by Brian Mullen
By the time you read this, I'll be a driving fool (more so than usual)! My goal is to be on the road between 6 and 6:15 a.m. I am driving to Rochester, NY for work. This has become my norm.
In the past three weeks or so, I've been traveling all around the middle and western sides of Pennsylvania: York, Carlisle, Huntingdon, Tarentum, Oil City to name just a few. My assignments have been long hours on my feet and usually third-shift work. I've worked the past two weekends and have some nice overtime paychecks as compensation.
Because my "free time," such as it is, on these assignments has been mostly consumed by work with answering voicemails, e-mails and shopping for supplies for each night's work, writing has had to take a back seat for near-on a month. I miss it terribly.
The upside is that the multiple consecutive-hour excursions in the rental cars have allowed me to revisit my audiobook collection. Rochester, for example, is 5-hours each way so I can work in one unabridged novel or perhaps two abridged novels. I think my traveling companion this trip will be Brad Meltzer's "The Millionaires."
Yikes! I just looked at the clock and I need to get my butt in gear. Good morning to all and don't worry about me, I'll be doing something I enjoy - reading with my ears! Ciao!
Showing posts with label Brian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brian. Show all posts
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
What If?
by Brian Mullen
I absolutely LOVE alternative histories. I have a pile of them I'm waiting to read and a few audiobooks I've managed to listen to in my vehicular travelling.
If you're not familiar with the genre, here's the premise in a nutshell. Select a fundamental event in history (say the American Colonies winning the Revolutionary War) and imagine what would have happened had the event occurred in some other way (i.e. we lost). How would the world be different? Write a story set in that reality.
One of the greats of alternative histories has got to be Harry Turtledove. I have, though have not yet read, "The Guns of the South" in which time travellers, hoping to alter history to their benefit, travel back to the American Civil War and supply the Confederates with automatic weapons. It's first on my "To Read" list.
The next one I have is titled "Pavane" by Keith Roberts and is based in a world where the Spanish Armada defeated the British Navy.
But the one that had initially captured my imagination is called "For Want of a Nail" by Robert Sobel and is the example I began the blog with. The British win the Revolutionary War and those unwilling to continue to live under British rule move...and create the United States of Mexico. The book itself is not really a novel but rather a fictitious history text book detailing the tumultuous history of these two countries including charts and appendices, quotes and speech excerpts, even footnote/references from where the information had supposedly been gathered.
It's fun to wonder "What If?" and imagine that the course of history could be significantly different over a single detail. I have long, long, long term plans to write such a story though I must admit my alternate histories will rely much more on imagination than on any real understanding of history. But, then again, that's what makes it fun in my opinion.
I absolutely LOVE alternative histories. I have a pile of them I'm waiting to read and a few audiobooks I've managed to listen to in my vehicular travelling.
If you're not familiar with the genre, here's the premise in a nutshell. Select a fundamental event in history (say the American Colonies winning the Revolutionary War) and imagine what would have happened had the event occurred in some other way (i.e. we lost). How would the world be different? Write a story set in that reality.
One of the greats of alternative histories has got to be Harry Turtledove. I have, though have not yet read, "The Guns of the South" in which time travellers, hoping to alter history to their benefit, travel back to the American Civil War and supply the Confederates with automatic weapons. It's first on my "To Read" list.
The next one I have is titled "Pavane" by Keith Roberts and is based in a world where the Spanish Armada defeated the British Navy.
But the one that had initially captured my imagination is called "For Want of a Nail" by Robert Sobel and is the example I began the blog with. The British win the Revolutionary War and those unwilling to continue to live under British rule move...and create the United States of Mexico. The book itself is not really a novel but rather a fictitious history text book detailing the tumultuous history of these two countries including charts and appendices, quotes and speech excerpts, even footnote/references from where the information had supposedly been gathered.
It's fun to wonder "What If?" and imagine that the course of history could be significantly different over a single detail. I have long, long, long term plans to write such a story though I must admit my alternate histories will rely much more on imagination than on any real understanding of history. But, then again, that's what makes it fun in my opinion.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
The Blue Screen of Death
by Brian Mullen
Yesterday was a fateful day. I got to work at 7:15 a.m. and immediately experienced some computer problems. My company-provided computer could not access the Internet. This is a problem I've been experiencing off and on for about three weeks now. Because the IT department doesn't come in until 8ish, I've historically found partial success through repeated rebooting of the computer. Not today.
Today whilst rebooting, the computer suddenly stopped its normal functions and showed me something new: a royal blue screen with lots of white text on it. The text remained on screen only a few seconds, not even long enough for me to reach the third line, but what I did catch was essentially this: "Windows has experienced a problem, the computer interrupted the reboot to prevent it from becoming catastrophic, you may reboot, if you dare. Bwah Ha Ha Ha!" or words to that effect.
When the IT folks arrived I explained what had happened. "Ah," they said. "You've been BSOD'd."
"BSOD'd?" I asked.
"The Blue Screen of Death. Your hard drive has failed."
Fortunately the several weeks of problems had put the fear of God and/or Bill Gates in me and I had been saving everything of any importance onto the company's server each and every day. So when my computer's life flashed before my eyes, there was nothing on it that couldn't be retrieved later. But, I reflected on my way home, the same cannot be said for my personal computer.
I thought of the characters in my drafted stories and what would happen to them if my computer similarly crashed. I like to believe my characters enjoy a "Toy Story"-esque existence when the computer is turned off and they all get together in cyberspace and hang out. I imagine they meet in the several nicely furnished houses I made for them in my hours of Sims games and brag of their adventures, point out each others typographical errors and speculate on unfinished plots. Then, in a scene fresh from some sci-fi horror flick, I imagine a giant blue screen of death sliding inexorably towards them, flinging pixilated debris as it plows relentlessly forward. My characters scream and run helplessly trying to find cover before they are defragmented for the last time.
But there is hope for them, of course. Reincarnation is a strong force for imaginary characters and they will live on in other computers. Plus I have cloned most of them onto CD-Roms so none will die forever.
Still, it is an eye-opening moment when one gazes into the blue screen of death for the first time and ponder what could have been.
Back-up your hard drives...while you still can.
Yesterday was a fateful day. I got to work at 7:15 a.m. and immediately experienced some computer problems. My company-provided computer could not access the Internet. This is a problem I've been experiencing off and on for about three weeks now. Because the IT department doesn't come in until 8ish, I've historically found partial success through repeated rebooting of the computer. Not today.
Today whilst rebooting, the computer suddenly stopped its normal functions and showed me something new: a royal blue screen with lots of white text on it. The text remained on screen only a few seconds, not even long enough for me to reach the third line, but what I did catch was essentially this: "Windows has experienced a problem, the computer interrupted the reboot to prevent it from becoming catastrophic, you may reboot, if you dare. Bwah Ha Ha Ha!" or words to that effect.
When the IT folks arrived I explained what had happened. "Ah," they said. "You've been BSOD'd."
"BSOD'd?" I asked.
"The Blue Screen of Death. Your hard drive has failed."
Fortunately the several weeks of problems had put the fear of God and/or Bill Gates in me and I had been saving everything of any importance onto the company's server each and every day. So when my computer's life flashed before my eyes, there was nothing on it that couldn't be retrieved later. But, I reflected on my way home, the same cannot be said for my personal computer.
I thought of the characters in my drafted stories and what would happen to them if my computer similarly crashed. I like to believe my characters enjoy a "Toy Story"-esque existence when the computer is turned off and they all get together in cyberspace and hang out. I imagine they meet in the several nicely furnished houses I made for them in my hours of Sims games and brag of their adventures, point out each others typographical errors and speculate on unfinished plots. Then, in a scene fresh from some sci-fi horror flick, I imagine a giant blue screen of death sliding inexorably towards them, flinging pixilated debris as it plows relentlessly forward. My characters scream and run helplessly trying to find cover before they are defragmented for the last time.
But there is hope for them, of course. Reincarnation is a strong force for imaginary characters and they will live on in other computers. Plus I have cloned most of them onto CD-Roms so none will die forever.
Still, it is an eye-opening moment when one gazes into the blue screen of death for the first time and ponder what could have been.
Back-up your hard drives...while you still can.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Rebounding (Finally)
by Brian Mullen
Well, for the past four weeks, my household has been striken with the worst flu virus we've ever seen. I was the proud owner of it for the first two weeks, my wife and I shared it for week three, and now I am recovering while my wife is fighting the major symptoms as we speak.
If you have had this strain of flu, I don't need to tell you that it is one tough bugger. It did not respond to antibiotics (as most viruses do not); however, the symptoms also were highly resistent to treatment. I tried four different leading brands of medicines that supposedly eased symptoms - not one of them had any noticable effect.
As a result, I have already depleted my year's supply of sick hours; my wife adamantly refuses to waste her hours and has gone to work every day and been sent home by her boss three times now.
In retrospect, I wish I had spent some of my time focusing on my writings as I have very little to show for my days spent at home. It is hard to concentrate and work when you're feverish and coughing every other breath, but the absence of writing has had an effect nonetheless.
Having several hundred channels on cable television and the time to watch it is eye-opening. You'd think with all those channels that at any given time, something good might be on. You'd be wrong. We also have "On Demand" which allows us to watch select programs any time we wish and I must say that I have found great interest in HBO's series "John Adams" starring Paul Giamatti as the eponymous forefather. I've seen the first two episodes so far and it has captivated me. So much so, in fact, that I've decided to spend some time reading some of the biographies of our founding fathers. My mother has also put me onto a favorite book of hers which is "Founding Mothers", a book on the wives of the founding fathers written by Cokie Roberts (whom I know from National Public Radio). The HBO series clearly indicates that John Adams' wife was a trusted consultant/adviser to him during both his legal and political careers and she seemed to be not only the lynchpin of the family but the anchor/rudder that kept John Adams where he needed to be.
The series will be comprised of seven episodes, I belive. Two have already been aired. That finally gives me something on television I can look forward to. What a novel idea!
Well, for the past four weeks, my household has been striken with the worst flu virus we've ever seen. I was the proud owner of it for the first two weeks, my wife and I shared it for week three, and now I am recovering while my wife is fighting the major symptoms as we speak.
If you have had this strain of flu, I don't need to tell you that it is one tough bugger. It did not respond to antibiotics (as most viruses do not); however, the symptoms also were highly resistent to treatment. I tried four different leading brands of medicines that supposedly eased symptoms - not one of them had any noticable effect.
As a result, I have already depleted my year's supply of sick hours; my wife adamantly refuses to waste her hours and has gone to work every day and been sent home by her boss three times now.
In retrospect, I wish I had spent some of my time focusing on my writings as I have very little to show for my days spent at home. It is hard to concentrate and work when you're feverish and coughing every other breath, but the absence of writing has had an effect nonetheless.
Having several hundred channels on cable television and the time to watch it is eye-opening. You'd think with all those channels that at any given time, something good might be on. You'd be wrong. We also have "On Demand" which allows us to watch select programs any time we wish and I must say that I have found great interest in HBO's series "John Adams" starring Paul Giamatti as the eponymous forefather. I've seen the first two episodes so far and it has captivated me. So much so, in fact, that I've decided to spend some time reading some of the biographies of our founding fathers. My mother has also put me onto a favorite book of hers which is "Founding Mothers", a book on the wives of the founding fathers written by Cokie Roberts (whom I know from National Public Radio). The HBO series clearly indicates that John Adams' wife was a trusted consultant/adviser to him during both his legal and political careers and she seemed to be not only the lynchpin of the family but the anchor/rudder that kept John Adams where he needed to be.
The series will be comprised of seven episodes, I belive. Two have already been aired. That finally gives me something on television I can look forward to. What a novel idea!
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Working Stiff (Literally)
by Brian Mullen
I've noticed that many of our blogs recently have been about work and it made me hesitate because that is what my topic was going to be about also. But, after all, we are the Working Stiffs. This week, however, the term can be applied literally for me. I'm a consultant and our firm has landed a big job. What I do is confidential but it involves gathering lots of data, organizing it into some type of meaningful form, using it to determine which government forms need completed and then completing those forms to the best of my ability. As you might expect, the information is not always complete, is not guaranteed to be accurate and is often sent piecemeal. The forms are, of course, government forms which means they are not user friendly or remotely intuitive and the deadlines are always looming and unforgiving.
Fortunately I am not on my own in this project but that sometimes presents its own logistical problems. I am a morning person and arrive to work early. The project lead (for this phase anyway) operates from California. This gives me plenty of work time where I'm not interrupted but it also prevents me from getting data when I could use it. Further, sometimes our marching orders are handed out within a few hours of my normal end time and, due to the work load, we must stay when able to.
Now I'm not complaining as overtime has been approved and the thoughts of a paycheck larger than normal is more than enough incentive to keep me working away into the evening. But as I look forward to a lull in the work that coincides with the weekend I can't help but notice the stiff, aching muscles, the mental fatigue and the slightly upset stomach from the unhealthy munchie breaks.
This weekend may be the first weekend in 2008 where the wife and I have absolutely no plans whatsoever. And since the project started, I have not made a sentence's worth of progress on any of my writing projects. I've brainstormed and even jotted down some notes but the pages are still blank. I am hoping my passion for writing and a good night's rest will be enough to keep this workhorse plugging away - only this time, I'll be working on my own projects. Working myself stiff!
I've noticed that many of our blogs recently have been about work and it made me hesitate because that is what my topic was going to be about also. But, after all, we are the Working Stiffs. This week, however, the term can be applied literally for me. I'm a consultant and our firm has landed a big job. What I do is confidential but it involves gathering lots of data, organizing it into some type of meaningful form, using it to determine which government forms need completed and then completing those forms to the best of my ability. As you might expect, the information is not always complete, is not guaranteed to be accurate and is often sent piecemeal. The forms are, of course, government forms which means they are not user friendly or remotely intuitive and the deadlines are always looming and unforgiving.
Fortunately I am not on my own in this project but that sometimes presents its own logistical problems. I am a morning person and arrive to work early. The project lead (for this phase anyway) operates from California. This gives me plenty of work time where I'm not interrupted but it also prevents me from getting data when I could use it. Further, sometimes our marching orders are handed out within a few hours of my normal end time and, due to the work load, we must stay when able to.
Now I'm not complaining as overtime has been approved and the thoughts of a paycheck larger than normal is more than enough incentive to keep me working away into the evening. But as I look forward to a lull in the work that coincides with the weekend I can't help but notice the stiff, aching muscles, the mental fatigue and the slightly upset stomach from the unhealthy munchie breaks.
This weekend may be the first weekend in 2008 where the wife and I have absolutely no plans whatsoever. And since the project started, I have not made a sentence's worth of progress on any of my writing projects. I've brainstormed and even jotted down some notes but the pages are still blank. I am hoping my passion for writing and a good night's rest will be enough to keep this workhorse plugging away - only this time, I'll be working on my own projects. Working myself stiff!
Saturday, January 26, 2008
The Thrilla' in Manilla (Folders)
by Brian Mullen
I come up with ideas faster than I can write their stories. While this is undoubtedly a blessing in the long-term, in the here and now, I suffer from guilt. They sit in their respective manilla folders, shoved in a plastic filing case, and they stare at me. "When are you going to write about me?" they cry. "I'd make a great novel, wouldn't I?"
"Yes, you would," I think, "but I just don't have the time to dedicate to you just now. I've got to work on this other story first."
"That's what you said two stories ago." And that's the truth. The list of my projects gets larger and larger but my time just seems to get consumed in too many other things.
Last month, while taking a quick lunch-time walking break at work, I thought of a scenario for a short story mystery. Ideas just kept popping into my mind all day and, when I got home, I cranked out a first draft of the first "chapter". I passed it to my critique group and some friends and family over Christmas. Earlier today my mom called. "When do I get to read the next chapter?"
"I, uh, haven't written it yet."
"Well, get to it. I'm intrigued and want to read more."
But I'm in the middle of a project. A very long project but my interest is high and I'm trying to stay focused on it. But I want to know how that story will play out too. "What about us?" cry the files.
I just need a little more time.
I come up with ideas faster than I can write their stories. While this is undoubtedly a blessing in the long-term, in the here and now, I suffer from guilt. They sit in their respective manilla folders, shoved in a plastic filing case, and they stare at me. "When are you going to write about me?" they cry. "I'd make a great novel, wouldn't I?"
"Yes, you would," I think, "but I just don't have the time to dedicate to you just now. I've got to work on this other story first."
"That's what you said two stories ago." And that's the truth. The list of my projects gets larger and larger but my time just seems to get consumed in too many other things.
Last month, while taking a quick lunch-time walking break at work, I thought of a scenario for a short story mystery. Ideas just kept popping into my mind all day and, when I got home, I cranked out a first draft of the first "chapter". I passed it to my critique group and some friends and family over Christmas. Earlier today my mom called. "When do I get to read the next chapter?"
"I, uh, haven't written it yet."
"Well, get to it. I'm intrigued and want to read more."
But I'm in the middle of a project. A very long project but my interest is high and I'm trying to stay focused on it. But I want to know how that story will play out too. "What about us?" cry the files.
I just need a little more time.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
My Dinner With A Master
By Brian C. Mullen
Okay, we didn’t actually have dinner. I had some potato chips and bottled water, though. I don’t think he was eating anything during our conversation. Well, okay, technically it wasn’t a conversation. It was more like a lecture. Well, let’s just call it what it was…
A running commentary.
A director’s commentary, on one of my favorite movies I own: A Few Good Men (directed by Rob Reiner).
I LOVE listening to director’s commentaries during movies. Sometimes I like them more than the actual movies because that is where you really learn storytelling and get insights into people’s minds and thought processes.
Rob Reiner’s commentary on A Few Good Men, which I literally just watched/listened to before typing this blog is not what I would call a model commentary: there are large pauses where he doesn’t speak – just watching the movie alongside me – and there are many places where the subject matter is more of a reminiscing, but even those are interesting. But the story-telling information, well, let me tell you…
If you haven’t seen the movie, I hope to not spoil much, but I do ask you to watch the film for the story premise. But let me tell you that any one else, myself included, would call it a military courtroom drama. But Rob Reiner made me see it as a coming of age story.
Our first introduction to Tom Cruise’s character (Kaffee from here on) is him plea-bargaining another case while practicing softball. We see that he’s very good at it and learn that he’s successfully plea-bargained 44 cases in 9 months. This is his expertise. We also learn that his father, now deceased, was a tremendously good trial lawyer – and that Kaffee may fear trials because of that. He tries every which way to plea bargain his way out of this current trial only to be forced by those involved to take it to trial. He even considers dropping the case. But after words are said and he gets a good look at himself by observing others (i.e. overhearing a lawyer in a bar bragging about a maneuver very similar to Kaffee’s earlier one) he decides to try to make his dad proud and embraces the trial.
And embrace it he and his colleagues do. They make a few minor mistakes here and there, but they go at it with everything only to meet obstacle after obstacle and soon some of the mistakes get much bigger. And Kaffee, after a booze-augmented argument, begins to see the poor choice he has made: he has tried to be like his father. He needs to be himself. And he takes a huge gamble – one that his father would not approve of.
The consequences of this gamble, should he fail, are huge (court-martial) and for a moment it looks like he isn’t going to succeed. But he commits and goes all-in to the gamble. And he achieves a victory – sort of. The trial is decided better than the plea-bargain would have gotten him but less than an A+ (his clients are found guilty on one of three counts – ironically the only one that mattered to his clients – forcing them to the end of their own character arc as well).
As Rob Reiner saw it, Kaffee went from hiding in his father’s shadow to finding and embracing his true self. A coming of age story. Hidden within a military courtroom drama. Who’d a thunk it?
It’s easy to be blind to the heart of a story with all the distractions that are thrown at an audience like plot twists, hidden clues and overlooked facts coming back to bite, lawyerly chess-moves, emotional monologues, and especially Jack Nicholson’s commanding presence. But inserted neatly, maybe even seamlessly, is a simple, by-the-book storyline.
And that’s what I need to remember every time I sit down to write.
Okay, we didn’t actually have dinner. I had some potato chips and bottled water, though. I don’t think he was eating anything during our conversation. Well, okay, technically it wasn’t a conversation. It was more like a lecture. Well, let’s just call it what it was…
A running commentary.
A director’s commentary, on one of my favorite movies I own: A Few Good Men (directed by Rob Reiner).
I LOVE listening to director’s commentaries during movies. Sometimes I like them more than the actual movies because that is where you really learn storytelling and get insights into people’s minds and thought processes.
Rob Reiner’s commentary on A Few Good Men, which I literally just watched/listened to before typing this blog is not what I would call a model commentary: there are large pauses where he doesn’t speak – just watching the movie alongside me – and there are many places where the subject matter is more of a reminiscing, but even those are interesting. But the story-telling information, well, let me tell you…
If you haven’t seen the movie, I hope to not spoil much, but I do ask you to watch the film for the story premise. But let me tell you that any one else, myself included, would call it a military courtroom drama. But Rob Reiner made me see it as a coming of age story.
Our first introduction to Tom Cruise’s character (Kaffee from here on) is him plea-bargaining another case while practicing softball. We see that he’s very good at it and learn that he’s successfully plea-bargained 44 cases in 9 months. This is his expertise. We also learn that his father, now deceased, was a tremendously good trial lawyer – and that Kaffee may fear trials because of that. He tries every which way to plea bargain his way out of this current trial only to be forced by those involved to take it to trial. He even considers dropping the case. But after words are said and he gets a good look at himself by observing others (i.e. overhearing a lawyer in a bar bragging about a maneuver very similar to Kaffee’s earlier one) he decides to try to make his dad proud and embraces the trial.
And embrace it he and his colleagues do. They make a few minor mistakes here and there, but they go at it with everything only to meet obstacle after obstacle and soon some of the mistakes get much bigger. And Kaffee, after a booze-augmented argument, begins to see the poor choice he has made: he has tried to be like his father. He needs to be himself. And he takes a huge gamble – one that his father would not approve of.
The consequences of this gamble, should he fail, are huge (court-martial) and for a moment it looks like he isn’t going to succeed. But he commits and goes all-in to the gamble. And he achieves a victory – sort of. The trial is decided better than the plea-bargain would have gotten him but less than an A+ (his clients are found guilty on one of three counts – ironically the only one that mattered to his clients – forcing them to the end of their own character arc as well).
As Rob Reiner saw it, Kaffee went from hiding in his father’s shadow to finding and embracing his true self. A coming of age story. Hidden within a military courtroom drama. Who’d a thunk it?
It’s easy to be blind to the heart of a story with all the distractions that are thrown at an audience like plot twists, hidden clues and overlooked facts coming back to bite, lawyerly chess-moves, emotional monologues, and especially Jack Nicholson’s commanding presence. But inserted neatly, maybe even seamlessly, is a simple, by-the-book storyline.
And that’s what I need to remember every time I sit down to write.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Wondering What's Next
by Brian Mullen
Today I finished rewrite number three of my current project. It's a novella, my second now, and it's about to go into a tiny and very short limbo while my critique group colleagues give the first three chapters some scrutiny. That's about three weeks from now and it's possible I may find a significant rewrite is in order before part two can be submitted. It's also possible I'm on the right track and comments will be relatively easy to fix. Being as optomistic as possible means the novella will not be taking up significant portions of my time for the next several months.
My first novella is in a larger limbo having been submitted for a contest; it'll be several more months before I decide if that needs more work. In the meantime I'm left with a choice: look forward or look backward.
I have a collection of short stories that I haven't touched since January 30, 2006 when I compiled them into a spiral-bound book. I read portions of it earlier this week and I found myself no longer as impressed with them as I was when I printed them out. They need work. But is that where I should focus my efforts?
During my last vacation, a cruise along Alaska's inner passage, I had the opportunity to hear two speeches given by a retired Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer about the history of that organization and it has inspired parts of a mystery - namely main character and setting. I have no idea what the mystery would be about. Is that the next project for me?
About a year ago, I saw a movie that gave me lots to think about - though not what the filmmakers meant, I'm sure. It was a dystopia - a story set in a significantly less than perfect future - and it got me to thinking: why aren't there any dystopian comedies? Dystopias are such downers you'd think someone'd be itching to make a funny one. I came up with many, MANY ideas for such a book - is it time to take a stab at it?
Last year I found a television show I could really get into - namely, Heroes. It's the kind of show I'd like to write. One night after watching a marathon, I thought of a story arc that I think would make a pretty good season. While I don't have any hopes of selling it to Hollywood, television shows of the sci-fi genre do tend to have spin-off novels. Star Trek and Star Wars each have several hundred, and I've seen them for Quantum Leap, Babylon 5, X-Files and even Deep Sea Quest - just to name a few. Is this something I should pursue?
Then there's my very, very first attempt at a mystery novel. Man, does that bad boy need work. It needs a complete overhaul in plot, characters and pacing. Has my progress with my other works prepared me to tackle that problem child now?
There's even a thriller I've been mentally playing with for a couple years now that I think has strong possibilities. I haven't plotted it out completely yet but I think I know pretty much how it'll go. Is now the time?
I should, and do, feel blessed that I have enough ideas to keep me in front of my computer for several years to come. I also know how I'll ultimately handle this decision - I'll let fate decide for me. I'll write all the titles on strips of paper, fold them and draw one out of a hat. It's a process that's worked well for me in the past - most of those short stories were written in the order fate dictated.
But I'll not choose today or tomorrow. I'm going to enjoy this weekend. I'm going to enjoy imagining all the possibilities. It's fun to wonder what's next.
Today I finished rewrite number three of my current project. It's a novella, my second now, and it's about to go into a tiny and very short limbo while my critique group colleagues give the first three chapters some scrutiny. That's about three weeks from now and it's possible I may find a significant rewrite is in order before part two can be submitted. It's also possible I'm on the right track and comments will be relatively easy to fix. Being as optomistic as possible means the novella will not be taking up significant portions of my time for the next several months.
My first novella is in a larger limbo having been submitted for a contest; it'll be several more months before I decide if that needs more work. In the meantime I'm left with a choice: look forward or look backward.
I have a collection of short stories that I haven't touched since January 30, 2006 when I compiled them into a spiral-bound book. I read portions of it earlier this week and I found myself no longer as impressed with them as I was when I printed them out. They need work. But is that where I should focus my efforts?
During my last vacation, a cruise along Alaska's inner passage, I had the opportunity to hear two speeches given by a retired Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer about the history of that organization and it has inspired parts of a mystery - namely main character and setting. I have no idea what the mystery would be about. Is that the next project for me?
About a year ago, I saw a movie that gave me lots to think about - though not what the filmmakers meant, I'm sure. It was a dystopia - a story set in a significantly less than perfect future - and it got me to thinking: why aren't there any dystopian comedies? Dystopias are such downers you'd think someone'd be itching to make a funny one. I came up with many, MANY ideas for such a book - is it time to take a stab at it?
Last year I found a television show I could really get into - namely, Heroes. It's the kind of show I'd like to write. One night after watching a marathon, I thought of a story arc that I think would make a pretty good season. While I don't have any hopes of selling it to Hollywood, television shows of the sci-fi genre do tend to have spin-off novels. Star Trek and Star Wars each have several hundred, and I've seen them for Quantum Leap, Babylon 5, X-Files and even Deep Sea Quest - just to name a few. Is this something I should pursue?
Then there's my very, very first attempt at a mystery novel. Man, does that bad boy need work. It needs a complete overhaul in plot, characters and pacing. Has my progress with my other works prepared me to tackle that problem child now?
There's even a thriller I've been mentally playing with for a couple years now that I think has strong possibilities. I haven't plotted it out completely yet but I think I know pretty much how it'll go. Is now the time?
I should, and do, feel blessed that I have enough ideas to keep me in front of my computer for several years to come. I also know how I'll ultimately handle this decision - I'll let fate decide for me. I'll write all the titles on strips of paper, fold them and draw one out of a hat. It's a process that's worked well for me in the past - most of those short stories were written in the order fate dictated.
But I'll not choose today or tomorrow. I'm going to enjoy this weekend. I'm going to enjoy imagining all the possibilities. It's fun to wonder what's next.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
My Baby's Gone
by Brian Mullen
Not a real baby, mind you, but my manuscript. I've written a novella and have sent it off for a contest. Every year the Miami University Press hosts a novella contest where first prize is publication. Entries this year must be postmarked by November 1 and the winner will be announced in May, 2008.
And I must wait. In silence.
My mother would probably call this poetic justice for when she sent me off to college for the similarities are uncanny:
My baby will not call or write me to tell me how it's doing. I was notoriously bad at keeping in contact while I was gone as well.
I will only know my baby has arrived safely. I sent it "delivery confirmation" and can track it's progress on-line. My mom knew I had arrived at college safely by dropping me off there.
My baby will be off being judged by others - getting graded, passing or failing, being talked about (maybe), based completely on its own merits. There is nothing I can do but hope I've molded it into the best it can be and offer the occasional prayer and good wishes.
But I do have an option available to me that makes a difference. I guess my mother had the same option but chose not to. However, as a writer, I must take this option for my own survival. While my baby is out in the real world, unable to contact me, and I unable to contact it, I will be focusing on something new.
I'm going to make another baby.
Not a real baby, mind you, but my manuscript. I've written a novella and have sent it off for a contest. Every year the Miami University Press hosts a novella contest where first prize is publication. Entries this year must be postmarked by November 1 and the winner will be announced in May, 2008.
And I must wait. In silence.
My mother would probably call this poetic justice for when she sent me off to college for the similarities are uncanny:
My baby will not call or write me to tell me how it's doing. I was notoriously bad at keeping in contact while I was gone as well.
I will only know my baby has arrived safely. I sent it "delivery confirmation" and can track it's progress on-line. My mom knew I had arrived at college safely by dropping me off there.
My baby will be off being judged by others - getting graded, passing or failing, being talked about (maybe), based completely on its own merits. There is nothing I can do but hope I've molded it into the best it can be and offer the occasional prayer and good wishes.
But I do have an option available to me that makes a difference. I guess my mother had the same option but chose not to. However, as a writer, I must take this option for my own survival. While my baby is out in the real world, unable to contact me, and I unable to contact it, I will be focusing on something new.
I'm going to make another baby.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Wee Morning Hours
by Brian Mullen
As I write this, it is 3:45 a.m. on August 24th. My wife is "meditating" for a few minutes before I force her to get up and get ready. We are going on vacation. Our plane leaves Pittsburgh Airport at 6 a.m. (or thereabouts). We are going on a week-long cruise to Alaska.
Because of the amount of work that goes into making sure our jobs will run semi-smoothly without our hands on the rudders, so to speak, we've barely had a chance to get excited about the trip. Last night, however, I bought a 2007 Alaskan cruise travel guide highlighting much of what we can expect. So, even though we were supposed to go to bed "early", we stayed up reading excerpts and getting excited.
We are entering a strange world. The cities we will be seeing have smaller populations (in some cases) that the capacity of the cruise ship - Seward has about 300 locals - our ship has 2100! Each strives to maintain an appearance of historical authenticity while having all the modern day conveniences.
As a writer, I hope to get inspired by new locations and new experiences and come home with a Jack London "Call of the Wild" kind of destiny. Odds are, however, I'll just come home about 10 pounds heavier.
Still, it's early in the morning and a whole new world awaits. Once we get through security, that is.
As I write this, it is 3:45 a.m. on August 24th. My wife is "meditating" for a few minutes before I force her to get up and get ready. We are going on vacation. Our plane leaves Pittsburgh Airport at 6 a.m. (or thereabouts). We are going on a week-long cruise to Alaska.
Because of the amount of work that goes into making sure our jobs will run semi-smoothly without our hands on the rudders, so to speak, we've barely had a chance to get excited about the trip. Last night, however, I bought a 2007 Alaskan cruise travel guide highlighting much of what we can expect. So, even though we were supposed to go to bed "early", we stayed up reading excerpts and getting excited.
We are entering a strange world. The cities we will be seeing have smaller populations (in some cases) that the capacity of the cruise ship - Seward has about 300 locals - our ship has 2100! Each strives to maintain an appearance of historical authenticity while having all the modern day conveniences.
As a writer, I hope to get inspired by new locations and new experiences and come home with a Jack London "Call of the Wild" kind of destiny. Odds are, however, I'll just come home about 10 pounds heavier.
Still, it's early in the morning and a whole new world awaits. Once we get through security, that is.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Subconcious Story-Telling
by Brian Mullen
I love dreaming.
I like the entertainment value that comes from being in absurd situations where everything is just taken in stride. No matter how weird things get, it all seems to make perfect sense during the dream. I remember a dream I had during the time of my first real career job where my boss was possessed by the devil and it was my job to fire her. She was slowly spinning in a swivel chair with fire shooting out of her eyes and uttering a gutteral moan and I'm like, "You know, things just aren't working out here." I remember waking up and laughing.
Periodically, however, I find my dreams to be wonderful sources of story telling. My very first attempt at a novel stemmed from a dream I had. I remember in the dream it was night time and I was walking down a crowded sidewalk. I came to this bar-type deal where the bar was in the exterior wall of the building. So the bartender was standing inside the building but the stools were outside the building. There were several barstools, maybe six or so, and all were occupied except one. As common in my dreams, I somehow knew the unoccupied one was MY barstool. On my barstool there was a stack of newspaper clippings and I remember thinking that, because this was my barstool, these clippings were meant for me. Someone had left them there for me to find. I don't remember what was on the clipping I looked at but I remember it was remarkably trivial - say "Bob gets a haircut." And I remember thinking the equivalent of, "Why, that's not true. I just saw Bob and his hair has never been longer." The dream continued on for some time but I remember waking up and thinking about this conundrum: a newspaper clipping regarding an exceptionally trivial matter that is incorrect. Is Bob lying about getting a haircut? Or did someone create a false newspaper article about a haircut? Why do either?
It took nearly a month of brainstorming but eventually I came up with what I believe to be a plausible rationale for one of those two possibilities and I sat down to write my first mystery novel. This happened about six years ago.
Recently I have gotten hooked on a television show that NBC has been gracious enough to post each and every Season One episode on their website. In the past week plus I have been watching them all. On Wednesday I had a dream that involved some of the characters from the show. I got up, walked to my whiteboard and fleshed out an entire character and character arc for the show. On Thursday after work I thought of another character that would make the perfect foil for the first character and plotted out his arc. I have decided to try to write a screenplay (more for fun and experience than anything else) using these arcs. If things turn out moderately well, I may try to track down the writers (the show is sci-fi and the writers appear at conventions and on blogs fairly often) and see if I can get it into their hands somehow. If not, I may be able to convert it into a novel. Most sci-fi shows wind up having fan fiction novels that accompany them. Stranger things have happened.
As I finish writing this blog, it is about ten minutes past midnight. I have yawned several times during the last paragraph and I am grinning. I'm about to crawl into bed, close my eyes and invite the next dream. Who knows, it may inspire yet another novel. But even if it doesn't, I know it will at least be entertaining.
I love dreaming.
I love dreaming.
I like the entertainment value that comes from being in absurd situations where everything is just taken in stride. No matter how weird things get, it all seems to make perfect sense during the dream. I remember a dream I had during the time of my first real career job where my boss was possessed by the devil and it was my job to fire her. She was slowly spinning in a swivel chair with fire shooting out of her eyes and uttering a gutteral moan and I'm like, "You know, things just aren't working out here." I remember waking up and laughing.
Periodically, however, I find my dreams to be wonderful sources of story telling. My very first attempt at a novel stemmed from a dream I had. I remember in the dream it was night time and I was walking down a crowded sidewalk. I came to this bar-type deal where the bar was in the exterior wall of the building. So the bartender was standing inside the building but the stools were outside the building. There were several barstools, maybe six or so, and all were occupied except one. As common in my dreams, I somehow knew the unoccupied one was MY barstool. On my barstool there was a stack of newspaper clippings and I remember thinking that, because this was my barstool, these clippings were meant for me. Someone had left them there for me to find. I don't remember what was on the clipping I looked at but I remember it was remarkably trivial - say "Bob gets a haircut." And I remember thinking the equivalent of, "Why, that's not true. I just saw Bob and his hair has never been longer." The dream continued on for some time but I remember waking up and thinking about this conundrum: a newspaper clipping regarding an exceptionally trivial matter that is incorrect. Is Bob lying about getting a haircut? Or did someone create a false newspaper article about a haircut? Why do either?
It took nearly a month of brainstorming but eventually I came up with what I believe to be a plausible rationale for one of those two possibilities and I sat down to write my first mystery novel. This happened about six years ago.
Recently I have gotten hooked on a television show that NBC has been gracious enough to post each and every Season One episode on their website. In the past week plus I have been watching them all. On Wednesday I had a dream that involved some of the characters from the show. I got up, walked to my whiteboard and fleshed out an entire character and character arc for the show. On Thursday after work I thought of another character that would make the perfect foil for the first character and plotted out his arc. I have decided to try to write a screenplay (more for fun and experience than anything else) using these arcs. If things turn out moderately well, I may try to track down the writers (the show is sci-fi and the writers appear at conventions and on blogs fairly often) and see if I can get it into their hands somehow. If not, I may be able to convert it into a novel. Most sci-fi shows wind up having fan fiction novels that accompany them. Stranger things have happened.
As I finish writing this blog, it is about ten minutes past midnight. I have yawned several times during the last paragraph and I am grinning. I'm about to crawl into bed, close my eyes and invite the next dream. Who knows, it may inspire yet another novel. But even if it doesn't, I know it will at least be entertaining.
I love dreaming.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Reporting for Duty
by Brian Mullen
It was just an ordinary day. I drove home from work, parked the car in the garage and strolled to the mailbox to collect the day's collection of junk mail and bills. But today, the postal service delivered a surprise.
Mr. Mullen, you are hereby summoned to the Allegheny County Courthouse for jury duty.
I was so excited that I called my wife at work. "Great news," I told her. "I've been summoned for jury duty."
"You're probably the only person in the history of mankind to ever utter those words." And she was probably right. But for a novice crime writer, this was a dream come true. My company was going to pay me (which they have to) to spend a day at the courthouse - learning, nay, researching the inner workings of our country's legal system. Oh, the experience I was about to obtain would be priceless.
At long last the day arrived. My wife works downtown so we carpooled. She dropped me off at the courthouse and I bounded through the doors like a child through the gates of Disneyland!
I joined the crowd working their way through the security check points. Many others in line held their jury summons - the perfect icebreaker. "They got you, too, huh?" I asked showing my own summons.
"Man, I don't want to be here," they each said in their own way. Music to my ears. Surely the judges and the lawyers would see that no one else wanted to be there. They'd see the enthusiasm in my eyes and know I was the juror of their dreams.
We were corraled into a courtroom and told to take a juror sticker/badge and a complimentary pen. I looked around the room at my competition. Unshaven slackers in sweatpants and t-shirts. Reluctant workerbees on cell phones and blackberries trying desperately to be productive. Housewives with stacks and stacks of tabloid magazines laboriously scrutinizing enlarged photographs to determine if Jennifer Aniston is wearing a ring on her mostly obscured hand and if she is, oh my God, what does it mean?
"Good morning. I'm Judge Lester Nauhaus and on behalf of the Allegheny Court system, I want to thank you all for being here today. I know none of you want to be here."
"I do," I wanted to shout. "Pick me!" The judge went on to explain the process and provide a lot of interesting facts. "Every other Monday," he said, "we get between 40 and 60 cases. The percentage of those cases that actually go to trial by jury is in the single digits. 50% of those cases involve chemical addictions. Virtually all trials end within 5 days." He went on to tell us a little about the building and where we could find food and drink and restrooms. They gave us our parking vouchers and discount lunch coupons. "Are there any questions?" When no one responded the judge continued. "No one wants to ask about my grandchildren?" Polite laughter. "How about what we wear under the robe? T-shirts with formal collars sewn onto them and socks with sewn on pant-leg bottoms. Thank you again for your service." Then we were left to sit and wait. And wait. And wait some more.
Finally after a few hours some people filed into the room. They were going to select potential jurors for a case and they started calling out names. I was number 13. After 30+ people were called, they told us some basics about the case and asked us if anyone felt they could not be impartial based on these details. People started raising their hands. "Ha! The odds just keep getting better and better," I thought. Then they started calling us up one at a time. The lawyers would ask their quiet little questions and I watched closely - studying their moves and glances, anticipating their questions and preparing the best answers I could think of. "Innocent until proven guilty, that's my motto," I'd say. "In High School, I was voted 'Most likely to be an impartial juror.'"
Finally they called me up and I sat at the table trying my best to look non-judgmental. "Good morning," one of the lawyers said.
"I'm afraid I can't draw that same conclusion until I've heard all the evidence." I didn't really say that, but I wanted to.
The rest of the questions they asked me were of little consequence and I answered them truthfully. I thought I was a shoo-in.
I wasn't picked. In fact most of the group of 30 weren't and they picked another group of 30 and started over. By 4:00 it seemed pretty clear that no other cases were going to need juries selected and we were dismissed with the assurance that we had fulfilled our duties and should not be summoned again for at least a year. Then we got our vouchers for our day's wages - $12.20.
Was I disappointed? Sure. I'd have loved to have the experience of participating in a trial. But I take comfort in the fact that I was able to participate in some fashion. My experience did inspire some ideas for stories. And I even got a blog entry out of it! Democracy rules!
It was just an ordinary day. I drove home from work, parked the car in the garage and strolled to the mailbox to collect the day's collection of junk mail and bills. But today, the postal service delivered a surprise.
Mr. Mullen, you are hereby summoned to the Allegheny County Courthouse for jury duty.
I was so excited that I called my wife at work. "Great news," I told her. "I've been summoned for jury duty."
"You're probably the only person in the history of mankind to ever utter those words." And she was probably right. But for a novice crime writer, this was a dream come true. My company was going to pay me (which they have to) to spend a day at the courthouse - learning, nay, researching the inner workings of our country's legal system. Oh, the experience I was about to obtain would be priceless.
At long last the day arrived. My wife works downtown so we carpooled. She dropped me off at the courthouse and I bounded through the doors like a child through the gates of Disneyland!
I joined the crowd working their way through the security check points. Many others in line held their jury summons - the perfect icebreaker. "They got you, too, huh?" I asked showing my own summons.
"Man, I don't want to be here," they each said in their own way. Music to my ears. Surely the judges and the lawyers would see that no one else wanted to be there. They'd see the enthusiasm in my eyes and know I was the juror of their dreams.
We were corraled into a courtroom and told to take a juror sticker/badge and a complimentary pen. I looked around the room at my competition. Unshaven slackers in sweatpants and t-shirts. Reluctant workerbees on cell phones and blackberries trying desperately to be productive. Housewives with stacks and stacks of tabloid magazines laboriously scrutinizing enlarged photographs to determine if Jennifer Aniston is wearing a ring on her mostly obscured hand and if she is, oh my God, what does it mean?
"Good morning. I'm Judge Lester Nauhaus and on behalf of the Allegheny Court system, I want to thank you all for being here today. I know none of you want to be here."
"I do," I wanted to shout. "Pick me!" The judge went on to explain the process and provide a lot of interesting facts. "Every other Monday," he said, "we get between 40 and 60 cases. The percentage of those cases that actually go to trial by jury is in the single digits. 50% of those cases involve chemical addictions. Virtually all trials end within 5 days." He went on to tell us a little about the building and where we could find food and drink and restrooms. They gave us our parking vouchers and discount lunch coupons. "Are there any questions?" When no one responded the judge continued. "No one wants to ask about my grandchildren?" Polite laughter. "How about what we wear under the robe? T-shirts with formal collars sewn onto them and socks with sewn on pant-leg bottoms. Thank you again for your service." Then we were left to sit and wait. And wait. And wait some more.
Finally after a few hours some people filed into the room. They were going to select potential jurors for a case and they started calling out names. I was number 13. After 30+ people were called, they told us some basics about the case and asked us if anyone felt they could not be impartial based on these details. People started raising their hands. "Ha! The odds just keep getting better and better," I thought. Then they started calling us up one at a time. The lawyers would ask their quiet little questions and I watched closely - studying their moves and glances, anticipating their questions and preparing the best answers I could think of. "Innocent until proven guilty, that's my motto," I'd say. "In High School, I was voted 'Most likely to be an impartial juror.'"
Finally they called me up and I sat at the table trying my best to look non-judgmental. "Good morning," one of the lawyers said.
"I'm afraid I can't draw that same conclusion until I've heard all the evidence." I didn't really say that, but I wanted to.
The rest of the questions they asked me were of little consequence and I answered them truthfully. I thought I was a shoo-in.
I wasn't picked. In fact most of the group of 30 weren't and they picked another group of 30 and started over. By 4:00 it seemed pretty clear that no other cases were going to need juries selected and we were dismissed with the assurance that we had fulfilled our duties and should not be summoned again for at least a year. Then we got our vouchers for our day's wages - $12.20.
Was I disappointed? Sure. I'd have loved to have the experience of participating in a trial. But I take comfort in the fact that I was able to participate in some fashion. My experience did inspire some ideas for stories. And I even got a blog entry out of it! Democracy rules!
Friday, June 08, 2007
Taking Time To Reflect
by Brian and Jennifer Mullen
Well, there can be no doubt that summer is here. If the blooming flowers, sweltering heat and swimming pool advertisements weren't enough to convince you, there's the sight of lots of teenagers fresh out of school to drive it all home.
So far this summer Jen and I have attended three commencement ceremonies for nieces and nephews which also means we have heard three commencement speeches. I don't remember much about the commencement speech at my own graduation ceremonies except how amazingly long they were. At the time I had been surprised anyone could babble on for as long as they did without saying anything of interest. But that's probably an unfair recollection. When you're the one graduating, your mind is filled with countless other thoughts: seeing friends and family, going on vacation, celebrating afterwards. The speech is an obstacle to these things and, as such, is hardly of interest.
To my surprise, it was a completely different experience as a guest sitting in the audience, unconcerned with what was happening later and, therefore, actually LISTENING to the speeches.
Three different speakers, three different speeches, but one common theme: enjoy the journey of life for it is a gift.
If this was the same message in my graduation ceremony, I'm sorry I hadn't paid attention then. That would have been the best time to hear it, when you're young enough to experience life to the fullest and before the routine drudgery starts to weed its way into your life.
When we are young, the time does not seem to go quickly enough. When will I be old enough to stay up later? When will school be over? When are we leaving? Are we there yet? How many hours, minutes, seconds? The seasons can't change fast enough.
Then we graduate from High School, and we can't wait to graduate from college, get our own apartment, buy a car, get a good job and finally have some real spending money. Then we become consumed with getting newer and newer cars, better paying jobs, a bigger and better place to live. We yearn to pay off the mortgage on our home, our student loans, our car payments, our credit card debts. Soon we're yearning for retirement and an end to the rat race. We can't wait to reach Social Security and get checks so we can finally relax - travelling the country at a leisurely rate, seeing family, laying outside in a hammock with a glass of lemonade and no responsibilities whatsoever. Enjoying life.
But that's the whole point of the speech, isn't it?
This morning I woke up at 6 a.m., took a shower, got dressed and drove to work. I worked all day, climbed back in my car and drove home. I made a quick dinner, collected the dirty clothes and started the laundry. The wife came home from work and we sorted the mail, prepared the bills and straightened up the house. Now I sit writing this blog and she has crawled into bed.
But I know as I write this that tomorrow is going to be different. I'm going to make it different. Tomorrow there will be dinner out and a movie. If the weather's nice, maybe we'll walk around our local park. I'm going to make a point to enjoy the journey of life tomorrow.
Well, there can be no doubt that summer is here. If the blooming flowers, sweltering heat and swimming pool advertisements weren't enough to convince you, there's the sight of lots of teenagers fresh out of school to drive it all home.
So far this summer Jen and I have attended three commencement ceremonies for nieces and nephews which also means we have heard three commencement speeches. I don't remember much about the commencement speech at my own graduation ceremonies except how amazingly long they were. At the time I had been surprised anyone could babble on for as long as they did without saying anything of interest. But that's probably an unfair recollection. When you're the one graduating, your mind is filled with countless other thoughts: seeing friends and family, going on vacation, celebrating afterwards. The speech is an obstacle to these things and, as such, is hardly of interest.
To my surprise, it was a completely different experience as a guest sitting in the audience, unconcerned with what was happening later and, therefore, actually LISTENING to the speeches.
Three different speakers, three different speeches, but one common theme: enjoy the journey of life for it is a gift.
If this was the same message in my graduation ceremony, I'm sorry I hadn't paid attention then. That would have been the best time to hear it, when you're young enough to experience life to the fullest and before the routine drudgery starts to weed its way into your life.
When we are young, the time does not seem to go quickly enough. When will I be old enough to stay up later? When will school be over? When are we leaving? Are we there yet? How many hours, minutes, seconds? The seasons can't change fast enough.
Then we graduate from High School, and we can't wait to graduate from college, get our own apartment, buy a car, get a good job and finally have some real spending money. Then we become consumed with getting newer and newer cars, better paying jobs, a bigger and better place to live. We yearn to pay off the mortgage on our home, our student loans, our car payments, our credit card debts. Soon we're yearning for retirement and an end to the rat race. We can't wait to reach Social Security and get checks so we can finally relax - travelling the country at a leisurely rate, seeing family, laying outside in a hammock with a glass of lemonade and no responsibilities whatsoever. Enjoying life.
But that's the whole point of the speech, isn't it?
This morning I woke up at 6 a.m., took a shower, got dressed and drove to work. I worked all day, climbed back in my car and drove home. I made a quick dinner, collected the dirty clothes and started the laundry. The wife came home from work and we sorted the mail, prepared the bills and straightened up the house. Now I sit writing this blog and she has crawled into bed.
But I know as I write this that tomorrow is going to be different. I'm going to make it different. Tomorrow there will be dinner out and a movie. If the weather's nice, maybe we'll walk around our local park. I'm going to make a point to enjoy the journey of life tomorrow.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
The Luxury of Time
by Brian Mullen
This week I had a business trip that required me to be in Cincinnati for a few hours. From my home to the location was five hours and I travelled there and back in the same day. That gave me 10 hours total driving time. I used the opportunity to listen to a new audiobook.
I don't want to name the author or the title but let me say the novel was a recent thriller and the author has several times topped the New York Times Bestseller List. The book I read was the author's 14th book and all of them were written within 12 consecutive years.
Let me also say that as I endeavor to start my own writing career, I have been reading many books on how to write or how not to write. These books routinely list the do's and don'ts of professional writing.
So you can imagine how I felt as I listened to the book and heard virtually every "don't" these books had to offer. From characters who are walking cliches to an overabundance of adverbs to unrealistic dialogue to inaccurate factual data to forced plot points, this book had it all. Every "don't" in the book was well represented. And yet it was published and was, by all accounts, highly successful.
Undoubtedly the fact that this author had previous best sellers helped pave the way for books like this one that are less than stellar to go through the publishing process. Having books meet the arbitrary annual deadlines seems to outweigh the story getting a necessary rewrite in order to produce a high quality product. And that's really a shame. While I understand the monetary aspects of the writing world and acknowledge that, when all is said and done, it's a business like any other, there's something profoundly sad about stories that don't really need to be told getting the spotlight while those more deserving sit in stacks on prospective publishers' desks.
In a way, it's almost self-defeating. When you get talented writers to start cranking out novels without the necessary time investment it takes to make the novels great, the quality of the stories deteriorates. As they deteriorate, the author loses fans. As the author loses fans, the publishing companies lose money. You'd think they'd be more willing, therefore, to give the authors a little more time to ensure a consistently higher quality of product than force their people into mediocrity.
But the forced mediocrity of today's star writers only serves to help usher in new authors. With luck and persistence, maybe some of us will get that redirected spotlight. If only we can take the time to ensure our stories are worthy and our writing does those stories justice - especially now, before we get contracts, while we still have the luxury of time.
This week I had a business trip that required me to be in Cincinnati for a few hours. From my home to the location was five hours and I travelled there and back in the same day. That gave me 10 hours total driving time. I used the opportunity to listen to a new audiobook.
I don't want to name the author or the title but let me say the novel was a recent thriller and the author has several times topped the New York Times Bestseller List. The book I read was the author's 14th book and all of them were written within 12 consecutive years.
Let me also say that as I endeavor to start my own writing career, I have been reading many books on how to write or how not to write. These books routinely list the do's and don'ts of professional writing.
So you can imagine how I felt as I listened to the book and heard virtually every "don't" these books had to offer. From characters who are walking cliches to an overabundance of adverbs to unrealistic dialogue to inaccurate factual data to forced plot points, this book had it all. Every "don't" in the book was well represented. And yet it was published and was, by all accounts, highly successful.
Undoubtedly the fact that this author had previous best sellers helped pave the way for books like this one that are less than stellar to go through the publishing process. Having books meet the arbitrary annual deadlines seems to outweigh the story getting a necessary rewrite in order to produce a high quality product. And that's really a shame. While I understand the monetary aspects of the writing world and acknowledge that, when all is said and done, it's a business like any other, there's something profoundly sad about stories that don't really need to be told getting the spotlight while those more deserving sit in stacks on prospective publishers' desks.
In a way, it's almost self-defeating. When you get talented writers to start cranking out novels without the necessary time investment it takes to make the novels great, the quality of the stories deteriorates. As they deteriorate, the author loses fans. As the author loses fans, the publishing companies lose money. You'd think they'd be more willing, therefore, to give the authors a little more time to ensure a consistently higher quality of product than force their people into mediocrity.
But the forced mediocrity of today's star writers only serves to help usher in new authors. With luck and persistence, maybe some of us will get that redirected spotlight. If only we can take the time to ensure our stories are worthy and our writing does those stories justice - especially now, before we get contracts, while we still have the luxury of time.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Crazy Like A Fox?
by Brian Mullen
Last night my wife and I had dinner with my mother-in-law and one of my sisters-in-law. As with most Americans, I suspect, the conversation eventually turned to the Freak Show that is Hollywood and, specifically, to Miss Britney Spears and her previously bald head. At that time my sister-in-law went all "TV Detective" on us and gave us some mystery "food for thought." Consider...
FACT #1: On Feb 17, 2007, Britney shaves off all her hair.
FACT #2: On Feb 20, 2007, Britney enters rehab in an American facility.
FACT #3: American rehab centers are regulated by the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA), part of the Department of Health and Human Services.
FACT #4: SAMHSA's rules include mandatory federal drug testing that include specimens of hair. "Hair testing provides longer detection periods (approximately 90 days) and is particularly well suited and effective in pre-employment and random testing. The shorter detection periods available with urine or saliva are effective with post accident and reasonable suspicion testing."
Adding to this, in my now suspicious mind, is that Britney went into a non-American rehab center on Feb 16, 2007 and stayed less than a day. Did they attempt drug testing on her hair forcing her to flee? Did she realize she'd have to shave the incriminating follicles off before they could reveal 90-day evidence of substance abuse. Did she fear the information becoming public, especially seeing how she was then involved in a custody battle for her children?
There are mysteries everywhere you look. Some food for thought.
Last night my wife and I had dinner with my mother-in-law and one of my sisters-in-law. As with most Americans, I suspect, the conversation eventually turned to the Freak Show that is Hollywood and, specifically, to Miss Britney Spears and her previously bald head. At that time my sister-in-law went all "TV Detective" on us and gave us some mystery "food for thought." Consider...
FACT #1: On Feb 17, 2007, Britney shaves off all her hair.
FACT #2: On Feb 20, 2007, Britney enters rehab in an American facility.
FACT #3: American rehab centers are regulated by the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA), part of the Department of Health and Human Services.
FACT #4: SAMHSA's rules include mandatory federal drug testing that include specimens of hair. "Hair testing provides longer detection periods (approximately 90 days) and is particularly well suited and effective in pre-employment and random testing. The shorter detection periods available with urine or saliva are effective with post accident and reasonable suspicion testing."
Adding to this, in my now suspicious mind, is that Britney went into a non-American rehab center on Feb 16, 2007 and stayed less than a day. Did they attempt drug testing on her hair forcing her to flee? Did she realize she'd have to shave the incriminating follicles off before they could reveal 90-day evidence of substance abuse. Did she fear the information becoming public, especially seeing how she was then involved in a custody battle for her children?
There are mysteries everywhere you look. Some food for thought.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
St. Patrick's Day Memories
By Brian Mullen (and special guest blogger: Jennifer Mullen)
By the time you read this, it will be St. Patrick's Day. It is fitting that it is my day to blog as I am part Irish (although I haven't yet narrowed down exactly which part).
I must admit that I don't know much about the holiday above the basics that everybody knows: that St. Patrick's Day was named after Saint.....uhm, I can't think of his name right at the moment (I think it starts with a B) but, anyway, this saint, who was also a leprechan I think, was famous for playing a kazoo and leading all the rats out of the city thus saving Ireland from the potato famine. To celebrate this victory, the population of Ireland went to the nearest pub and haven't left since. There's also something about kissing a giant rock too that I'm missing, but you get the general idea. Then the Irish crossed over the Bering Strait and settled on the East Coast of America bringing with them their whiskey, wolfhounds and green soap that smells "clean as a whistle."
I, myself, have never been to Ireland but I know (and married) someone who has. She wanted to share with all of you her memories of her visit so, without further ado, I'm pleased to introduce to you my beautiful (and Irish) wife...Jennifer. Take it away, Sweetie!
Three years ago today, I was on my way to see the Emerald Isle to see the forty shades of green. It was a break from the usual St. Patrick's Day in Pittsburgh, PA. Although in Pittsburgh, a St. Patrick's Day celebration proves to be fun every time with all of the hoopla, but this was a very special St. Patrick's Day in Ireland.
A Friend from the Emerald Isle commented that the security around Ireland's border is extremely tight, and after visiting the America's noticed that the borders were not nearly as controlled. My mom, sister, and I arrived in the Shannon Airport. Security was tough. We gathered our bearings after an extremely long flight, and moved towards our rental car.
It was great that my older sister was willing to take the risk to drive through Ireland. Driving in Ireland was interesting because a person drives on the opposite side as we do in America. Personally, I was not interested in the risk because the roads were very narrow, but my sister, with a not so perfect driving record was willing to take the risk.
Our first night, after hours of driving through forty shades of green while stopping for sheep and miscellaneous livestock arrived in Skibereen. We stayed in an old castle and the owner Kate and her husband had wisky from the jar. Boy could you smell the wisky when we arrived.
It was an old castle with water surronding the front. We scurried up a few floors to find our room. I felt like I was in a mystery house and I had much curiosity about the history of the castle and all of the old items. I could have stayed for weeks investigating.
St. Patrick's Day in Pittsburgh is very flashy compared to the celebrations in Ireland that are very simple; Irish music, dancing, drink and simple fun. St. Patrick's Day is considered a Holy Day in Ireland.
Throughout our trip, we stopped to visit and have the occassional Irish coffee in the many pubs across Ireland. From bed and breakfasts to an Island community with minimal motor vehicles to another castle we went. The people, ocean, music, culture, cliffs of mohr, Dublin and all of the wonderful sites were amazing. Most importantly, we traveled to see the forty shades of green with people I love dearly, and I will never forget the trip.
I was planning a trip to the Matchmaking in September, but in August, I met my lovely husband Brian right here in the USA. I would not trade him for anything. Before we met, he was Italian through and through, but we managed to bring out his Irish heritage and he now wears a PROUD TO BE IRISH shirt, and lives with shamrocks and Irish flags throughout the house from Valentines Day until March.
By the time you read this, it will be St. Patrick's Day. It is fitting that it is my day to blog as I am part Irish (although I haven't yet narrowed down exactly which part).
I must admit that I don't know much about the holiday above the basics that everybody knows: that St. Patrick's Day was named after Saint.....uhm, I can't think of his name right at the moment (I think it starts with a B) but, anyway, this saint, who was also a leprechan I think, was famous for playing a kazoo and leading all the rats out of the city thus saving Ireland from the potato famine. To celebrate this victory, the population of Ireland went to the nearest pub and haven't left since. There's also something about kissing a giant rock too that I'm missing, but you get the general idea. Then the Irish crossed over the Bering Strait and settled on the East Coast of America bringing with them their whiskey, wolfhounds and green soap that smells "clean as a whistle."
I, myself, have never been to Ireland but I know (and married) someone who has. She wanted to share with all of you her memories of her visit so, without further ado, I'm pleased to introduce to you my beautiful (and Irish) wife...Jennifer. Take it away, Sweetie!
Three years ago today, I was on my way to see the Emerald Isle to see the forty shades of green. It was a break from the usual St. Patrick's Day in Pittsburgh, PA. Although in Pittsburgh, a St. Patrick's Day celebration proves to be fun every time with all of the hoopla, but this was a very special St. Patrick's Day in Ireland.
A Friend from the Emerald Isle commented that the security around Ireland's border is extremely tight, and after visiting the America's noticed that the borders were not nearly as controlled. My mom, sister, and I arrived in the Shannon Airport. Security was tough. We gathered our bearings after an extremely long flight, and moved towards our rental car.
It was great that my older sister was willing to take the risk to drive through Ireland. Driving in Ireland was interesting because a person drives on the opposite side as we do in America. Personally, I was not interested in the risk because the roads were very narrow, but my sister, with a not so perfect driving record was willing to take the risk.
Our first night, after hours of driving through forty shades of green while stopping for sheep and miscellaneous livestock arrived in Skibereen. We stayed in an old castle and the owner Kate and her husband had wisky from the jar. Boy could you smell the wisky when we arrived.
It was an old castle with water surronding the front. We scurried up a few floors to find our room. I felt like I was in a mystery house and I had much curiosity about the history of the castle and all of the old items. I could have stayed for weeks investigating.
St. Patrick's Day in Pittsburgh is very flashy compared to the celebrations in Ireland that are very simple; Irish music, dancing, drink and simple fun. St. Patrick's Day is considered a Holy Day in Ireland.
Throughout our trip, we stopped to visit and have the occassional Irish coffee in the many pubs across Ireland. From bed and breakfasts to an Island community with minimal motor vehicles to another castle we went. The people, ocean, music, culture, cliffs of mohr, Dublin and all of the wonderful sites were amazing. Most importantly, we traveled to see the forty shades of green with people I love dearly, and I will never forget the trip.
I was planning a trip to the Matchmaking in September, but in August, I met my lovely husband Brian right here in the USA. I would not trade him for anything. Before we met, he was Italian through and through, but we managed to bring out his Irish heritage and he now wears a PROUD TO BE IRISH shirt, and lives with shamrocks and Irish flags throughout the house from Valentines Day until March.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Lessons Learned
By Brian Mullen
Writing can be difficult. This, of course, goes without saying, which brings us to:
LESSONS LEARNED #1: You probably shouldn’t start a paragraph by saying something that goes without saying.
It is amateur mistakes like these…wait, ‘mistakes’ is plural. It are mistakes…no, they are mistakes…like…it is…
LESSONS LEARNED #2: Don’t be afraid to try and ‘distract’ the reader from previous sentences by tossing in a “lessons learned” quip when necessary.
So, today, I will try and help some of you so-called ‘novice’ writers by sharing some mistakes I have made in the course of learning the writing craft. For example, tell me, if you can, what is wrong with this opening mystery paragraph.
As the bullet lodged into his chest, just millimeters from his heart, Michael Johnson had two simultaneous thoughts: first, that he wouldn’t live to see his vow of vengeance fulfilled, and, second, that the author really should have picked a different character from whose point of view to tell this story.
Did you find the mistake? No, it wasn’t the use of the metric system measurement (that sort of thing goes over BIG in Europe and a few other countries). No other guesses? Well, then I’ll tell you. It was, in fact, that the main character died in the first sentence.
LESSONS LEARNED #3: Never kill your Point of View character in the beginning of your novel.
This places the author in an awkward position of logically not being able to continue the story. It’s okay, mind you, to kill off the main character at the END of the novel, but at the beginning might be a tad too early. Ditto with the middle of the story. Try and keep the character alive until the very, very end, if possible.
Let’s try again. What’s the fundamental flaw in this title?
How Michael Johnson was Killed by Frank Mahoney: A Whodunit
This one is subtle so don’t feel bad if you didn’t catch it.
LESSONS LEARNED #4: Don’t reveal the name of the murderer of a whodunit in the title of the book.
Apparently, it is customary in a whodunit NOT to reveal who the murderer is until way at the end of the book. This is so readers have a chance to solve the case themselves. Thus identifying the murder IN THE TITLE is frowned upon.
Well, I hope you all have learned a thing or two from my mistakes. I was please to share my experiences with all of you. Now, I must return to work on my manuscript. It’s a mystery with a surprising plot twist at the end. I can’t tell you too much about it yet except the working title which is, “The Murder Victim Who Faked His Own Death.” I suspect it’ll be a best seller!
Writing can be difficult. This, of course, goes without saying, which brings us to:
LESSONS LEARNED #1: You probably shouldn’t start a paragraph by saying something that goes without saying.
It is amateur mistakes like these…wait, ‘mistakes’ is plural. It are mistakes…no, they are mistakes…like…it is…
LESSONS LEARNED #2: Don’t be afraid to try and ‘distract’ the reader from previous sentences by tossing in a “lessons learned” quip when necessary.
So, today, I will try and help some of you so-called ‘novice’ writers by sharing some mistakes I have made in the course of learning the writing craft. For example, tell me, if you can, what is wrong with this opening mystery paragraph.
As the bullet lodged into his chest, just millimeters from his heart, Michael Johnson had two simultaneous thoughts: first, that he wouldn’t live to see his vow of vengeance fulfilled, and, second, that the author really should have picked a different character from whose point of view to tell this story.
Did you find the mistake? No, it wasn’t the use of the metric system measurement (that sort of thing goes over BIG in Europe and a few other countries). No other guesses? Well, then I’ll tell you. It was, in fact, that the main character died in the first sentence.
LESSONS LEARNED #3: Never kill your Point of View character in the beginning of your novel.
This places the author in an awkward position of logically not being able to continue the story. It’s okay, mind you, to kill off the main character at the END of the novel, but at the beginning might be a tad too early. Ditto with the middle of the story. Try and keep the character alive until the very, very end, if possible.
Let’s try again. What’s the fundamental flaw in this title?
How Michael Johnson was Killed by Frank Mahoney: A Whodunit
This one is subtle so don’t feel bad if you didn’t catch it.
LESSONS LEARNED #4: Don’t reveal the name of the murderer of a whodunit in the title of the book.
Apparently, it is customary in a whodunit NOT to reveal who the murderer is until way at the end of the book. This is so readers have a chance to solve the case themselves. Thus identifying the murder IN THE TITLE is frowned upon.
Well, I hope you all have learned a thing or two from my mistakes. I was please to share my experiences with all of you. Now, I must return to work on my manuscript. It’s a mystery with a surprising plot twist at the end. I can’t tell you too much about it yet except the working title which is, “The Murder Victim Who Faked His Own Death.” I suspect it’ll be a best seller!
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Character to Author: "Why am I here?"
by Brian Mullen
Does every character in a story have to serve a purpose?
When I'm not writing mysteries, I am usually working on my science-fiction stories. I have plans...oh, so many plans...for my characters. But not for ALL of my characters. Let me explain.
I am writing a large collection of short stories taking place in a shared world. This means that the characters in each short story inhabit the same world. What happens in one story could affect what happens in others. Some characters reference each other. Others will eventually meet and interact.
My plans require me to write enough stories to fill seven books so that, in book #8, I can launch my master story that involves all of the main characters I've written so far. Except one. Right now, his stories have little impact on my plans.
He is one of my favorite characters to write and, on the surface, he has far more potential than most of my other characters. In fact, that's part of the problem. He has so much obvious potential that I feel he's not being utilized enough. But try as I might, I can't find a place in the final book for him. Should I delete him altogether? Or is it acceptable to have characters that accompany you throughout the journey but don't reach the destination with you?
If his involvement in the series were just a single story (or maybe even a few), I could probably cut him without much thought. But he will appear so many times in the first seven books that I believe the readers will be thinking his involvement in the climactic story is a foregone conclusion.
And today, it isn't. Hopefully tomorrow his place in the story will be clear. I look at the stories I've written so far, and the stories I've plotted and planned. I imagine him looking back at me and asking, "What's my purpose? Why am I here? Are there big things planned for me?"
And I don't know what to tell him.
Does every character in a story have to serve a purpose?
When I'm not writing mysteries, I am usually working on my science-fiction stories. I have plans...oh, so many plans...for my characters. But not for ALL of my characters. Let me explain.
I am writing a large collection of short stories taking place in a shared world. This means that the characters in each short story inhabit the same world. What happens in one story could affect what happens in others. Some characters reference each other. Others will eventually meet and interact.
My plans require me to write enough stories to fill seven books so that, in book #8, I can launch my master story that involves all of the main characters I've written so far. Except one. Right now, his stories have little impact on my plans.
He is one of my favorite characters to write and, on the surface, he has far more potential than most of my other characters. In fact, that's part of the problem. He has so much obvious potential that I feel he's not being utilized enough. But try as I might, I can't find a place in the final book for him. Should I delete him altogether? Or is it acceptable to have characters that accompany you throughout the journey but don't reach the destination with you?
If his involvement in the series were just a single story (or maybe even a few), I could probably cut him without much thought. But he will appear so many times in the first seven books that I believe the readers will be thinking his involvement in the climactic story is a foregone conclusion.
And today, it isn't. Hopefully tomorrow his place in the story will be clear. I look at the stories I've written so far, and the stories I've plotted and planned. I imagine him looking back at me and asking, "What's my purpose? Why am I here? Are there big things planned for me?"
And I don't know what to tell him.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
I'm Dreaming of a Whiteboard Christmas
by Brian Mullen
Dear Santa and/or Wal-Mart,
I have been especially good this year. Well, okay, there was the little incident with the goat at the petting zoo but he started it. I have two witnesses willing to testify on my behalf - and one of them was even there. Yeah, okay, I'll even admit the knife fight with the Sisters of Charity was probably uncalled for, but you have to admit their "marketing strategy" was more than a tad aggressive. Personally, I think appointing Sister Mary Soprano to be in charge of the organization was a mistake and I told them so (through our lawyers of course). But taking the year and averaging everything out, I think my behavior falls unquestionably on the nice side. Thus I think I have earned a few paltry tokens. Please pay special attention to the make and model in the following and, where applicable, please make sure it comes with a full tank of gasoline.
#1. A new whiteboard. I promise I have learned my lesson(s). I was unfamiliar with the concept the last time you got me one of these or I never would have started using White-Out at all. And I will never trust the internet again with it's questionable "alternative methods" for cleaning. As you recall, everyone made it out of the house before the fire department arrived. No harm, no foul.
#2. A new laptop computer. I've done some research, Santa, and I've discovered that just because a computer technically fits on your lap, doesn't make it a laptop. So, nice try - but I want a real one this year.
#3. An agent. Oh, and this year, if you buy him early, put some friggin holes in the box! That lack of attention to detail can ruin a Christmas morning.
#4. A completed, brand new manuscript by Michael Crichton only unsigned and he doesn't remember that he wrote it. I promise not to inquire further.
#5. A complete set of all the books by all the great literary masters. This is the kind of thing I think I should have in my library. Oh, that reminds me.
#6. A library. A PRIVATE library, mind you. There's nothing more frustrating than wandering around in your pjs going to get a book to read only to find seven people waiting to check out.
#7. Peace on Earth, Good will towards men. If you can't get to this one, I understand. The list is kind of long.
Thanks in advance for all the swell stuff. I also want to apologize for the treats I left out last year. I meant to buy you some M&M cookies but I inadvertantly wandered into the "adult" store by mistake. I know the S&M cookies were rather painful to chew but the guy at the store said most people like that kind of thing.
Dear Santa and/or Wal-Mart,
I have been especially good this year. Well, okay, there was the little incident with the goat at the petting zoo but he started it. I have two witnesses willing to testify on my behalf - and one of them was even there. Yeah, okay, I'll even admit the knife fight with the Sisters of Charity was probably uncalled for, but you have to admit their "marketing strategy" was more than a tad aggressive. Personally, I think appointing Sister Mary Soprano to be in charge of the organization was a mistake and I told them so (through our lawyers of course). But taking the year and averaging everything out, I think my behavior falls unquestionably on the nice side. Thus I think I have earned a few paltry tokens. Please pay special attention to the make and model in the following and, where applicable, please make sure it comes with a full tank of gasoline.
#1. A new whiteboard. I promise I have learned my lesson(s). I was unfamiliar with the concept the last time you got me one of these or I never would have started using White-Out at all. And I will never trust the internet again with it's questionable "alternative methods" for cleaning. As you recall, everyone made it out of the house before the fire department arrived. No harm, no foul.
#2. A new laptop computer. I've done some research, Santa, and I've discovered that just because a computer technically fits on your lap, doesn't make it a laptop. So, nice try - but I want a real one this year.
#3. An agent. Oh, and this year, if you buy him early, put some friggin holes in the box! That lack of attention to detail can ruin a Christmas morning.
#4. A completed, brand new manuscript by Michael Crichton only unsigned and he doesn't remember that he wrote it. I promise not to inquire further.
#5. A complete set of all the books by all the great literary masters. This is the kind of thing I think I should have in my library. Oh, that reminds me.
#6. A library. A PRIVATE library, mind you. There's nothing more frustrating than wandering around in your pjs going to get a book to read only to find seven people waiting to check out.
#7. Peace on Earth, Good will towards men. If you can't get to this one, I understand. The list is kind of long.
Thanks in advance for all the swell stuff. I also want to apologize for the treats I left out last year. I meant to buy you some M&M cookies but I inadvertantly wandered into the "adult" store by mistake. I know the S&M cookies were rather painful to chew but the guy at the store said most people like that kind of thing.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Thanksgiving Surprise!
By Brian Mullen
Two days ago, on Thanksgiving morning, I awoke early and stumbled into the computer room. This is my normal day off routine and I wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary. But something very special happened I’m proud to share with all of you. It was an e-mail which read:
Hi everyone! And thank you for entering the first-ever Writing Fairy Humour-Writing Contest.
The initial judging is over, and the 10 finalist entries are winging their way to the three final judges: Gordon Kirkland, Debra McGrath and Neil Crone. Congratulations to all who entered - we had a hard time choosing because we were laughing so hard! We had nearly 200 entries, many of which were multiple submissions. We had poems (including haiku), plays, essays, fiction, rants - oh, it was wonderful reading them all. And it was painful to keep narrowing it down, because there were SO many great entries.
Eventually, choices had to be made, and I congratulate the following folks who made it into the final 10 with their entries.
And my name was on the list.
Normally I don’t enter contests that have a reading fee. I started and stopped myself from entering this contest twice but eventually I went ahead, paid the paltry $10 fee, and submitted my entry. Partly because I felt I had a very suitable entry for the criteria of this contest which was:
This year, any type of humour writing goes. Send us fiction, non-fiction, poetry, personal essays, scripts—heck, your grocery list if it will make the judges laugh. Maximum word count is 792 words. Yes, you read that right—792.
Very often, when I feel uninspired to write something of significance (a novel or short story), I give myself free range to just start writing anything – just for fun, just for my eyes only, just to keep the creative juices flowing. More often than not what I write is silly, embarrassing, and definitely not for anyone else’s eyes. But on one day I had written something silly that blossomed into something I truly found entertaining. And it was less than 792 words. So, I figured the stars and planets were in alignment and I entered it.
I will find out on December 9th if I am in the top three selected. Each of those positions have a cash prize and a chance to be published in The Writing FairyTM Guide to Humour Writing, slated to be published in 2007. You can find out more on the Writing Fairy at http://www.wsws.ca/thewritingfairy/index.php if you’re interested. And for your (hopeful) reading enjoyment, here is my entry entitled “Timing is Everything.”
My name is Carl Blunt and I have always wanted to be an author. It has been my dream for as long as I can remember. I’ve written things from time to time – small things, nothing published – but I’ve always known I had great stories bottled up inside me. I only needed the opportunity to tell them.
Convincing a publishing company to take a gamble on me, I procured a loan of sufficient funds to allow me to quit my job and become a professional writer. I immediately sat down and began my first work. And let me tell you, the ideas just flowed from me like a water line that cracked because of the pressure.
I wrote a lengthy tale of a Broadway-hopeful who was struck with a chronic case of laryngitis. Refusing to give up on his dream, he instead pens a musical called “Lozenge” and employs only laryngitis-stricken actors and actresses. The musical gets mixed reviews – the people in the front of the theater loved it while people sitting in the back couldn’t make out anything that was said. Through the production the hero’s voice steadily grows worse until he is unable to ever recover and leads the rest of his life nearly inaudible. I called my narrative, “The Hoarse Whisperer.”
Unfortunately this was in 1995 and only a month before my scheduled publishing date, a book entitled, “The Horse Whisperer” was published and my sponsors felt my book would seem like plagiarism. They implored me to write another book.
I liked the lozenge angle. So, I sat at my typewriter and the ideas continued to flow. And over the course of a year I wrote an insanely large story of a junior high school student who, in art class, made a special gift for his father. They were working with clay and he made him a vase. In the base of the vase he left an opening where his father, who seemed to have a perpetual cold, could store his favorite brand of throat lozenges that were always scattered around the house. But because the son had made the vase with such love, this vase, once given to his father, magically managed to reverse the father’s male pattern baldness. Thus, I entitled my book, “Hairy Pottery and the Chamber of Sucrets.” And again, as fate had done to me before, a month prior to publication, another book entitled, “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets” hit the bookstores and, again, my idea was seen as riding someone else’s success.
Depression hit and the funding was drying up. But I decided to give it one last try. I liked the lozenge angle and I crafted my favorite work of all. An alien lands in America, walks straight up to the first human he sees and coughs all over him. Then he flies away but not before his virus infects people of Earth and incredibly enhances their ability to do things. Give the victim a paintbrush, for example, and they’d give you a masterpiece. Hand them a typewriter and get back a bestseller. Give them a hammer and saw; they’ll give you a house beyond your wildest dreams. Then, suddenly, they fall into a sneezing fit and die. Because the disease made them into modern-day ‘Renaissance Men,’ I called my book simply “The Da Vinci Cold.”
I was three weeks too late. And now I am broke, my backers unwilling to give me any more money. And I am too depressed to try a fourth time. So, this is it. I’m drawing the curtains on my life and ending it all. I’m becoming a mime.
Two days ago, on Thanksgiving morning, I awoke early and stumbled into the computer room. This is my normal day off routine and I wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary. But something very special happened I’m proud to share with all of you. It was an e-mail which read:
Hi everyone! And thank you for entering the first-ever Writing Fairy Humour-Writing Contest.
The initial judging is over, and the 10 finalist entries are winging their way to the three final judges: Gordon Kirkland, Debra McGrath and Neil Crone. Congratulations to all who entered - we had a hard time choosing because we were laughing so hard! We had nearly 200 entries, many of which were multiple submissions. We had poems (including haiku), plays, essays, fiction, rants - oh, it was wonderful reading them all. And it was painful to keep narrowing it down, because there were SO many great entries.
Eventually, choices had to be made, and I congratulate the following folks who made it into the final 10 with their entries.
And my name was on the list.
Normally I don’t enter contests that have a reading fee. I started and stopped myself from entering this contest twice but eventually I went ahead, paid the paltry $10 fee, and submitted my entry. Partly because I felt I had a very suitable entry for the criteria of this contest which was:
This year, any type of humour writing goes. Send us fiction, non-fiction, poetry, personal essays, scripts—heck, your grocery list if it will make the judges laugh. Maximum word count is 792 words. Yes, you read that right—792.
Very often, when I feel uninspired to write something of significance (a novel or short story), I give myself free range to just start writing anything – just for fun, just for my eyes only, just to keep the creative juices flowing. More often than not what I write is silly, embarrassing, and definitely not for anyone else’s eyes. But on one day I had written something silly that blossomed into something I truly found entertaining. And it was less than 792 words. So, I figured the stars and planets were in alignment and I entered it.
I will find out on December 9th if I am in the top three selected. Each of those positions have a cash prize and a chance to be published in The Writing FairyTM Guide to Humour Writing, slated to be published in 2007. You can find out more on the Writing Fairy at http://www.wsws.ca/thewritingfairy/index.php if you’re interested. And for your (hopeful) reading enjoyment, here is my entry entitled “Timing is Everything.”
My name is Carl Blunt and I have always wanted to be an author. It has been my dream for as long as I can remember. I’ve written things from time to time – small things, nothing published – but I’ve always known I had great stories bottled up inside me. I only needed the opportunity to tell them.
Convincing a publishing company to take a gamble on me, I procured a loan of sufficient funds to allow me to quit my job and become a professional writer. I immediately sat down and began my first work. And let me tell you, the ideas just flowed from me like a water line that cracked because of the pressure.
I wrote a lengthy tale of a Broadway-hopeful who was struck with a chronic case of laryngitis. Refusing to give up on his dream, he instead pens a musical called “Lozenge” and employs only laryngitis-stricken actors and actresses. The musical gets mixed reviews – the people in the front of the theater loved it while people sitting in the back couldn’t make out anything that was said. Through the production the hero’s voice steadily grows worse until he is unable to ever recover and leads the rest of his life nearly inaudible. I called my narrative, “The Hoarse Whisperer.”
Unfortunately this was in 1995 and only a month before my scheduled publishing date, a book entitled, “The Horse Whisperer” was published and my sponsors felt my book would seem like plagiarism. They implored me to write another book.
I liked the lozenge angle. So, I sat at my typewriter and the ideas continued to flow. And over the course of a year I wrote an insanely large story of a junior high school student who, in art class, made a special gift for his father. They were working with clay and he made him a vase. In the base of the vase he left an opening where his father, who seemed to have a perpetual cold, could store his favorite brand of throat lozenges that were always scattered around the house. But because the son had made the vase with such love, this vase, once given to his father, magically managed to reverse the father’s male pattern baldness. Thus, I entitled my book, “Hairy Pottery and the Chamber of Sucrets.” And again, as fate had done to me before, a month prior to publication, another book entitled, “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets” hit the bookstores and, again, my idea was seen as riding someone else’s success.
Depression hit and the funding was drying up. But I decided to give it one last try. I liked the lozenge angle and I crafted my favorite work of all. An alien lands in America, walks straight up to the first human he sees and coughs all over him. Then he flies away but not before his virus infects people of Earth and incredibly enhances their ability to do things. Give the victim a paintbrush, for example, and they’d give you a masterpiece. Hand them a typewriter and get back a bestseller. Give them a hammer and saw; they’ll give you a house beyond your wildest dreams. Then, suddenly, they fall into a sneezing fit and die. Because the disease made them into modern-day ‘Renaissance Men,’ I called my book simply “The Da Vinci Cold.”
I was three weeks too late. And now I am broke, my backers unwilling to give me any more money. And I am too depressed to try a fourth time. So, this is it. I’m drawing the curtains on my life and ending it all. I’m becoming a mime.
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