Bacon Boys

Cooking some thick-cut bacon for the boys this morning. They love that.

They're hard at work creating their own marble run. I love when they play peacefully together. B1 is going to love physics. I sneak in concepts and ideas about it now and then. He already had an intuitive grasp of much of it.

It's sunny and lovely today, although cold, again.

10,000 words.

Howling

The wind keeps howling. I should be asleep, but I'm not ready to sleep, yet.

Exene dropped the boys off earlier today, as she apparently had a hair appointment. I was fine with that, since I always enjoy more time with the boys, and they always have a good time.

B1 and I were talking about reentry vehicles, comparing the classic American conical reentry vehicles to the Soviet-era Vostok spherical ones -- B1 astutely conjectured why the Soviets used spheres, and I explained to him the different approaches of the respective space programs. He loves that stuff. We watched "The Right Stuff" in the wake of that conversation, which is an enjoyable movie, hearkening to a truly bygone age in our society. Amazing, really -- once the space shuttles are grounded, that'll be it for our space program -- in the wake of the endless budget crunch debates, the lopsided tax policy, I can't imagine any programs being funded in the near future, barring some serious shift in national priorities. Like they say in the movie: "No bucks, no Buck Rogers." I remember reading "The Right Stuff," man, I must've been a teenager. It was so long ago. A good book. Tom Wolfe is a good writer, or was one, anyway. Manages a narrative agility bound to a journalistic style.

I'm working on the new SF book; again, momentarily shelved the "contemporary" story just because I wanted to dive right into the SF book sequel while everything was still fresh in my head.

I don't really like talking about my writing; I'm truly the type to write more, and talk about writing less. Plenty of blowhards like to talk about writing, how they could do it if they had the time, or that they have great ideas for stories, but the real truth of it is that they never get around to writing them, because it's hard work, entirely thankless. As I've told someone in the past, it's not called "great idea-having;" it's called "writing." A great idea for a story is not a story.

The same goes with any creative endeavor -- everybody thinks they can do it, but most of them can't. And of the few who actually do it, fewer still are any good at it, and of those few, even fewer are truly great. I think I'm a good writer, but I don't think I'm a great one. Time will tell, if I can ever get those necessary breaks to make it happen. I certainly don't cut myself any slack with my work; I'm easily my toughest critic, and always will be. I trust that instinct. I try to do my best, for what that's worth.

Cold

Frickin' cold this morning -- 27 degrees. Yowza! Lots of wind.

Good writing weather, though, so I'm not complaining. And it's sunny, so it's at least pretty. And the radiators are on, so it's actually warm in here. Amazing to think that March is nearly over.

7100 words.

Then again...

Cracks me up that somebody did this as an oil painting.

I decided that I might as well write the sequel for the SF book I just finished, while the universe, ideas, and characters are still fresh in my head. I started work on it this morning.

4168 words.

Elizabeth Taylor (1932-2011)

Rainy Daze

It's been rainy/stormy the past few days, but that particularly unpleasant cold rain, the early spring rain that half-wishes it were still snow.

I started the new book this morning, cranked out 2000 words on it. This one'll be "contemporary" ("real world"), a kind of black comedy/satirical piece. Nothing even remotely genre about it, unless satire qualifies as a genre, and in today's waning literary market, lord knows how the publishing doyennes would classify it. This'll be the first contemporary kind of piece I've done in years. I think the last one I've done was back in 2005, so it's kind of funny to revisit it.

Done.

Alright, I'm done with the second draft of the SF novel. It's at 71,000 words. Now I'm going to read through it again, do a synopsis for it, and decide if it's where I want it to be. I think it's there, but it always takes another few read-throughs to know for sure. That's always the "eat your broccoli" part of writing. But I'm three days short of a month in the length of time I spent writing this one, which is a speed record for me. I've never written anything quite this quickly, which is funny, because the story never felt rushed to me -- if anything, quite the opposite. Despite the rising action in the narrative, the story feels expansive and well-paced. I don't think anybody'd guess that I wrote it in under a month.

Once I get this one fully finalized and queried to agents, gee, what'll I do next? Hmmm, oh, I know: write another book. Baha! That's what I always laugh about: the "reward" for writing is more writing.

Howling winds today, and it's getting colder. Now that spring is officially here, it feels like we're going to get some more wintery bluster.

Manic Monday?

I witnessed not one, but two acts of assholery today, at opposite ends of the economic spectrum:

1. Had a guy begging bus fare off me two times (I passed him going one way, and he asked me for bus fare; I told him I had nothing). Then, on my way back, I saw him again, waiting at the bus stop, and he asked me again if I had bus fare for him, wanting $2 for the bus. I again said I had nothing for him, and, as it happened, the bus was approaching, whereupon I stopped and watched the guy take out his bus card and board the bus without difficulty. Asshole.

2. While ordering a sandwich, I saw this shitbird with a Bluetooth come in (the guy had that on his ear, and a cell phone in the other hand, leather jacket, pointy cowboy boots, shades. Haggard face that called to mind Nick Nolte in his geriatric bender days). He strolls in, supposedly talking on the phone, and then uses the restroom at the shop (which has a clear sign indicating restrooms are for paying customers only). Then he gets out of the can, again with his cell phone on, mutters how he decided he's not going to get something after all, holding either his real and/or pretend phone conversation on his phone, and when the store owner said "Sir? Sir?!" the guy does the universal "On the phone right now, can't talk" finger in the air sign, then walks out the door without a backward glance. He then crosses the street and hops into his Mercedes coupe, drives off. The owner of the store, an Indian guy, and I, exchanged looks and commented on the assholery of the guy. Asshole.

Must be the close proximity to the supermoon or something, bringing out the assholery in spades today.

Moonshine

Man, the supermoon was a bust over here -- I didn't see squat last night, thanks to overcast skies. Sucks. B1 was all excited to see it, but there was nothing to see.

Speaking of exciting to see, I'd watched "Casino Royale" again, after a long time not seeing it, and recalled that Caterina Murino is frickin' hot in her small role as Solange, Bond's expendable girl (since there always seems to be an expendable babe in a Bond movie in the first act)...

Caterina MMMMurino.

Caterina Murino.

Virgo sun, Libra moon, so she's more than likely batshit crazy, but she's sure one fine lookin' babe.

70,000 words.

Sunny Delight

Sunny day, lovely stuff. Cold today, but the sunlight makes it alright. Nothing fancy to report at the moment. Just writing.

I am looking forward to seeing the "supermoon" tonight. Hopefully it'll be a clear night.

67,000 words.

Winter's End

Went to pick up some groceries, and saw this exuberant Airedale Terrier with some gals who were talking by the bike rack. I'm not a fan of terriers, frankly, but this dog was very friendly, and really wanted to be petted, so I said hi to it and petted it. Although I never owned a dog, I love dogs, and we always get along. The dog was still there when I got out of the grocery store, and its own was saying "Oh, he likes you; you want to ride on his bike?" The dog's tail was wagging a mile a minute. Cute doggy, for a terrier, anyway.

I'm going to finish up the SF novel this weekend. Should be about 20,000 more words to write for it, which I ought to be able to do in around 10-20 hours, depending how quickly I write. Then I'll read through it a third time and query it to agents. This one'll beat all previous speed records for me, but the quality is there -- I think it's one of my best. This story was just one that flowed smoothly from concept to execution for me. And best of all, there's a sequel locked into it -- I mean, it's complete unto itself, but it begs for a sequel. Three of the books I've written would accommodate sequels, including this one. I don't ever plan for that (or even want it), but a couple of them just lend themselves to it, this one most of all.

Laundryman

Took care of the laundry today, with B2 as my wingman. Today's shaping up to be even nicer than yesterday, tempwise, although it's overcast, so that takes away some of the loveliness, although it's still so nice and mild. Just a tease, really, I'm sure.

I've got a bunch of stuff to do today.

60,000 words.

Springing

Beautiful day; the first truly beautiful day of the year: mild and sunny, just lovely. The city is waking up, as ever, and lots of people are out and about. I love when the city revives from its wintery hibernation. Everything's fun and possible and joyful.

I sent out another tightly-targeted query to a literary agent. Fingers crossed, as ever.

I have the boys for the next couple of days, and with the good weather, am looking forward to getting them to the playground for some quality runaround time. It's kinda funny -- in early spring, on the good days, the parents with boys are always the first ones at the playgrounds. Gotta wear out the lil' scamps! B1 and B2'll love that -- instead of pounding on each other, they can be running around in circles and what-not on the playground. I'm a firm believer in unstructured time for kids -- not one of those hyperscheduling types. One of the joys of childhood is being able to enjoy that kind of free time. I think a lot of the hoverparents who overschedule their kids are seeing them up for breakdowns in adulthood, as you get these people who've never known a real transition from childhood to adulthood, and are just accustomed to constantly living "on the clock." Sucks.

My boys understand about chores and getting stuff done, but I always try to give them room to breathe and just play as they like.

57,000 words.