Recalling 9/11

K called from Florida, "Planes crashed into the World Trade Center and one of the towers just fell." Unemployed in Los Angeles and half asleep at 7:30 AM, I shuffled downstairs to the TV, past Joy as she prepared for work. At first, all I saw was a dirty cloud obscuring southern Manhattan. Then a stunned announcer said the second tower had just collapsed. Joy joined me, work forgotten as we learned of the attack.

Other friends phoned throughout the day. Paul Rugg speculated about the pilots of the doomed aircraft, certain they weren't Americans forced to crash. TJ, a Vietnam vet, was incensed at the footage of jubilant Palestinians with their candy and AK-47s. He wished he could gift them with a nice buttering of napalm. In a grim mood, I agreed.

Watching TV and power-chewing Nicorette, I mostly felt numb — except when the subject was jumpers. Then I felt horror. Go to work, sip coffee, joke with your pals, then decide whether you'll suffocate, burn alive, or leap a quarter mile to certain death. Questions of etiquette arise: jump solo or hold hands with a co-worker? Perhaps several of you link arms and form a chain, finding courage in numbers. Or do you clutch a table cloth and step into the air, desperately hoping it slows your fall?



The journey takes ten seconds.


Air velocity rips away your shoes.


You explode on impact.


I will always be haunted by the jumpers of 9/11.


Oceans of paper were blasted from the towers, filling the New York sky like the Devil's ticker tape. Invoices and wedding invitations floated down to gray sidewalks.

My friend Cathy, who worked in D.C., reported chaos as the government sent everyone home at once following the Pentagon attack. One jammed intersection turned scary as a man leaped out of an SUV brandishing a pistol and attempting to direct traffic.

Being murdered is not a heroic act, though it can be. Flight 93 passengers fought back and died, saving many more in their sacrifice. North Tower Port Authority employees rescued over 70 people before perishing.


There were many heroes that day.

My sister Mary Pat and I had dinner at a coffee shop. She was passing through town, leaving a job in Mountain View, CA to return to Phoenix. Depressed by the day's events, our meal was not jolly.

Later, Joy tried to give blood, but the hospital was overwhelmed with donations and refused.

Vulnerability, grief, dismay, anger.

Such a beautiful morning with a sky so blue.

(Photos from: Little Green Footballs.)

Repost: Sept. 11, 2008

Update: Strange to reread this. TJ died in 2009 and K passed away just over a year ago. My wife, Joy, and I are doing well, as is Paul Rugg who now rides the train. 

Repost: Sept. 11, 2013

Update: I had cancer surgery last year, but recovered. My wife is doing well and my sister battles her own health woes. I have not heard from my friend Cathy in a few years.  Paul Rugg continues riding the train in addition to being a voice over machine.

Tom Ruegger Remembers Pinky and the Brain

Pinky and the Brain attempt to find the State Department.

A generation ago . . . 

Yes, a crisp twenty years have passed since Pinky and the Brain took to the airwaves in their own Sunday night show. Producer Tom Ruegger recalls it well over at Cartoonatics.

My own contribution was Episode 6, "Brainania" where P&B hoped to build a colossal clothes dryer and render the world helpless with static cling. But to fund the project, they must first create their own nation, then bilk the United States out of foreign aid. This plan, by all accounts, should have worked.

Building Author Platforms

ILTWMT: Above is a Swedish author platform that also pumps substantial amounts of oil. 

What Makes a Good Indi Author Platform?

In the shifting world of publishing, independent authors must bust through the great wall of choices consumers face and discover ways to connect with their readers. Emmanuel Nataf breaks down indi author obstacles:

"There are a handful of sites that might help a new author get discovered, but none of these options is without significant flaws. Wattled is great if you're a hobbyist publishing non-edited fiction, but it doesn't do much to distinguish or reward quality.

Is Goodreads the answer? It could be, but there's no easy way to transform commenters into fans who will follow your progress, read your newsletters and, most importantly, buy your books.

Is it Tablo, Inkitt or any other social discovery platform for books? Unfortunately, those aren't the solution either, since Wattled copycats don't have the community strength to bring you quality readers in your genre."

But then Nataf offers solutions based on what has been working as of late. Read on and find out all the things I'm either not doing, or doing haphazardly.

Books From the Future

Lightless by C.A. Higgins (Del Rey)

Courtesy of i09, who have compiled a list of sci-fi and fantasy books for your fall reading enjoyment. Choose among an autobiography of James T. Kirk, or peruse the fictional musings of authors such as Salman Rushdie and Margaret Atwood. Plenty to occupy your non on-line time including hard science fiction (where some element of real science must be integral to the plot), dystopian realms, and dragons. A couple of dragons, actually. They're a real evergreen in the fantasy genre. Read on.

Write to the Limit

Groggy, weary, punchy, zapped. Since April I have written 304 pages and 99,386 words on the Dunwich Diversity Seminar. As mentioned, I have floundered in the horse latitudes on this book, abandoning my failed outline, and compelled to write fresh new chapters where the old ones no longer held purchase. Now I find I must add gleaming new chapters to the opening to make the later new chapters sing.

But the toughest section is complete. I sense story cuts in my future, but it's all fine tuning from here on out. Will I reach a Halloween release? Tough to say. My paying job demands my full attention now and much more in the coming weeks.

That said, I'd rather have the story right, then meet a deadline with less than my best.

Weekend guests arrive at the Innsmouth Quality Inn. 

Happy Birthday, H.P. Lovecraft

Photo from Lovecraft's Arkham driver's license

A Cthulhu-shaped cake in honor of Howard Phillips Lovecraft, born August 20, 1890. A writer of strange, outre fiction, his works featured gibbous moons, antediluvian architecture, cyclopean structures erected with strange geometry, and monstrous entities that caused poets to go barking mad. This iconoclastic author cut his own trail when it came to horror and fantasy. I aim to glom onto his success with my upcoming fiction book, The Dunwich Diversity Seminar.

DDS tells the story of a modern day, party-girl grad student, related to one of the Miskatonic University professors who turned back the "Dunwich Horror." She finds herself the only one capable of saving humanity from frightening creatures aiming to scour earth of all life and drag it into another dimension. But will our heroine decline the Mojitos long enough to stop these diabolical plans?

So happy birthday, H.P. You would've been 125 years old today. Not quite eldritch, but getting there.

50ZG Now in Diesel, A Bookstore

No typo. Singular. Bookstore. One. For Now. The insightful crew at Diesel, A Bookstore has on hand two copies of Fifty Shades of Zane Grey. Located in oft-filmed Brentwood, Diesel is an independent bookseller, one of the few remaining. You don't last in that business unless you know what your customers crave print wise. They've been around since 1989. How many of you can say the same?  Below are the store particulars, lifted directly from the Brentwood Country Mart (small mall) website:

So if you're out and about in Brentwood (or Santa Monica, California), do consider stopping by and picking up at least one of my durable soft cover books lampooning the work of Fifty Shades author E.L. James.  Enjoy romance, laughs, and learn what it's like to live with an Inner Canadian Goose. Or browse the shelves for works by Diesel favorites such as Don Winslow, author of The Cartel.

If nothing else, do mention the presence of my book to your Southern California friends and relatives. In between surfing sets, they might seek the comfort of the written word before returning to the mighty Pacific.

Story Prompt: Art Helping Art

Here's a tool I've used in the past to help generate story ideas. I fill a sheet of paper with whatever thoughts arise, using different colored pencils, starting at various spots on the page and not censoring anything. This prompts my subconscious to cough up helpful story facets. There is, however, a tendency to fill the page with "redrum," but therapy and an ankle bracelet help keep that in check.

A repost from April 26, 2009. Haven't used this in awhile. I'm keen to give it another try.

Hiroshima and I

August 6 separated by 69 years.

In 1945, August 6 witnessed the detonation of the first atomic bomb over the Japanese city of Hiroshima. I was always fascinated by the shadows of people left on walls. I'd always heard they were vaporized by the blast, but could never figure out why the wall wasn't vaporized as well.

Wall to Wall

And while a terrible event in a terrible war, more Japanese were killed by a conventional firebombing of Tokyo that March. And who needed bombers? The Japanese army in Nanking, China in 1937 killed around a quarter million Chinese using rifles, bayonets, and swords. (The Japanese used the bombers to sink the gunboat U.S.S. Panay, killing and wounding American sailors, but  later apologized and paid us some money.)

Enough of this grim Second World War stream-of-consciousness.

In 2014, I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Just me. Not an entire city. But tragedy involving my life becomes all-consuming. ('But it's ME! How can this happen to ME?')

A year has passed and I'm a man without a prostate, but cancer free. (At a physical examination yesterday, I told the doctor he didn't have to check my prostate anymore—unless he wanted to. He took it in the correct spirit.)

For all my physical gyrations the last twelve months, I'm grateful to be mending and married, as I can't imagine going through this event without the help of my darling wife, as well as family and friends.

And so today some remember a large tragedy and I remember a small one. Life advances inexorably. As for this August 6, say what you will, but both Hiroshima and I are doing better than Detroit.

Eulogy for a Mac Classic

Sweeney talking to a salesman at the Honda dealership.

Cleaning out a storage facility last week, I found a box containing my old Mac Classic, just in time for the passing of Steve Jobs. Back in 1991, M.D. Sweeney accompanied me to the Westwood Mac store and negotiated on my behalf for the computer and a printer. Sweeney is a phenomenal dealer with a deadpan expression like an Olmec mask. Sales reps flash their easy smiles, grow uncomfortable and sometimes offer things at a lower price. (They didn't this time, but even A-Rod strikes out occasionally.) On that computer I wrote many Acme Comedy Theatre sketches as well as my first Animaniacs script, "Dracu-lee, Dracu-la." But it's doing no one any good anymore and is destined for the green waste facility. Farewell, Mac Classic and rest in piece, Mr. Jobs. And if you're ever in Los Angeles, stop by Amalfi Restaurant and see if you can talk the owner (Sweeney) into a free dessert. Let me know how it goes.
Image: antique trader

A repost from Oct, 7, 2011 only with links.

DreamWorks: Fine Animated Features and Real Estate Flips

Diversify is sound business advice and, according to Cartoon Brew, DreamWorks Animation has done just that:

"After announcing a quarterly loss of $263 million last February, DreamWorks sold its campus to SunTrust, and as Cartoon Brew reported in March, SunTrust began the process of flipping the property immediately after buying it, initially listing it for $250 million."

According to the article, DreamWorks has a profit-sharing deal that allows them to dine upon the proceeds of the resale.

Possibly Netflix hired all the 500 laid off employees.

My last time at the Glendale studio was in 2014 for a preview of Peabody and Sherman, which may've been the fat straw that broke the studios back. i09 combs through the film's wake.

Anyway, DreamWorks Glendale had a great breakfast buffet set up for the film with all these great little Danishes and coffee in cups.

And the free lunches were outstanding.

But now there's no longer any such thing as a free lunch.