Sights and Sounds of Hollywood

With an armful of old eyeglasses, I visited my optometrist. He straightened out nose pads and arms before we settled on a new pair for close-up reading. Technically, this doctor is not my old optometrist, but a mentee who took over when my old guy retired - now filling his days with tennis and working in stained glass. However the office remains on Sunset in Hollywood, close to where I lived for many years. Hollywood was a dangerous dump when I moved there in 1979. I don't care how many multiplexes, Olympic clean-ups, hot night clubs, or tourist shops the place gets - it's still seedy. It seems metal fences and razor wire have multiplied over the years. There are streets so dystopian, they look like images from a first-person shooter video game. And it continues to attract the different.

As I was driving north toward Franklin, I stopped at a light. A young girl, early twenties, headed toward the crosswalk, all unisexed up in a man's dress shirt and tie, ball cap on sideways, tight jeans. Stepping off the curb, she passed a middle-aged Mexican guy with a shaved head, digging through a garbage bin and plucking out aluminum cans.

"You're recycling, recycling, recycling, that's so cool," she called. "I love you."

The Mexican guy lifted his head out of the garbage and called, "Yeah? Then kiss me."

But Unisex flounced across the street, head full of love, environmental purity, and cluelessness.

Ah, Hollywood: where the show never ends. Almost enough to make me nostalgic. Almost.

Big Old Finish

Finished the first draft of my no-longer-short story - it is now almost 60 pages of horror-suspense novella, over 12k words. (Pay by the word, do they?)

Had lunch with Dutch yesterday. His TV camera work has been slowing down to nothing, similar to my animation writing. (Which I now consider a hobby.) We're like leaves drifting to the bottom of the forest, en route to becoming mulch.

But we're both writing along with no one telling us what to put down or how. If not financially satisfying, it's liberating.

Beautiful fall day today. Blue skies, bit of haze, great diffused lighting. "Eatable light," I say. It's that good.

Oscar the Likable Ogre

Good friend Dutch has a story up at Ex Cathedra: The Second Doctrine about a small town's acceptance of an ogre who only eats unlikeable children. (Starts on p.61.)

Double Down

Rewrite has expanded the story size. Once it was 25 pages, now it's 50, a shade over 10K words. But all is well as I try to finish by Sunday.

I'm getting carried away by this "pay-by-the-word" thing. Maybe it should be by the pound.

Big Darn Rewrite

A new market opened, looking for material. I had a short-story that would be great, but it needed rewriting. Actually, not so much rewriting as additional stuff. So far, I've added 2,000 words of additional stuff turning a short story into a novelette. (Since this market pays by the word, that can't be all bad.) I'll probably spend next week polishing, then out it goes. Then another, then another. Writing, incidentally, is a great way to gain weight, giving new meaning to the phrase "pounding the keys."

Magazine Mania

Various magazines have been arriving lately: sample copies of publications I'd like to place a story in. What a wonderful excuse not to spend so much time online. Unfortunately, I'm still online. So are you. Well.

Best of the Worst

Yes, he sells books by the long ton, but can Dan Brown write? Dutch tells me a British newspaper has weighed in.

Outline

Working on the Da Vinci Code satire; more accurately, the outline for the satire. Tedious work. I've gotta put my head down and finish a draft so my partner and I can work out the story. I want to hurry up, since Dan Brown's latest book is hot. But if you get the foundation wrong, the building collapses. Then your stuck in rubble trying to finish an outline.

Write Away

Busy working on outlines and short stories. The advantage of satirizing a popular book is that you don't have to worry about setting up things. Just fire away, though right now my partner is doing most of the firing.

I'm watching 300 on TNT and feel like working on my abs.

Dirty Old Thoughts on Writing

Bukowski may well have written this way. For all his boozing, the man was a word machine and really cranked it out. He never even kept copies of his early poems, just sending out the originals back when submissions were via snail mail. I've written stream-of-consciousness and I've written drunk. And I've written in large houses and small apartments with lots of money and none. I don't know how he did it without rewrites, though I suspect there may've been a few.

h/t: opchidexo
Nevertheless, as a challenge, I sat down yesterday and cranked out a story of 1492 words - about six pages - exploring facades and the importance of respecting them when you have little else. I let the words pour out, typing as fast as I could, with no side trips to the Web. I did read it over and rewrite small sections, mostly trimming unnecessary words. Then I sent it out to an anthology. The whole process took about five hours.

I haven't read it over today and I'm not going to. Let's see how this one sails. Alas, I learned how much I can get done if I don't procrastinate. And I'll explore that lesson some day.

Booked Up

My friend Dutch and I met to outline our Dan Brown parody. We'll follow Da Vinci Code story elements, but the question remains: what are the shadowy organizations behind it all? So far we've auditioned PETA, the Kiwanis, the Knights of Columbus, and the National Hockey League. Nothing sticks just yet. But we're just warming up, swinging the bat around, getting a feel for the pine. This'll be good.

Physical Therapy Jam

Many people, few work-out stations. But I talked to my main guy and he said keeping building up the weaker muscles on my left side. I've been so down in the dumps - as well a heavy writing schedule - that I haven't been doing my "homework." Time to start again.

Meet tomorrow with my co-author on a book satirizing Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code. We need to hammer out an outline and complain about the state of American letters and how we might hasten its decline while making a few bucks.

Master Advice

Cranking out a rewrite on a story I wrote five years ago. Close-but-no-prize on getting it published, but I'd send it out, wait, get a rejection, forget about it, send it out again, get another rejection then start on another story and abandon all efforts in favor of the new shiny thing. Now I'm committed to selling this sucker. (Or getting it published for free - number two on my list but it opens so many more markets.)

Actually, I'm not rewriting so much as laying in elements to add tension and underscore the theme of destructive self-absortion - something that has gotten me everything I lack today. Not bad as writing goes, but tricky since I don't want to scuttle the old stuff that still works.

From a neat 5k, I suspect the new version will top out in the novelette range of 7500 words. This reduces my shot at free, online placements, but does leave me well-situated for the prestigious, ill-paying, anthology route.

Every story needs so much space to be told. I've got four sub-3k pieces that should place easier than a mini-whale like my current assignment. But I like this mini-whale. I think all it lacked before was a theme, change in perspective, and a higher body count. I believe it was Dickens who once said, "Good Heavens, if a story doesn't sell kill a character with a wasting disease. Kill several and make them good ones. Then beat a begger with a cane. But not in print. Do it for real and your problems will evaporate while his will increase exponentially."

I may not do all of that, but its good to know what the masters thought.

Occupational Hazard

Re-writes all day on a short-story, cutting out much, putting in more, and ending up with about the same word count. Sent out one story yesterday and the same story today to a different market.

But what is my job when compared to this:

Hot and Smokey

This refers to the air and not lunch, as I had a Chinese chicken salad with Troy over in Burbank. We discussed graphic novels, the state of TV animation - lousy - and the old National Lampoon, respository of some of the sharpest satire around (Onion notwithstanding). Then it was back out into the 100 degree, ash-filed air for some after-lunch coughing.

Bridal Barbecue

SGV Team in Training threw a bridal barbecue for team captain Rouman and his great-with-child wife. I paid my respects and visited with the old team. Apparently, the recession is effecting the winter season as TNT participants are choosing half-marathons over full. (Less money to raise.) Gordie dropped in, his health improving, cancer receding. He offered to run a sprint triathalon with me, once I could again run. That was sporting, as I won't be doing any of that competitively for awhile. In any case, I had a fun day, which I used as an excuse not to work on any of the stories awaiting my attention.

Famous London Photo Explained

Forty years ago this month, the first non-solid, pedestrian crosswalk appeared in London. As you can see, there are white, unconnected bars for people to cross the street on instead of a solid rectangle as was customary at the time. This was originally proposed by the London City Council as a paint-saving measure, but met tremendous opposition from safety advocates. They argued that pedestrians who stepped off a white bar onto an exposed section of street would then be jaywalking and subject to fine, or else risk being struck by a vehicle as they were no longer "safe."

Calmer minds prevailed and the non-connecting bars were painted on a single road. In swinging 1969 London, they soon became a hit and were copied by street maintenance departments worldwide.

That road is now famous. Can you guess its name?

Correct. White Bar Road.

Shadow Over Santa Susana

...is the name of a new book on the Manson family. MDW and I visited a trendy LA art gallery yesterday to hear the author speak.
Part of the attraction involved a high-school author chum of MDW's who wrote the forward to 'Shadow' and was present to read it to the assembled crowd. (Mike is seen here wearing a bull shirt.) As for the book, it sprinkles the CIA's MK ULTRA mind-control experiments using LSD atop the 1960s sex-and-drug drenched LA celebrity scene with a healthy garnish of Charles Manson. Quite the mix, but it sounds like fun reading. (Author Adam Gorightly pictured here, awash in note cards.)

Thanks for Your Heart

I just had a meeting like this, only no coffee.

Plus Mr. DeNiro gets testy.

h/t: decay1966

Delightful News from Prose, TV Animation Front

Writers bask in the following words from a story editor: "Notes were light. I'll do 'em. Go ahead and invoice." Such basking was my lot today.

An old joke goes like this: an actor comes home to find his house on fire and his family murdered. A neighbor tells him that the actor's agent drove up, went nuts, torched the place and shot the family. The actor stared in disbelief: "My agent...actually came to my house?" 

Well, my agent called from New York to say she really enjoyed the short story "Bane Fish," but didn't have a place for it. I'd already sent it off to an anthology, but thanked her none the less for complimentary news. When she's not dealing, my agent is reading stuff to deal, or stuff that has been dealt, so it's hard to get ahead of her. But "Bane Fish" did. Thanks once again to Takineko, Keeper, Katie, and Ernesto, among others, for helping out. I'm working on another short story for a contest at Esquire, and a third for an anthology with a September 1 deadline. Never enough hours in the day when you're under employed.