What does it mean to expect a thing, and then it doesn’t happen
What does it mean to hope and dream, and know it is not true
When dreams are dashed, when hopes fade dim, the light goes from the day
And sadness, grief, and loneliness, fills a soul with blue
What is it that will make us dream, make us think we can
What is it that will give us hope, and make us try again
When failure follows failure, and knowledge proves so wrong
Is it time to call it off, and let fading hopes just wane
To believe is joy, to hope is song, to try again is glee
It makes us young, it makes us strong, it’s the same for you and me
Until reality strikes home, and orders dreams to cease
And tells us that we are forsaken, alone is all we’ll be
The Potter makes his vessels, some he makes of clay
Some he makes of copper, gold, or glass or wood or stone
And some he makes for wasteful things, to carry them away
These paper cups, and plastic trays, are set off all alone
It’s hard just being garbage, cast off with rotting smells
It’s hard not having value, no purpose wise and good
But the dung beetle is what it is, and does just what it does
For me to be just nothing now, it’s what I really should
Sailors on the Sea
Friday, July 31, 2009
What Makes a Bad Story
One thing I hate about modern storytelling is the apparent need to hammer some social message into the reader/viewer. They (someone) have taken perfectly fine old stories from my childhood and changed them, adding messages where no message was intended. Removing slapstick because some a*shole finds it offensive. Well, what about the cr*p they spew out? I find it offensive.
The original Charlie Brown cartoons were about Charlie Brown failing. That was the endearing quality of the strip. And Charles Schultz made a lot of social statements in the process. He just couched them in satire instead of syrupy gloop which offends even young people. The later cartoons had Charlie Brown actually winning a baseball game. That seems sacrilege to me.
They remade a Tom and Jerry cartoon and had the characters talk, or so I was told. When I heard that I wouldn't see the movie. Tom and Jerry were only allowed to make sound when in pain. Then they got to scream. I'm sorry, but it was funny.
Lord of the Rings was a great book, but it wasn't about the race of men proving anything. It was about a world going through a transition from one way of life to another, and what it took for it to happen. Peter Jackson made a good movie, but he ruined the story.
It seems the powers that be have determined that modern readers insist on this dribble, and so they continue to put out substandard product. The truth is, the best works of fiction have no agenda - beyond telling a story.
That social commentary will be made is inevitable. However, when said commentary is done as part of the backwash of a story, as opposed to being the story, the commentary is accepted as natural, like the sound of water splashing at an old mill next to a river. When the commentary is the story, it's like this poorly made western I saw. They were in the desert hills of Arizona, and what is in the background? The songs of marsh birds. And whenever anyone would shoot and miss, hitting the sandy ground, we would hear ricochets.
That's what social commentary stories are to me. Cr*p. I'm not against social commentary. But it makes for terrible stories.
The original Charlie Brown cartoons were about Charlie Brown failing. That was the endearing quality of the strip. And Charles Schultz made a lot of social statements in the process. He just couched them in satire instead of syrupy gloop which offends even young people. The later cartoons had Charlie Brown actually winning a baseball game. That seems sacrilege to me.
They remade a Tom and Jerry cartoon and had the characters talk, or so I was told. When I heard that I wouldn't see the movie. Tom and Jerry were only allowed to make sound when in pain. Then they got to scream. I'm sorry, but it was funny.
Lord of the Rings was a great book, but it wasn't about the race of men proving anything. It was about a world going through a transition from one way of life to another, and what it took for it to happen. Peter Jackson made a good movie, but he ruined the story.
It seems the powers that be have determined that modern readers insist on this dribble, and so they continue to put out substandard product. The truth is, the best works of fiction have no agenda - beyond telling a story.
That social commentary will be made is inevitable. However, when said commentary is done as part of the backwash of a story, as opposed to being the story, the commentary is accepted as natural, like the sound of water splashing at an old mill next to a river. When the commentary is the story, it's like this poorly made western I saw. They were in the desert hills of Arizona, and what is in the background? The songs of marsh birds. And whenever anyone would shoot and miss, hitting the sandy ground, we would hear ricochets.
That's what social commentary stories are to me. Cr*p. I'm not against social commentary. But it makes for terrible stories.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
As The Wheel Turns
Ah, yes. The Wheel. Recently, I have had my time at the top of the curve, feeling inspired about a host of things and getting a lot of things done, despite the feeling nothing got done.
The euphoric feeling of being on top is quite wonderful. Unfortunately, it never lasts. The Wheel doesn't stop for a moment, and like the summer season which so make me happy, the season changes and chills. I fall over The Wheel's side and drop to the bottom, where inspiration is hard to come by, and faith and confidence don't enter. Guess they can't breathe down here. They await my rise to the surface which, like winter, seems to take forever.
I wish I had paints. Not the big gallon cans used for painting walls and such. Little tubes of acrylic colors, squeezed out onto a pallette while I sit before an easel with a stretched canvas. I could splatter meaningless colors across the whitewashed background, expressing emotion in ways I only struggle with in words. But, to be honest, I expect I would find such expression just as difficult.
Sometimes, it's hard to express what one is feeling because one is not quite sure what it is one is feeling.
Like an explosive charge the feeling awaits the lighting of the fuse, or the spark of inspiration. Then it will burst forth in wondrous splendor. Meanwhile, like the ugly containers explosives so often come in, I wait and wonder. Just what is it am I feeling anyway? And why do I want to give up again when it seems like yesterday I had faith.
The Wheels turns.
The euphoric feeling of being on top is quite wonderful. Unfortunately, it never lasts. The Wheel doesn't stop for a moment, and like the summer season which so make me happy, the season changes and chills. I fall over The Wheel's side and drop to the bottom, where inspiration is hard to come by, and faith and confidence don't enter. Guess they can't breathe down here. They await my rise to the surface which, like winter, seems to take forever.
I wish I had paints. Not the big gallon cans used for painting walls and such. Little tubes of acrylic colors, squeezed out onto a pallette while I sit before an easel with a stretched canvas. I could splatter meaningless colors across the whitewashed background, expressing emotion in ways I only struggle with in words. But, to be honest, I expect I would find such expression just as difficult.
Sometimes, it's hard to express what one is feeling because one is not quite sure what it is one is feeling.
Like an explosive charge the feeling awaits the lighting of the fuse, or the spark of inspiration. Then it will burst forth in wondrous splendor. Meanwhile, like the ugly containers explosives so often come in, I wait and wonder. Just what is it am I feeling anyway? And why do I want to give up again when it seems like yesterday I had faith.
The Wheels turns.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
I'd Like to Teach the World to Laugh
Its fury roared like a raging torrent of water falling endlessly over the cliff which marked the beginning of death and the end of life for so many who had gone before. Vapor rose around it like dragon's breath, choking final remnants of comfort and ease from its victims' throats. The violence of its ceaseless cry echoed through the forest, spreading terror far and wide. And all the while darkness loomed like a vulture awaiting its next meal.
And now, the weather.
Sunny skies. Mild temperatures. Another cold summer day.
In case you haven't guessed for yourself, there isn't much going on today. Getting something of an emotional build-up, but can't seem to find the correct valve to open to grant release. So I thought I would be silly. Why not? It's what I do best.
I'm sitting here looking at a wine bottle sock and I'm reminded of the boss who decided I belonged in the half of the department which needed to go away.
What's a wine bottle sock? It's what my Christmas present came in back when I worked. I still remember having this conversation with the manager like a week or two before Christmas and for some reason the topic of alcohol came up. Although not a drunkard, he liked to drink, and asked me what my favorite beverages were. I told him I could not drink alcohol. Had found out the hard way that when alcohol mixes with my stomach medicine I could die. So what present do I get from the manager that Christmas? A bottle of wine. I guess that should have been my clue he wanted to get rid of me.
Kind of like a time when I was young and got into real trouble at school. I was being silly and startled the teacher. She put her hand over her heart and exclaimed, "Bevie! You scared me half to death." I did it again.
Had to stand out in the hall for an hour or two after that.
I like being silly. Sometimes. Most of the time. I have no problem laughing at things that aren't supposed to be laughed at. I guess that's why I have such a problem with modern society. Modern society seems to have trouble laughing. We're always looking to be offended about something. I think people are losing/have lost the ability to distinguish being good old-fashioned fun and true intent. There is a difference, and it generally isn't that difficult to tell the two apart. But rather than try to figure it out, people just get mad. What a shame.
In my opinion, the Bush Administration had it all wrong. They said fighting and killing and standing strong would defeat terrorism. I think victory comes with laughter. I'm probably wrong. So what? I intend to be silly anyway.
And now, the weather.
Sunny skies. Mild temperatures. Another cold summer day.
In case you haven't guessed for yourself, there isn't much going on today. Getting something of an emotional build-up, but can't seem to find the correct valve to open to grant release. So I thought I would be silly. Why not? It's what I do best.
I'm sitting here looking at a wine bottle sock and I'm reminded of the boss who decided I belonged in the half of the department which needed to go away.
What's a wine bottle sock? It's what my Christmas present came in back when I worked. I still remember having this conversation with the manager like a week or two before Christmas and for some reason the topic of alcohol came up. Although not a drunkard, he liked to drink, and asked me what my favorite beverages were. I told him I could not drink alcohol. Had found out the hard way that when alcohol mixes with my stomach medicine I could die. So what present do I get from the manager that Christmas? A bottle of wine. I guess that should have been my clue he wanted to get rid of me.
Kind of like a time when I was young and got into real trouble at school. I was being silly and startled the teacher. She put her hand over her heart and exclaimed, "Bevie! You scared me half to death." I did it again.
Had to stand out in the hall for an hour or two after that.
I like being silly. Sometimes. Most of the time. I have no problem laughing at things that aren't supposed to be laughed at. I guess that's why I have such a problem with modern society. Modern society seems to have trouble laughing. We're always looking to be offended about something. I think people are losing/have lost the ability to distinguish being good old-fashioned fun and true intent. There is a difference, and it generally isn't that difficult to tell the two apart. But rather than try to figure it out, people just get mad. What a shame.
In my opinion, the Bush Administration had it all wrong. They said fighting and killing and standing strong would defeat terrorism. I think victory comes with laughter. I'm probably wrong. So what? I intend to be silly anyway.
Monday, July 27, 2009
No Shortage of Work
I just did an inventory check of what I have going on right now - writing wise. Right now, including blogs, I have fourteen active writing projects.
On top of all of the above projects are a few I have set aside for the time being.
Is that how you write? Or am I just odd? (Well, I suppose it's not impossible that you write like that, too, and I am still odd.)
- A Voice in the Wind - Wrote today's post. Good until tomorrow.
- The Great Sea - That's this blog. Good until tomorrow.
- Cat in the Buff - Haven't posted since the 20th. A week behind.
- Legion of On-Line Super Heroes - Still need to post Monday Morning Messages.
- Faith in Forgiveness - Haven't posted since the 22nd. Nearly a week behind.
- Tales From The Great Sea - Haven't posted since the 16th. Nearly two weeks behind.
- Swords of Fire: Traitor - Query rejected. Need to write synopsis for submission to new agent. Not begun. Not clear on how to write a synopsis.
- Swords of Fire: Prophecies of Madatar - First edit completed. Need another edit pass to reduce manuscript by at least 40,000-words.
- Swords of Fire: Military History - Completed 73 years. Only 279 years remaining.
- Panthera: On Trial For Treason - Need to write next installment for Saturday post on Legion of On-Line Super Heroes.
- Feathered Guy Anthropist: Twice the Fun - Need to write next installment for Tuesday (tomorrow) post on Legion of On-Line Super Heroes.
- Khiava and Amice - Waiting to hear on submission for publication of first installment in the series. Need to write third installment.
- Pootles and Putz - First episode written. Need to write second.
- Sassy and Otio - Two episodes written. Need to write third.
On top of all of the above projects are a few I have set aside for the time being.
- Swords of Fire: Bonds of Love - This is the third in my Swords of Fire Saga. I've completed nearly seven chapters and have over 50,000-words. No written work has taken place since June of 2008.
- Animal Kingdom - This is an old project I tried to revive this spring. Completed the fourth chapter and then set it aside in favor of other concerns.
- Power of Music - This is a new project I came up with just this year. Started it, but quickly set it aside in favor of other concerns.
- Firestar: Lion Cat of the North - This is a cat-based hero story I came up with for Cat in the Buff. Actually posted a first episode. Just have to continue the story.
Is that how you write? Or am I just odd? (Well, I suppose it's not impossible that you write like that, too, and I am still odd.)
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Step Right Up and Buy Your Ticket - Win the Big Prize
So now I have to write a synopsis for Swords of Fire: Traitor. Oh, joy! That's if I wish to submit a query to the agency I found to replace the latest agency which wants nothing to do with me. Don't people realize how difficult it was just to write the d*mned query letter? Now I have to write a synopsis! You know, I don't really know how to do that.
I mean, how many words should a synopsis be before it's long enough - without being too long? Traitor has 22 chapters and 4 interludes. Technically, each of those should get their own paragraph, right? That's 26 paragraphs. Okay. But how many sentences am I allowed/required to devote to each chapter? Sometimes I think Lucy Van Pelt had it right.
Linus wanted her to read him a story. She wasn't keen on it, but her mother ordered her to. So she picked up the book and read: "There was a man. He was born, he lived, and then he died. The end."
Linus responded with awe: "Almost makes one feel like they knew the man."
Probably my biggest problem with the entire thing is the mathematics of the thing. Statistically, no matter who I send the query to next (with or without a synopsis) I'm going to get another rejection. That's just the way it is. Some very great books have been rejected by some very brilliant agents and editors. And while more than a few people (in and out of the writing business) remind me how this writer or that was rejected such and such number of times, I don't exactly find it to be cheery news. All that does is fuel my suspicions that getting published isn't much different than winning the lottery. There seems to be an inordinate amount of luck involved. Yes, I know. Statements like that are an affront, and we're not supposed to admit they might actually be true. It's all supposed to be skill and genius, so that when (if) we finally do become published we can pat ourselves on the back and remind ourselves that we now have proof of our brilliance and genius.
Right.
It's this luck factor piece which keeps me confused about knowing whether anything is good or not. I've read books that are complete cr*p. Yet that author was published. Someone read the thing and cried out, "Hey! We can make some money off this." And they did. Meanwhile, better works (such as mine) are given the standard heave ho. "Sorry, but this doesn't meet our needs at this time." Well, I'm sorry, too, but I just can't be there to kick you in your a*s, slap you alongside your head and yell, "Hello? Anybody in there?"
Sorry. Couldn't resist. You know you've felt like that, too, after your own rejections.
I'm just daunted by the prospect of another writing exercise in which the consequences are extremely high. I have to do it, though. It's the rules of the game, and if I don't buy a ticket I can't win the lottery. Right?
I just wish I knew how to write the d*mned thing.
I mean, how many words should a synopsis be before it's long enough - without being too long? Traitor has 22 chapters and 4 interludes. Technically, each of those should get their own paragraph, right? That's 26 paragraphs. Okay. But how many sentences am I allowed/required to devote to each chapter? Sometimes I think Lucy Van Pelt had it right.
Linus wanted her to read him a story. She wasn't keen on it, but her mother ordered her to. So she picked up the book and read: "There was a man. He was born, he lived, and then he died. The end."
Linus responded with awe: "Almost makes one feel like they knew the man."
Probably my biggest problem with the entire thing is the mathematics of the thing. Statistically, no matter who I send the query to next (with or without a synopsis) I'm going to get another rejection. That's just the way it is. Some very great books have been rejected by some very brilliant agents and editors. And while more than a few people (in and out of the writing business) remind me how this writer or that was rejected such and such number of times, I don't exactly find it to be cheery news. All that does is fuel my suspicions that getting published isn't much different than winning the lottery. There seems to be an inordinate amount of luck involved. Yes, I know. Statements like that are an affront, and we're not supposed to admit they might actually be true. It's all supposed to be skill and genius, so that when (if) we finally do become published we can pat ourselves on the back and remind ourselves that we now have proof of our brilliance and genius.
Right.
It's this luck factor piece which keeps me confused about knowing whether anything is good or not. I've read books that are complete cr*p. Yet that author was published. Someone read the thing and cried out, "Hey! We can make some money off this." And they did. Meanwhile, better works (such as mine) are given the standard heave ho. "Sorry, but this doesn't meet our needs at this time." Well, I'm sorry, too, but I just can't be there to kick you in your a*s, slap you alongside your head and yell, "Hello? Anybody in there?"
Sorry. Couldn't resist. You know you've felt like that, too, after your own rejections.
I'm just daunted by the prospect of another writing exercise in which the consequences are extremely high. I have to do it, though. It's the rules of the game, and if I don't buy a ticket I can't win the lottery. Right?
I just wish I knew how to write the d*mned thing.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
One Dream Gets Slapped Down While Another Dream Sprouts New Hope
Well, I heard back from the agent. Turns out my original query was sent blank. Oh, the wonders and joys of electronic submission. How I managed to do that, I don't know. Guess I'm just brilliant. Anyway, once I discovered my error I resent my query. It took less than a day to be rejected. Another joy of technology. One need not wait on pins and needles wondering what one's fate is. There is instant de-gratification.
So now I must seek out a new agent to contact. Or is it harass? Either way, it isn't a task I enjoy. Nor am I very good at it.
On a positive note, I was granted inspiration the other day and I wrote the first episode in what I hope will become a long series of short stories. It's a series of vignettes for two young children, a girl and a boy, who become friends and grow up together. The stories are meant to be "feel good" kind of stories, emphasizing (as my first Reader put it) companionship and friendship, as opposed to any specific social theme. No doubt social themes will pop up, but not as a predetermined point of the stories. I just want to emphasize how friends really do remain friends, through thick and thin. Everything else is just background. If the stories work out well, they may qualify to be put together in a book. We'll see.
What surprises me is the lack of despair I feel over being rejected. Again. I guess I really am getting used to it. I will search for a new agent. And when I have found one I will submit a query to them, hoping beyond hope they will ignore my word count and just ask to read the manuscript. But I confess my excitement and hope wanes exponentially with each rejection. Submitting becomes just another burden which must be performed. No hope of change. Just do it. Because.
I know what's going to happen. I will die. At that point there will be no more inspirations for new series, heroes, stories, or epic tales. Then, Son will put all of my things together and sell them in a big package and make a zillion dollars. And I will never know.
Yeah. Right. That's even less likely than me getting an agent right now.
Oh, well. Back to the search engine.
So now I must seek out a new agent to contact. Or is it harass? Either way, it isn't a task I enjoy. Nor am I very good at it.
On a positive note, I was granted inspiration the other day and I wrote the first episode in what I hope will become a long series of short stories. It's a series of vignettes for two young children, a girl and a boy, who become friends and grow up together. The stories are meant to be "feel good" kind of stories, emphasizing (as my first Reader put it) companionship and friendship, as opposed to any specific social theme. No doubt social themes will pop up, but not as a predetermined point of the stories. I just want to emphasize how friends really do remain friends, through thick and thin. Everything else is just background. If the stories work out well, they may qualify to be put together in a book. We'll see.
What surprises me is the lack of despair I feel over being rejected. Again. I guess I really am getting used to it. I will search for a new agent. And when I have found one I will submit a query to them, hoping beyond hope they will ignore my word count and just ask to read the manuscript. But I confess my excitement and hope wanes exponentially with each rejection. Submitting becomes just another burden which must be performed. No hope of change. Just do it. Because.
I know what's going to happen. I will die. At that point there will be no more inspirations for new series, heroes, stories, or epic tales. Then, Son will put all of my things together and sell them in a big package and make a zillion dollars. And I will never know.
Yeah. Right. That's even less likely than me getting an agent right now.
Oh, well. Back to the search engine.
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