. And I think I could do it too. But could I really show everyone something they haven't seen before? I don't know. But I want to.

So maybe I won't be too hard on myself as I write V World, which, admittedly, is not an overly original novel. I'll write and create and weave and try to be original and different, but at the same time I won't put a ton of pressure on myself to reinvent the wheel. There's still time for my idea making chops to improve, after all.

For now, I'll try to take a page out of Adam Brody's book (I wasn't going for any sort of pun here but here we are) and just try to be happy with who I am and where it's got me so far, creatively speaking. If I focus on my strengths, the rest will come in time. Here's hoping anyway.

Why I do this

I recently visited Charlie Huston's site because I hadn't been there in ages. I was basically looking for Moon Knight and/or ComicCon news but didn't find any. However, one of his more recent posts was sort of about a life-changing experience that he had when he was fifteen. That experience was first reading Stephen King. Oddly enough, that first book he read was Firestarter - a book I've always assumed to be one of the lesser offerings from King and haven't even personally gotten around to reading myself. Huston's site is pulpnoir.com and I strongly suggest you go there not just to read that post but also to take a look at a guy I'd really like to emulate.
Some of that emulation starts right here.

I don't remember how old I was when I first read a Stephen King novel but I'd been aware of him for years, basically as "the horror guy" - a label I'm sure used to drive him crazy back in the eighties - I doubt he much cares anymore. If people really want to go on thinking the guy can only successfully write one genre then that's their problem.

So the first book...I'm not sure. I read at just as frenetic a pace ten years ago as I do now so it's pretty hard to keep track of what Ive read, at least as far as the order in which Ive read it. I also have a history or reading and the rereading the same books for years despite the fact that I'm always trying to fit new things in.

Anyway, I think I'd read about two King books before I got to the one that changed it all for me - The Stand. Maybe that's cliché - if it is, that's ok because even the best writers work in cliché. There wasn't one single thing about the book that affected me - it was everything. The sheer size and scope blew me away in ways other long books hadn't because I couldn't find any boring parts. Absolutely zero parts where the book dragged. Everything thrilled me and interested me. Some parts feeling like the equivalent of having glass thrown in my face immediately after taking the roundhouse kick that sent me to the floor. Years later I would read the revised edition with the extra content, bring the book's fantastic lenghth up even further and I lapped all that up too. You see, it wasn't the first really long book I'd read. It was simply the first really long book I'd read where I understood WHY it was so long. Everything needed to be in there and none of it could be rushed.

I love backstory - I love knowing a character's history even if they are only a minor player. King excels at this. I love him for giving me little sketches and vignettes of characters who would only appear in one chapter. It just adds all this depth and realism that just brings me so much further into the story. Now, for some people, it has the exact opposite effect, but for me, it makes everything more real. Because King didn't (and doesn't) give you the wrong parts. He knows what to give and what to hold back. I realize I can't just throw a ton of info about a minor character at the reader and expect them to love me for it. It's a delicate balance and one Ive been trying to perfect through practice. V World will put this to the ultimate test as I struggle with a large cast and gigantic supporting cast. I'll have to figure out what should be included and what should be left out.

Maybe I haven't done such a hot job of explaining this. So here's another example. In 1996, Onslaught took the Marvel universe (that's universe 616 for those of you who don't know) by storm. He affected EVERY SINGLE TITLE. But anyway, in a comic that I believe is an Unacnny X-Men (I actually now own this comic but I'm too lazy to go digging for it right now), just one of the many angles of the massive Sentinel attack on New York City is presented. It's obviously one of the most important angles, as it features members of the X-Men, Avengers and Fantastic Four all working together to stop the giant robot invaders. But it's not this angle that struck me. It's the opening.

I was reading this comic sometime in late 1996 in my friend, Ryan's bedroom (it was his comic, obviously) and I didn't say anything to him about the little epiphany I had because I didn't really know if it meant anything at the time. I wondered if maybe I was just too easily impressed. I realize Ive done an awful lot of talking without actually getting to what this opening comprised of - it will most likely disappoint you now after all the hype.

The comic opens with a scene at an apartment in New York. There is no X man there. No Avenger. No other Marvel Super hero, major or minor. Nor is the character presented related in any way to any hero. He's just a guy. The narration tells us this man's thoughts as he's dragging himself out of his bed in the morning. He thinks the landlord is an absolute crook - he still can't believe how much rent he's paying for such a small, shitty apartment. It's cramped and it's dull and it's way up on a very high floor. As he reaches to open his curtains to shed some light on his darkened bedroom he reflects the damn place only has one thing going for it: the view. As the words, "the view" are revealed in the next panel, the curtains are drawn aside and this guy finds himself face to face with the, uh, face of a giant sentinel robot. The next panel is an entire page - it's the title page and it's a wide shot of New York with hundreds of Sentinels swarming all over the place from the streets between the massive skyscrapers, the bridge, the harbour and even Ellis Island and the Statue of liberty. THEN we get to the heroes and what they're up to.

I realize now that this kind of opening is pretty standard stuff. But at the time, my twelve year old self was absolutely blown away. I think it was again a question of scope and magnitude. Of perspective. One thing that always made me prefer Marvel to DC was the interconnectedness ( a real word?) of it all. So now you know one truth about me: when I'm being told a story, I want to see it from all possible angles. I absolutely eat up that "meanwhile, back at the ranch" type approach and it's reflected in my favourite books, comics, movies and TV show episodes.
Getting back to King and the Stand. Besides the fact that it was a massive, sprawling narrative with dozens of characters and points of view that all combined into one story, another thing that hit me about it all was the amazing simplicity. I know you're probably thinking that completely contradicts everything I was just talking about but what I mean is, nothing in the book that happens is especially clever or intricate. And King can do clever. This book was more about black and white, good and evil and King didn't pull any punches in this one about that stuff.
Flagg is a wonderful character for a lot of reasons but I think what Ive always liked best about him is the fact that he is essentially very simple. King just made him as a representation of evil. He is not complex. We don't have to guess at his intentions - the dude's fucking evil and that's all there is to it. How he goes about his evil is also very simple. Basically, King told us, wherever there was evil, Flagg was there. From sketchy behind the scenes stuff to the most blatantly obvious, Flagg was there, being evil.

I think I loved that because when I was younger, I used to believe that if I was going to be a writer, everything I wrote would have to be clever. Pretentious to the point where people would read it, recognize it as obviously pretentious, and then actually decide it WASN'T because I must have been trying to be ironic. Hence, I am clever and a good writer. But you don't need that bullshit and I think it really took King and The Stand to teach me that. At the end of the day, it's about telling a good story and that's exactly what I plan to do.

inspiration

Ideas have been coming fast and furious over the past few days and I have to make sure not to just stick them all in V World. I've taken a brief hiatus on the novel while I sort out these new ideas. One is some sort of fantasy novel or novella in the spirit of 1984 and Brazil among others, that's going to focus a lot on locales that are a lot like off-shore oil rigs. Another is a noir-style graphic novel based loosely on a classic story (not saying what that story is). The rest are disjointed sci-fi type elements that very well may find their way into V World.
Some musings are coming up soon for this page. Expect them to be insightful, poetic, self-righteous and weird. Stay tuned.

i forgot

I forgot Mr. Michael Chrichton - a writer whose pacing i hope to emulate but I will never match his dedication when it comes to doing research for a novel.

V World enters chapter eight...

Writers I admire and try not to rip off

Stephen King
R.A. Salvatore
Agatha Christie
Frank Miller
Doug Moench
Gordon Korman
Clive Barker
Charlie Huston
Tennessee Williams
Hunter Thompson