If You Please...

...kindly drop by Every Day Fiction and read my short story, "Fresh Ideas." It's short, I tell you. If so moved, leave a nice comment and a swell rating. Thank you for your support. I will imagine presents and gold appearing on the front seat of your car.

Sore Knee and Novel Progress

Walking too fast on too hard a surface. Plenty 'o ice the last few days. Plus I've been cutting down on my Internet time. Excessive on-line use makes it difficult for me to concentrate on things like reading and writing. Fast instant gratification erodes discipline, especially since they've added video to my favorite hot coed sites. My novel has not progressed beyond more 3x5 cards. (I now remember setting Halloween as a first draft completion deadline. My, how time passes when you procrastinate.) Sent the first 70 pages out as a novelette to an English publication. The editor's reaction was similar to his American counterparts: "Where's the rest of it?" In my head, alas. However, I do have enough material to try and get a literary agent. Plus, there's already interest from a small publisher who'd like to see the finished product. (The publisher's business model is small. He may be small personally, but I have no information on that. Nor would his stature effect any of my monetary decisions unless he did creepy things with his height, like hide in baskets then jump out and hit people with a TV tray.) Rare paying work has inserted itself into my schedule. I need to attend to that at once before the novelty evaporates.

Ralking

Another ralk today. Other than sounding like Scooby Doo, the word refers to a hybrid movement of fast walking approaching a run. Maybe in another week or so, I'll break out into a brief run and see how my knee accepts that. I've been loafing, avoiding the rest of my novel. Once I'm going, it'll be fine. So go, me.

Nothing Sold Today!

Darn the luck.

'Fresh Ideas' Sold!

The nice editors at Every Day Fiction have decided to publish my story "Fresh Ideas" on their flash fiction website. (Stories under 1k words.) Luckily, 'Ideas' is fiction and so I will avoid needless mortification. 'Ideas' was part of my original Ten-in-Six. A workshop project about an odd man pretending to work at work, it was rejected 3x since September. After the last rejection, I made a small change to the ending that seemed to do the trick.

I'll post when the story is up. Now back to work. My antique computer has slowed to a crawl and will no longer transport me to Google search. I think I need to add more coal to the funnel in back.

Link to 3D Effects on Screenwriting

That is the question movie-makers are asking.

A Blister!

It's been awhile, but I developed a blister from walking. Now I'll have to use Body Glide on my feet — an act of pure nostalgia.

I've decided to take the great long story I worked on last fall and expand it into a novel of about 200 pages. That means I'm only 130 pages shy. The theme is redemption through suffering, a bit lofty sounding for a story involving a forest monster running around eating people and livestock. But I've been invited by a publisher to submit the finished product which torpedoes my excuse that no one's interested. I'm plotting out the next two sections on 3x5 cards. In the past, tapping out a detailed outline fried my brain, as if I'd already written the book. Room must be left for the subconscious to plot various twists and turns. Hopefully, I'll add final changes around Halloween, a suitable time to submit a (hopefully) scary story.

There. Well. Ha! I've said it. Halloween. Inquire often. Ask me how the story's going. Hold me to it as you would hold a great round fellow to a diet.

Post 1K!

My 1,000th Write Enough post. Never has so little been said about so much outside of politicians spinning a scandal. Nevertheless, I press on into a new millennium of posts about not working, not running, and not doing much else. (Lately.)

My novelette was rejected, but I've sent it out again to an English publication. They weren't interested in electronic posts, but felt printing out the story on A4 paper, 12 point, Times New Roman and mailing it off old-school style separated the serious writer from the dilettante. Mighty expensive, shipping a 54-page story off to the UK. But at least I've proved I'm not a dilettante.

Live Blogging My Call With the Franchise Tax Board

1111 AM: You have reached the Franchise Tax Board. For our menu in English press one. For our menu in different languages including Pig Latin and Esperanto, press two. (I press one.)

1112 AM: For individuals broken under the millstone of the state, press one. For businesses, press two. To be instantly disconnected, press three. (I press two.)

1113 AM: For a complicated electronic menu that addresses all needs but yours, press one. Otherwise, wait on the line for an operator. Your estimated wait will be ten minutes in geological time. (I wait, trying to figure out how long ten geological minutes might be. I'm not encouraged.)

1119 AM: Muzak consists of soothing New Age melodies, lots of harp and Celtic drum. It sounds like the LOR underscore when Frodo visited various Elf Towns. I'm nodding off. Drool rolls down the corner of my mouth like a gentle Elven waterfall.

1134 AM: I awake with a snort, my sweatshirt soaked. The music is fading, dying out. Excitement builds. But then the muzak swells. False alert. I eat a whole-wheat waffle.

1146 AM: The music changes to a peppy Calypso beat alive with steelpan, bongos and flute. I'm happy. I'm on vacation, dancing on the sand in a large straw hat. But then, I catch myself. I'm on the phone waiting for the Franchise Tax Board. No one dances to that. No one good.

1152 AM: Another false alert. But this time I refuse to be baited into hope.

1158 AM: A ring tone! A man's voice! Hello, this is Pembry Teal, workstation number 8925, how may I assist you?

Me: Please don't leave me! Please. I want to see if an estimated tax check cleared.

Pembry: Sir, please don't plead. We're trained to react to pleading as if it were a dodge used by cheaters to avoid tax liability.

Me: I withdraw my plea. I'm a regular guy, checking on a check. Is that Okay?

Pembry: (Long sigh.) Don't be cute or coy or use irony or sarcasm, sir. We're trained to react to these tones as if they were dodges used by cheaters to avoid tax liability.

1201 PM: (I give Pembry my tax ID, name and address of corporation. There is no inflection in my voice whatsoever, nothing that would activate Pembry's hair-trigger cheater alert.)

Pembry: Sir, there is no indication that you ever sent a check.

Me: What if I send another one before March 15?

Pembry: Is this a ruse to avoid tax liability?

Me: No. I want to send you money.

Pembry: Very well. But add a $35 penalty for failure to pay 2009 estimated tax.

Me: But I paid it! Someone lost the check, either the post office or you guys. Why do I have to pay more for government mistakes?

Pembry: This is tax dodge talk.

Me: Okay, okay. Thirty-five bucks.

Pembry: Send it before March 15 or there will be further penalties. I won't say 'good-bye' or 'have a nice day' because I believe you're a slick avoider of liabilities, a sand crab hiding in the glove box of efficient government.

Me: 'Sand crab?'

(Disconnect.)

Google Hassle

Google locked me out of my mailbox and blog because of "suspicious activity." I wish. They wouldn't accept my security question or anything. After hassling with them, I'm now back blogging, but have nothing to say.

See?

Hot From the Steam Room

After a long drive down and back to Riverside County to visit my cousin, I stopped at the pool on the way home. As I finished kickboarding, a hot Russian chick, early twenties, dove in. She wore a pastel mini-bikini bottom and a blue tube top that didn't match. (But who cared?) Sticking close to her was an old guy, mid-60s, whom I thought might be family or determined to make a big fool out of himself.

In the steam room, I had the place to myself and stretched out sore shoulder muscles. Suddenly the old guy and the Russian chick entered. She had on Day-Glo Crocs that cut through the steam like lime-green fog lights. Taking a seat nearby, they started talking as if I weren't around. The old guy had an American accent, but kept his voice low. Meanwhile, she's laying out intimate life details in almost perfect English:

"Then, after school, I moved from Russia to California, Marina Del Rey. My boyfriend came over next. I helped him with his paperwork to get a Green Card. I was totally dedicated to him, then I found out he was cheating on me the whole time. I couldn't believe it."

Was the American with the INS? CIA? An old horn dog trying to pick up a gabby Russian chick in a mismatched bathing suit? Did she confront the boyfriend? Busted vodka bottles, Slavic threats shouted in the language of their motherland? A struggle? A blow struck with a thick, depressing book by Dostoevsky?

Three boisterous guys entered and broke the mood. The Russian chick clammed up. I hung around and did a few more shoulder exercises, but she was done, sweating in silence with her glowing Crocs.

I've marked the time of the incident. Friday, I'll go back. Hopefully, they'll be more. But if there isn't, there will be steam. Yes. Plenty of steam.

Back in the Water

Kickboarding so as not to fray my tendon; hadn't done any water exercises since August. I was quickly tired out, able to do half of an old workout. Then I used the health club sauna and steam room to loosen up - hopefully - my right shoulder. If I can get up early, I'll head back to the gym and heat up the right pecs and lats prior to my physical therapy. (Then maybe it won't hurt so stinking much.) Started working on another short story. This tale pits politically correct educator/scolds against the Great Old Ones. It's a continuation of a style I tried in another short story, "Dagon and Jill." I'm calling the style, PC Lovecraft. The new story is "The Dunwich Diversity Seminar." If nothing else, I'm having a pleasant time and, I hope, you are as well.

My First Release

A story was released by a magazine after three months. They enjoyed the story but couldn't place it in any of their issues. (The editor was kind enough to include readers' complimentary remarks as they passed my copy up the ladder.) It's somewhat like being told you're perfect for a job, but none of the cubicles fit you.

Shoulder work continues at the rehab as I received an extension on my physical therapy. Movement has improved, but there are still tight, painful areas. Much like writing.

Walking and Writing Fiction

And I'll have walked 3x this week, slightly over 2 miles per outing. So far, no soreness. I'm slowly losing weight and hope to intro a little running into my walks next month.

Another story politely rejected. The editor made a few reserved comments, one of which I thought had merit. So I tweaked the story slightly, cut a few sentences, and sent it out again. Eventually, I'll wear these editors down like water on stone. Of course, that can take thousands of years, but I'm hoping for less.

A Link to Morose Author Facts

My friend (and fellow writer) Bernadette sent me this dour essay on writing that tells me little that I didn't already know, but tells it well.

Good Short Story Advice

Though the author favors sci-fi, his tips contain a wealth of practical info.
h/t: American Digest

TV Animation Gig and Physical Therapy

An animated job may loom on the horizon. Such a novelty these days, though my agent reported more cartoon shows are surfacing than over the last three years. A studio exec. wanted to see old school Warners stuff. I sent along an Animaniacs script that never got produced, but has been well-received as a writing sample. Called "The Big Nap," the Chandleresque parody featured the Warner Bros. as private eyes and Hello Nurse, naturally, as the femme fatale. Hi jinx, as they saying goes, ensued.

On the body front, my shoulder really aches from yesterday's physical therapy. The therapist massaged, kneaded and stretched various cuffs, muscles, and joints to loosen the pinched tendon. Clearly, not so easy. Plus there was homework.

As to walking, that's out this weekend. The knee is sore and needs icing. And so, back to the keyboard to finish up a short story as rain falls gently outside and the neighborhood youth serenade the block with a symphony of bass-heavy rap and horn honking.

Walk Don't Run

And I did today, for a little over two miles. No knee pain and a bit more comfort locomoting in the chi walking style. I set up a meeting with a chi running/walking coach to refresh my technique and correct my form. Adding to my physical fun, I pinched a tendon in my right shoulder. Back to physical therapy, where they remember me from last fall. Twice a week for three weeks plus homework. But my range of motion has already improved after one session and I'm thinking this should be easy. Haven't written much the last few days. Doesn't look like I'll finish the final two short stories. But I could finish one. Maybe. If I stop making excuses and write. Okay. I will.

My Toby Danger Idea

Continuing to cull my paperwork, I came across an idea for a Toby Danger episode. In 1997, I pitched Jean MacCurdy on breaking out TD for its own series. Jean actually understood how the animation business worked and said she'd look into it, but the chances were remote. Everything developed with Steven Spielberg—Animaniacs, etc.—involved profit sharing and a host of complicated legal elements. Since Dreamworks was then a competitor, Warners didn't see any point in bankrolling a show in which they didn't totally own the property.

That said, here was my thought for "Danger on Ice."

An Alaskan cruise ship full of retirees is attacked by two giant snow crabs, who carry off a Jell-o effigy of Wayne Newton. The Dangers arrive to investigate on the Flying Island. As they circle to land near the fishing village of Muskeg, Dr. Danger lectures everyone on the how the government has a responsibility to help people in trouble. As the Island lands, it throws up a huge wave that swamps several fishing boats.

The Dangers disembark in the Danger Command Car, armed with a high-powered micro wave ray dish and a rack of stainless steel barrels for Dash to throw. They head over to the inlet where the cruise ship was attacked, accidentally locking Jules the cat outside the vehicle, clinging desperately to the radio antennea.

At the inlet, Dr. Danger investigates a shoreline littered with dead fish. Toby, Sandra and Jules go exploring. Dash attempts to open a metal thermos of cocoa with a pipe wrench and fares badly. Face dripping cocoa, he joins Dr. Danger who surmises that a mixture of cruise boat fuel and jettisoned low-salt meals have interfered with the aquatic ecosystem, upsetting the snow crab's diet.

DR. DANGER: You see, Dash, according to Newton's First Law of Physics, the crabs are left with no choice but to grow to monstrous size and attack Mankind.

DASH: When you put it that way, Doc, it makes a lot of sense.

Meanwhile, Jules pounces on a young bald eagle that has landed in the snow. Suddenly, a giant snow crab rises up behind the unsuspecting cat. Toby bursts INTO FRAME and grabs the bald eagle, fleeing as Jules is squashed by the crab. Toby tells Sandra how proud his dad will be when he learns he rescued a rare species. The eagle bites Toby on the nose and flies off.

Sandra and Toby are cornered by the snow crab, but a battered Jules has alerted Dr. Danger to the menace. Arriving with Dash in the Danger Command Car, they open fire with the micro wave ray, missing the crab and incinerating a forest of old growth timber. Finally roasting the crab, the Dangers are reunited in time for the second snow crab to attack. Dash buys time by throwing a stainless steel barrel.

Inside the Danger Command Car, Dr. Danger fires the micro wave again. But the crab is too close and tips over the vehicle. The Dangers flee in an escape flier, leaving the micro wave ray still running, pointed directly at a huge glacier.

Inside the escape flier, Toby realizes they've forgotten Jules.

DASH: Too late to go back, Toby. Let's hope Jules has a couple of his nine lives left.

CUT TO: The second snow crab crunching Jules.

Using the escape flier's grappling hook, the Dangers' at last clutch the second crab and drop it into a volcano. WIPE TO: The village of Muskeg where everyone is enjoying giant crab legs. As they return to the Flying Island, Sandra tries to get Dr. Danger's attention. The glacier struck by the micro wave ray has melted and a great wall of water is descending on Muskeg. But Dr. Danger is busy lecturing Toby on the importance of preserving nature's balance and how science must be harnessed to that end. As the Flying Island lifts off, the glacial wave submerges Muskeg, while the villagers flee, screaming "IEEEEEEEE!" (Image: Warner Bros.)

Finally

Jumbo short story went out today, just shy of 15k words. The story put me in mind of a large, overweight child that wouldn't leave home. Then one day, boom, he's gone.

And there's a sad emptiness.

But mostly relief.