Tom Flanders' Blog

100 Words - Meditation Anxiety

2012-01-31T21:08:00.000-08:00

My attempts at meditation are without discipline. I've got the sitting quietly part down pretty good and I'm very good at breathing. Then comes the clearing your head part. I start off good, letting thoughts enter my head and float away like clouds, passing through my consciousness barely acknowledged. Then a thought will catch my attention. An epiphany? Some great truth revealed? No, some trivial idea burlesqued into a story idea. The next twenty minutes spent pursuing the idea to usually unsatisfactory results. Then I realize what I've done, return to my breathing, but the moment for reflection has passed.

Book Review - Passion Play by Jerzy Kosinski

2012-01-28T20:48:00.000-08:00

In this 1979 novel Jerzy projects himself into the role of errant knight polo player Fabian. Aging seducer of young girls, wandering the country in his camper/stable on wheels, looking for polo matches or a short teaching gig, with occasional diversions into sex clubs and pre-op transsexuals.

Fabian's main problem is that he's too good at the game for his own good. So good in fact that no one will play with him or against him. Kosinski repeats this theme in 1982's PINBALL, only in that case it's an aging composer who was too good for his own good. It might be argued that Kosinski considered his writing to be too good, or at least too far over the heads of most readers. I think most writers feel that at some point in their careers, though almost none of them can back that sentiment up with a masterpieces like THE PAINTED BIRD or BEING THERE.

That is of course the problem with most of Kosinski's books; They are only very good. Always people look back to his crowning glories and ask, "why isn't this new book that great?"

I enjoyed this book. It was at points more cynical and conversely more romantic than I expected. I like being surprised. One difficulty I imagine some readers would have is not knowing, or at least not believing, that a polo player would illicit such lust in the hearts of women. Well, then you've never known a young female equestrian. I lost more than one object of desire to the visiting polo scoundrel, so no suspension of disbelief was required on my part.

One of the things I did not like were some of the more tediously drawn out sex scenes. I think Kosinski was aware of this and worked on it because his next book PINBALL has several of the hottest sex scenes I've ever read.

100 words - Another Dance

2012-01-15T18:03:00.001-08:00

Hello June. Teach me to waltz and I'll buy you a rose. Then we'll sit in the balcony, you smelling your new flower and me eating chocolate Pez from Winnie the Pooh's goiter. The dancers below will twirl and swirl and unfurl. You'll laugh at my silly alliterations. Then we'll sit quietly for a while, both dreading what will happen next. You, for the rejection you must give. Me, knowing of the impending rejection but driven by needs unrelenting. Sex always gets in the way, especially when there isn't any. I try to lose myself in distraction. You're crying again.

100 Words - Spit

2012-01-05T16:44:00.000-08:00

I try to write. I'm hesitant, Afraid. That's the key word isn't it, afraid? Not of failure. Not of criticism. Fear of indifference. Sometimes I want to spit in people's faces. Sure they'll hate me for it, but they'll acknowledge me. They'll scream that my writing is foul and worthless and I'll smile because they are talking about my writing. I will stand on a pedestal of their hatred and and pity them. So easy they are to manipulate. The howling masses feeding my ego. Hating me. I am important. I matter. Hey, someone has to wear the black hat.

100 Words - Wounded

2012-01-01T21:41:00.001-08:00

There is a wounded bike out there somewhere. It calls to me. I try not to listen. I have too many strays already. They clutter up the cottage in various states of assembly. Some need wheels. Some need gears. Others just need some love and attention. They wait. Wait for me to make them whole again so they can go off and be abused by some new kid somewhere. Muddy sneakers on pristine pedals. Peanut butter stains on the handlebars. The stuff of kid bike dreams. They must wait. A bent and broken bike calls me. Somewhere in the dark.

100 Words - The Character

2011-12-22T22:20:00.000-08:00

Where does the character end? Which is you and which is the persona you show the world? Do you even know anymore? The invention of a self which is not our self. Part real, part fantasy, part necessity. The whole equals less than the sum of its parts. It lacks authenticity. Is that a problem? Is reality all that important after all? No one thinks a movie is real. Plays are staged. No one thinks the bad guy is really a bad guy out here in the real world. Maybe it's OK to be a character in a reality show.

100 Words - The Professor

2011-12-18T22:04:00.000-08:00

German in the best language for punk rock. Latin the best for impressing douche bags. So what's the difference? The professor on the train knows. He reads Kakfa in Latin and looks up every third word in his Latin to German dictionary. I would think that finding Kafka in German would be as easy as finding Kafka in Latin would be difficult, but the professor soldiers on. He's as afraid of crowds as I am, but he is passive where I am active. He stands and waits, I go upstream to the empty train, but we always end up together.

100 Words - Forget It

2011-12-14T20:46:00.001-08:00

Not far from here there is another place that looks nothing like this place. It's amazing how often that happens. Sorry, I'm trying too hard to be clever. I've worn out my organic thoughts so I'm trying to invent an engaging world out of thin air. It's not working. Now I've fallen into the trap of writing about not being able to write. This crap is so trite they could publish it in The New Yorker. Oh God, such shame. Promise me you won't tell anyone I wrote this. Just move on, nothing to see here. Forgive me. Forget it.

100 Words - What Robots Know

2011-12-11T21:12:00.001-08:00

The robots are out there. They're gathering their info. Someday soon they will know all they need to know. Not everything. Everything is infinity. At some point, unknown to us in here, but no doubt programmed into the robots, the circuits will click and the gathering will be finished. I can only assume that then the hunting will begin. They will find their way in here. We'll be trapped. There will be no escape as the soulless robots relentlessly tell us everything they have learned. Like an uncle's eternal taxidermy slide show. The weaker among us whisper prayers for death.

100 words - Give me your sadness

2011-12-08T20:47:00.000-08:00

She cried till the ice cream melted then handed me a cup of her tears. I drank them. They were salty on my tongue. Thicker than water but thinner than blood. They seemed to congeal in my throat then spun down my esophagus as a single entity. The total of her sadness was in me. It invaded my stomach and flowed trough every wall, through every vein till it infected my entire body. I was a being of sadness. Her sadness. She smiled at me and touched my cheek. I fainted. I woke alone on the floor, my destiny fulfilled.

100 Words - Yo Yo

2011-11-27T21:13:00.000-08:00

If I wanted to listen to heavy metal I would listen to heavy metal. So much of what they call heavy metal sounds like tin foil to me. The hair bands. What's the point? It was the past and now it isn't. Now it's what we, till recently, called the future. Plays on words. Tense about tense. Emotional yo-yos befitting a dick joke. Up, down, in, out. Insert masturbation metaphor here. Did I write that out loud? No, I keyed it gently in. Liquid crystals dancing into words. So fleeting. Like a proctologist's nurse. Why do I write these things?

100 Words - The Painting

2011-11-23T21:35:00.001-08:00

The dirty old hippie pulled an old little red wagon. In the wagon was a weird painting that at first looked like nothing but green glow-in-the-dark paint but when you looked straight into it, like one of those magic eye pictures, you could see things. But unlike the magic eye pictures which have one hidden image this one had many layers and everyone who looked at it saw something different. The hippie said I could have it for the forty dollars he needed to buy heroin. I gave him the forty dollars. The painting hangs on my living room wall.

100 Words - Life on Film

2011-11-21T20:47:00.001-08:00

I have a song stuck in my head, only I love this song and never want it to stop. It could be the soundtrack to my life. Like if people were watching a movie of my life this would be the background music. It sums up my moods throughout the stages of my life working backwards from the second verse being how I feel now through the fifth and final verse which was my childhood. I can only assume that the first verse will be my old age. If so, my life's film is four minutes and fifty-six seconds long.

100 Words - Incomplete Glory

2011-11-20T20:37:00.000-08:00

Songs of love and incomplete glory. The metal flesh so inviting. Reach out and touch me when I sleep. Shivers of consciousness. Rolling away, pausing, understanding, rolling back into an awkward embrace. The fear of the pain that I will see but never feel. Distance allows a gentle kiss then pulls back. Walls leap to guard the crystal being. Electricity fades. A voice sings somewhere inside us both. A long high note of tragic beauty. The crystal body shudders. The voice holds just below the point of breaking then fades. The crystal is safe again. I roll over not sleeping.

100 Words - Context

2011-11-18T20:27:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I feel like a nostril collecting words of snot in my fine little hairs waiting for the finger to come take the words away and put them down on paper somewhere. Other times the words stain the paper like blood flowing from the wounds in my self esteem.

"Writers of fiction." He spat the word fiction like it was a crime against humanity. He may not be wrong.

I built a tall tower with no foundation. Now it sinks into the swamp of my longing. Starting over and over, running in a circle of creative options. Defining without context.

Bike Project Updates

2011-11-17T21:28:00.000-08:00

eBaby
I finally got the front deraileur working exactly to my liking. The breakthrough was to loosen the clamp and rotate it ever so slightly. The blades are now aligned perfectly. (Thanks to Sheldon Brown’s website for that tip.)

Glamour Puss
Managed to straighten the handlebars. The trick was that I had to loosen the headset and not just the bolt holding the handlebars on. That one I discovered on my own.

100 Words: Music Breathing

2011-11-16T19:49:00.000-08:00

Music. Breathing. Another nightmare. Jesus save me from myself. Scary things in the dark. Hairy things crawling inside the walls. Things of my own unwanted invention. An accidental Frankenstein. Powers hidden unhidden, revealed to no one. It's all in my head, but that doesn't mean it isn't real.

Music. Breathing. Calm returns. The heart monitor stops beeping. I am safe again. The dreams will not take my life tonight. I've won another dawn. The rising sun floods my little room and warms my eyes. Off to a quiet sleep. Nightmares only happen behind cold eyes. Sunshine dreams have no fear.

100 words - Brewster's Fog

2011-11-10T21:51:00.001-08:00

Walking slowly through Brewster's Fog, candy-flavored smoke swirling behind her, she pauses to check her reflection in the bike shop window. She frowns at the spokes across her wavy face and turns away. Voices from three floors above the pavement float down and whisper in her ear secrets muffled and garbled by height, wind and moisture. She closes her eyes and listens to the whispers believing what she doesn't understand. Footsteps in the distance set her in motion though she knows it's not him. His feet make no sound till they're running away from another slit throat. She walks away.

100 words(x3) - Roadvision

2011-11-06T20:35:00.000-08:00

I have visions of a dirt road somewhere. I don't recognize it. There are few trees but they're green. There is no grass. The ground is dry but not sandy. It isn't a desert or farmland. The road is worn but not rutted. The sky is gray. The sun weak. The road slopes gently downward. I can see a long way. Just before the horizon the dirt road meets a paved road running diagonally across it. I can't tell if the dirt road continues after the intersection. I'm afraid of this road. It goes somewhere I don't want to go.

I find myself on a bike. Not an uncommon position for me. The dirt road beckons and cautions. I release the hand brake. The bike rolls. I squeeze the brake again. The bike stops. I am in control. I can stop this if I have to. For a moment I'm tempted to look back, to see what's behind me. To see what pursues me. Pushes me. I resist. To look back would be to wake up. Dreams, unwanted or not, will tolerate no safety net. I let go brake. I roll forward. Soon speed is upon me. Too much speed.

My heart races, threatening to explode. I sit light in the saddle. My arms and legs pump up and down with the ripples in the road. I'm not afraid, I'm exhilarated. I know that if I fell I would be awake before I hit the ground. With a violent jerk and twitch I am lying in my bed, my heart pounding, betrayed by the knowledge of safety. Only in danger can we find the truth. I breath deeply several times. Three seconds inhale. Six seconds exhale. I am calm again. I am sad again. Another dream wasted. Another road lost.

Bike Project Update - Schwinn Aerostar

2011-11-02T21:33:00.000-07:00

A new bike! I picked it up on ebay for $10. I did some research before bidding and found that this is one of Schwinn's best 20" kids bikes. It sells for almost $200 new. The listing on eBay was very sparse and I don't think anyone else noticed that it was such a good little bike.

It doesn't need much work, mostly just cleaning and adjustments. The handlebars were crooked. The reflectors were crooked. The rear wheel was crooked. All easy fixes. The chain guard was bent out. That was also an easy fix, but there are some paint chips and bare spots. It may be hard to match the paint. The only tricky bit is the brake cable. It was bare in a few places and much too long. Also the gaskets where the cable goes through the frame are both loose and will need gluing.

Now comes the fun part. I have no little kids, and I would feel like a Grinch making money off little kids, so I decided to donate it to some charity. You'd think that would be simple enough. It's not. None of the community bike shops will take it because it's not up their standards. It actually is up to their standards but because it's a Schwinn they assume that it's a piece of junk from some big box store. So then I looked at other, non-bike-oriented, charities. They all want new. Used is no good to them.

So if you know some kid who wants/needs a free cool little bike covered with space stickers let me know. I still have some cleanup to do, but it will ready to go this weekend.

eBaby Update

2011-10-23T19:55:00.000-07:00

With the handling problems sorted out the eBaby is finally in running condition. I took it over to the bike track in Golden Gate Park for its first speed test. It went OK and despite a strong wind I did a 5K averaging 17.9 MPH. That's a full MPH faster than my best on the Lambo, which was done on a day with no wind.

There were a few issues. I'm still about twenty pounds or so away from being able to get in a more aerodynamic position without my knees hitting my gut on every stroke. I'm also several months or more away from having legs strong enough to use the higher gears. I only managed to get through the first 12 of the 18 available gears.

So between my big gut, weak legs and overworked heart it looks like my goal of doing a race or two in 2012 will have to wait till 2013.

Bike Project Updates

2011-10-09T20:17:00.000-07:00

The ebaby - The new headset came. I installed it and it did solve the handling problem. I also had to shorten the chain because the rear derailer wasn't being pulled enough to work properly for certain gear combinations. I took it for another test ride and everything worked hunky dory. As I feared though, the bike is much faster than I am. With the front gears in high I'm only able to pedal up to third gear, of nine, in the back. Need to build those legs up.

The Lambo - Noticed that the headset has worked itself a little loose. Now I have to research how to adjust a threaded headset. (The eBaby has an unthreaded headset.)

The next project - I nearly got a funky mountain bike off eBay for $9.99. I was outbid with 10 seconds to go, then that person was outbid with 2 seconds to go. It sold for a whole $26. Too rich for my blood.

Cycling goals for 2011 - A bad bout of gout has me behind my hoped-for mileage for the month. I'm up to 775 miles out of the 1000 so there's no need for panic yet, but daylight savings ends soon so I loose the commuting miles.

50 Words

2011-10-02T18:29:00.001-07:00

Saturday night in Terminus. The sky is falling and the temperature is rising. Dirt roads beckon but gates deny. Dead ends and angry sheep. Truck washes and owls at dusk. The foot swells and hurts more. The machine is untrusted and out of its element. Tweeks are needed. Promises unfulfilled.

Bikes in the News - 9/28

2011-09-28T22:02:00.000-07:00

Bicycle manufacturing facility coming to North Portland
Bike Portland - 9/28/11
By mid-October, a new company called Zen Bicycle Fabrication will be the latest addition to Portland's always-growing bicycle industry.

Fixed-Gear Bicycles are an American Fixture in Paris
New York Times - 9/28/11
Suddenly, fixies — the finicky one-speed bikes that, without freewheels, cannot coast — seem to be everywhere: on the cobblestones of the Marais, the boulevards of the Latin Quarter, the north slope of Montmartre.

Swede bike lane proposed, with parking still allowed most hours
Our Midland - 9/28/11
After months of discussion, the Midland Planning Commission has recommended adding a bicycle lane to Swede Avenue from Wackerly Street to Patrick Road with partial parking restrictions.
(A cool idea for a compromised bike lane.)

Overcrowded Westmount Bike Path Become Safety Hazard Group
Montreal Gazette - 9/28/11
The two-way de Maisonneuve bike path that traverses Westmount should be changed to a one-way bike lane running westward, with eastbound cyclists diverted onto Ste. Catherine St. W., says a citizens advocacy group.
(An overcrowded bike lane? Such a problem.)

Writing Update

2011-09-27T22:20:00.000-07:00

Not much to report. After a long black void I am slowly getting back to the desk. Not overly productive yet, but I'm daydreaming alot lately which for me is the first step of the writing process. So things are looking up.

I'm also starting to think about doing the Novel in a Month thing in November. Just a few week ago the thought of it made me cringe but now I think it might be possible again.

Bike Project Updates

2011-09-27T22:18:00.000-07:00

I've been busy working on the bikes lately so I thought I'd give you all an update.

The Lambo - Most importantly the Schwalbe tires and tubes have done their job and it's been many months since I had a flat. I've also gotten better at getting the Shimano Tourney drivetrain into tune. The front shifts into first almost every time now and the rear now upshifts into fourt just fine, though downshifting requires a trip to third first.

The ebaby - After a long time I finally got around to finishing the big project. The great day of the test ride finally came and it scared me to death. I didn't know that a bike could handle that badly. Well, some research and many adjustments later it is nearly rideable. I managed to damage the headset so I had to order another. When it comes I am 73% sure that all the handling issues will be corrected.

Foldy - At a yard sale I bought this folding mountain bike in need of some TLC. I paid too much, $75, but it was perfect for taking in the RV so I bought it. Turns out all it needed was some new tubes and a tuneup. Unfortunately I managed to ride it less than a mile before the RV, and within it the folding bike, got stolen. Ah well.

Cycling goals for 2011 - Slow progress has pushed most of my earlier goals to next year, but one is still on track. I'm trying to ride 1000 miles in 2011. So far I've gone 740 miles. That means I need less than 100 miles a month.

The next project - I'm looking for something I can work on and funkify. Got a crappy bike sitting in your garage or cellar that you're not using? Drop me a note and I'll haul it away free of charge. (Aren't I nice?)

Bikes in the News

2011-09-27T22:11:00.000-07:00

A new semi-daily roundup of news from the cycling world. Mostly it's a way to practice my editorial skills.

Volunteers gather to grow local bike train movement
Bike Portland - 9/27/11
Portland's grassroots movement to get kids and families to hop aboard school "bike trains" continues to grow. Last night 15 schools were represented at the second annual Bike Train Meet Up. That's quite a jump from the four schools that were a part of a similar gathering last year.
(A great idea. I always feel safer on Market Street when surrounded by other cyclists.)

Bike Lane Opponents File Appeal in Prospect Park West Lawsuit
Streets Blog - 9/27/11
Opponents of the Prospect Park West bike lane filed an appeal in their unsuccessful lawsuit against the city yesterday, hoping for a second chance to rip out the safety-enhancing redesign or, perhaps more likely, attract a few more months of headlines.
(This is part of the ongoing fight over bike lanes in NYC.)

The era of e-bikes is upon us
MSNBC - 9/27/11
E-bikes look and operate similar to their traditional pedal-powered equivalents, but contain a battery-powered motor that kicks on when, for example, pedaling up a menacing hill.

Arizona Cycling Wind Tunnel Unveiled Oct. 1
Bicycle Retailer and Industry News - 9/26/11
Faster, a combination retail and training facility whose features include a cycling-specific wind tunnel, will have its grand opening Oct. 1.
(A bike wind tunnel! Cool!)

The fourth enemy

2011-08-28T20:37:00.000-07:00

Feeling fatigued. Blood sugar normal. Blood pressure a bit high. Conclusion, dehydration. Once upon a time I didn't have to monitor my body. Didn't have to be constantly aware of the key measurables. I was, what do they call it, oh yes, young. Before the gout. Before the asthma. Before the diabetes. Before the 40 years of unhealthy living began to take it's toll. It was a simple life. Obviously not a life well planned or maintained, but simple nonetheless. Then the 40's came. First glance of the final enemy, old age. The only enemy that will never know defeat.

No Fame Please

2011-08-18T21:34:00.001-07:00

Now that I'm writing again I've come up an interesting conflict. I've come to realize that I don't want to be famous. Of course many people who have read my writing would argue that fame isn't something I need to worry about. Writing is my hobby. While I want people to read my works, and give me an honest opinion, I am really just writing for myself.

Some argue that my attitude is a cop-out. Saying that I don't want fame as a way of rationalizing my lack of success. Maybe they're right. Maybe I'm just too much of a coward to take on the responsibility of fame. If I write a book and it's a huge success and I go on all the talk shows, then what? Then I have to write a better book or all those people will say I let them down. I've already learned that if I feel like I have to write something it looses its joy and joyless words interest me not.

Besides, have you ever met a happy famous person? I met one, but that was Paul Newman. Every other person I've met who appeared anywhere on the scale of fame was either an emotional basket case, a total asshole or in some cases both. In my most recent encounter with fame was on the N-Judah streetcar. This guy got on that I recognized from a TV show I recently watched. He strutted down the aisle looking from side-to-side for any sign of recognition. When he got none he frowned and slumped into a seat. His claim to fame? He's a finalist on American Ninja Warrior. Obviously the world should be at his feet.

Carlos Castenada wrote about power, warning to be careful because most people do not wield their power but rather are ruled by their power. Look at Donald Trump. His power has destroyed all that was once human in him.

So without fame how do we measure our success? I have a wonderful family. A funky roof over my head. Dogs to keep my lap warm. Bike rides in the park. What more could I want?

Writing Again

2011-08-15T21:33:00.000-07:00

I haven't written in a long time. It's OK. It's not OK. It's both. Circumstances and brain chemistry removed my desire for creation. Floating in a purgatorial funk for many months. I can't call it writer's block because that implies that I was trying to write but couldn't. I wasn't trying to write. I wasn't even upset with myself for not wanting to write. It was OK to not want to write. Perhaps my writing time had passed.

Deep down I knew it wasn't OK. I felt that if I let this go that something within me would die and it could never come back. Life couldn't be the contented void that I saw stretching out before me. Then I went to see my doctor for my annual physical. After the usual pleasantries and standard medical inquiries she started asking me odd questions. I answered the best I could, not knowing where she was leading. Then she asked me outright if I thought I was depressed. I told he no, because I wasn't feeling sad. She pointed out that my answers to her questions pointed to an overwhelming apathy. As someone once said, the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference.

So after two months of medicinal trial-and-error fraught with a staggering array of side-effects, I suddenly find myself not only desiring to write, but actually writing. The words look so beautiful forming themselves on the page. My fingers dance over they keyboard like the embrace of a long lost lover. Better living through chemistry.

Tom Hits the Track

2011-05-01T23:25:00.001-07:00

One day I was sitting at my computer, Pat was at hers, when she asked me if I would be interested in a racing school at Stockton Speedway. I told I would, but doubted we could afford it. She told me that she had a half-off coupon. I jumped up and trotted over to her computer to see.

So a month later we make the trek to Stockton. We got there early and got to look around town some. This is not an activity I would recommend, unless you have a strong desire to have a drink in one Stockton's several structurally unsound bars.

So finally it was time to head to the track. Got all checked it and suited up. Pat and Tonya took their place in the stands to watch. Then I stood around for nearly an hour waiting for my class to start. The people running the show seemed to have no actual plan and several employees ran around doing all the work while several other stood around chatting.

Finally the called my group. We all piled into the pace car, or rather pace SUV, for a tour of the track. This was not an entirely pleasant experience. The SUV had a frightening amount of body role and the majority of the time the guy at the wheel, our instructor, was busy yelling at the cars being paced.

Finally the cars were paced to satisfaction and we were dropped off at the outdoor classroom. Where we sat for a long time while the instructor went and paced a few more groups. Finally he came over and gave us about fifteen minutes on the theory of cornering and instruction on the odd gearbox which consists of two levers, one for first and reverse and the other for second and third. Fortunately, once you get moving you leave it in third so that got rid of my shifting anxiety.

Then is was time for the ride-along with the professional driver. Actually it was time to stand around for quite a long time waiting to be picked at random for the ride-along. I finally got tired of waiting and put myself in the face of the pit manager and got put in a car.

The first thing I noticed was that I couldn't see anything. The seat was so low that I couldn't see the front, back or side of the car. Then we were off, and I do mean off. The speed was surreal. It was pretty frightening to see the wall rushing by the window and the corner leaping towards you up front. At the same time though, there was no real drama going on. The pro driver was moving like he was on a relaxing drive in the country, and the car had no body roll at all and there was never a peep from the tires. The four laps went by very quickly. I was left feeling very intimidated.

Then there was another wait. But finally my name was called and I was assigned to car number 1. Always a good sign. I got strapped in and sat waiting while the others got their belts adjusted. Surprisingly, sitting in the car was comforting. I was still scared though. First there was the lingering memory of the ride-along. Also, I hadn't driven a standard transmission car in several years. I was praying that I didn't stall it out and look like a fool.

Finally we got the order to start engines. The monster fired right up. Then I got waved forward. I pushed in the clutch, put it in first, let out the clutch and the car rolled forward without incident. Then as I approached the gate to the tack I was warned not to hit right wall, which I could not see. I steered slightly left and entered the track, apparently missing the wall. I took my place behind the pace SUV and waited for the others.

We ran the pace laps and did the passing drills, which was comforting, because now I knew that if I was in anyone's way, the flagman would tell me to pull over and let them pass. I worried less about going too slow.

Then the pace car pulled off and the green flag waved and the car in front of me barely accelerated. After a couple corners the flagman had him pull over to let me by. I went by and let the engine roar for the first time. It was surprisingly easy. Then next few laps I pressed a little harder and went much faster. I was amazed at the power of the brakes.

Then I came quickly upon another car and it took half a lap to get past him. A lap later I had to wait for another car to get out of my way. i had now passed all the other cars on the track. The ego took over. I pushed harder and found it no harder to slow it down for the corner. Each lap I pushed harder and went faster. Then I got caught behind a slower car. It was the one I passed on lap two. Two more quick laps and I got caught behind the other two cars going quite slowly. This time though the flagman didn't move them over. Turns out the session was almost over so I was stuck for another lap and a half till we pulled into the pits.

Broke Down on Kindle

2011-03-26T22:55:00.000-07:00

Yes, my latest novel, Broke Down on the Road to Glory, is now available for the Kindle for a mere 99 cents. How come it's so much cheaper than the print book? No dead trees!

I'm starting to warm up to this e-book concept. Being a closet tree-hugger I like the idea of killing fewer trees, but I also like being able to charge so much less for my books. That may sound weird, but being a relatively new writer I feel uncomfortable asking people to cough up ten bucks to read my stuff. But at less than a buck for the e-version, if they don't like it they're just out the cost of a single Krispy Kream.

On the other hand, 99 cents is about average for what I pay for books anyhow. The vast majority of my reading consumption comes from Goodwill and library books sales. I'm a cheap reader so I can only expect that my target audience are also cheap readers.

I guess now though I'll have to break down and buy one of the Kindle things for myself. Maybe finally get around to reading all those Project Gutenburg books I've been meaning to read.

http://www.amazon.com/Broke-Down-Road-Glory-ebook/dp/B004TNGLC0/ref=tmm_kin_title_0

100 Words

2011-03-22T21:01:00.001-07:00

There was nothing good on the radio the night that Spider left. He didn't mean to leave. He just wanted to get out and do something. He circled town twice and found nothing to do that he hadn't already done one too many times. The bars were full of people he'd already met. The movies he'd seen. The bands he'd heard. So he aimed the car west. He drove and drove till he came to a new town. Went into a new bar. Heard a new band. Met new people. Three years later, nothing on TV, he headed west again.

A Splinter In My Mind

2011-03-20T22:20:00.001-07:00

Somewhere among longing, desire and addiction there is writing. A disease. A mental illness. The arrogant belief that people will care to read whatever words my fingers happen to spit onto the page. The hubris of it all.

There are better things to be doing. There is a Harry Potter marathon on TV. There is a racing bike that needs its wheels put together. There is a pile of cardboard that needs to go to the recycling center. But no. I have a thought. It must be recorded. Everything must stop and wait while I make another feeble attempt at immortality.

I shut off the TV, put my headphones on and tune the internet radio program to the goth-industrial-techno music that keeps me pumped up with its beat without the distraction of any intelligible lyrics. The idea is transferred through the fingers and the keyboard onto the virtual page. Seeing my idea transformed into letters and words relieves the awful itch in my brain. I have written. I have conquered thought.

I save the file in the "use later" folder along with all the other stuff I simply had to write down at the time. All the stuff I still believe I will some day find a use for, find an audience for. Someone must want to read this.

Major Disappointment

2011-03-19T21:54:00.000-07:00

I finally got around to going to the bike shop today and bought all the grease and lube and stuff to make my bike all running smooth and everything. Then when I got home there was the box holding my bar end shifters. This would, barring any other surprises, be the last parts I would need. No more excuses, time to finish the build. I tore into the box and unwrapped something else. It wasn't my shifters! It was some other shifter parts for a flat handle bar.

A quick look at eBay showed me that the guy I bought the shifters from had also sold what I had gotten in the mail to someone else. I can only assume that person has my shifters. A simple mistake and I'm sure the seller will make good, but still, major disappointment!

A Minor Failure

2011-03-12T22:19:00.001-08:00

Last week I saw a scene of amazing passion, anger and righteous outrage. I've spent a week trying to recreate with the written word the facts and emotions of that moment. I spent countless hours typing and retyping. Rearranging adjectives and adverbs. Exploring the bounds of description, from straight reporting to metaphor glutted hyperbole. I have failed miserably. The faces, the voices and the invisible energy that drove and colored the moment haunt my words but will not manifest themselves. I am emasculated by this failure. One scene, one moment has wrestled by creativity to the ground. I must surrender.

My first Bike Build - OOPS!

2011-03-12T22:05:00.000-08:00

The aero bars don't fit. Well, to be accurate, the mounts are setup for a thinner handlebar. The handlebars I got bulge in the middle where the stem is mounted. I got these because they are what I got. I didn't really plan anything beyond making the numbers match and unfortunately the aero bars didn't have any numbers. Fortunately, it looks like all I need is some longer screws and perhaps some stiff plastic spacers. TO THE BIKE SHOP!

UPDATE

Well, the trip to the bike shop didn't help. Longer screws alone won't do it, so I either need to get thinner handlebars or a $50 dollar fit kit that will add three to four pounds. With my weight I don't think the thinner handlebars are a good idea. The fit kit looks really kludgey and I'm not sure that saving the aero bars is worth it. I did some research on the internet and think the best solution is to get a pair of bar end shifters. That will simplify things without too much additional cost. You can get new Shimano bar end shifters online for $56, so they should go for half that or so on eBay.

UPDATE 2

People who buy stuff on eBay are nuts. They are paying more for used bar end shifters than what new ones cost. Same model numbers and all. It makes no sense. I may have to buy new ones. Oh the shame.

Tinker Toys are not Lincoln Logs

2011-03-09T21:31:00.001-08:00

This thought came to me during the third hour of the second day of a two day project planning session. Yes, two full days, one right after the other, sitting in a conference room, planning. Pity me hard buckos.

So which am I and/or my writing, Tinker Toy or Lincoln Log? You can build a much wider variety of things with Tinker Toys, but you can build much more realistic things with Lincoln logs, as long as you stick to the log cabin milieu.

I've thought about it and I find that my writing is more like Tinker Toys. Vivid in imagination but somewhat lacking in definition. On the other hand, I find the idea of Lincoln Loggish writing to be over-planned and limiting. Looks like I'm just going to have to switch to Legos.

My First Bike Build - The Mockup Begins

2011-03-06T21:38:00.000-08:00

This is going surprisingly well. I need many fewer bits of hardware than I expected. The derailleurs went on with no problems. The bottom bracket fits. The seat actually does become much more rigid when attached to the seat post and the seat post fits into the whole and tightened up nicely. With seat and derailleurs attached it's actually starting to look like it might be a real bike by the time I'm done with it.

Next I put together the cranks, chain rings and bottom bracket. It all went together no problem. The black inner chain ring looks wonderfully out of place among all that chrome.

Then I started on the handlebars. The stem went on on the second attempt, the first attempt having failed because I had the thing backwards. Then came the first problem. (And I was doing so well!)

Three Chapters of Forgiveness

2011-03-01T21:52:00.000-08:00

I read a lot of crap. After several years on a diet of books from the shelves of the local Goodwill stores I've run through most of the authors whose names I recognize. So I'm forced to experiment. There have been some wonderful surprises, many that were just OK, and several that made me wonder how such a book every made it to print. Lately I've had a string of the baddies. Two books in a row I was unable to finish. Both were abandoned half way through chapter four.

I have this rule, which I didn't realize I had till just this week. I can overlook just about any flaw for the first three chapters of a book, but if chapter four sucks, forget it. This rule became obvious to me with my current read. It's from the middle of a detective series I hadn't heard of, and the first three chapters were pretty bad. Endless tracks of exposition about back stories and settings and relationships. It was pretty dull and the setup for the crimes to come were obvious and cliched. I nearly didn't start chapter four, but I gave it one more chance and I'm glad I did. The whole tone and pacing of the book has changed for the better. It's as if the writers, a husband and wife team, took a collective deep breath after getting all the housekeeping out of the way and settled in to the meat of the writing.

So when you're spending about a buck a book, remember, there's a reason that book is on the thrift store shelf. Give it a break and wait at least three-and-a-half chapters before contributing it to your composter. You may be glad you did.

Free Books – Reviews Needed

2011-02-27T20:52:00.000-08:00

I have ten copies of my novel, Broke Down on the Road to Glory, available for free. All you need to do is promise to post a review of the book on Amazon, or some other site with book reviews. The reviews should be honest. I'm not afraid of criticism. How else will I learn?

Just email me your name and address and the first ten requests I get will get a book.

Note: Sorry, relatives are not eligible.

Bike build - next phase

2011-02-26T18:40:00.000-08:00

I have all the parts. I have all the tools. I've read all the instructions. Now all I have to do is put it all together. But now, at this new phase of the project, I hesitate. I doubt. Can I really do this? Who know, but I have to try.

I have developed this weird sense of responsibility for the bike. Not for the pile of parts it is now, but for the bike as whole that I am trying build. It has the potential to be a great bike. The parts are all good, capable of doing their jobs well. I am the weak link. Can I extract from these parts as good a bike as it deserves to be?

It's time to see.

I'm building a bike

2011-02-17T20:58:00.000-08:00

I've always wanted to build a vehicle from parts. From my first encounter with the J.C. Whitney catalog I dreamed of hand-picking the best parts and putting together a killer hot rod. Unfortunately the lack of cash, tools, a garage and mechanical ability prevented this dream from happening.

Now I'm older and wiser and have scaled back my ambition to a reasonable level. So I'm building a vehicle from nothing but parts. A vehicle with two wheels and pedals. I am going to have the coolest hunk of cycling junk you have ever seen.

All the parts have been scrounged off eBay or ordered from the on-line bike discount stores. I bought all the special bike tools. I'm staking out a space to lay down the tarp and start putting it all together.

I'll update you all when I start getting it all together.

From Where Does This Stuff Come?

2010-12-10T22:01:00.001-08:00

Used to be that when I wrote I could identify the source and the reason for every single word and phrase. The going was slow in those days, slaving over every paragraph in hopes of getting it right, thus avoiding tedious rewrites.

Now, having learned to enjoy rewriting as much as writing, I just type onto the page the first thing that pops into my head. Surprisingly, after much practice, this method is now producing text less in need of rewriting than the old method. What's even odder is that I can't tell where any of it came from. There are some moments of recognition and remembering, but most of it seems to have sprung from nowhere.

Why does this bother me? Because, what if it isn't mine? If I don't know where it comes from, might I be stealing it from someone else? My Inner Critic won't let me believe that is all fresh, organic material harvested from a fertile imagination. So while I've managed to gag the inner critic while I'm actually writing, he comes back with a vengeance when I read what I've written. He's a tricky bastard.

Lessons From November

2010-12-05T21:18:00.000-08:00

I spent most of November participating in National Novel Writing Month, or nanowrimo for short. I managed to complete the required 50,000 words with two days to spare, though I estimate that I have at least another 20,000 words to go before the novel is finished. The most surprising thing is that I have a novel that I think is worth finishing. I thought by the end of the month I'd have a useless pile of verbose unrelated sentences compiled into chapters of nonsense. If I had written the novel I planned that is what I'd have.

Fortunately, after two days of writing, I accidentally started a sub-plot. That worked so well I started another, then another, to the point where my imagined marathon or pretentious ramblings evolved into a compilation of intersecting story lines. Each tangent proving more interesting than the last. Now, with the bulk of the novel done, the only story line I'm not satisfied with is the first one, my original idea.

I learned many lessons about myself and my writing during this process. The main ones are:

I need to write every day

Well, not quite every day. After nine or ten days straight I get a little burned out and productivity wanes. I find that if I write five days a week I'm able to keep the thought process and creative juices flowing. In the past I've written sporadically, thinking about scenes for days or weeks before finally setting them to paper. This method has created scenes less in need of reworking, but also left me with far less scenes. By letting go the need for perfection, which I now realize is impossible in a first draft anyway, my mind is freed to spit out the story and get on with it.

Multiple story lines

In the past I have always tried to write out one complete story line before starting the next, assuming that the sub-plots needed the major plot to be in place to maintain the structure. What I find instead is that the sub-plots have much more influence on the main story than expected. So by writing all the story lines, in almost chronological order, I'm able to weave a much more organic structure.

On a more practical note, I find that in a single writing session I'm good for a single plot point per story line. Anything more than that and the writing becomes forced and pretty mundane. With multiple story lines though, I able to move to another sub-plot and keep writing. In draft form, a single plot point for three story lines works out to be two to three thousand words, which is a nice word count for a three hour writing session.

Outlining on the fly

I hate outlining because I become a slave to the outline, spending all my writing effort on making my scenes and characters fit the outline rather than exploring where they want to go and seeing what they can reveal. In the other hand, if I work entirely without an outline the stories wander off into a nowhere land of stuff that nobody would want to read. Fortunately, with this novel, I discovered pretty early that the story takes place over six days, plus a seventh for an epilogue, so I would map out where each story line would go for a single day, then write that day. As I wrote I would adjust the outline as needed. Then when a day was written, I would do the next day's outline. Of course for day six, being the climax, has some built-in structure towards which the story lines must aim, but while the final conflict is in place, the conclusions of the story lines are still unknown. Pulling this off will be what makes the novel work or not.

So that's what I've learned. Turns out I knew a lot less about writing a novel than I thought.

On line and selling

2010-11-30T21:46:00.001-08:00

My new novel, BROKE DOWN ON THE ROAD TO GLORY, is now available on amazon.com

Novel in a month - Day 28

2010-11-28T22:35:00.000-08:00

1612 words. That gave me 7 words past 50,000. I did it! I'm taking tomorrow off. Then back to work.

Novel in a month - Day 27

2010-11-27T22:24:00.001-08:00

2335 words. One more day should do it, but that's not the end. I'm guessing another 20,00 words will finish the book.

Novel in a month - Day 26

2010-11-26T22:34:00.000-08:00

2176 words. Major plot points revealed themselves tonight, all hinting at satisfactory resolutions.

Novel in a month - Day 25

2010-11-25T22:23:00.000-08:00

2316 words. I should hit 50,000 words on Sunday. The end is neigh.

Novel in a month - Day 24

2010-11-24T23:00:00.001-08:00

2642 words. It's hard to figure out what a dozen characters eat three meals a day every day.

Novel in a Month - Day 23

2010-11-23T21:57:00.000-08:00

1645 words. Finally managed to work in the requisite "no grits" reference.

Novel in a month - Day 22

2010-11-22T22:15:00.001-08:00

1487 words. Several plot points to work out so a bit low on words today. Building to the climax. Oh boy!

Novel in a month - Day 21

2010-11-21T22:17:00.000-08:00

2515 words. Odd thing. I used more vulgar language tonight then the whole rest of the book so far.

Novel in a month - Day 20

2010-11-20T22:38:00.001-08:00

1395 words. A bit slow tonight. Had to work out some plot points.

Novel in a month - Day 19

2010-11-19T22:19:00.000-08:00

2242 words. Some nice surprises tonight. The characters did not do what they were told, but it worked out better than I had planned.

Novel in a Month - Day 18

2010-11-18T21:35:00.002-08:00

2095 words. Not all words are wonderful, but they are words nonetheless.

Novel in a month - Day 17

2010-11-18T21:35:00.001-08:00

0 words. Migraine. Couldn't write.

Novel in a Month - Day 16

2010-11-16T22:52:00.000-08:00

1903 words. The skull of the muse was working overtime for me tonight. Not just words, good words.

Novel in a Month - Day 15

2010-11-15T22:13:00.000-08:00

1683 words. Tonight's work included lots of dialogue which comes slower than explanations.

Novel in a Month - Day 14

2010-11-14T22:46:00.000-08:00

2463 words. I have fallen in love with these characters. This has moved beyond an exercise into being a real book.

Novel in a Month - Day 13

2010-11-14T22:44:00.000-08:00

0 words. Took the night off. It helped.

Novel in a Month - Day 12

2010-11-12T23:37:00.000-08:00

2851 words. Big push tonight. I've finished act one of the book. I'm about a day ahead in word count so tomorrow I rest.

Novel in a Month - Day 11

2010-11-11T22:45:00.000-08:00

3012 words. Managed an extra writing session today. I am very tired. This seven-nights-a-week writing thing is wearing me down.

Ding Dong the Book is Proofed

2010-11-11T18:40:00.001-08:00

I'm getting better at this. My new novel, BROKE DOWN ON THE ROAD TO GLORY only needed two proofs to get it right. So everything is approved and it is currently available for sale on CreateSpace (https://www.createspace.com/3492694)

It will be available on Amazon by the end of the month. I will also be working on getting it in some bookstores. I'll be sending copies to some of the book review sites. I'll let you all know when the reviews are available online.

Novel in a Month - Day 10

2010-11-10T22:37:00.000-08:00

1793 words. Down a little, but above target. Some of the session was spent outlining and planning. Useful stuff.

Novel in a Month - Day 9

2010-11-09T23:25:00.001-08:00

2680 words. Holy crap batman. I got on a role tonight. Characters keep crawling out of the woodwork, and I actually have an inkling of a climax. Yee ha!

Novel in a Month - Day 8

2010-11-08T22:44:00.001-08:00

1930 words. A little below what I expected. The lesson for tonight is that I can't take a break in the middle of the session to watch my favorite sitcom, then expect to be able to get back to writing again.

Novel in a Month - Day 7

2010-11-07T22:41:00.000-08:00

2045 words. Hazzah! I broke 2K! I've gotten so good at not obsessing that I'm even leaving mispelled words alone.

Novel in a Month - Day 6

2010-11-06T23:33:00.000-07:00

1985 words. I like this trend. A few more words every day. Tonight's session was effortless. The changes I made yesterday have set off more ideas than I have to write.

Novel in a month - Day 5

2010-11-05T22:58:00.001-07:00

1802 words. A good day. Not just for the word count. I actually like what I wrote today. I've changed the focus and added some great characters and situations that will make the book much more interesting.

Novel in a month - Day 4

2010-11-05T19:12:00.001-07:00

0 words. Another evening spent in the emergency room with my daughter. She's OK.

Novel in a Month - Day 3

2010-11-03T22:02:00.000-07:00

1726 words. I'm getting there. That's above the daily average target so now I just have to make up for a couple short days. My daughter is home from the hospital so life should settle back into its routine. Also, tomorrow I start working on one of the sub-plots. That should help increase the word count.

Novel in a Month - day 2

2010-11-03T20:32:00.001-07:00

1300 words. Still short of hopes, but considering most of that was written in my daughter's hospital room I think it's pretty good. The story sucks. The scenes are obvious. The characters obvious and boring. Severe rewrites are ahead, but that's for later.

100 Words - Eraserhead

2010-11-03T20:17:00.000-07:00

Karen's mother gave birth to her in a movie theater just as the lights came up after a midnight showing of ERASERHEAD. The site of the bloody screaming child caused a variety of reactions. The stoners ran screaming into the night thinking that they had been sucked into the movie. The filmistas chortled assuming the theater was attempting some sort of film/reality crossover gimmick. The drunks puked. Finally one punked-out med student stepped forward, cut the cord with a switchblade and wrapped the newborn Karen in a Black Flag t-shirt. Karen still has the shirt but she's never seen ERASERHEAD.

Novel in a Month - Day 1

2010-11-02T20:48:00.001-07:00

1245 words. A slow start but it's OK. I expect to ramp up the output as I get rolling. It's going to be hard for me though. I already want to go back and redo some parts of what I wrote but I simply do not have the time to do it. Must push forward.

Manufactured Drama

2010-10-13T20:54:00.001-07:00

Soon after the movie THAT THING YOU DO came out I saw an interview with Tom Hanks where he was defending the movie's light tone. He mentioned that he didn't see the need to add drama just for the sake of having drama.

This past week I spent a rare evening watching TV dramas and found Mr. Hank's words to be wise. These shows were full of manufactured drama. It was painful to watch. I'd seen these shows in the past and while they aren't my preference they weren't bad shows. This night however, they stunk. All three shows summoned forces from outside the show, even from outside the story, to come and ruin the lives of the characters. It was so artificial and wrong.

So why do I care? Because these extreme examples have shown me that I also have committed the sin of manufactured drama. Several stories I've written, apparently when I got bogged down in the action, are propelled in new directions by inorganic circumstances.

Forgive me dear reader, for I have sinned.

100 words: Leather Lady

2010-10-12T21:00:00.000-07:00

From a distance she was beautiful. Long blond hair. Leather jacket, pants and boots. The biker's dream.

Then the picture went wrong. She pulled one of those rolling cases like the bimbo saleswomen pull so clumsily through doorways. A biker sales bimbo?

She stopped and stooped to pick up a styrofoam box off the sidewalk. She opened it, pulled something out and shoved it in her mouth. She dropped the box and walked on. She passed right by me. Methed-out eyes focusing on nothing. Deep scars pitted her face. She staggered away.

From a distance she had a great ass.

Why can't I be a drunken asshole?

2010-10-10T20:32:00.000-07:00

A comedian friend of mine once did a routine pondering why so many famous talented writers were drunken assholes. Charles Bukowski had just died and he was the main focus of her rant. Good example I thought. It made me do an inventory of my own favorites and found that many were indeed drunken assholes.

I have since been dismayed that perhaps my own writing career might be doomed to obscurity unless I started boozing and copped some serious attitude. I have attempted both on occasion with feeble results. Much to my horror it turns out that I'm a very quiet and subdued kind of drunk. Hardly the stuff that attracts legions of cult-like readers.

So what's a sober, mild-mannered writer to do? Where's the passion? What gets the blood pumping?

For me, it's cycling. We're not talking a casual ride in the park. When I'm on my bike I'm always pushing as hard as I can, going as fast as I can. An adrenaline rush? Yes. The stuff of legends? Hardly. It's depressing that the only narcissism I can muster is actually good for me.

At least I still have the blood curdling nightmares so maybe there is hope for me yet.

A Perfect Moment

2010-10-02T22:07:00.001-07:00

One day last week I sat at my computer keyboard in my RV parked on the Oregon coast in the middle of a heavy downpour working on my latest novella. I looked up from the screen and out at the wind-swept sea just as some sea lions frolicked their way south. A perfect moment.

100 words - Snake Raisins

2010-09-06T20:33:00.000-07:00

Up and down the radio dial. Nothing excites so I watch the snakes eating raisins on the back porch. When I was young my father fed the raccoons through a hole in the screen door. He stopped after he discovered that the raccoons had discovered that their claws were stronger than the screen. No raccoons out here though. Just the snakes. Neighbor Steve says that they aren't poisonous but he drinks store-brand scotch straight from the bottle and eats vanilla frosting straight from the can so I'm not sure he can be trusted. The snakes sure do like raisins though.

Writing as Revenge

2010-08-10T20:51:00.000-07:00

Can I hold a grudge or what? My new novella-in-progress has the best bad guy I have ever written. The levels of his cruelty and manipulation have continually surprised me. Till today that is. Today I realized that this guy is an exaggerated amalgam of two teachers from my youth. They both managed to inflict some severe emotional damage on my already shaky self-image. Took a long time to recover these assholes. Now it looks like I'm not as over them as I thought. I hate that more than thirty years later they still have this power over me.

Perhaps this will be my exorcism of them. As painful as this has become, as I said, this is the best bad guy I have ever written. Maybe some good will come from my pain. Take control of my memories of pain and sadness and build some positive revenge.

Building a book

2010-07-20T21:45:00.001-07:00

I'm working on prepping my novella, BROKE DOWN ON THE ROAD TO GLORY, for publication. Much fun. Compiling all the chapters into a single file. Setting all the margins and borders and stuff. Converting a pile of words I've written into a "book." The dreams made real.

Now I just have do one last proof read, decide on a cover, update my bio, and send the files off to the printers for a proof. Oh boy!

Ride for a Reason

2010-07-14T21:42:00.000-07:00

I'm doing this charity bike ride on Aug 14 to benefit Parkinson's research.
My goal is to ride at least 36 miles, which is 85% longer than my current longest ride.
The company I work for, Blue Shield of California, will match 1-1 donations of $20 or more.
I would appreciate any help you might be able to offer.
To donate: http://www.active.com/donate/tomflanders
For more info: http://www.rfar.org/

Self Publishing - How to measure success

2010-07-07T22:25:00.001-07:00

My first self-published book, a collection of short stories rapidly assembled to serve as a present for my parent's 50^th wedding anniversary, sold a whopping 36 copies. I consider that a success.

Now I'm preparing to self publish my new novella, BROKE DOWN ON THE ROAD TO GLORY. How will I measure its success? I have set what I think are some realistic goals.

I want to sell 100 copies. That's a nice round number and only about three times the sales of my first book.
I want to get the book into a least one bricks and mortar bookstore. With all the independent book stores here in San Francisco that shouldn't be impossible to achieve.
I want to get at least one review of the book, favorable or not, into print or on the web. Perhaps I'm naive, but that doesn't seem like it should be too hard.

So that's how I'm going to measure success. Nothing earth-shattering. Humble beginnings and all that.

And if I fail, then I fail, but the failure will be my own. I don't have to apologize to any publisher or agent or anyone.

Taking the Fun Out of Writing

2010-07-05T21:48:00.000-07:00

"Why do you write?" asked character one.

"To impress people." answered character two.

That little interchange is from THE CASE OF THE GILDED FLY by Edmund Crispin. I'm embarrassed to admit that I could be character two. Much of what I've written over the last few years has been assembled solely to impress people. Who am I trying to impress? Agents and publishers. Strangers whose attention is fought for by the huddled masses yearning to be published.

So what can I do about it? If I want to be published, to have the public read my books, I must play the game. I must persuade them that vast numbers of people will want to read my books. Of course I must first write the book that I believe will interest those vast numbers, and that hasn't happened yet. I've just been going through the motions because it's what I believed I was supposed to do.

So I'm not going to do it anymore. I'm going back to writing what I want to write. Maybe someday I'll have something that people will want to read. Until then I'll just inflict my works on family and friends, at least till they stop summing up my work as, "interesting."

A Promotional Experiment

2010-06-18T21:36:00.000-07:00

In a rare excursion from my shell of introversion, I built a web site to promote my latest novella BROKE DOWN ON THE ROAD TO GLORY, which is still in search of an agent and/or publisher. It's odd, for me at least, to be hyping something that isn't for sale yet. Heck, the car companies do it all the time. I guess it's not so weird.

So anyway, the site is http://brokedownbook.com. It contains all kinds of info including; a sample chapter, character bios, story synopsis and much much more. Take a look. If you like it, tell your friends. If you don't, tell your enemies.

Coping With the Day Job

2010-06-15T22:11:00.000-07:00

"Your files have been published." A simple sentence. A passive sentence. The kind of sentence I email to my fellow employees dozens of times a day. An exclamation of boredom. A cry for help. Save me from the abyss! Do they hear my plea? They do not. Unless there is some hidden meaning to "Thanx Tom" that eludes me.

Then there is our director. Every email I send him is written in an A-A-B rime scheme. He's never noticed. Messages to the legal department have only one and two syllable words, yet they always respond in their over-blown fluffy language.

So why do I play these games? Well, there's the sheer evil pleasure of subversion. There's the ego-boosting arrogance of getting away with this stuff. Mostly though it really is a cry for help, building a wall in defense of my sanity. I'm not sure it's working.

Killing an Innocent Character

2010-06-09T22:17:00.000-07:00

Tonight I killed one of my characters. It was weird because up until tonight I didn't know that there would be a murder in this book. I knew it was a psychological thriller, but didn't know the stakes would be raised that high.

On the bright side, she wasn't that great a character in the first place. She was merely the bridge between two of the main characters, girlfriend to one and roommate to the other. Now though, in death, she becomes a major source of conflict and launches the story easily and definitely into act two.

The weird thing is that I feel guilty. Not that I killed her off, but how great I feel about killing her off. Her death has helped the story so much that I'm giddy with delight. How sick is that?

Rediscovering Your Own Work

2010-06-06T19:02:00.000-07:00

Today I was cleaning up the writing folder on my had drive, moving bunches of old stuff to subfolders like, "needs work", "bits and pieces" and of course, "pretentious garbage." In the midst of all this I came upon a rather large file I had completely forgotten about. It's a 25,000 word story titled HEAVENVILLE about a professional wrestling promoter who own an RV park that was once a drive-in theater. Surprisingly it's pretty good. It needs a major rewrite, but it's all there.

How could I have forgotten about this? I searched my memory and seem to recall that i wasn't able to resolve problems with the plot, particularly the climax. i must be maturing as a writer because I now see simple solutions for what was, at the time, insurmountable difficulties.

Encouraged by this gem I spent several hours reviewing all my old work for some other salvageable beauty. Unfortunately all this yielded was the movement of a great many files to the "pretentious garbage" folder. Ah well.

Suffering From Character Envy

2010-05-19T22:07:00.000-07:00

My characters have much more interesting lives than my own. Every day for them is an adventure. Oh sure, occasionally they're murdered or dismembered, but they will never die of boredom or suffer the unending horror of having a day job. Many of them have cool cars and nice houses and get to have sex with lots of people without worrying about getting a disease.

Does all that balance out that their existence relies on my whim or whimsy? Perhaps they must live life out loud in an attempt to find favor with me, their creator. To avoid having some new horror befall them, or worse yet, being left forever, hopes and dreams unfulfilled, on the unfinished page as has happened to so many of their kind before them.

Well, that still sounds better than sitting though two hours of budgeting meetings.

I Hate Good Advice

2010-05-11T21:47:00.000-07:00

Many people give me advice. Mostly I ignore them. I'm an I-know-what's-best-for-me DIY kind of guy. You either know someone like that or you are someone like that.

However some advice just can't be ignored, no matter how painful it might be. I've been working on a novel for over a year now. It sucks, but quality isn't mandatory for a first draft. For a long time now my inner critic has been telling me that it doesn't suck because of its draft status. He says it sucks because it sucks. Of course that's just my inner critic talking. It's his job to be an asshole. The problem is, lately my more positive writing forces, the skull of the muse and the dream lizard, are agreeing with him.

I've lost all focus. The book is a collection of unconnected scenes. My villain has lost all his edge. My heroes their whimsy. The story arc has become a slinky in an Escher drawing. It's a mess and I just don't want to play ball with it anymore. Worst of all, I realize that this isn't, even if it didn't suck, a book that I would want to read. I realize that this isn't the book I want to write. It is the book I thought I was supposed to write.

In the midst of my inner critic's victory dance I considered, "What now?" So I sat at my desk, did my meditative breathing, and starting writing out a recent dream. Then I wrote some notes on the possible meanings of this dream and filled a page with "what ifs" and came up with a possible conflict/conspiracy. Looks like I've got a story write.

Am I My Critic's Keeper?

2010-05-05T21:10:00.000-07:00

My inner critic won't speak to me. He sits on my desk with his head in his lap, weeping. The Skull of the Muse keeps telling him jokes, but he won't laugh. The glass rabbit, who I think represents my feminine side, keeps telling me in German that I need to feed the critic. She says that he will die if I don't write something soon. Quite a dilemma.

Can I survive without the inner critic? Sure, he trashes my work and makes me doubt and question everything, but he also keeps me from hoisting confusing and unpolished drek upon the unsuspecting reading public.

Can I survive without writing? Sure, if I don't mind becoming an alcoholic flesh-eating zombie. Such a choice.

The Dream Lizard is no help either. Last night he had me trying to impress a bunch of skateborders by bragging about my clothes only to realize that I was dressed like Herb Tarlek from WKRP. I know there is a message in there somewhere but the allegory escapes me.

Writing Was Easier When I Sucked

2010-04-26T19:00:00.001-07:00

Ah the days of bliss, happily pounding out drek with no responsibility to the readers that did not exist. The resulting stories would be so bad that it would be immediately obvious what was wrong and what must be done to fix it.

Then I started getting better and everything went wrong. Now when I read what I write it's not bad, but it's also not great. There is always something missing, something to add, something to take away, but it's a subtle something lurking unknown in the shadows.

So I try to fix it through trial and error hacking away at characters, plots and scenes, till the whole thing is transformed into something brand new, but equally not so great. Lately all my rewrites seem to take me sideways rather than upwards in quality.

The Guilt of Leisure

2010-04-09T20:53:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's the puritan upbringing, but I've come to realize that I feel guilty about spending time writing. I feel like I should be doing something practical and productive like cleaning the back room or repairing the deck or feeding the homeless.

I know this is just my inner critic trying to devalue my writing. Hey, just the money I save on therapists makes my writing worth it. Still. I can't shake the feeling that I'm not serving the world as I should.

I think the main problem is that I enjoy writing, so how could it be of any value? In my underlying belief structure things that are fun are not important. Being important is important. In my school days I was often accused of having my priorities mixed up. Who knew I was listening?

Prep

2010-04-08T22:04:00.000-07:00

Just decorated my desk with the dream lizard, Kokopelli, the Skull of the Muse and the inner critic fetish. Now I can write.

Talking Too Pretty

2010-03-24T21:46:00.000-07:00

An odd problem. I've been working heavily on my novel lately both at my keyboard and in my head during any spare moment. The problem is that I am so ensnared in writer mode that I can't carry on a normal conversation anymore. I am constantly pausing to think about the best way to phrase EVERYTHING I say. Because of this I come off sounding very pretentious, not to mention the rather long silent interludes while I formulate my response.

I'm losing the vernacular!

What I'm Reading: SHATTERDAY by Harlan Ellison

2010-03-16T21:26:00.000-07:00

I previously read a collection of Harlan Ellison short stories and enjoyed it very much. Such was not true for this pile of stuff. Oh, there were a couple gems, but the rest seem like first drafts written just after a bad break-up.

The straight science fiction stories take place in one dimensional worlds where rules come and go on a whim. The fantasy is rarely fantastic. Strong female characters are few and far between.

All that I might have overlooked. The biggest problem is that each story has an introduction. (Which I skipped until I had finished the story.) Some things are better left a mystery. The problem with the introductions wasn't what was said about the stories, but what they revealed about their author. An ego grown beyond even fame's justification.

I hope whatever fame I might achieve is gentler with my self esteem.

A new class of rejection letter

2010-03-12T20:50:00.000-08:00

Today I got my first literary agent rejection letter. I feel even more like a real writer.

Wisdom is a Bitch

2010-03-09T21:20:00.000-08:00

I have come to realize that a major problem with my self view is that I never had the delusion that I was going to be a great and famous writer. For most of my life I believed that I couldn't, nor would never be able to, write well. I believed that being a writer was something that you either were or were not.

Now that I understand the process of developing as a writer I see myself coming along nicely, though I can feel what Carlos Casteneda called the fourth enemy, old age, lurking in the shadows waiting to jump me. There is only so much time left to win what morsels of fame might come my way.

Thus I find myself longing for delusion. To be able to believe that the next novel will be the one that wins me that touch of immortality. The one that finds its target audience beyond my immediate friends and family. The Great American Novel of the post baby boom pre generation X literary cannon. Hell, even in delusionment my ambitions are pigeon-holed.

So without fame, why write? Because these stories are like rodents trying to gnaw their way out through my brain. It's write or go insane, and I'm just too anal-retentive to accept insanity.