Rejection Spam

One of my short-stories was turned down by an undergrad publication. I received the standard email rejection: "not selected, try again, etc." However the staffer sending out the notice hit reply-all. Myself and about fourteen other writers got the same rejection as well as each other's email addresses.

After discreetly notifying the publication of their goof, I checked my inbox. Two of the rejected writers were now squabbling, with one threatening to "bitch slap" the other — in reply-all mode.

To top it off, the name of the publication was something like "Silly Brain Magazine."

"By their works, ye shall know them."

Every Picture Doesn't Tell A Story

Summer TNT started on Feb. 4 and I have yet to run with my pace group. However, my injured tendon and knee feel much improved. This Saturday we run eight miles on trails above the Rose Bowl. I'll be running solo once again. Perhaps I'll join them next week for ten.

Visited my old land lady. She's in a nursing home out in the San Gabriel Valley. Her bones are like popsicle sticks and she weighs 87 pounds. I pushed her outside in a wheelchair so she could have a couple of smokes. The nursing home is her last stop before Judgment Day and she knows it. Tough old gal.

Got work on a new animated show. It's developed from a well-drawn picture book. Alas, the well-drawn pictures need a story propelling them forward and there is precious little. The main characters don't really want anything and there are no consequences if they stay in this slothful state. In addition, there is no antagonist standing in the way of their anti-goals. It's just characters and a setting.

However, it pays decently and right now that covers a lot of absentee elements.

Booked Up

I'm deep into the outline for my young adult horror novel. The time line idea faded as more details suggested themselves. So I'm moving ahead, letting new concepts and characters steer me toward whatever ending they like. Then I'll go back and tidy things; hone the chapters in my writing workshop; get feedback from various trusted folk.

Afterwards, notes get added and I write the first four chapters. Finally, my agent takes chapters and outline around New York, seeking an editor who believes in the story. And I dream of listening to spooky soundtracks ( Hans Zimmer's "The Ring") and writing a horror book.



A fine goodly dream and a path I intend to follow.

Best in Awhile

Ran six miles with the team today. I would run one minute, then walk two. Felt pretty good; my knee was heavily wrapped; longest I've done since my injury at Pacific Shoreline three weeks ago.

I think Aqua Running helps.






T'ai Chi makes a return to my exercise rotation. Great for tendons.

Between swimming, cardio machines, strengh training, and T'ai Chi, I have to remember to eventually wedge in a bit more plain, old, ordinary running.

They say it's a big plus for marathon training.

TNT Strength Training

A new TNT training wrinkle this season: strength training. Not weights, but exercises that build up the core — torso — and other parts. One pass through the six different stations feels deceptively easy. Two passes and I want to nap. The training is held in a foothill sport's facility catering to professional athletes. Clients also include teens with well-off parents.

Health Club #3 broke the portly string. The place was brightly lit and filled with busy slim people. I got the impression they went to starter health clubs just to get in shape to join this one. Plenty of cardio machines and Spin classes. However, parking was a big pain.

And so I'll pass.

Who wants to walk several blocks to exercise?

Health Club Shopping

Ran a little at practice last Saturday, perhaps a quarter mile. Some soreness. Longest I've run since the injury. Walked three miles yesterday. Felt fine. I think I need to add a health club to my cross-training. Today, I started shopping.

I selected five within a 10 - 15 minute drive from my home. At Club #1, I was met by an obese sales rep the size of a landing craft. Not exactly your health club poster boy, but competent enough in his chosen field. This club was a meat and potatoes operation with lots of weights and cardio machines; parking was so-so; great monthly rate. No pool. I signed up for an inexpensive 30-day trial while I check out the others.

Club #2 featured a very buff sales rep; fantastic parking, great location, but tiny cardio section. There was an outdoor pool and whirl pool. However the whirl pool was filled—and I mean this in the sense of Jell-o filling a bowl—by a great portly man. God bless him for belonging to a health club, but the sight of this guy rising out of the water cooled me out on Club #2.

A supersize leitmotif? I'll know more after seeing Club #3 tomorrow evening.

No Charms in the Tank

Orgins may differ, but all USMC apricot prohibitions are held by Army tankers. In addition to apricots, armor personal believe Charm's Candy — small hard candies found in field rations — will cause rain. They too are unwelcome aboard tanks. And not just tanks. The apricot/Charms rule pertains to Marine Corps amphibious tractors and LVTs as well as the Army's entire array of steely vehicles. Here's an AP article written just prior to the Iraq war that touches on the these touchy subjects.

Tank Superstitions

Spoke with a young Marine veteran last night. He told me about the mystical world of armored vehicles. As a former Marine, I was fascinated to learn that apricots are most unwelcome aboard Marine Corps tanks.

It seems they attract gremlins.

Back in World War II USMC tank maintenance outfits noted that every Sherman broken down with strange, unusual mechanical problems had C-ration apricots aboard. The only logical conclusion was that tank gremlins, lured by the aromatic scent of tinned apricots, had monkey wrenched the machinery. And so a tradition was born and, ever since, apricots have been abhorred by USMC tankers.The young Marine who told me this was a grunt. But his father, a two-star Marine general, had spent most of his career in tanks. And a good portion of that career was spent gobbling down apricots from the turret. As far as I know, the general's tanks never suffered undue mechanical troubles. However, there were many men who would not ride with the general.

He was seen as reckless.

The Pool or If They Could Sea Me Now

Did I swallow this much water today? No, but it sure felt like it. Swim coach Georgia had me doing a mixed side/crawl stroke prior to teaching the side stroke. But I'm not that adept at kicking on my side. Coupled with a tendency to tighten up, I'm finding myself sinking and ingesting a fair amount of chlorinated water. Georgia realized that a bobbing corpse is a poor advertisement for swim lessons, so she had me use fins. Wow! The express lane of swimming! I zipped across the pool gulping less water in the process.

Aqua ran afterwards but my knee could only take about 15 minutes.

Slow, slow recovery.

But all this water had made me a much cleaner person.

I revel in that.

Post-Injury Swim Lesson

Worked out with my swim coach, Georgia. We trained at a small pool in Pasadena. I learned that I have strength and ease in the water. In fact, I could be a crackerjack swimmer save for my inability to breath without swallowing water. This isn't a problem in, say, mountaineering, but turns out to be a crippling drawback in the swimming community.

Among other drills, Georgia had me do "rockets" where I exhale jumping up from the bottom of the pool, blowing out my last breath as I break the surface in order not to swallow water. Overall, practice turned out to be a serious cardio workout.

Afterwards I did some aqua jogging. Wearing a flotation belt, you run in the deep end, concentrating on form. After about fifteen minutes, my right knee ached a bit. I called it a session, drove home and iced it.

My goal in swimming is to do lots of laps and not drown.

And not have my trunks fall off.

In time, I'm hoping new goals will suggest themselves.

On Being Injured

Being injured makes me angry. Watching teammates run while I guard their sweatshirts hurts more than my damaged tendon.

I went to the chiropracter this week. I would've been better off handing the money to one of my coaches. All I got was R.I.C.E advice: Rest, ice, compress, and elevate.

On Monday, I meet with a swimming coach. I need to brush up on basic strokes. Swimming laps and aqua running will be my primary exercises while I mend.

If it were possible, I would trade that big, fat Pacific Shoreline finishers medal for a leisurely four-mile run.

But such is the way of things.

Better now than in May.