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The Grammy Awards: Your Uncool Uncle

“The Grammys is the one award that doesn’t matter to anyone until they win one.”

For 15-20 years, I dismissed the Grammys as utter crap. It all started back in 1989, when they decided to branch out and recognize heavy metal and hard rock with its own category/award. And in a year when Metallica’s …And Justice For All ruled the rock/metal world (and, in my opinion, were still good and relevant), who was awarded the Grammy? Jethro Tull.

I repeat: Jethro Freaking Tull. A band with a flautist. How metal.

It was an insult, a joke, and the moment I quit caring about the Grammys. And why should I? The music that mattered to me wasn’t even getting radio airplay most of the time, let alone being recognized by the industry. If a band I liked would’ve won a Grammy back then, I would’ve expected them to either not show up to receive it or give a vulgar and disparaging acceptance speech, detailing the ways the award was a joke and meant nothing to them. Breaking it on the stage would have been a plus.

In the early 2000’s I started watching the Grammys again, mostly out of morbid curiosity. There were some interesting wins here and there, some I agreed with and a lot I didn’t. There were interesting performances, some memorable and some miserable. But what became more and more clear is that for every tragic misfire there would usually also be a step in the right direction.

A prime example: in 2007 and 2008, Slayer won back-to-back Grammys. Slayer, one of the least commercial bands in the history of rock music, and one of my favorite bands. And all I could think to myself was, “It’s about damn time.” Suddenly the Grammys mattered, because a band I liked won one. And they humbly and graciously accepted the award, despite my wishes a decade earlier that any band I liked that won demolish the award immediately.

Now, I don’t always agree so wholeheartedly with who wins the Grammys (although I really don’t lose any sleep over any of it), but over the last few years I’ve come to view the Grammys as an uncool uncle you only see once a year—he isn’t as cool as he tries to be; he can sometimes be downright embarrassing; but, above all else he’s trying, and that counts for something.

Looking at this year’s rock nominees is a pretty good example: a handful of newer, and in my opinion more relevant artists mixed in with the likes of Black Sabbath, Neil Young, David Bowie, The Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin. Led Zeppelin, for God’s sake. It seems to me more young acts should be nominated to keep interest in the awards, or else each new generation is going to write the Grammys off as a bunch of geezers giving each other awards—although hopefully we never see another Jethro Tull-style goof up.

I had thought about doing a write up of the Grammys fully expecting it to be a snarky, sarcastic, excessively negative piece about the worthlessness of the awards. And while I still don’t think any band should care that much about winning one, it would be naive to say they don’t matter at all. The truth is, the Grammy is the biggest music award on the planet, and who wouldn’t like to be told their work is good enough to get one? The fact that they also give them to some of the worst songs/performers every year in the pop categories is another matter, and I’ll leave that issue to someone else.

I also have to admit that I’ve quite enjoyed the actual Grammy telecast the last few years; they really appear to be pulling out all the stops to make the show itself memorable, even if you don’t care about the actual awards. And with that, I’ll be the first to admit I’ll be watching Sunday night anxious to see who/what people are going to be talking about on Monday. Will you be watching?

Twenty Dollars and a Simple Gesture

The waiter at Olive Garden put his palms down on the table and leaned forward, speaking a little softer than usual.

“Hey guys,” he said. “That family at that table over there that just left? They paid for your meal. They didn’t want me to say anything until they were gone, but you guys are already taken care of.”

My wife and I looked at him for a second, stunned. We remarked how nice that was of them and thanked the waiter, but as he walked away one question remained. I actually had to keep from blurting it out when he told us they’d paid for our meal.

Why?

Did we look like we couldn’t pay for it? Did we look like we were having a bad day? Or, just possibly, did they simply want to do something nice for someone else?

I noticed the family of three when we got seated at our table: husband and wife, no older than we were, and a little girl of maybe three. Their table was perpendicular to ours, against the wall directly behind where my wife sat. At some point I heard the girl say something appropriately adorable for a three year old, although I can’t remember what it was.

As the family was wrapping up their meal the girl caught my eye; she was sitting on the end of the booth sideways, facing me. She had one of those famous Olive Garden breadsticks in her hand, holding it at the bottom and gnawing on it from the top. It reminded me of Bob Barker or Drew Carey with those long microphones on The Price is Right. Then I pictured Drew Carey eating his microphone and that made me smile. When the waiter went back to the family the last time I heard the woman tell him how awesome he was and thanked him for his service. It was the only time I heard either of the adults speak, and I didn’t notice when they left. A few minutes later the waiter came and told us what they had done.

The thought of randomly receiving a kind gesture from a stranger was not entirely foreign to me. Stories of people having their drive-thru orders paid by the car in front of them or their coffees being paid for by a random customer at Starbucks have been floating around for years. But to me, that’s all they were—stories. Not to say I didn’t believe them, but I’d never met anyone who’d had this happen, and it had certainly never happened to me. So when it did, I was dumbfounded.

Naturally, my first instinct was to make a joke. I looked at my wife and said, “In that case, forget the soup. I’m changing my order to the portobello ravioli.” (Although in all seriousness, the unlimited soup, salad, and breadsticks is a great deal.) My wife joked too, then after a couple minutes, the question came—what do we do now?

Do we pick someone else in the restaurant and pay for theirs? Do we plan it out in advance?

We ended up not picking anyone in the restaurant. Officially, we haven’t paid it forward yet. What we did do, however, was give the waiter a bigger-than-normal tip. And when we left Olive Garden to pick up our dog at the groomer we gave her a bigger tip as well. I’ll have to assume the waiter was pleased since we put his tip on the table when we left, but my wife did have the satisfaction of seeing a small flash of surprise on our dog groomer’s face when she saw a larger tip than she was accustomed to (from us, anyway).

What I came away with was how it put the rest of the day in a different light. Our soup lunches (with soft drinks, because we splurged) probably came to just under twenty dollars. Not a huge amount of money, though more than some people can spare. The point is it wasn’t really about the money; it was about a simple act of kindness being directed right at you for no discernible reason other than someone’s desire to be nice.

We weren’t having a bad day, by the way; it was just…a day. Dropped the dog off at the groomer; ran some errands; then stopped to grab some lunch before picking Maximus up to bring him home. But what those people did brightened our day considerably, and knowing how that simple gesture made us feel makes me anxious to do it for someone else.

So give it a try. It doesn’t have to be $20; it doesn’t have to be of any monetary value at all. Just try doing something nice for someone randomly, out of the blue—stranger or not—and see if it doesn’t give you the warm and fuzzies.

Golden Globes Picks and A Few Predictions

I have a somewhat strange fascination with awards shows (except music awards—more on that as we get closer to the Grammys). Especially, but not limited to, The Oscars and The Golden Globes. And while The Oscars are clearly the more prestigious of the two, there’s no denying The Golden Globes are a heck of a lot more fun.

For one, booze is in ample supply, and while most of the attendees manage to keep themselves in line, there’s generally a much looser atmosphere than at other stuffy awards shows. Acceptance speeches tend to be a little more off the cuff, and everyone appears to actually be enjoying themselves.

It’s also the only major awards show (unless you count the SAG Awards) that pairs both Movies and Television. That allows for a lot more interesting combinations, both in terms of presenters and who you might see mingling in the crowd or on the red carpet. The Oscars will always hold a special place in my heart (which I’ll tell you all about as we get closer to the show), but if I had to choose one awards show I’d actually want to attend, I think The Globes would win hands down.

With that, I’m going to offer up a few predictions for the telecast Sunday, January 12, 8ET/5PT, as well as my picks in the major categories. Some will be fairly educated guesses while others will be the equivalent of pinning the tail on the donkey. Okay, away we go!

Prediction: Tina Fey and Amy Poehler will make me (and probably you) laugh.

While I love both women just fine on their own, together they really are more than the sum of their parts. They go together like peanut butter and jelly, or honey and mustard, or mayonnaise and sriracha (if you haven’t tried that last one, you’re only hurting yourself). Their timing is impeccable, and they have one of the most important qualities a comedian can have: fearlessness. They will make themselves the butt of the joke at the drop of a hat if it’ll get a laugh, and I’m as excited for whatever they have planned as I am for the a lot of the awards themselves.

Prediction: An acceptance speech I want to hear will be played off while one I don’t care about will be allowed to ramble on ad nauseam.

It never fails. The show’s producers, intent on keeping the show on time, jump the gun and cue the orchestra during an especially amusing or emotional acceptance speech early in the show, while a big star is allowed to ramble on incoherently after the show is already behind schedule.

Prediction: Some of the winners will piss me off.

There are always nominees I root for more than others; that’s only natural. But I have a confession to make—sometimes I’ll start actively rooting against a certain nominee. Petty and childish? Afraid so. Part of the fun? Absolutely. I don’t necessarily have anything against any of the nominees, I just pull so hard for some of them that I get a little caught up in it all.

Prediction: I’ll be upset when I find out someone I was a fan of died during the “In Memoriam” segment.

It happens every year; usually it’s a character actor whose name I don’t know but whose face I recognize instantly. Sometimes it’s a director or even a producer I may know by name only. It usually manifests itself in a gasp of, “Oh no, he/she died? How sad.” While I’m on the topic of the In Memoriam pieces, I also have a problem with applause during the segment. Some of the shows have put a stop to this, and The Globes may be one of the ones that asks the audience to remain silent, but it bothers me when one person’s death is deemed sadder or more important than someone else’s.

Prediction: The show will run out of steam in the last hour (or two).

It’s hard for them not to, honestly. Giving out awards for three hours is boring. There’s always a lull somewhere around the halfway point that lasts until the final few awards. With any luck Amy and Tina have something planned to kickstart the show when it starts to drag, keeping the show’s momentum going to the final Globe being given out.

Okay, on to the awards. I started to give a brief explanation as to my reasoning for picking what I did, but to be honest, does it really matter? Trying to figure out who the Hollywood Foreign Press Association is going to give globes to is like trying to figure out how Nicolas Cage picks his roles; that being said, some of these I feel are pretty good guesses while others are total shots in the dark. On to the list of nominees; my picks are the ones in bold.

Best Motion Picture, Drama

12 Years a Slave
Captain Phillips
Gravity
Philomena
Rush

Best Motion Picture, Musical or Comedy

American Hustle
Her
Inside Llewyn Davis
Nebraska
The Wolf of Wall Street

Best Actor in a Motion Picture, Drama

Chiwetel Ejiofor, 12 Years a Slave
Idris Elba, Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom
Tom Hanks, Captain Phillips
Matthew McConaughey, Dallas Buyers Club
Robert Redford, All Is Lost

Best Actor in a Motion Picture, Comedy or Musical

Christian Bale, American Hustle
Bruce Dern, Nebraska
Leonardo DiCaprio, The Wolf of Wall Street
Oscar Isaac, Inside Llewyn Davis
Joaquin Phoenix, Her

Best Actress in a Motion Picture, Drama

Cate Blanchett, Blue Jasmine
Sandra Bullock, Gravity
Judi Dench, Philomena
Emma Thompson, Saving Mr. Banks
Kate Winslet, Labor Day

Best Actress in a Motion Picture, Musical or Comedy

Amy Adams, American Hustle
Julia Delpy, Before Midnight
Greta Gerwig, Frances Ha
Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Enough Said
Meryl Streep, August: Osage County

Best Supporting Actor in a Motion Picture

Barkhad Abdi, Captain Phillips
Daniel Brühl, Rush
Bradley Cooper, American Hustle
Michael Fassbender, 12 Years a Slave
Jared Leto, Dallas Buyers Club

Best Supporting Actress in a Motion Picture

Sally Hawkins, Blue Jasmine
Jennifer Lawrence, American Hustle
Lupita Nyong’o, 12 Years a Slave
Julia Roberts, August: Osage County
June Squibb, Nebraska

Best Director
Alfonso Cuarón, Gravity
Paul Greengrass, Captain Phillips
Steve McQueen, 12 Years a Slave
Alexander Payne, Nebraska
David O. Russell, American Hustle

Best Screenplay, Motion Picture
Bob Nelson, Nebraska
Spike Jonze ,Her
Steve Coogan and Jeff Pope, Philomena
John Ridley, 12 Years A Slave
David O. Russell and Eric Warren Singer, American Hustle

Best Foreign-Language Film

Blue Is the Warmest Colour (France)
The Great Beauty (Italy)
The Hunt (Denmark)
The Past (Iran)
The Wind Rises (Japan)

Best Animated Feature Film

The Croods
Despicable Me 2
Frozen

Best Original Song, Motion Picture

“Atlas,” The Hunger Games: Catching Fire
“Let It Go,” Frozen
“Ordinary Love,” Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom
“Please, Mr. Kennedy,” Inside Llewyn Davis
“Sweeter Than Fiction,” One Chance

Best Original Score, Motion Picture

Alex Ebert, All Is Love
Alex Eves, Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom
Steven Price, Gravity
John Williams, The Book Thief
Hans Zimmer, 12 Years a Slave

Best TV Movie or Miniseries

American Horror Story: Coven
Behind the Candelabra
Dancing on the Edge
Top of the Lake
The White Queen

Best TV Series, Drama

Breaking Bad
Downton Abbey
The Good Wife
House of Cards
Masters of Sex

Best TV Series, Comedy or Musical

The Big Bang Theory
Brooklyn Nine-Nine
Girls
Modern Family
Parks and Recreation

Best Actor in a TV Series, Drama

Bryan Cranston, Breaking Bad
Liev Schreiber, Ray Donovan
Michael Sheen, Masters of Sex
Kevin Spacey, House of Cards
James Spader, The Blacklist

Best Actor, TV Series Comedy

Jason Bateman, Arrested Development
Don Cheadle, House of Lies
Michael J. Fox, The Michael J. Fox Show
Jim Parsons, The Big Bang Theory
Andy Samberg, Brooklyn Nine-Nine

Best Actress in a TV Series, Drama

Julianna Margulies, The Good Wife
Tatiana Maslany, Orphan Black
Taylor Schilling, Orange Is the New Black
Kerry Washington, Scandal
Robin Wright, House of Cards

Best Actress in a TV Series, Comedy

Zooey Deschanel, New Girl
Lena Dunham, Girls
Edie Falco, Nurse Jackie
Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Veep
Amy Poehler, Parks and Recreation

Best Actor in a Miniseries or TV Movie

Matt Damon, Behind the Candelabra
Michael Douglas, Behind the Candelabra
Chiwetel Ejiofor, Dancing on the Edge
Idris Elba, Luther
Al Pacino, Phil Spector

Best Actress in a Miniseries or TV Movie

Helena Bonham Cater, Burton & Taylor
Rebecca Ferguson, The White Queen
Jessica Lange, American Horror Story: Coven
Helen Mirren, Phil Spector
Elisabeth Moss, Top of the Lake

Best Supporting Actor in a Series, Mini-Series or TV Movie

Josh Charles, The Good Wife
Rob Lowe, Behind the Candelabra
Aaron Paul, Breaking Bad
Corey Stoll, House of Cards
Jon Voight, Ray Donovan

Best Supporting Actress in a Series, Miniseries, or TV Movie

Jacqueline Bisset, Dancing on the Edge
Janet McTeer, The White Queen
Hayden Panettiere, Nashville
Monica Potter, Parenthood
Sofía Vergara, Modern Family

Cecile B. DeMille Award
Woody Allen

There’s a small chance I may (may) live tweet the awards, so if you don’t already, follow me on Twitter via the button to your right and follow along during the show. Or I may not end up live tweeting, in which case I’ve just tricked you into following me.

Are you making picks? Play along! Disagree with any of my picks? Let me know in the comments below, and enjoy the show!

Semicolon Cleanse: My Addiction to a Punctuation Mark

When I started writing again a couple of years ago, I rediscovered something I had long since forgotten—the semicolon. It hadn’t gone anywhere; no, it was there all along, just sitting there on the sidelines waiting for me to pick it back up and start using it again. And now that I’m back to writing, I find myself wanting to use it all the time; I think I’ve become addicted.

The thing is, the semicolon is such a convenient piece of punctuation. It allows you to connect two sentences that otherwise you’d have to separate with a period, or put some separation between two thoughts where you may have instead put a comma. Hell, you all know what a semicolon is, I don’t know why I’m explaining it. The point is I love it, and I think I may be overusing it.

That’s not to say I’m using it incorrectly; as far as I know it’s grammatically correct wherever I decide to plunk one down. The problem is simple overuse. Maybe it’s because, like I said, I had forgotten about it for so long that now I’m excited to ‘make it rain,’ so to speak. Maybe I think it makes my writing look more impressive and “writer-ly”. Maybe it’s both. All I know is that in this blog post alone I’ve already had to resist putting in a few semicolons because it would’ve been repetitive.

I suppose in a way that’s a good thing. Since I know I’m throwing around semicolons like confetti in Times Square on New Year’s Eve, I know to look my stuff over when I’m editing to see if a period or a comma would better serve the sentence. What I’m noticing, though, is that semicolons are just the beginning.

I was bothered whenever I wanted to use a dash—all I could find was the simple hyphen. It never looked right compared to books I read; even if I put two of them together or put a space before and after one, it just looked odd. Then one day I stumbled upon the end to my punctuation woes: the magical em dash—it was what I’d been searching for all along. After a little digging on how to actually type one, since it doesn’t have its own key—it’s shift+option+dash for Mac users—I’ve been using em dashes all over the place: in place of parenthesis, when a character is interrupted mid-sentence, for a dramatic break in a sentence, you name it—I love it. I’m like a kid with a new toy.

I also have a tendency to want to put parenthesis everywhere too (em dashes have helped in that regard, though), but they’re easier to keep at bay. Same goes for the colon, too: they’re fun to use, but it’s easy to tell when you’re overdoing it.

Does anyone else out there have this issue? Do you find yourself falling back on certain punctuation marks again and agin? What punctuation problems plague you?

PS—anyone wanting a refresher in proper use of the semicolon should read this entertaining guide to it’s use, courtesy of The Oatmeal.

My Writing Resolutions for 2014

Lose weight. Quit smoking. Exercise more. Stop drinking. It’s that time again, when people use the new year as a chance to wipe the slate clean and hit the reset button. Stop their bad habits and start over fresh January 1st with a new beginning. They share many of the same resolutions; some manage to keep theirs for good, while others may last a few months. Some will only last a week or two before saying ‘screw it’ and falling back to their old ways.

As the year comes to a close I’ve been reflecting on my writing—what I’ve accomplished, what I still want to accomplish, and how I can go about getting there. Hence, my writing resolutions for the coming year. I’m curious if any of you other writers out there share some of these same resolutions the way ‘normal’ people share theirs.

I will devote time to writing every day.

As writers, the phrase “Write every day” is engrained in us like the literary Pledge of Allegiance. Lately, though, I think that piece of advice is part baloney. I’m not necessarily saying someone should actively choose not to write, but I don’t believe forcing yourself to put words on paper (or on a screen) is always the most beneficial thing you can do.

Instead, what I’ve begun doing is setting aside time to write every day. If I use that time to write, that’s awesome. But sometimes, there’s just nothing in the tank. Chalk it up to a long day at work, too little sleep, or simply a bad mood/depression, sometimes writers don’t want to write. That’s different than you’re garden variety procrastination; I’m talking about just plain not having the desire to write anything. I think that as long as it isn’t happening regularly, it’s okay to not write once in a while.

What I do believe in is putting the time aside to write. If you don’t feel like writing one day, don’t, but do something at least related to writing. Maybe read a book. Read some blogs, or work on your own blog. Write somebody an email. Even if you don’t write a single word, it’s still time devoted to writing and thinking about writing. Sometimes that can be just as productive (if not more) than forcing yourself to crap out a couple hundred words of something you don’t like.*

*this is merely one random guy’s opinion, feel free to disagree. Many do.

I will learn to use Scrivener and Evernote to their full potential.

As a novice writer and blogger (which, arguably, I still am), last year I read a lot of articles and blog posts about what tools writers use to capture their thoughts and ideas, and what they use to actually get them written down. I dutifully got Scrivener and, more recently, Evernote, and now I just need to learn how to make the most of them.

I’ve jotted down a few notes on my phone when I was out and about on Evernote, but I still don’t really know what else there is to do with it. Same goes for Scrivener: I’ve used it and am using it currently, but only in its most basic capacity. I need to take the time to watch the tutorials and fumble around in my clumsy old man fashion until I can really see what that program can do. At this point it seems like it will be something I mainly use in the editing stage as I do a lot of my principal writing away from home. I initially used Google Drive to write while away, but due to some inexplicable problems with it at work I’ve begun using Zoho. It gets the job done, but I do like Drive better.

I will read more.

I read seven books this year; not exactly what you’d call a staggering amount. But now, as the rough drafts pile up and editing becomes a bigger and bigger part of my day, the time to read has seemed to shrink to a sliver. I started a book two or three weeks ago and I’m still just 30 pages in. There is so much I want to read—old books I either haven’t read or want to re-read, fellow bloggers’ books, new authors making their debut—and the list goes on.

What I need to do is crack open a book every time I find myself wanting to play a new game, or if a TV show is on that I’m not totally invested in. Because I know what happens: once I get far enough into a book, I’m in for the long haul. Once I’m invested in the story I become determined to finish the thing so I can see how it all turns out. My goal is at least 12 books in 2014—still not setting the world on fire, but a small improvement from this year.

I will study the craft.

This year I read Stephen King’s wonderful On Writing (which I didn’t count as one of the seven), as well as the essays by Chuck Palahniuk, Craig Clevenger and everyone else at Lit Reactor. Together, those helped me make a giant leap in the quality of my writing. There’s nothing quite like reading something that details poor writing, only to find examples of said poor writing throughout your work.

But that’s not enough.

I still haven’t picked up what is considered by many to be the gold standard, the holy grail of writers everywhere, Strunk and White‘s The Elements of Style, and I haven’t gone back through every aspiring writer’s hero Chuck Wendig’s website for his tips on writing. Reading what I did this past year helped, but I’m not done learning. A writer is never done learning, we all know that. I’m going to study up and make my writing goddamn bulletproof.

I will be published.

God, it sounds so simple, doesn’t it? If only it were. I had seven short stories that I submitted to publishers this year, and as of this writing have amassed 11 rejections. That doesn’t shake me all that bad, honestly. Rejection is part of the game. No, what bothers me is my lack of diligence.

What happens is I’ll submit a story, receive the rejection, then do nothing for awhile. I don’t just automatically move on to the next publisher and submit again, like I should. Some stories have only been submitted once, while one story has been submitted and rejected four times. This year I’m going to be more businesslike in handling my submissions, and by god I’m going to be published.

That sounds so dramatic. What happens if I’m sitting here in late December of 2014 and still haven’t been published? Honestly, I don’t think that’s very likely but if that were to happen I’d have no one but myself to blame for not being persistent and sending out submissions regularly. A couple of the early stories I wrote may lack some of the polish of more recent ones, but I truly believe my work now is good enough to be printed somewhere, and somewhere out there is a publisher who thinks so, too.

So, there you have it. My writing resolutions for 2014. Hopefully I keep them all, or at least make a valiant effort. I look forward to reading all your blogs in the coming year, so keep ’em coming. Now, tell me, do you have any resolutions for your writing? Any of yours on my list above?

Thanks to everyone who follows and reads the blog. This has turned out to be more fun and fulfilling than I ever could have imagined. Putting out a new blog post is always the highlight of my week. Here’s wishing you all a healthy, happy, and prosperous new year.

Why I Believed in Santa Until I Was 17

“Kenny. Kenny, wake up.”

I slowly opened my eyes to find my parents standing beside my bed, smiling. It was the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, 1978. I was five. I blinked, trying to focus.

My mom put a finger over her mouth, signaling me to be quiet. “Come see.”

I got out of bed and tiptoed to the doorway, peeking down the hall. There in my living room stood the man himself; the man who made kids’ Christmas wishes come true the world over: Santa Claus.

KennyXmas1974 — I was much happier to see him in my living room than I was in this picture, I can assure you.

He took the giant sack off his shoulder, pulling out presents and placing them around the tree. I stood amazed, my jaw hanging open. It was really him, in the flesh. Not one of Santa’s helpers—like who I got my picture taken with at the mall—this was the real dude. My mind was blown.

Santa put the last of the presents under the tree and walked into our little breakfast nook. I snuck along the short hall that led to the back door so I could spy on him through the kitchen. He sat at the table, one mittened hand picking up a sugar cookie I’d left for him while the other grabbed the glass of milk I’d put out for him to wash it down. He took a couple of bites of the cookie, a healthy swallow of milk, then stood.

As our house had no fireplace (and hence no chimney), Santa left the same way he’d come in—through the front door. He closed the door behind him and I heard a muffled “Ho! Ho! Ho!” Seconds later, there was the sound of bells jingling and clatter on the roof.

He was getting in his sleigh!

I burst out the back door, running out into the yard to try and catch a glimpse of the jolly fat man and his reindeer flying away. Alas, he was already gone.

I went back into the house and surveyed the presents under the tree. It was surreal. My young brain almost couldn’t comprehend what I had just seen. I walked to the breakfast nook and looked at the half-eaten cookie and mostly full glass of milk. The only physical evidence that he had been in my house.

Well, besides the presents.

With no chance on earth of going back to sleep, my parents mercifully let me open the presents Santa had left for me. My family’s tradition was to open our presents on Christmas Eve, so I had already opened presents that night, but these were special, bonus presents from Santa. I tore into them like some sort of pajama-wearing Tasmanian Devil, a whirlwind of wrapping paper, bows, and scotch tape.

This tradition of “catching Santa in the act” lasted two or three years. Looking back, I think my parents must’ve enlisted the help of my aunt and uncle to pull it off. It took two people—I think my aunt played Santa while my uncle made noise and jingled bells on the roof. I hadn’t yet begun to question Santa’s existence at that young age, and seeing him in my house with my very own eyes only cemented my belief for years to come.

One year I got into an argument with a boy at school. It was the first day back after Christmas vacation, and I was sharing which presents I’d gotten from my family and which ones were from Santa.

“Santa Claus isn’t real,” the boy said.

“He is so. I saw him.”

“That was your dad, stupid.”

“It was not. My dad was there with me and my mom.”

“It was your grandpa.”

“I don’t have a grandpa.” (Both my grandpas were already long deceased.)

The boy scowled. “My mom says Santa’s not real!”

“Probably because you’re not a good boy and he doesn’t come bring you presents.”

I wasn’t trying to be mean; I was just telling the truth as I saw it. Why else would someone tell their kid Santa wasn’t real when obviously he was?

By the time I was eleven, I had begun to see the cracks in the story of Santa Claus. I had overheard enough to start putting the pieces together. One day, I decided to say something to my mom to let her know I had everything all figured out. I was quite proud of myself for being so clever.

She wasn’t happy.

She told me that if I stopped believing in Santa, he would stop bringing me the awesome presents I had come to expect every Christmas morning (which, keep in mind, were in addition to my regular presents from the family, that I opened on Christmas Eve). The message was received loud and clear—saying there was no Santa meant there would be no more extra gifts from Santa. I never said another word about him not being real.

And every year, all the way until our last Christmas together when I was seventeen, I’d wake up on Christmas morning to find at least one present (usually a really good one) under the tree, with a tag clearly in my mom’s handwriting, made out to me from Santa.

The holidays were a little different after that, but one thing that never changed was my enthusiasm for the holidays. No matter what’s going on elsewhere in the world (or my personal life), I’ve always loved Christmas and I know it’s due in no small part to the great lengths my parents went to in those early years to make mine so memorable.

I’d send you all the presents your pretty little hearts desired this year if I could, but instead you’ll have to settle for this relaying of Christmas nostalgia. This is my last post before Christmas, so I send you all a hearty wish of good tidings this holiday season, and may all your Christmas wishes come true.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

Best of 2013 – Blogs I Follow

It’s December, that time of year when everyone and their brother doles out their Top Ten and Year’s Best lists. And since I, on occasion, lack any shred of creativity and originality, I wanted to do a Top Ten/Year’s Best list of my own.

That’s when I ran into a problem.

I boldly and with much confidence declare myself a “Pop Culture Lover” right there in the header of my blog, so I thought sure, this’ll be easy. Books, movies, TV, yeah, let’s do this. Wrong. I realized I’ve only read one book released in 2013, and have seen maybe a handful of movies released this year. The only subject I’d be halfway qualified to talk about in terms of the year’s best is TV, and I really don’t feel like doing that (although, since I can’t help the narcissistic notion that my opinion actually matters, I will say that my two favorite new shows of 2013 were Hannibal and Brooklyn Nine Nine).

So…I thought. What on earth could I possibly discuss with any kind of authority in terms of the year’s best? Then it dawned on me. I follow just shy of a gazillion blogs on WordPress (okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration – more like 109), and it never ceases to amaze me how good they all are.

That settled it – I would pick my favorite blog posts of 2013. I will say now I’m sure I’m forgetting some, so if anyone out there is hurt or offended that their blog isn’t listed below just know that I’m not perfect, this steel trap of a brain is not completely infallible and I apologize.

Greg’s China – Guts and Bai Jiu (October 18)

Greg is a Brit living in China as a Mandarin translator, and before that he taught English there. He relays his experiences on this very entertaining blog, which I will definitely refer to should I ever find myself visiting the country. He’s shared the terrifying experience of riding in taxis, the way people try to take advantage of him when they think he doesn’t understand the language, and how people ignore him while simultaneously giving him a compliment.

In Guts and Bai Jiu, Greg explains how over his time in China he’s learned some extremely valuable survival skills – how to avoid unknowingly ordering food with organs in it, and avoiding the paint thinner-like alcoholic drink Bai Jiu, which according to Greg can leave a normal man crying in the fetal position between bouts of projectile vomiting.

He learned to identify the character mostly associated with organ meat on menus, and devised two clever methods for avoiding the nasty shots of what he describes as tasting like a “burnt, worn sock.” Click the link to read the desperate measures he went to, and follow his blog!

Darius Jones – Talk With a Young Writer (October 25)

Darius is a cool guy. He’s already self-published two books (available here and here), which is a feat worthy of admiration in and of itself. Add to that he’s done this on top of his full-time job, traveling, and having an otherwise full and well-rounded life, and the fact that he finds time to write fiction leaves me flabbergasted. I bitch that I don’t have time to write as I sit playing games on my iPad, and this dude’s getting shit done. I have a lot of respect for the guy.

In Talk With a Young Writer, Darius is asked to speak to a young budding writer – the son of a friend. Being a professional writer (in a technical capacity) already, there was a lot of advice Darius could offer. After speaking with the young man, however, Darius comes to a surprising realization that perhaps the talk did him as much good as it did the budding writer. I really loved this post.

The Surfing Pizza – Ocean (November 11)

The Surfing Pizza is a fun blog most of the time. A writer who devotes his blog mostly to the toys of his youth, proudly posting any new purchases from garage sales, the blog took an unexpectedly serious turn in late October.

During his annual build up/countdown to Halloween (which it seems is The Surfing Pizza’s favorite holiday by a mile), his mother fell gravely ill. Sadly, she passed away after some time in the hospital. Pizza continued to blog occasionally, and I could feel his pain through the computer. Without knowing all the details, it’s fair to say he did not it coming and was completely and utterly shocked by her passing. As someone who also lost his mother suddenly and at a young age, I could certainly relate.

Ocean is basically one man’s grief on the page. It’s his hurt and pain at the loss of his mother, but his fond memories that will last long after the pain is gone. I look forward to The Surfing Pizza blogging about his latest ’80s toy purchase again, but in the meantime I’ll read whatever he feels like publishing.

I hope it doesn’t seem too odd to “celebrate” this post as one of the year’s best. This post was not that long ago and what this guy is feeling is still very raw; I’m sure he really couldn’t give a crap who likes it. I just really connected with it and thought it was something special.

Hooray for Movies!! – Deja Vu (2006) – Time Travel Twoddle…Time Twoddle? (August 21)

Movie review blogs are a dime a dozen on WordPress. Good movie review blogs, however, are still quite rare. It takes more than simply having an opinion about a movie to make someone qualified to actually review them. Hooray for Movies!! is the cream of the crop.

In my opinion, reviewing a good movie is easier than reviewing a bad movie. It’s easy to recognize when things are done well, and easy to sing the praises of a well-written, well-acted, and expertly directed film. Identifying why a movie absolutely blows, however, takes more skill. Fortunately for us, Dylan at HFM has it down to a science.

Deja Vu is a Denzel Washington vehicle about an ATF agent who travels back in time to try and stop a murder. I’ll admit I have not seen the film, and after reading Time Travel Twoddle…Time Twoddle I’m sure I will probably never watch it under my own free will. This is one of the funniest things I’ve read in my time on WordPress; I read a lot of blogs on my lunch break at work, and this post made me struggle to keep from laughing in a quiet office.

If any of you are on Twitter (and you all are, right?) you may also want to consider following HFM. Dylan live-tweeting the recent massive storm that barreled through England was one of the highlights of my little corner of the Twitterverse.

Steven J. Dines – Free Fiction: The Fly (March 24)

Steven is not your average, every day writer/blogger. That’s because he doesn’t really blog the way many of us do, telling tales of our self doubts and wondering if we’re crazy for pursuing our writing endeavors. No, his blogs are of a different nature – he’s too busy actually writing and getting stuff published. He already had FOUR short stories published just this year, with one already scheduled for publication in 2014.

I can’t remember how I found Steven’s blog, but I remember clicking around and seeing a link to a flash fiction piece called The Fly. I clicked it and started reading, and I remember finishing the story and thinking, “Oh. This guy’s for real.” I think all that’s stopping him from basically conquering the world is time and opportunity. Before long his name will be on real Year’s Best lists for his forthcoming novel.

He doesn’t post often, but you should follow him for announcements of new stories being unleashed onto an unsuspecting world.

Rants from a Starving Writer – Creativity, Depression, and Self Worth (October 22)

Larua (LL) Lemke (Pogomonster, as she’s sometimes known) is a dynamo. Another self-published wunderkind, she has already self-published two novels with a third on the way. She’s also a freelance editor, and did I mention she’s a black belt in TaeKwonDo and is barely old enough to legally consume alcohol?

Creativity, Depression, and Self Worth is a post pretty much any writer can relate to. We all have these feelings – the joy in creating, the doubt that it will ever lead to anything or be read by anyone, and the question…is it worth it?

I’m only a few pages in to her first novel, Opus Aria (which you can find here), but I can say with confidence Laura’s self doubt will probably not last much longer; her talent is just too strong.

Miss Four Eyes – What-If-It-Sucks-Syndrome (May 15)

Miss Four Eyes really doesn’t need any help getting hits and page views to her blog. Her site is so popular, it’s really kind of disgusting. 🙂 However, as with all popular blogs, it’s popular for a reason. What-If-It-Sucks-Syndrome is a perfect example why.

She details the thought process of getting ready to publish a blog post, and it’s nearly identical to the way I feel each and every time. There are some cool animated doodles to help illustrate the point, too. It’s funny, cute, entertaining…everything you could want from a blog. If you don’t already follow her blog, read this post and snap to it!

The Hobbes – A Brief Analysis of Contemporary Post-Industrial American Transportation (October 28)

Hobbes is…a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, inside a puzzle that ate an enigma. I’m not entirely certain as to the gender of Hobbes (though I believe male), but they are one of the smartest bloggers I follow.

I get the feeling Hobbes needs an outlet for things he/she wants to say and started this blog as a way to do so anonymously. As of right now they have exactly 7 followers, and for some reason I’d bet they feel like that’s a few too many. A Brief Analysis of Contemporary Post-Industrial American Transportation takes a look at something we all tend to overlook on a daily basis – how much planes suck. To say more would ruin the joy of reading this post, so just click the link and read it for yourself.

Okay, well that’s it. My favorites of the year. I’d love to hear who you think I forgot; like I said, there were so many I’m sure I must’ve missed a few. Until next time, keep blogging!

How Writing Heightened My Senses

“When a regular person gets sick, they take an aspirin. When a writer gets sick, they take notes…”

This past July I found myself in the hospital – as a visitor, not a patient. It was the first time I’d been in a hospital in years.

I was there early in the morning, and as I rounded a corner there was a multi-tiered cart pushed against the wall holding dirty dishes from the patients’ breakfasts. Walking past, I was hit with the unmistakable smell of stale pancakes and maple syrup. Despite everything that was on my mind that morning (my wife had stayed overnight with a mystery illness), those smells put a thought in my head – I need to remember this.

Suddenly I began looking around more aware, trying to take it all in:

The smell of the pancakes and syrup, the way the cart with all the dirty plates was pushed against the wall.

The chatter at the nurses station as well as all the different beeps, boops, and hums throughout the floor.

The people ending their overnight shifts with dead, heavy eyes, in contrast with the morning shift who had just started, bright-eyed and smiling as they made coffee and chirped “Good morning!” to everyone.

The (mostly elderly) patients that you could tell had been there quite some time, padding up and down the halls in their robes and slippers as part of their physical therapy, rolling their IV’s along beside them.

It was like I’d flipped open a mental notebook and was trying to commit to memory every detail I could because, as I realized that morning, it was inevitable one of my characters would end up in the hospital someday. Since then, I’ve made a conscious effort to take more notice of my surroundings.

I’ve always been a people watcher and an eavesdropper by nature; I could sit in a mall food court or similar public place and watch people for hours – making up imaginary backstories for them, trying to figure out where they’re coming from and where they’re headed, that sort of thing.

800px-Food_court_edo_japan_la_belle_province_basha — Judging from the size of his backpack, this young man has obviously just run away from home. (Wikipedia)

But now I’m listening to ambient noise, looking at minute details, trying to identify smells and thinking about how to describe them. It’s like suddenly my senses have been heightened; everything is more vivid because I’m paying more attention in hopes of being able to describe it in my writing later on.

About six weeks ago I had a stomach bug that lasted for about five days. It was awful. I was absolutely miserable. But it was different this time – I thought about it like a writer. I paid attention to every little twinge of pain in my stomach. Of course it hurt, but how did it hurt? What did it feel like?

I was driving not too long ago and saw that the street up ahead of me had been closed off. There were firetrucks everywhere with their lights on. I slowed to just above an idle and grabbed my phone, snapping pictures as I took the detour. When I got home I looked at the pictures to see how many vehicles were actually there and where they all were. Some parked diagonally to head off traffic; a few were on the curb; two just stopped right in the middle of the street. I had no idea what was going on or why the fire department was there, but it helped give me a frame of reference whenever I have to describe a situation where emergency vehicles arrive on scene.

We’ve all heard about how when a person loses one of their senses, their others are heightened. Someone who loses their eyesight will find their hearing becomes quite acute, or maybe develop an exquisite sense of smell. That’s kind of how I feel anymore. Ever since I started paying more attention to improve my writing, I feel like I have super senses. I see more, I hear more, smell more, feel more than ever before. As an added bonus I haven’t had to lose any senses in the process. 🙂

I’m not sure if this is normal for other writers or not. I’d imagine a lot of writers already have that attention to detail that I’m just picking up. That’s probably why it seems like every writer but me has an 80,000-100,000 word first draft to slash down, while I can barely hit 50,000 and keep finding more to add. So tell me, fellow writers, has writing made you more aware, or were just born that way?

The Best and Worst Band Names, As Determined By Me

I decided against anything too serious this week. I figured people are getting ready for the Thanksgiving holiday, preparing to face the rabid masses on Black Friday, or going balls-to-the-wall to wrap up the month with a win at NaNo. Either way, I didn’t feel like writing anything too lengthy or serious, either. I decided to look at band names a little bit.

Band names are a funny thing. If a band is around long enough, or if their music is good enough, their name just sort of becomes accepted no matter how nonsensical or silly it is. But if you strip away the name and just look at it for its own merit, what do you have?

Sometimes band names have deep meaning (Rage Against The Machine). Sometimes they’re just random words thrown together (Foo Fighters). Sometimes the names fit the band perfectly, and sometimes you’re embarrassed to speak them aloud. Let’s take a look at a few.

The first band I was ever in (who never played a single gig) was called Doomsday Parade. Pretty dumb, but I guess there’s a certain ring to it. Nah, it’s dumb. The next band, and first “real” band, was called Grimoire (grim-war, phonetically). It’s the name given to a textbook of magic and things of that sort. We basically just picked it because we thought it sounded cool. I still like that name okay, but the spelling threw people off, so it wasn’t especially catchy.

The band with whom I spent most of my time trying to pursue a living playing music took their name from a comic strip. The Far Side by Gary Larson, to be exact. Try as I might, I can’t find the original comic online. It featured a three-piece elephant punk band. Across the bass drum were the words ‘Tarzan must die’. The caption read “Angry Young Pachyderms”. We used the name (and acronym AYP) for quite a while. At first, it fit our style perfectly. Our music was angry, but we definitely had a light side. Later, as we became more serious we used the acronym exclusively and felt like the name didn’t fit like it used to, but we had built a bit of a following under the name and didn’t want to change it.

I have a feeling some of the bands on my list fall under that category, too. It may have been a good idea at the time, but they would’ve changed it later if they could have.

The Groundrules

I’m sticking with fairly mainstream bands here, that hopefully most people have heard of. If I wanted to get totally obscure, there are over a dozen bands out there I’ve never heard of with ‘Anal’ as the first word of the name. I’m not going there. I’m also trying to keep this somewhere near a PG-13 level.

Saying I don’t like a band’s name is not necessarily a condemnation of their music. There are lots of great bands with stupid/silly names out there.

This list is obviously extremely subjective, and I want to know your nominees for best and worst in the comments. Okay, let’s start with the good ones.

Best Band Names

The Clash – Simple, effective. Also fit the band’s musical stylings to a tee.

Massive Attack – Great name. Fun to say. Maybe it’s something about those soft ‘a’s. Doesn’t really fit the music they put out, but an awesome name nonetheless.

L7 – Slang for “square” and easy to scratch on your notebook or Peechee folder.

Black Flag – Opposite from the white flag of surrender, black flag means to not give up. They were not, in fact, named after bug spray. I stand corrected.

Misfits – Again, simple. You know what you’re gonna get when you hear the name. They were more goth and horror inspired than the name implies, but a great name. They also hold the distinction of having one of the most instantly recognizable logos of all time, but that’s a subject for another post.

Sex Pistols – One of my favorite names, for the sheer audacity of it. What I like is hearing people say it. It’s kind of dirty, but not so dirty people would refuse to say it (like the more recent Pussy Riot).

Public Enemy – Such an obvious choice for a name it’s hard to believe no one else thought of it first. Completely fit the music – there couldn’t have been a better name for a rap group in the ’80s.

Worst Band Names

The Meat Puppets – Ugh. I have the feeling it sounded funny when they thought of it, but it’s really hard for me to take seriously. At the same time, the music isn’t jokey at all either. Fail on both counts.

The Presidents of the United States of America – The only way I could’ve gotten behind this name was if the members actually wore presidential masks when they played. But they didn’t.

Tool – I’m going to take a lot of heat from my friends on this one. Like I said before, I’m separating the name from the music. Great band. Awful, phallic name.

Hoobastank – Enough said.

Limp Bizkit – What can I say about them that hasn’t already been said? Not much. Generally, it’s a good idea to not put the word ‘limp’ in your name.

Toad the Wet Sprocket – On the good side, it was taken from a Monty Python sketch. On the bad side…well, everything else. Not catchy, not funny, not anything good.

Goo Goo Dolls – Whenever I hear this name all I can think is ‘what the hell?’ What is a goo goo doll? Is it for babies? Is it for adults? *shudder* I don’t know, and now that I think about it, I don’t want to know.

Cinderella – Yeah. Let’s name our rock band after a girl in a fairy tale. I really have no idea what these guys were thinking. Not just thinking the name up, but sticking with it after all the chances they could’ve had to change it. It just boggles the mind.

Okay, your turn. Tell me who I forgot or who makes your list. Good luck to all my writer friends scrambling to hit their word count for NaNo, and Happy Thanksgiving!

Serial Killers and The Nature of Fear

In the winter of 1986, my family was in a bit of a transitional period. We were in the middle of a move from Riverside, California (just east of L.A.) to the desert about a half hour north. We had managed to sell our old house before our new house was finished being built, so for a few months we stayed with my Grandmother, who also lived in Riverside. There were a lot of things going through my twelve year old mind that winter: having to move away from my friends, trying to make new friends at a new school – the usual concerns any kid would have when they move. There was one thing in particular, though, that crept into my head every night during those months at my Grandma’s house, and kept me absolutely petrified.

Richard Ramirez was a brutal serial killer who terrorized the residents of the greater Los Angeles area for months in 1985. The majority of his crimes were break-ins or “home invasion” style crimes. In many cases, he killed his victims in their bedrooms, some while they were still asleep.

Since my parents and I were in an already occupied house, sleeping arrangements were a little different, especially for me. My parents got the spare bedroom, while I got to “camp out” in the formal living room. For the sake of practicality, my little air mattress was placed on the far side of the room – under the large picture window.

By that winter at my grandmother’s, Richard Ramirez had already been captured. That was of little consolation, though, as I lay nightly under the large picture window in the living room of a house that had already been burglarized once. Ramirez terrified me. Would tonight be the night he escaped custody and broke into my Grandma’s house? It may sound silly now, but to a scared twelve year old that was perfectly plausible.

By this time I had already begun a steady diet of horror books and film, and they were scary in their own right, but this was different. This was tangible – a real, deep down fear of something quite real that could (theoretically) actually happen. This wasn’t a burnt-faced boogeyman who haunted people’s dreams like Freddy Krueger, or a hockey mask-wearing slasher with a machete who killed campers like Jason Voorhees. This was a real person, who really did kill people with a machete, in real life. It was fear on a whole new level.

I still love horror stories and always will – the monsters, the zombies, the slashers, etc. But nothing ever seemed quite as scary after that winter sleeping under the window, wondering if I would be the Night Stalker’s next victim.

I bring all this up for a couple of reasons. Since that winter, I’ve always had an admittedly morbid fascination with serial killers. What could possibly be wrong with their brains to make them do the horrible things they do? Some acted out of pure impulse, while others were extremely careful and calculating. When I think of what could really scare someone, put the fear of god in them, that’s what I think of. Not monsters or demons or vampires, but another living, breathing human being who is perfectly capable of taking a life, and you never know who will be next. It could be anyone. It could be you.

That’s scary.

I just finished reading a relatively old book (1989), The Girl Next Door, by Jack Ketchum. The book tells the story of a teenage girl in 1950’s rural America who is abused, tortured, and eventually killed by the relatives she is sent to live with following the death of her parents. It’s a work of fiction, but the horrifying part is that it’s loosely based on a true story. Ketchum makes up the methods of torture and adds fictional characters for the sake of adding context and drama to the story, but it really happened. That’s what makes it truly scary.

One of the most unsettling and disturbing movies that doesn’t always get talked about is Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (1986). It’s loosely based on real-life serial killer Henry Lee Lucas. The unflinching depiction of violence, especially one scene in particular of a family being murdered and Henry and his partner Otis watching the videotaped recording of the killings over and over on their couch later, is downright chilling. That scares me more than any made up monster.

It relates a bit to what Stephen King has said in some of his many interviews regarding the pressure he feels with his latest novel, Doctor Sleep, the sequel to The Shining. To paraphrase, he said that he understands that many of his fans were kids when they read The Shining, and it’s a lot easier to scare a kid than an adult. As I’m finishing up my latest rough draft, I find myself grappling with the same thing – is it going to scare people?

It’s a thriller/mystery/detective story about serial killers with a bit of a ‘meta’ edge to it. There is talk of serial killers past in the book, and my killers want nothing more than to instill fear in everyone in the city as they increase their body count. I think it’s a pretty damn scary concept; now I just have to revise and edit to try and make sure it scares people as bad as I was, lying under that window in January of 1986.

I want you to tell me what scares you. In a great bit of irony, as I let this story I’m finishing sit and “breathe” a bit, so to speak, I have another project to go back to – one that involves monsters and the supernatural. So I want to hear the scariest stories you know, real life or otherwise. Be they books, movies, creepy pasta (do any of you read that stuff?), urban legends, ghost stories you heard around the campfire…what makes you afraid to turn out the lights?

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