Wednesday, September 24, 2003 :::
 

I'm finally done.

After 30 months

186,580 words

3106 paragraphs

and 400 pages... I have finished my first novel.

The fact that it is probably poorly written not withstanding, I am happy to have reached the end of what has been one of the most difficult challenges of my life. I have some minor tweaking and polishing to accomplish, but the story, the structure, the characters, almost all of it, is finished.

I survived the statistics! I have already picked out the drawer I will let it collect dust in for the rest of my life.

::: posted by Mike at 3:03 PM

Wednesday, September 17, 2003 :::
 

Jesus: Gatorade for the Soul

Recently I changed the radio station on the alarm. This is significant because this represents a major change to my routine and, being a creature of unyielding habit, I do not like change.

For years it’s been Tejano. 4:40 am comes and with it comes the horns, squeeze boxes, and over-reverbed vocals of songs about the la corazón. There exists no stage of sleep where I cannot hear it when it starts. Wherever I am, be it light restful sleep or a deep R.E.M. slumber, those horns and squeeze boxes come and pull me kick and screaming into consciousness.

The other day the power went off and while I was adjusting the clock I must have accidentally nudged the tuner down a few ticks on the frequency dial because the next morning I was tuning into Christian radio. Immediately upon the alarm going off that first morning I actually pray… I prayed for the fucking squeeze boxes to return.

The monotonous drone of these ultra-conservatives with their God-is-Great-God-is-God sermonizing is not the kind of thing a person needs to listen to upon waking. It is torture to be told you are inferior and insignificant the first thing in the morning. I’m usually not made away of my deficiencies as a human being until 8:30, 9:00 am tops. To get a righteous dose of loving damnation as the prelude to my day seriously upsets that fragile balance I depend on to keep from turning to a life preoccupied with the abuse of alcohol and self as I roam the country looking for high-stakes poker games in the basements of parts supply warehouses. So what do I do? I leave it on that station and have for the last two weeks.

This morning it was commentary from the pastor of the Something Hills First Baptist Crap Shoot and Holy Roll. He told me he was not only passionate about Jesus but excited as well. I considered that to be somewhat important given his chosen profession. But then he started into me telling me I should be more excited.

Pastor Whatzhisname: “Do you know Jesus?”
Me: “Never met him”
Pastor Whatzhisname: “Are you excited by The Word”
Me: “Tactfully indifferent”
Pastor Whatzhisname: “Do you deserve the love of Jesus?”
Me: “Truthfully, some days I’m surprised my dog still likes me”
Pastor Whatzhisname: “Do you thirst for Jesus?”
Me: Me: “No, but I could use a glass of water.”

This went on for a few minutes until I decided that I’d had enough. It was as if Pastor Whatzhisname actually knew I was about to turn him off because he started talking faster about his thirst for Jesus. He started using a bunch of words that mean thirst and a few that actually meant hunger but I let it slide. Then he started talking about Jesus and his ability to quench my spiritual thirst. That Jesus could revitalize. That Jesus contained more carbohydrates and essential minerals to replenish my spirit’s fluids better than any other messiah on the market.

As I switched off the radio with an image in my mind of that Gatorade commercial where they people are all sweating out phosphorescent liquids while exerting large amounts of physical effort. I pictured myself on a black-lit treadmill in hell and Jesus spilling blood in that T.V.-cool phosphorescent blood. Dark images of crucifixion and product placement… not a way to start the day.

Before long I expect to see t-shirts and bumper stickers that ask: Jesus… Is He in you?

Tonight I will change the radio back to Tejano. It will be better for all of us.

::: posted by Mike at 3:08 PM

Tuesday, September 16, 2003 :::
 

No work ethic... NO WORK ETHIC???

We are a hard working nation, no question about it. Sometimes to the detriment of our health, our relationships, even our own happiness we work more hours per worker than any other industrialized nation*. Still, there are people that question our work ethic, that question our ability to rise above economic adversity, to mortgage the joys of our lives, to give that little extra when we’ve already extra’ed ourselves into a standard 60 hour workweek.

Well I have news for the naysayers. I have a message for all the cynics that doubt our Gumption and possibly, though I have seen no actual reports that mention the word, our Moxie.

Last night at 9:30pm, in the dark of night, at an intersection that is so empty at that time of night that the lights all go to flashing red, I saw a panhandler with a sign begging for cash. You see…you see, even our bums are putting in the extra hours to fuel the machine of the American economy. Granted they will spend the money on microwavable burritos, cigarettes that barley meet the minimum levels the government require for carcinogenic products, and maybe a lottery ticket or bagged beer. But let me give you a lesson in economics folks:

That massed produced flash-frozen burrito from Minnesota will help keep the company alive that pays the guy who drives the Frozen Burrito forklift who will spend his paycheck on rent, food, and movie tickets that will help the movie studios continue to pay Ben Affleck millions of dollars so he can continue making the news for no reason whatsoever.
And those cigarettes… they will fund the executive who is paying for his kid’s education at an expensive four-year private college (one he was lucky to get into with his scores, that fuckin’ stoner) which will get the kid a good job at a corporation that will use its profits to pay for the luxury boxes and endorsements that keep Derek Jeter off the streets.
And the beer… well that will keep Coors in business so they can continue to fund those idiotic commercials that pay Kid Rock to walk around in that stupid hat that covers his balding head which will help him afford the routine maintenance on Pam Andy-Lee’s body which keeps the plastic surgery industry alive which makes the malpractice insurance companies thrive so they can pay for employees that buy microwavable burritos, cigarettes, beer, movie tickets, tuition for their dip-shit kids, aerosol cheese, Sprite Remix, and rap albums that FEATURE everyone from P-Diddy-Puff-The-Magic-Daddy to LyRiKal ExPloSion to the guy that was sweeping the studio floor when the Entourage (read: Esclade full of black guys in basketball jerseys with no contribution to the effort except for pointing at the camera and touching booty when they shoot the video) showed up.
The lottery tickets… I think they are supposed to pay for public education which has, to date, not been proven to have much impact at all on the economy.



* I don’t really have any idea if we work more hours per worker than anyone else. For all I know Luxembourg is the leader in worker hours, productivity, and aerosol cheese consumption. I cannot afford a research assistant to check facts like this out so I usually just make up my own stats figuring that if people wanted real economic facts and figures they would read the Wall Street Journal which would pretty much preclude them from being a regular visitor of this website.

::: posted by Mike at 8:27 AM

Thursday, September 11, 2003 :::
 

You Don't Bring Me Flowers... You Don't Sing Me Love Songs

I have gotten quite a lot of e-mail asking me where I have been and why I have not posted anything new for awhile (A special thanks to metalcat for filling in with some new material).

Well boys and girls, as it turns out I am about 12 days away from finishing my first novel. I haven't discussed the book that much (or at all) on Nosebleed or the website, but it has taken me the better part of the last three years to coax and tease down the path towards completion. I am very proud of what it has become since the first day I said to my self "self, that would be a decent idea for a book".

Writing a book is hard work. Don't let anybody tell you any different.

* You have these internal battles over control of your story, development of your ideas, and voices of your characters, all while you do your best not to let existing story, ideas, and voices influence the outcome of your work.

* There are times of pride- like when you break the 100 page mark knowing that of the 100% of people who start writing a book only 20% will hit page 100; 10% will hit 200; less than 5% will ever finish; (you forget much less than 1% will ever get the damn thing published), or when you realize that even if your work isn't the most remarkable thing every written you have the discipline to stay the course and give your best, even when your best might be a page here and there, and when you feel things click and fall into place better than if you would have maniacally planned them. These are good times.


* There are times of self-loathing- like when you doubt your every comma and you let your inspired flow of words get interrupted by when you should and when you should not use a fucking semi-colon. Or when you convince yourself that your ideas suck, your characters are flat and lack motivation, your lead characters fall short inspiring anything that resembles sympathy, you don't know proper paragraph structure, everyone who writes- even the guys who write the jacket summaries for books you hate- can write better than you, you have less than a 1% chance of getting published and then if you do the odds it will be through a big name publisher instead of some one-man operation in Fishkill, Kentucky are slimmer than your wife if she depended on your writing career as a means to feed herself... These are just a few of the bad times.

* You sacrifice time that could be spent reading, watching movies, going to social functions, sleeping, studying, thinking, working, eating, and working on your interpersonal relationships... like with your wife, who doesn't understand the big deal about some book and says that it shouldn't mean more to you than her.


Just a few of the many, many things a person goes through when they are trying to write a book. I am sure there are things I have not gone through that others have, and vice versa. During the writing of this book I have worked 50+ hours a week as a sales rep for IBM. I have been enrolled full-time in the Business Computer Information Systems program at The University of North Texas. I have gotten married and traveled to distant corners of the globe. So as I near the end - knowing there is no "end" really- I have put more and more of my waking hours, and a few of the sleepy ones, into completing this book because just the act of completion means something to me.

About the Book: The book is about a guy who grows up to realize there is no such thing as potential or luck, a woman who grows up to believe that the past does not ensure the future, fragmented personalities are not normal, and fame- no matter how dubious- doesn't fill in the spaces meant to be filled by careful affection. It is also about a man who realizes that money is the root of all importance but it doesn't make you relevant, and a man who has changed his face and name so many times but he truly believes there is no place like home... even if no one lives there anymore. Oh yeah, there are some hired killers, porn stars, and a guy from Texas named Banjo that plays almost no part in the story.

::: posted by Mike at 8:57 AM

Thursday, September 04, 2003 :::
 

So, I've been absent from this blog for awhile, but absence only makes the heart grow fonder, right?

I couldn't let this last entry pass without some commentary from me. There's been a news item here in the auspicious Triangle area that has pushed my buttons big time and it sort of falls in line with Mike's comments. Here's the scoop: imagine an over-achieving, pushy, arrogant 17-18 year old kid. Imagine that kid taking the much maligned SATs as he was preparing to enter college. Now, imagine the joy of his highly-involved (read: pushy/overbearing) parents when the kid scores a perfect 1600. The kid's heart's desire is to go to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill - hereafter to be known as "Carolina". So he applies early decision - for those who don't know, that's an early admissions process where you apply very early in your senior year and commit to the University if you're accepted. Of course, the admissions board at Carolina are falling all over themselves to admit this kid who single-handedly becomes a recruiting statistic just by virtue of the fact that he scores a perfect 1600 on the SAT. He's admitted. They send him the standard "hey, don't fuck up for the rest of the year and you're in like Flynn" letter. He receives the letter, sends his cash, and there is much rejoicing.

Flash forward to the end of the school year and the aforementioned over-achieving, pushy, arrogant kid has now officially fucked up. Royally. Grades dropped. Attendance dropped. Now the kid's asked to come to an interview with an admittance official for Carolina where he's asked to explain himself. Evidently, the kid mumbled some philosophical bullshit and evades the question. So. Guess what? Admission is withdrawn. LET THE LITIGATION BEGIN!

Now the under-achieving, unmotivated, uninspiring kid's highly-involved (read: opportunistic) parent is suing Carolina because they kicked their kid out on his keister!! But when the media report the story, all you hear is "Student with perfect SAT score refused admission to Carolina" - or - "Parents Sue Carolina Over Admission Denied Admission of Perfect SAT Score Student" - or - "Hurrican Fabian Nears East Coast While Student With Perfect SAT Score Watches Toonami All Day in Parent's Living Room Because He Smoked Too Much Weed or Whatever". *Okay, I made that last one up. But you get my point.*

The only reason that the SAT is even mentioned is because it's the common denominator for the largest audience. Most people that read the rags that laughingly pass for newspapers around here could barely even get their name right on the SAT, much less a perfect score. There's no controversy here, dammit! The kid was told what had to happen and STILL screwed it up. End of story. There's no need to feed us the line about the SAT except to create opposing opinions when there are none. Hope he gets his ass handed to him in court.

IN OTHER NEWS

Did you know that the Ikea catalog has now eclipsed the Bible as the book with the highest number of copies in print? There's a certain happy justice in that. Maybe there's a way to corner the market. "In my father's house there are many rooms furnished with the Rakke chest with five drawers and accented with the Marienta yarn rug.

::: posted by MetalCat at 1:37 PM