Author: The Madchronicler

What can I say? I'm an amateur writer, an eternal optimist and a hopeful dreamer. Sometimes I play the fool, but most times I try to avoid it.

“Contrary” – An Appreciation

The Madchronicler2 Comments

If you look up the term “contrary” in any dictionary you receive a definition similar to, if not the same as this one:

Contrary [kon-trer-ee] (ADJ, N): 1. Opposite in nature or character; diametrically or mutually opposed; 2. Opposite in direction or position; 3. Being the opposite one of two; 4. Unfavorable or adverse; 5. Perverse; stubbornly opposed or willful. 

That particular definition was taken from www.dictionary.com, one of my many internet bookmarks and an app on both my phone and my Kindle Fire. “Contrary” is not what I like to consider one of my “chosen words.” You know the types of words that I’m referring to, especially if you are a writer like I am or I aspire to be (depending on whose opinion you ask). If you’ve ever read anything that I’ve written–be said “anything” one of these oft ignored blog entries or the novel that I just finished writing–you are likely familiar with my “chosen words.” Examples include: “Aforementioned,” “segue” and “frighteningly.” I don’t even think I used “contrary” once in “Endworld.” Not even “contrary to popular belief” or “contrary to what you might be thinking.”

I’m not sure if the omission of a relatively common word is conscious or subconscious. After all, I generally try not to be “contrary”: Not in life, nor love, nor… well sh*t, friends, anything. I try very hard to keep a positive outlook despite the precariousness or dreariness of a given situation. But some days? Well, some days I remember the words of a once-acquaintance who used the term “contrary” to describe a different circumstance. When said acquaintance was having “one of those days,” she called it a “Contrary Day,” i.e. a day where she was just… off. Not depressed nor angry, just “contrary.” I’ve heard others refer to it as everything from being “bleah” to being “out of it.” I didn’t learn a lot from that once-acquaintance. If anything, I learned how much of a dick with arms and legs I can be, and if that person is reading this right now–as I sit in what my wife Nicole calls “my divot” on the couch in our living room with the Sixers on mute across the room and Bach playing over the speakers of my laptop–I’d like to take this long, overdue opportunity to say that I am sorry.

Refocus. Eyes forward. Oh crap, if I look forward I catch a glimpse of the Sixers beating the “best team in the NBA” by 15 points late in the Fourth. Refocus. Eyes on the screen of my laptop. Back to “contrary.”

Lately, friends, I’ve been feeling quite “contrary.” Primarily over the last week or so. Said (“said” definitely equals another one of my “chosen words”) “contrariness” is due largely in part to my current work situation–down a person in my department for the next month/forced to do her work and my own during one of the busiest periods we, as a company, have ever experienced–and by association my newly elevated stress level. But there are other factors contributing to it, as well, some that I have been able to diagnose and some that remain a mystery.

One that I have been able to diagnose is ‘kinda simple: I’ve a hole in my soul where there once existed a novel. There’s an emptiness inside of me now that “Endworld” is done: A sense of loss that I can equate with many things, some that I would write about had I more time and energy and some that are somewhat… private that I won’t regardless of how lucid I am. As a wise sage of the cinema once said: “I keep those thoughts for myself.” The solution to my problem? I could start the next novel. I am, in fact, itching to start it. But beginning something as extensive as a novel directly on the coattails of something equally extensive is a daunting task, especially in light of the workload I am carrying currently. And considering that the fate of “Endworld” in many ways remains up in the air until I receive feedback first, from the person who is currently editing it, second from my wife who is currently reading it and third, from a collection of a dozen or two “beta readers” that have expressed interest in previewing it, I think its best not to begin the second until I know for sure if the first has appeal. So for now, “Endworld” book two will remain a plot in my head and a rough outline sketched out in virtually indecipherable cursive on a legal pad until such time as I am confidant that it has legs.

I also equate it to life: Beginning a serious relationship on the coattails of another, serious relationship is oft times doomed for failure. Some times it works out. Take Nicole and I: I came out of a serious relationship and within a few months I was inan even more serious one with the woman I would, eventually, marry, alias the mother of my one daughter, Cara, and the soon-to-be mother of my second daughter. For those of you reading this that don’t know yes: Nicole and I are expecting what I have been calling a “plus one” for the last few months. Cara Angelina’s little sister, Natalie Theresa Marsh is due in early June. But many times? What most people call a “rebound” relationship does not work out. It fizzles and the participants are left even more scarred than they were before beginning it. The moral of the story? Take a little time after you complete something epic, be that something a book, a relationship, a job or any number of “a’s” and a noun before you begin something equally or more epic. Sometimes the jump works out. Others? You end up in a worse place than you were before. I’m thankful… damn thankful that my situation turned out the way it did. If there’s one thing that isn’t contributing to my “contrariness” right now it’s my marriage, my family and my friends. Not to mention a surprisingly dominant home basketball team that just spanked the Bulls by 16 points. “Show ‘ya ‘luv,” Philadelphia. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a professional basketball team in this town that we can be proud of.

Diagnosed, then: Factors contributing to my “contrariness.” One: My work situation. Two: My desire to write the currently untitled sequel to “Endworld” (though my buddy Matt’s proposed title, “Red-Headed Stepchildren of Endworld” remains the frontrunner). Those are the two most prominent. But is there a third? A fourth? Likely, but I honestly don’t know. This little, psychological cross-examination of my current condition has thus far only yielded those two. I guess that my virtual incapacity to win a single game of “Words with Friends” could be a third. Consider: I have four years and some change (if you count my 24 Graduate credits which are currently sitting in educational limbo at Drexel) of experience with the English language in an academic setting. I have a relatively extensive vocabulary that, contrary to what you may believe is not limited to my “chosen words.” I can pull words like “redressed” and “factoid” out of my a** if given the appropriate tiles and board set up. Each word yields me anywhere between 30 and 40 points (my highest yet–“flux”–actually yielded me almost 60 thanks to good positioning). But then my opponent plays “axe,” hits a triple word score and a triple letter score on the “x” and completes “avoid” and “da” on a perpendicular and a parallel/ends up with a shade under 100. I can’t tell you how close I came to cursing that person out via the “Words with Friends'” chat function/throwing my brand new Kindle Fire through the screen of my television from my position within “my divot” upon the couch. If that person is reading this right now I am sorry. Reference my aforementioned capacity to be a dick with arms and legs. The moral of the story, friends? Extensive experience with the English language does not make you a “Words with Friends” ringer. If anything, it acts as a crutch when combined with your incapacity to do simple math.

Incidentally, current record on “Words with Friends”: 1-9 in my last ten matches. That one win was my only win and it came at the expense of my brother-in-law who has now avenged himself on me three or four times since, most recently by approximately 200 points. If I ever win another game I will likely leap up from “my divot” and dance a jig in the middle of my living room before I relapse in to my “contrary” state. But I digress. Refocus. Eyes forward. Oh f*ck, Nicole is watching “Phineas and Ferb.” Refocus. Eyes down and on the screen of my laptop. But… it’s… Skiddley Whiffers! 

What about a fourth? Perhaps the dearth of decent television right now (though blessedly, “The Walking Dead” is due back on a week from this Sunday) or the lack of time to do anything other than sleep, work, occasionally grab a bite to eat (down almost 10 pounds in the last week… nothing like a stress and “contrariness” crash diet to drop that extra coating of winter fur or in my case, holiday fat) and sleep again. Perhaps the fact that I am now blogging while watching the “Tour ‘de Ferb” for the umpteenth time and am desperately longing for a new episode of arguably the best cartoon on television before it stagnates. In truth? The third, fourth, fifth or dozenth factor (if one exists) doesn’t matter. I am “contrary” right now because of factors one and two. Little more explanation is needed save for this: I decided roughly two hours ago, right after Cara blessedly went right to sleep that I would take a little time to write an appreciation of “being contrary” and I did. Not just for myself but for the person who originated said concept. It’s a good one, friends. A worthy addition to the list of euphemisms people use for having “one of those days. “I’m having a contrary day.”

Take it out for a test drive the next time you’re feeling “bleah” or “out of it.” Try it on for size. If you like it, use it, and spread it around so that others can use it, as well. And while you’re at it, try writing about your state of mind. You don’t need to be a writer or an aspiring writer with “chosen words.” You’ll be amazed at how much better you feel afterwards. Much less like an overworked, stressed out, oft times dick with arms and legs that can’t win a single game of “Words with Friends.” You feel semi-normal. And maybe… just maybe “semi-normal” is enough to help you cope with your “Contrary Day.” At least, that is, until the resurgent Sixers play the Heat on Friday night.

Show ‘ya ‘luv. 

F.

What Thanksgiving Means to Me by Way of Monty Python, Industrial Strength Aerosol Lubricant and CHILDREN OF ENDWORLD

The MadchroniclerLeave a comment

Believe what you will, this blog post is NOT going to be all about the once-sequel to the novel I’ve been working on for the last six to seven months, CHILDREN OF ENDWORLD. I say “once-sequel” because as of the last… oh, few days, CHILDREN is no longer the sequel to the novel I’ve been diligently plugging away at since the end of April, 2011. It’s been subjugated to Book Three status. It will still be called CHILDREN but the NEW direct sequel to ENDWORLD is just that: A direct sequel, i.e. it takes place directly after ENDWORLD concludes and not three years later. Anyone familiar with the original trilogy that is disappointed with that eventuality I’m sorry, but in light of certain… developments it makes more sense to NOT break up the continuity of the story.

No, friends. My reason for bringing it up is this: There is a scene roughly 50% of the way through the original draft of CHILDREN in which Roland err… William MacNuff (sorry; old habits and all that) is reunited with his surviving companions from the first book in a location that I will NOT divulge here (it’s ‘kinda a surprise) on a cold and snowy morning (hint, HINT: Where might it be snowing in late November?) over coffee and a home-grown breakfast. That morning has always been and will remain Thanksgiving morning, and while I only briefly allude to it in the original draft of CHILDREN I intend to elaborate upon it in the re-write. As you may have figured out, I’ve done a great deal of elaborating on THE ENDWORLD CHRONICLE already, so much so that the title “chronicle” no longer is sufficient to the scope of what I am intending. It’s more of a cycle, actually. THE ENDWORLD CYCLE, perhaps? Or is that to Piers Morgan? No idea, yet. I haven’t even formulated a title for the new sequel though admittedly, I ‘kinda like RED-HEADED STEPCHILDREN OF ENDWORLD (thank you, @mattiasmaximus, AKA my buddy Matt, AKA Matt O’Brien in THE ENDWORLD… whatever).

But I digress. That scene has always held a special place in my heart, soul and mind because of something I wholeheartedly believe in. Something that is, for me, an underlying theme of this time of year. Not just Thanksgiving but the you-know-what season that follows it (sorry, but I’m predisposed to NOT mention that particular C-word until AFTER I’ve eaten until it hurts and watched football-related programming for 24 hours). So I’ll stick with Thanksgiving, which is all about family and friends. It’s about uniting as a unit/as one to celebrate all that you… that WE are thankful for. And I have A LOT to be thankful for this year, friends. I would list everything but to do so would be ‘kinda tedious (seems like I’m using “‘kinda” a lot in this post, doesn’t it?) and I don’t want to give away any… as Doctor River Song from “Doctor Who” would say, “spoilers” before I’m allowed to. But I would be remiss if I didn’t list a few things.

This Thanksgiving more than others I feel very, VERY blessed. I have a wonderful family and wonderful friends; I’m once again “pot committed” to something that I love doing: Writing; I have a steady job, something that many around the world and specifically here on, as William MacNuff would say, “The Continent” can not claim. I have a renewed sense of purpose, something that I’ve been sorely lacking for the last couple of years. And that? That is where I’ll leave it. ‘Cause really, this little blog post is NOT meant to be a generic, “What Thanksgiving Means To Me” elementary school-style essay. After all, the title of this little ditty is “What Thanksgiving Means To Me (by way of Monty Python, industrial strength aerosol lubricant and CHILDREN OF ENDWORLD).” So my approach is to look at Thanksgiving from a few… uncharacteristic viewpoints. So without further adieu…

In 1983, the almost (but not quite) defunct Monty Python’s Flying Circus (though I don’t think they called themselves that at that point) put out their last movie of original material. “The Meaning of Life” was JUST THAT: A series of sketches about the meaning of life. Everything from birth through death. While the overall movie itself was, for me, a bit LESS hysterical than the previous three (others may think differently), there were a few parts that had me in tears of hysteria. And I’m NOT referring to “Find The Fish” which was, to employ an Anglophile term, “bloody awful.” I’m specifically referring to the one minute long skit about suicidal leaves. Those of you reading this that HAVEN’T seen the movie or more specifically that scene please check out THIS LINK before reading any further. I promise you that you won’t be disappointed.

While suicide is never funny–and it isn’t, friends, I’ll be the first to say that–that skit has, for me, always signified something different. Every time I see it I think of the end of Fall/Thanksgiving time. While that may seem somewhat demented to some of you reading this consider it before calling me a twisted f*ck. View it again with that thought in mind. Then think of the scene today in and around the Philadelphia area: Gray, cloudy skies; a howling wind; and as my one co-worker observed without the benefit of ever having seen “The Meaning of Life,” the last of the season’s leaves plunging to their respective deaths from the trees lining Green Street in Royersford, PA. It works, doesn’t it? While some might consider gray skies and trees shedding the last of their patchwork, seasonal coats about the furthest thing from “warm and fuzzy” I don’t. Gray skies and barren trees make me think happy thoughts. Like snuggling beneath a comforter with my wife and my daughter watching “Caillou” and “Pajanimals.” Like snuggling under the same comforter and reading “Goldilicious” to my daughter a half a dozen times before she finally concedes that she’s exhausted and says, “read ‘Goldie’ upstairs, daddy” and I concede, “okay, sweetheart. Read ‘Goldie’ upstairs,” thereafter tucking her in with “Goldie,” her stuffed Cookie Monster, stuffed Kermit, stuffed Clifford and EVERY OTHER stuffed animal she keeps in her harem of a crib (you should see it: It’s a wonder she can even sleep in it it’s so full with her “babies”). Like retiring downstairs and snuggling with my wife beneath that same, gosh-darned comforter and watching a movie while the cold, north wind howls outside and time moves onward aimlessly, and without check throughout my… throughout OUR subjective universes. I am thankful for moments like these, friends. And that IS what Thanksgiving is all about, is it not?

Fast forward from 1983 to 2011. This afternoon whilst (whilst = better than ‘kinda… or worse?) I was at work trying to get caught up before my mini, four day vacation from the world of Hydraulic and Pneumatic Distribution I received a phone call from a customer who shall remain nameless for fear of a libel lawsuit. Said customer asked me if I could supply him with an aerosol can of industrial strength lubricant for delivery tomorrow morning. UPS RED, EARLY AM… on Thanksgiving. Admittedly, my FIRST instinct was to either laugh in his ear or ask him if he was intending on having intercourse with a turkey tomorrow morning but being that one of the things that I’m thankful for is my steady job, career suicide? Probably NOT the best idea. So I bit back my initially considered snarky retort and informed him that I did not have any of what he was looking for in-house (which I didn’t) and that the lone source that I had for said-lubricant had already left for the day (which they had). I even checked my inventory though I knew the answer to his question without doing so. The customer understood, thanked me for my time and wished me a Happy Thanksgiving. I wished him the same and we went our separate ways. But that phone call? Well, it ‘kinda got me to thinking. It got me to thinking about said customer’s situation and the fact that instead of being at home with his family tomorrow morning he will likely be holed up in some dusty, dreary, cold warehouse somewhere waiting for a courier to drop off an aerosol can of industrial strength lubricant, AKA WD-40 on steroids from a company in either Canada or Mexico. I feel for that man… I feel horrible for him. Sh*t, guys, I feel terrible for ANYONE that has to work tomorrow in ANY capacity. I mean, I did it for years. 13 to be exact: A decade plus of slaving away in first, lower and then upper Retail Management. It sucks. My own wife has to work until 2:00 tomorrow afternoon and I feel for her. But do you know what? I’m thankful… I’m DAMN thankful that while I am not always the biggest fan of my job, it provides me and HAS provided me with a luxury that–up until six years ago–I never enjoyed: Holidays. Not just Thanksgiving but ALL holidays. I get to spend them with my loved ones, now. As it should be. And while the younger version of myself enjoyed the OT and the free lunches that he got for working holidays, the OLDER version of my same-self? Well heck. Who needs a hoagie platter or a couple of extra bucks when I can spend Thanksgiving morning playing “Peoples” (Fisher Price Little People for those of you unfamiliar with the term) or “Babies” with my daughter while the 6ABC Thanksgiving Day Parade plays in the background. I can witness her “ooh” and “aah” and say things like “look, daddy! ‘Is Santa Claus!” when he arrives despite the fact that when Nicole and I take her to see him this weekend she will likely freak out (as most two and a half year olds do). I am thankful for moments like these–when I get to wonder at my daughter’s innocent fascination with concepts that have grown slightly jaded for me due to time and age, and a day later comfort her when she is scared of those SAME concepts. And that TOO is what Thanksgiving is all about, is it not?

Circle back around to how I began this blog post, AKA the idea that originally inspired it: The scene in CHILDREN OF ENDWORLD so near and always dear to my heart, mind and soul in which William MacNuff is reunited with the family (’cause that IS what they become over the course of the “chronicle,” “cycle” or WHATEVER I end up calling it) he left behind at the end of Book One. While coffee and a combination of rations and homegrown food-stuffs like potatoes, carrots and the like don’t exactly equal a Thanksgiving Day feast with turkey, stuffing, mashed and sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, pineapple bread, pumpkin bread, crescent rolls and various sundry pies and cakes, in a post-apocalyptic world run by a totalitarian “Administration” of machines in which most human beings are little more than mindless pawns in an ongoing chess game against… well, against the futuristic 1%–the few human beings that resist and fight the “Administration”–it’s about the best my hero and his “peoples” can ask for. And in that scene he–William–is thankful not only for the food and the company but for his life. I repeat: HIS LIFE. When I originally wrote that scene some 15 odd (and yes, they HAVE BEEN odd, friends) years ago I didn’t quite understand that. Admittedly I was pretty f*cking miserable. Those of you reading this who knew me back then know the gory details so I’m not going to go in to them here but the prospect of THIS life, i.e. the life I lead now was non-existent. Back then, I called myself a living, breathing facsimile of a smiley face. Now? The grin suffusing my face as I write these words is not a forced one, nor is it a facade that I am putting on for my wife, Nicole, who… having returned home from work… now sits across from me beneath a comforter watching “Mythbusters.” My thankfulness this year is not some BS excuse I came up with to convince my family at dinner tomorrow night that I’m happy. I AM happy, friends. I’m happy for my family and my friends. I’m happy for ENDWORLD, working title RED-HEADED STEPCHILDREN OF ENDWORLD and CHILDREN OF ENDWORLD, not to mention THE [overarching] ENDWORLD… whatever. I’m happy for Monty Python, even skits as “bloody awful” as “Find the Fish” and I’m happy for gray skies and barren trees. I’m happy for cuddling beneath a blanket with my loving wife and my wonderful daughter as the chill outside attempts and fails to impinge upon our happy home. I’m thankful for regular strength WD-40 (it keeps the hinges on the doors in my house from squeaking) and I’m thankful that I’ve never used the phrase “intercourse with a turkey” until today. I’m thankful for “Peoples” and “Babies” and parades and yes, I’m EVEN thankful for the you-know-what season that follows Thanksgiving. And GOD am I thankful for the privilege of seeing my semi-jaded subjective universe through the eyes of a child again.

But MOST importantly, friends? I’m thankful for my life. I repeat: MY life. And THAT is what Thanksgiving means to me. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Now stop reading this and go eat until it hurts/watch football related programming for the next 24 hours.

F.

Anniversaries, Ray Bans, Chronic Migraines, a Little ENDWORLD and the Awesomeness that is Spotify

The Madchronicler2 Comments

Happy October 15th, everyone. Incidentally, October 15th just so happens to be my wedding anniversary so before I write anything, let me first take a moment to wish my words-can-not-describe wife Nicole a Happy 6th Anniversary. For some of you reading this that have been hitched longer than that six years might not seem like much of a milestone but for me it’s monumental. Pre-Nicole the longest relationship I’d ever been in was roughly seven months and most of my relationships averaged between one night (with the occasional breakfast thrown in for good measure) and four months. Amazingly enough, when you factor in the amount of time we’ve dated (or, if you’re more of a traditionalist, the amount of time we’ve “courted”) we’ve been together for 10 years this November 11th. Despite our proclivities towards a more casual, laid-back lifestyle now she still keeps things interesting on a daily basis. She’s about as good a mother as I’ve ever encountered and as phenomenal a spouse as I could ask for. Nicole, I know you’re reading this. I love you with all my heart and always will. OH! And thank you again for the Ray-Bans. I’m nervous as f*ck to wear them (I have a knack for breaking expensive things, sunglasses especially) but I’ve always wanted a pair. In the words of William (remember, friends: No longer Roland) MacNuff: “‘You ‘done good, kiddo.”

It’s been a rough couple of weeks for me. I’m not going to lie. One or two people inquired recently why, in mid-September, I seemingly paused… at least publicly… all activity related to the writing of ENDWORLD. Fact is I did. Reluctantly. I ‘kinda had to. Shortly after I returned from vacation I had an… an incident I guess you could call it. I was beset upon quite suddenly by something that I had suffered from as a child but had, at least to my knowledge, kicked in the subsequent years since: Chronic Migraines. I actually ended up in the hospital for a weekend because of them. While I was released that Sunday afternoon and allowed to return home the damn things didn’t stop. In fact, they became more consistent albeit not as severe as they had been that weekend. I was forced to give up caffeine because the doctors considered it to be the trigger. I was asked to limit any stressful activities (also, they determined, a trigger) temporarily until I could meet with a Neurologist and work up a treatment plan. I was told to start going to bed earlier which sadly meant the end of my late night writing sprints… at least for a time. I followed all of this advice to a tee because no one should have to live with what I had to live with that week or two after I returned from vacation and continued to deal with in the two weeks after I was discharged: Constant pain is not a welcome companion on mine or any one’s journey through their own, subjective universe and if you are reading this and suffering from something similar you have my sympathies. I… truly… feel your pain.

So I did as was requested of me. I finally got to see a Neurologist who helped get me back on my feet via meds and a few recommended lifestyle changes and here I am. I’ve been virtually caffeine-free since mid-September (I am allowed to drink the occasional soda now but energy drinks, sadly, are no longer permitted), have been sleeping better (no more middle-of-the-night migraines, thank God, Allah, Buddha, or whatever deity/deities you worship), and… now that I’m feeling more like a reasonable facsimile of myself again, I’ve decided over the last few days that I am long overdue to return to the one thing that I have been holding off on, i.e. finishing ENDWORLD. So finally–as those of you that follow me on Facebook, Twitter and Google+ are aware–I finished up my read and revise of Parts One and Two and started Part Three (appropriately subtitled “Deceived”) yesterday. And after a five page writing jog (definitely not a sprint) over the course of about six or seven hours yesterday, things appear to be moving along (albeit somewhat less-frantically than before; I guess that’s what a limited caffeine intake does to you). I’ve got my fingers crossed that I can finish this thing by the end of this year. While that’s a significantly longer time frame than I had originally anticipated (the end of August and the end of September have both come on gone as you are all well aware) I’ve come to understand something vital over the last few weeks’ experiences:

I’m not under any pressure to finish this by a set date. No publisher is hanging a deadline over my head and while I hate keeping my editor waiting (I’m sorry, Amy, but I promise: When I’m done it you’ll be the second too know (right after Nicole)) I hope she understands. As for those of you–my friends and my family–that have been waiting for something to “Beta Test” if everything goes the way I hope it will you should have something in your stocking by this Christmas. That’s my new goal. ‘Cause to be completely honest with you? I want to finish this. Why? Because I’ve got some really cool ideas for the re-write of the sequel that I can’t wait to put on paper and because I owe it to myself and to the people that have most supported me to make this happen. That’s pretty much all I’ve got right now on the ole’ book. Thanks for your continued encouragement and advice. Specifically, I’m looking at not only you, Nicole, but you, Matt, Tom, Steve, Pat, Kim, Amy, Renee, Emily… all my “peeps” that have given me feedback and if I neglected to mention your name I’m sorry. Booyakasha. Respect. 

All that said, an unrelated topic: Spotify. Who reading this uses it and who loves it as much as I do? I read about it in the tech mags a few months ago when it first rolled out to the us here in the states and I never thought much of it. After all, I’ve got a couple thousand songs on my four year old iPod Classic. Who needs streaming music for $10.00 a month? Let me tell you something, folks: I finally gave in and downloaded the free service this week with the 15 day trial of the Premium service (the one that you can get on your mobile as well as your PC, iPad, Tablet or whatever you’re using) and in all honesty? I had no idea what I was missing. Pandora? Slacker? Shazam? Move aside. I have no doubt that when my 15 day trial of the Premium service is up I’m subscribing to it. I’m writing this from work right now and before you detractors out there reading this question why I’m blogging when I’m supposed to be working understand that I was working all morning. Now that I’m caught up and have some time to kill I’m blowing time so THPT! (much love). I’ve only created three playlists so far and the one that I’m listening to right now–entitled “The State Pen Years”–is loaded with music from the artists I used to listen to while I was in college. 335 tracks so far ranging from old-school Soundgarden to The Prodigy. Throw in a little Primus, Marilyn Manson and a dash of The Mighty Mighty Bosstones for good measure (shout out, Billy D) and I’m in audio heaven. Half the stuff on this playlist is music I used to own on either tape or CD. If on tape said music was simply lost over the subsequent years since I left school and multiple moves, and if on CD said music was likely sold for beer money back when I was in college or stolen by one (or more) ex-girlfriends. But now? For a couple of bucks a month I have all those songs back in mu possession. Consider the last five songs I’ve listened to while I was writing:

5. Rob Zombie, “More Human Than Human.”
4. Soundgarden, “Face Pollution.”
3. Smashing Pumpkins, “X. Y. U.”
2. The Prodigy, “Smack My B*tch Up.” (I apologize to those of you with sensibilities. Please note: I don’t condone, it’s just a cool song)
1. Soundgarden, “Superunknown.”

Now playing: “Save Yourself” by Stabbing Westward. All in all a well-rounded collection of tunes whether they are your cup of tea or not. Is it wrong of me to presume that this and similar innovations (like the iCloud) are going to eventually kill iTunes and MP3s? Feel free to debate that question if you so desire to do so but as far as this music-lover is concerned? I’m all in on the awesomeness of Spotify. Well done, Sweden. This may be perhaps the best thing you’ve given the western world since the watch. Or perhaps the utility knife. Every so often you come up big. Booyakasha. Respect. 

And with that, I’m about done, everyone. My boss has finally given me the green light to go home for the day and I plan to. I have a sixth anniversary to celebrate, a daughter to play with, a book to write and a soda to drink (I’m due for one: Haven’t had one since Tuesday PM). So with one, final salud and just one more Booyakasha for good measure I’m going to slip on my brand new Ray-Bans and roll. Thank you all, again, for your continuing attention, advice, support and friendship. I thrive on it more than you can imagine. Peace.

11:30 AM; 10/15/11

 

My New Favorite DROID App and an ENDWORLD Update

The Madchronicler1 Comment
Well this is quite a new experience albeit one that I’ve been looking forward to. Some time ago I downloaded the “Blogger” App for my then DROID phone. I have since upgraded to the DROID 3 (sexy phone, BTW. DROID and DROID 2 owners? If you have an upgrade available I HIGHLY recommend it) and am finally attempting to blog on my phone and upload it to “Random Musings.” We’ll see how it goes. Perhaps this will force me to take a more minimalist approach to writing not only “Endworld” but ALL worlds and ALL forms of writing. Not just novel writing but blog, poetry and short story writing as well. Not that “minimalist” is a prerequisite for being a writer (good, bad or somewhere in between) but it is good to occasionally focus on making a point quickly and not being too “wordy” or “talky.” I’ve been accused of the being the latter more times than I can count and RECENTLY no less (thanks, Em: I know it’s ‘kinda talky and I’m attempting to scale that back a bit). That said, enough “chit-chat (sarcasm FULLY intended). On to business.
 
First an “Endworld” update: I broke the 150 page mark the other night and the rewrite currently sits at 155+ pages. I started this process in late April, 2011 and I figure I’ll be roughly 65-70% home by the time I finish writing the next sequence (which is, incidentally, the Battle for Freeworld One). Those of you that read either Version 1.0 or Version 2.0 may be a little shocked at that statement. In V. 2.0 (’cause that’s the only one I have now. I’m not sure what happened to V. 1.0) Freeworld One happens at around page 90-95. And it’s not really a “battle.” Well I assure you that in V. 3.0 (hopefully the LAST version) it is poised to MOST CERTAINLY be a battle complete with an ample share of Michael Bay-esque explosions and carnage and… I hope… a few tears. 
 
That said, I had hoped to be done the initial draft of this rewrite by the end of August, 2011… specifically by 8/27/11 (the day I head down the shore for a week) but that, unfortunately, doesn’t look feasible. There is a possibility: I never know when a writing sprint is going to start but admittedly? I’ve got A LOT more on my plate now than I did 10, 15, or 20 years ago and other things DO have to take precedence from time to time (SEE: Wife, daughter, family, “Curb Your Enthusiasm” and the occasional movie on AMC. I’m looking at YOU “The Shawshank Redemption”). But 155+ pages in three months? That’s not half bad. It’s on par with my most prolific creative periods and I’m satisfied. But admittedly? The writing process is beginning to wear on me. For good reason: I haven’t written more than a few pages of ANYTHING in over a decade before this and I’m not exactly conditioned to novel writing anymore. You could argue I never was in the first place but that’s irrelevant. I’m rediscovering my stamina and if I finish this by the end of September, 2011 I’ll be happy. So stay tuned, friends. After FW1 and Halmier’s Pass (you’re on deck, Tim Redfield. Are you ready for your closeup?) = The home stretch. 
 
Other than that there really isn’t much more to say on the topic of “Endworld” save for this: I mentioned a few days ago in my collective, social networking reality (FB, Twitter, Google+) that I’d had “an intense moment of literary clarity.” Well, I DID friends. And it was big. I mean REAL big. I joked with a friend about it on Twitter (@Chelle_MNN who, incidentally, has her OWN blog if you’re interested in reading: http://petitechild.com. It’s quirky, entertaining and informative) and the “conversation” got a little heated (jokingly, of course) but in essence the upshot of said intense moment that I experienced is this: While I can’t reveal TOO much of what I’ve decided to try I CAN tell you that “Endworld” is no longer just the beginning of a trilogy of novels collectively called “The Endworld Chronicle.” It’s a starting point for something much more vast. An idea that I came up with a long, LONG time ago that has–in subsequent years–never left my mind. I always knew that the world of “Endworld” was potentially a part of that idea but I never considered it to be the STARTING point. In short, friends? My planned, little trilogy of post-apocalyptic romances is now just “The Miller’s Tale.” Before I tag and bag this blog entry and go price up a sensor or two I want to leave you with this. It’s part of a scene from Alex Parker’s/Roland MacNuff’s interaction in Freeworld One. Those of you that know me may recognize what is being referenced. Those that don’t? I have one word for you: EDONA. ‘Kind of rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? 
 
“Alex smiled as he reached across with his left hand and pulled his right shirt sleeve up as high as he could. I could see the the top of his forearm clearly and it was bare. On the underside I could see… SOMETHING… though I could not positively identify what it was that I was seeing. That’s a tattoo, I thought. The black mark appeared to be designed of two circles atop each other, perhaps in a clean figure-eight or perhaps in an overlapping one (it was impossible to be sure) and it incorporated an arrow that seemed to be cross-cutting the figure-eight and was pointing toward the palm of his hand. I made a mental note to inquire about it further if given the opportunity…” 
 
F.
 

An ENDWORLD Update

The MadchroniclerLeave a comment

Good morning, afternoon or evening friends (whenever you’re reading this). I hope all is well with you as it is with me. Life is good: Family, friends… all are wonderful. My little girl is about to turn two (where the hell did the time go?) and she’s showing all the tell-tale symptoms of a forthcoming bout with The Terrible Twos, a bout which I’m sure will take up more than its fair share of both mine and my wonderful wife Nicole’s time.

I haven’t posted anything on “Random Musings of a Pseudo-Madman” in quite some time. It’s not that my creative output has slowed. Quite the contrary: My ongoing rewrite of “Endworld: A Novel” is going incredibly well. 110+ pages in as of the writing of this blog post. The first 100 pages or so were forwarded to my editor this passed weekend and I’m looking forward to seeing how much my writing has improved (or not; I leave that for you to decide, Amy) in the decade since I last rewrote it. While the overall framework of the story is relatively unchanged–it has the same parallel story structure start to finish that it had when I completed the first draft sometime around my 21st year on this side of the proverbial wormhole of existence–it’s definitely… um… well, the best way I can describe it is fatter. ‘Kinda portly like me.

Consider: I’m about to write of Roland MacNuff and Maria Markinson’s first encounter with Alex Parker in Freeworld One. Those of you that read either the original manuscript or the rewrite I did back in 1998-1999 might remember that said event occurred around page 50. The fact that it’s happening on page 110 now means that I’ve added roughly 60 pages of exposition to the story arc. Trust me when I tell you that–at least in my opinion–said exposition was imperative to making “Endworld” more of a novel and less of a story (or a self-evaluation of my psychological state at the time: I leave that for you to decide). Fact: “Endworld” isn’t just a story. It never was. It’s a whole world that has existed in my brain for almost 20 years. I want to do that world justice this time; I want to tell not just Roland’s story but the story of the world he runs through in the beginning and… eventually… fights for in the end. Hopefully 60+ pages of exposition doesn’t impede the flow of the tale. That flow was one of the original novel’s seminal strengths per those that read it and it compensated for the overabundance of plot holes that my immature mind invariably created. How many times is he (Roland) going to get knocked out? Why the endless supply of cigarettes? Are the machines really THAT stupid?. Well, friends, I locked down the first two plot holes and explained the third. Hopefully when I do finish this and get a copy in to your hands you’ll agree but that day is still a little ways off.

Some have expressed interest in reading what I’ve written so far. One or two people have criticized my latest “Endworld Rewrite Project” as nothing more than a false promise to the people that have been hearing about my supposed trilogy of novels for almost 20 years. I assure you that this is not simply another empty promise from a guy who, for a time, was accused of making many. This is the real deal, guys. At the 100 page mark–when I unexpectedly killed off a main character from the original manuscript (as for who I killed offyou’ll have to wait and see) and introduced another that will, eventually, become my hero’s arch-nemesis–I realized that I was, in poker terms, “pot committed.” For better or for worse… good or bad, “Endworld: A Novel” is going the distance. And after that? “Children of Endworld” and “Heaven and Endworld” are going to get the same treatment. Maybe I’m delusional. Maybe “The Endworld Chronicle” doesn’t have the scrote to survive in a world of real literature and real authors and maybe it’ll never make it further than the posts on this blog/those of you reading this who desire a copy’s hands. But I’ve always believed that if done properly (and not overly reliant on “The Terminator” and “The Wonder Years”) it did. 110+ pages in and I’m still confidant in that assumption though I refuse to allow myself the latitude of losing my humility. Until I get a letter telling me that something that I’ve written is “published”–“Endworld” related or otherwise–I’m still just an everyday Joe Schmoe who works as an Office Manager/Inside Sales Rep for a hydraulic and pneumatic distribution and manufacturing company.

But I continue to dream forward. I always have and I always will. That said, I will be taking a self-imposed break from my latest “Endworld Rewrite Project” but not for long. I don’t anticipate it lasting more than a few days but I need to rest my brain for a bit lest what I’m writing starts to stagnate. I’ve realized in the subsequent years since I first wrote and completed “Endworld: A Novel” that one of, if not my greatest failing as a writer was not stopping when I started to wear down. Writing a novel isn’t an all-out sprint to the finish line. It’s a marathon, and completing a marathon successfully entails knowing when your body is beginning to wear down and conserving your energy for when you need to sprint. As it was then and as I envision it now, the last 30 or 40 pages of “Endworld: A Novel” is an all-out, balls-to-the-wall sprint for the finish line both for Roland and Maria and for the person tasked with telling their story. In the now twice revised story structure of the novel that sprint begins in about 80 or 90 pages. In the time between a lot has to happen. More so now despite the untimely departure of one of the main characters and the “introduction” of a new one that is crucial to the eventual outcome of the trilogy. I want to be fresh as I write it. Henceforth the “Summer Break” that I’m imposing upon myself. To be continued. 

That’s all I’ve got, folks! In closing, let me simply say this: Renewing many of the ideas and inspirations that originally… um… inspired “Endworld: A Novel” has been both a joy and a daunting task. But looking at it with a 35 (going on 36) year old’s perspective and not the perspective of a lovelorn 18 year old has been enlightening to say the least. At it’s core “Endworld” is a love story and a tribute to my friends and family. But beneath it all? It’s actually pretty dark. Is it believable Sci-Fi? I leave that for you to decide when it’s done. Enjoy!

F.