If my life were a battle I would be losing on all fronts. Normally that's
the time to retreat and regroup and come up with a new strategy. The current
one of work hard, do your best, and do the right thing is failing miserably.
In the movies things always turn around when they're at their worst, but
I've been there several times and so far Richard Gere hasn't charged to
my rescue and made an honest woman of me, so it looks like I'm on my own.
Problem is, I don't know any other way to do it; slacking off, getting
by, cheating, lying and stealing just doesn't appeal to me. One of the
people I work with said my problem is my timing's off, and I have to agree.
Still, I've tried everything short of shining a light in my eyes and twisting
my ball bearings until everything lines up. (And if I thought that would
work, I'd give it a shot.)
So if anyone has any suggestions, please email me. Oh, I know, I
know--just keep at it and sooner or later things will come your way. Either
that or you'll die of old age.
So the Darkside saga continues, after at least two weeks of no words. I
went back and rewrote parts of the chapter I'm working on, and once I fixed
a few things that were nagging at me like an ex-wife with a late alimony
payment, things slammed into place. I only managed about 600 new words
today, but they're words that move the story forward--well, okay, shove
at the story like that fat kid you dared to ask the prom queen for a kiss.
And yes, I desperately need work on my similes. (Metaphors? Damn, I keep
getting those two confused.) Luckily it's a device I seldom use, like a
condom on a...oh, all right, I give up. Sheesh.
Someone kicked me in the calf playing soccer this morning, so now I have
a limp. I can't really blame him; if you'd ever seen me play soccer you'd
kick me too. I have absolutely no soccer skills. My motto is: "Always be
in the way."
Soccer, like basketball or hockey, requires skill with handling the ball
(or puck), which is something I don't have. I excel at sports that allow
me to pick up the ball, and force the opposing team to try and take it
away from me, or take me down before I invade their territory. You know,
contact sports like football, rugby, and volleyball. And before you say,
"Volleyball isn't a contact sport," you haven't seen me play.
Strangely enough I
did manage to score our only goal today, which is even more surprising
as they beat us eleventy-four to...well, one.
Oh yeah, I'm officially on THREE WEEKS LEAVE!!! Yes, that was shouting.
And I'm kicking it off by going to Ebear's book signing at Bakka tomorrow.
a school behind my house. It used to be a public school, but the base took
it over and now it serves several functions. It's an English and French
language school--militaries from around the world send their people here,
and it's not unusual to see Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Arab, and Jamaican
officers, to name a few, strolling by my house on their way to lunch.
It's a teaching school, where there are all manner of courses on how to
teach, develop curriculum, design lesson plans and so forth. It's a health
school, where they teach about nutrition and physical fitness, and how
to train others to be physically fit. And it's a music school, where Canada's
top military bands come to learn, and practice.
Currently it's the latter that's driving me nuts. Not that they're loud,
or bad, or play music that I can't stand. At the moment they're playing
the theme song from Raiders of the Lost Ark, and doing a damn fine job,
I might add.
What bothers me is that it sounds like it's coming from the forest just
on the other side of the field, and I can't help thinking that somewhere
in there someone's searching for the Ark of the Covenant, or the Holy Grail,
or embarking on some other grand adventure.
And I'm doing laundry.
All right already. I've created a LJ account because some of you have whine...complai...suggested
that it would be nice to be able to comment on the dumbass things I post,
and although I suspect most of the comments will be along the lines of
"What a dumbass thing to say," I've decided to cave...accomodate y'all.
I plan to post to the LJ site and the old site simultaneously for continuity,
so you can read it there, or here, wherever here or there may be, and whatever
your preference. Here's the link:
and I've included in
the upper left corner of this home page.
And yes, that's about as much sense as I ever make.
It's about ninety degrees today, and hazy--just like it's been for the
last several days. I want to go to the beach today, but they're calling
for possible thundershowers this afternoon. Of course they called for them
yesterday afternoon too, (which is why I didn't go to the beach yesterday)
and nadda. The weather forecast calls for sunny, with cloudy periods
and a chance of thundershowers in the afternoon. Talk about covering
your bases--the only thing they left out was snow, volcanic ash, and the
odd tornado or two.
I haven't done any writing in the last several days because I've been incredibly
lazy (as opposed to routinely lazy, which I usually am) but I am
on vacation. Even my exercise routine is lacking, but then I am injured.
I thought I'd recovered from that kick to the calf, but jogging Tuesday
disposed me of that delusion. Funny thing is, I'd been jogging for about
twenty minutes when I thought to myself, "You'd better stop before you
hurt yourself." So I stopped, and I hurt myself. The limp is back, but
it got me some pity garlic toast from the lady at the pizza place, so it's
not all bad.
Anyway, I think I'll just go to the beach in town. It's not as nice as
my regular beach, but if it starts raining I can pack up and go to Future
Shop, and Chapters. Sure, I'll look like a beach bum and smell like burnt
coconut oil, and no doubt the staff will follow me around making sure I
don't steal stuff.... I'm looking for a downside here. Nope, that's what
I did make it to the beach yesterday, and managed a good two hours in the
sun before the deluge. (The word "rain" doesn't do the resulting downpour
justice.) I think I'll attempt the same today--the beach, not the rain.
I know, I know...I should be writing. So what, I should be mowing the lawn
too but I don't see you complaining about that. Besides, right now I'm
in reading mode. As soon as I finish the few new books I've got lying around,
I'll write, promise. Who knows, I might even mow the lawn.
Oh, yeah, I'm going to go to Toronto Trek on Saturday. It's not really
a writer's convention--more of a media one--but the lovely Chris at Bakka
gave me a free pass, so what the heck. So if any of you are going to be
there, holler out.
Toronto Trek was a bore, although I have to take some of the responsibility
for that assessment. I didn't really know anyone there, and didn't make
an effort to get to know anyone either. I really wasn't in the mood to
be entertaining. I did catch up with Leah for a bit, and we had an interesting
discussion about her novel, so it wasn't a total waste.
We attended the Eye of Aragorn panel, where panelists try to read said
work without breaking into laughter. And while it was abysmally
bad to the point of being humorous, I couldn't help but feel it was still
cruel. Apparently the guy wrote it when he was sixteen, and people have
been reading it at cons, ridiculing it ever since. The whole thing just
struck me as being the height of pretension and callousness.
And while most con goers and writers are generally the nicest people I
have ever met, they do have a tendency to be pretentious, condescending,
and cruel when it comes to their assessment of others work in the field,
even when their own credentials are often marginal at best.
What, you thought this was a happy post?
A P P Y A N I V E R S A R Y!!!
Men's clothing sucks. It all looks exactly the same no matter what store
or brand, like something I pulled out of my Dad's closet from thirty years
ago that he wouldn't even wear back then. They might as well amalgamate
all the stores into one and call it Men's Clothing or something. They wouldn't
even need shelves or hangers--just pile everything in three big piles on
the floor according to size: loose; baggy; hand-me-downs; and derelict.
I tell you, I'd design my own clothes if it wouldn't make me look so gay.
Of course that would cement my secret identity as Batman, so it wouldn't
be all bad.
Oh, yeah--my parents 45th wedding aniversary was on the 16th, and my brother's
is today, so:
I haven't been around for a couple of days (so Happy Belated Birthday,
E!!). I went home to visit my parents and catch up with some old friends.
The last part was pretty easy, as they're all getting old and fat (and
don't read this journal). And since one of the characters is based on an
old buddy, I made sure he was all right with it, and wouldn't sue me or
anything if it ever gets published.
It was nice to hear what everyone was up to, and all in all everyone seems
to be doing just fine. The funny thing is that of all my friends who joined
the military, I was the one they all thought wouldn't last, and apparently
I'm the only one left in. Figures.
Anyway, I'm back now, and ready to do...well...nothing. I'm still on vacation.
Yeah, I know. Pen wants to kill me too.
I've been busy vacationing the last couple of days. We saw The Island the
other night, and it was okay. Loved the flying motorcycles, but the funniest
part is when they showed the clones learning to read Dick and Jane, and
then the Baddie later explains that they're kept sexually innocent, "Like
a 15 year old." Ha! I'd bet fifty percent of 15 year olds I know have already
sex-- and 80 percent of them can't read at a Dick and Jane level.
Still no news on the writing front. I vowed when I first started writing
way back when that I would donate ten percent of whatever I made from my
sales to charity, and so far I've been pretty good about it. I still even
gave ten percent when I donated the proceeds of the sale back to the mag
that bought the story. Of course to date I haven't made enough money to
support one of those starving Ethiopian kids for a day, but hey, I'm holding
up my end of the bargain.
This just in: Apparently
I'm physically fit enough that younger women find me attractive, but old
enough that they find that attraction disturbing. As opposed to my wife,
who's fit enough that younger men find her attractive, and old enough that
it really turns them on.
I spent the morning looking at new cars I can't even begin to afford, even
with the "You pay what we pay" sale. Maybe if they had a "You pay what
it's worth" sale.
I killed some more time just window-shopping downtown, but as usual nothing
happened. No wizened old shopkeeper tried to sell me a magic amulet--or
cursed ring for that matter. No one staggered out of an alley and forced
a secret map or code or whispered something cryptic with their dying breath.
(I'd eve settle for Rosebud right about now.) There was no unexplained
meteor shower that turned half the populace into brain-eating zombies,
no mystical vortex opened up at the intersection of Douglas and Victoria
Street, and no alien fighter craft crashed into City Hall.
So I came home. Let's
face it, my vacation's almost over and I haven't saved the world once yet.
I read where they're proposing to extend Daylight Savings Time by another
month in order to save on energy. The reason Daylight Savings Time only
runs from April to October is because it gets dark too early outside that
time frame. Maybe if they call it Twilight Savings Time. What's next--lowering
the boiling point of water? How about making the mile a few hundred feet
shorter so that cars get better gas mileage?
Oh yeah--someone asked me the other day who I'd like to see as the next
big action-adventure star. I mean, Orlando Bloom is nice and all, but I
just don't buy him as a tough guy. Ditto goes for Pierce Brosnan, even
though I like him as James Bond. And Ice Cube? Please! Too pudgy. The Rock
is cool, and one of my favorites, but if we're going for a more realistic,
nitty-gritty tough guy--take it from someone who knows--my vote goes to
Jason Statham, of the Italian Job, and The Transporter. He's got the body,
the moves, the attitude, and he can really drive. He was a member of the
British national diving squad for ten years and participated in the 1988
Seoul, South Korea Olympics.
And no, Amber, I didn't forget about Viggo. And while I buy him as a tough
guy, I think Jason would kick his ass. (Hmm, probably shouldn't have mentioned
Viggo and ass in the same sentence around Mek.)
Talk about your cliché war movie promos: "They were husbands, fathers,
Give me a break. I couldn't help adding:
"Some were all three. A few were husbands and fathers, some fathers and
sons, and there was this one guy from Kentucky who was his husband's father's
"Men, this is the most important thing you'll ever do."
At least until the sequel. I swear they're jus not trying any more.
I was browsing through the Future Shop the other day and it suddenly dawned
on me. The future is now...most of us just can't afford it.