Monday, April 30, 2007
Fiction Outtake: Pam Gets Attention
Pantera sang of Cowboys From Hell. They ain't got nothing on Pam Derbish, Groupie From Hell.
So Molly and I are there in the front row of the ShapeShifter show last night. It's getting pretty full at ShapeShifter shows now and it's not so easy to get up to that front row anymore. Word's out. They're playing stuff from the new album, which'll be their first big record. And we're not the only girls there anymore, us and that hippie chick who's always hanging around. Not by a longshot. I don't know a lot of the girls who're showing up these days. The funny thing is how they all act like they've got a right to the band. Like they've been there since the start. Like they really think so!
The mosh pit is churning behind us and every now and then I have to put an elbow into some overheated, overexcited jerk who thinks that shows are only about moshing and not about the music or the band or any of the really important stuff. I'm not even so sure that some of them are into moshing. Sometimes, you get these newbies who think it's all about crashing into people senselessly. But a good pit, I've been learning by being so near them, has rules.
So Molly and I are right in front. I can reach out and touch the top of the monitor right in front of Mitchell's feet, so I put my hands there. To show everyone I belong. I igore the dirty looks from the other girls, the new ones who think Mitchell is their turf. We'll see about that.
If I were just a bit taller, say if I could get a foothold on the edge of the stage, I could reach over the thing and touch Mitchell's foot. That's how close I am. That's my spot and God help the bitch who tries to take it from me.
I about died when it happened. I mean, Molly says I should have expected it. We've been to how many shows? And hung out near the backstage door after each and every one? We've done everything but throw ourselves at them. It was overdue, I suppose. She says it was so overdue, the library stopped charging. I don't think I get that, but I don't care. Because it finally happened.
Right after they do Phases of the Moon, Mitchell bends down and picks up the Gatorade on the floor near his foot. "Hey, girls. Good to see you tonight," he says as he takes the cap off the bottle. I watched his throat as he drank. I wanted to lick the sweat off it.
Molly says he blushed when he talked to us. I say his face was already red from singing and playing and exerting. But Molly insists we made him blush.
Whatever. I don't really care. All that's important is that he noticed me! Mitchell Voss noticed me!
He talked to me! He knew I'm alive! Omigod, I think I might die of it. Mitchell Voss. He's so amazingly hot. I wish I could do more than lick the sweat off his neck.
I didn't sleep last night. I've got classes today, but I'm as awake and energized as if I slept for two days. Mitchell Voss knows I'm alive!
And because the voting's not closed yet...
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
So Molly and I are there in the front row of the ShapeShifter show last night. It's getting pretty full at ShapeShifter shows now and it's not so easy to get up to that front row anymore. Word's out. They're playing stuff from the new album, which'll be their first big record. And we're not the only girls there anymore, us and that hippie chick who's always hanging around. Not by a longshot. I don't know a lot of the girls who're showing up these days. The funny thing is how they all act like they've got a right to the band. Like they've been there since the start. Like they really think so!
The mosh pit is churning behind us and every now and then I have to put an elbow into some overheated, overexcited jerk who thinks that shows are only about moshing and not about the music or the band or any of the really important stuff. I'm not even so sure that some of them are into moshing. Sometimes, you get these newbies who think it's all about crashing into people senselessly. But a good pit, I've been learning by being so near them, has rules.
So Molly and I are right in front. I can reach out and touch the top of the monitor right in front of Mitchell's feet, so I put my hands there. To show everyone I belong. I igore the dirty looks from the other girls, the new ones who think Mitchell is their turf. We'll see about that.
If I were just a bit taller, say if I could get a foothold on the edge of the stage, I could reach over the thing and touch Mitchell's foot. That's how close I am. That's my spot and God help the bitch who tries to take it from me.
I about died when it happened. I mean, Molly says I should have expected it. We've been to how many shows? And hung out near the backstage door after each and every one? We've done everything but throw ourselves at them. It was overdue, I suppose. She says it was so overdue, the library stopped charging. I don't think I get that, but I don't care. Because it finally happened.
Right after they do Phases of the Moon, Mitchell bends down and picks up the Gatorade on the floor near his foot. "Hey, girls. Good to see you tonight," he says as he takes the cap off the bottle. I watched his throat as he drank. I wanted to lick the sweat off it.
Molly says he blushed when he talked to us. I say his face was already red from singing and playing and exerting. But Molly insists we made him blush.
Whatever. I don't really care. All that's important is that he noticed me! Mitchell Voss noticed me!
He talked to me! He knew I'm alive! Omigod, I think I might die of it. Mitchell Voss. He's so amazingly hot. I wish I could do more than lick the sweat off his neck.
I didn't sleep last night. I've got classes today, but I'm as awake and energized as if I slept for two days. Mitchell Voss knows I'm alive!
And because the voting's not closed yet...
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
Labels: Blogger's Choice Award, creative writing, fiction, groupies, Mitchell, Pam, Riverview USA, ShapeShifter
Friday, April 27, 2007
Susan's Book Talk: Are you a Sfardic?
In Jewish communities, a Sephardic Jew is one who hails, roughly, from Spain. That's how I always remember it: Sephardic, Spain. S, S. You get the idea, even though the geographical area is actually a bit bigger than the one country.
So what's a Sfardic?
My term for a fan of Joann Sfar, a (incidentally Jewish) fabulous graphic novelist. I first encountered him via The Rabbi's Cat and have since picked up Vampire Loves and a few of the Dungeon books. I can't get enough. In fact, I've taken a few out of my local library and somehow have wound up with two copies of The Rabbi's Cat. I mean, how can you argue with a cat who gains the power of speech (in a way that's simply brilliant) and demands a Bar Mitzvah?
To say I've flipped over this talented, creative, insightful, wise, and funny as hell artist/storyteller/what-have-you is an understatement. And now, with a new release on the shelves, you don't have an excuse to stay away.
So what's a Sfardic?
My term for a fan of Joann Sfar, a (incidentally Jewish) fabulous graphic novelist. I first encountered him via The Rabbi's Cat and have since picked up Vampire Loves and a few of the Dungeon books. I can't get enough. In fact, I've taken a few out of my local library and somehow have wound up with two copies of The Rabbi's Cat. I mean, how can you argue with a cat who gains the power of speech (in a way that's simply brilliant) and demands a Bar Mitzvah?
To say I've flipped over this talented, creative, insightful, wise, and funny as hell artist/storyteller/what-have-you is an understatement. And now, with a new release on the shelves, you don't have an excuse to stay away.
Labels: Joann Sfar
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #26 -- Farming the Home
 |
| A few weeks back, we took a closer look at Mitchell's desk and the stuff on it. Last week, we were pondering the issue of rock stars and their names. One thing I've always wanted my fiction to stress is the way in which my rock stars are normal people. Sure, not all of the stars in real life are normal (and not all of the stars I create here at the Meet-and-Greet or in book-length fiction will be), but it's more fun to relate to real people who are living our dreams than it is to try to relate to some diva who clubs her assistants with her cell phone -- and then makes them go buy her a new one. When I first envisioned Kerri and Mitchell, I couldn't see them -- Mitchell especially -- living in one of those houses featured on MTV's Cribs. So I created the farm house. Here you go. A glimpse inside (not very Cribs-style, I'm afraid, but if you really want a look inside their refrigerator, ask. It could be fun.)... 1. It used to belong to Mitchell's parents' friend Wayne. 2. Wayne sold it to Mitchell for, effectively, peanuts. 3. The house sits on 3 acres on top of a rather steep hill. 4. The land below it used to be farmed, back when Riverview was first founded. It wasn't particularly good farmland, and was more valuable for its proximity to the growing downtown. 5. The other houses on the street are owned by corporate executives and other rich types (including a few of the Riverview Otter baseball players). 6. When Mitchell bought the house, an old barn remained behind the garage. It was Kerri's idea to convert the barn into a guest wing that they'd attach to the house. One bedroom for each band member. 7. The kitchen still had a rustic feel and needed to be modernized. Val designed it, and as a wedding gift, stocked it with everything Mitchell and Kerri could possibly need -- and a lot they don't. (Like Mitchell, who hates coffee, would use an espresso machine?) 8. The attic had already been turned into living space; maid's quarters, to be exact. Mitchell converted it to studio space for Kerri and chopped holes in the roof to install skylights. 9. Wayne had fenced the property, so his dogs could run loose. Mitchell and Kerri decided that would make good fan control. 10. In what had once been a formal parlor, Kerri painted a life-size likeness of the band on the longest wall. The rest of the room is treated as a trophy room, and the room is rarely used. 11. Mitchell and Kerri had the original hardwood refinished. It is in the TV room, kitchen, and front entry. 12. Kerri hates the front entry; it's too dark and the steps are too close to the front door. Even painting the walls a bright yellow didn't help open it up. 13. Mitchell's office is part of the old-barn addition. It's his retreat and the only reason he can stand doing most of the business stuff the band demands of him. And because the voting's not closed yet... And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me! Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way! |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Labels: Blogger's Choice Award, Kerri, meme, Mitchell, Thursday Thirteen
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Tagged: Blog Apocalypse
Whoa. Sophisticated Writer tagged me for probably the scariest meme that's ever been invented. Even worse, the meme originator, Urban Monk, is going to donate up to $500 to charity for each link back to him.
Here's the concept:
Bloggers: The blogosphere is coming to an end.
You have one last post. What is it going to be?
What is the final summary of your blog?
What is the one last gem that you want to leave with your readers?
I've been having a hard time with this one. Yeah, there needs to be a TON of thanks to all you guys for all your support, especially you guys with the pom-poms and strong belief that I'll find myself a major publisher who'll help get Trevor the attention he craves.
However, I don't like endings. And I'm the woman who created Trevor Wolff, a rebel sort. I'm also the woman who created Kerri Voss, the woman who manages to move across the country and find a way to finance an art school education. Add in Mitchell Voss, whose dedication to his dream had him working his rear off.
Put all that together and I think my final post would be something along the lines of a Trevorish, saucy wink and the words, "Meet you over at West of Mars."
Just because blogs are ending doesn't mean the fun has to. I'm not done yet.
(note: I'm not tagging anyone directly 'cause this is a scary concept and no one needs this kind of stress and panic. So I'm handing down the challenge to all of you: Are you tough enough to face this? If so, make sure you tell me so I can come visit.)
And because the voting's not closed yet...
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
Here's the concept:
Bloggers: The blogosphere is coming to an end.
You have one last post. What is it going to be?
What is the final summary of your blog?
What is the one last gem that you want to leave with your readers?
I've been having a hard time with this one. Yeah, there needs to be a TON of thanks to all you guys for all your support, especially you guys with the pom-poms and strong belief that I'll find myself a major publisher who'll help get Trevor the attention he craves.
However, I don't like endings. And I'm the woman who created Trevor Wolff, a rebel sort. I'm also the woman who created Kerri Voss, the woman who manages to move across the country and find a way to finance an art school education. Add in Mitchell Voss, whose dedication to his dream had him working his rear off.
Put all that together and I think my final post would be something along the lines of a Trevorish, saucy wink and the words, "Meet you over at West of Mars."
Just because blogs are ending doesn't mean the fun has to. I'm not done yet.
(note: I'm not tagging anyone directly 'cause this is a scary concept and no one needs this kind of stress and panic. So I'm handing down the challenge to all of you: Are you tough enough to face this? If so, make sure you tell me so I can come visit.)
And because the voting's not closed yet...
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
Labels: Blogger's Choice Award, blogging, meme
Monday, April 23, 2007
Poetry Monday -- Words Like Beautiful
Robin told Rhian to declare today to be Poetry Monday (or something like that), so here's my contribution.
If I could write our story,
words like "beautiful"
wouldn't exist.
We would have all the time
we could ever want;
No fears of getting
too attached,
of needing to define the rules,
of clinging to mind games,
only to see me leave you for a new life,
a life without you
except for far-between weekend visits.
And you wouldn't tell me -
your arms around my waist,
me perched on the tops of your feet
but my chin still no higher than
the middle of your chest -
that when you look at her,
all you see is beauty.
And that's the one thing I can't offer you.
Or so you say.
If I could write our story, Mario dear,
there wouldn't be such a gap between us -
not that height matters,
not that money matters,
not that age matters,
but it's all about living.
You would understand about relationships-
that women are best when they are both
girlfriends and friends,
and that you can have the second,
without the first.
And I would understand about you -
your fragile ego,
your need to be a man, not a boy,
your thoughts,
your wants;
And all the potential that I see so clearly in you now
would be realized.
I promise you that if I could write this story,
That's how it would be.
Remember, though,
that there are things I could never change
in this fiction I long to write:
The planes and angles
that make up your face
and cause something inside me
to catch, then melt --
even though I mean it when I say
that beauty's far from everything.
There's the gentle way you kiss;
and your hands so soft and ghostlike
that after your touch,
even a whisper feels harsh;
You say I am not beautiful
but still,
you make me believe
you'd never hurt me -
that's what you promised.
Isn't it?
So if I could write our ending,
it would happen on the ice -
in the middle of a hockey game -
and you would realize this:
That we are comfortable together,
and that the beauty of our friendship
is what matters,
not how beautiful you or I appear
when we look at each other.
And one day you will realize --
I guarantee you will,
even if I don't write this story --
that this is the the kind of beauty -
the only kind -
that I will ever have to offer you.
If I could write our story,
it would be enough.
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
If I could write our story,
words like "beautiful"
wouldn't exist.
We would have all the time
we could ever want;
No fears of getting
too attached,
of needing to define the rules,
of clinging to mind games,
only to see me leave you for a new life,
a life without you
except for far-between weekend visits.
And you wouldn't tell me -
your arms around my waist,
me perched on the tops of your feet
but my chin still no higher than
the middle of your chest -
that when you look at her,
all you see is beauty.
And that's the one thing I can't offer you.
Or so you say.
If I could write our story, Mario dear,
there wouldn't be such a gap between us -
not that height matters,
not that money matters,
not that age matters,
but it's all about living.
You would understand about relationships-
that women are best when they are both
girlfriends and friends,
and that you can have the second,
without the first.
And I would understand about you -
your fragile ego,
your need to be a man, not a boy,
your thoughts,
your wants;
And all the potential that I see so clearly in you now
would be realized.
I promise you that if I could write this story,
That's how it would be.
Remember, though,
that there are things I could never change
in this fiction I long to write:
The planes and angles
that make up your face
and cause something inside me
to catch, then melt --
even though I mean it when I say
that beauty's far from everything.
There's the gentle way you kiss;
and your hands so soft and ghostlike
that after your touch,
even a whisper feels harsh;
You say I am not beautiful
but still,
you make me believe
you'd never hurt me -
that's what you promised.
Isn't it?
So if I could write our ending,
it would happen on the ice -
in the middle of a hockey game -
and you would realize this:
That we are comfortable together,
and that the beauty of our friendship
is what matters,
not how beautiful you or I appear
when we look at each other.
And one day you will realize --
I guarantee you will,
even if I don't write this story --
that this is the the kind of beauty -
the only kind -
that I will ever have to offer you.
If I could write our story,
it would be enough.
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
Labels: poem, Poetry Train
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Inside Writing: What's in a name?
It's all Wylie's fault.
If you've been following the Walter saga, you understand the history here, such as it is. The short version goes like this: Wylie was musing about names.
Now, she's got me doing it, too.
Only, where she was wrestling with first names, my issues lie with last names. This has always been a thing with me, a detail I never overly cared about. I kid you not; I dated guys whose last name remained a total mystery to me even after we broke up. Makes you understand why none of them lasted more than three weeks (although the Tour Manager's early intrusion into my life deserves most of the blame for that).
Surnames are something we're born into, maybe even more than a first name. After all, our parents sometimes anguish over first names. They fight. Hopefully, they don't come to blows and hopefully, they don't name their child after the first thing they see (Plexiglass, anyone? Know who was named for Plexiglass?) But a surname... forget it. We girls are sometimes lucky, in that if we like our husband's name, we can take it and shuck off our old name. But the guys, by and large, are stuck. As are we all, at least until we're 18 and can face a judge and explain why Heffenshitzel isn't such a great surname.
(This is where I point out the irony that the band ShapeShifter was named for Trevor's surname -- Wolff. And that I named Trevor before a friend, whose maiden name was Wolfe, named her son Trevor.)
So, of course, when Wylie asked about rock stars named Walter, I went with what she'd given me -- a rock star named Walter. It didn't dawn on me until after I'd posted the first Thursday Thirteen list that Walter had no surname.
Fortunately for me, this realization came at one of my favorite times for letting my mind wander: 4:30 in the morning, which seems to be my latest time to wake up for a potty break during the night. And which seems to be when I've been doing some really cool envisioning of scenes that get written out over the following few days.
Even more fortunately, Walter's surname popped into my head immediately. Cicewski. Pronounced "Chi-Chev-ski." You can tell a bit about the area in which I live if that name and pronunciation came together so easily.
So Walter's got a surname. He's got an outtake featuring a few familiar faces, too, but not for a few days yet. Sheesh. I'm still trying to get you guys more Pam, who didn't have a surname for years.
She was just fine. Never got cranky about it. So why did Walter?
It's all about character, huh?
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address?
If you've been following the Walter saga, you understand the history here, such as it is. The short version goes like this: Wylie was musing about names.
Now, she's got me doing it, too.
Only, where she was wrestling with first names, my issues lie with last names. This has always been a thing with me, a detail I never overly cared about. I kid you not; I dated guys whose last name remained a total mystery to me even after we broke up. Makes you understand why none of them lasted more than three weeks (although the Tour Manager's early intrusion into my life deserves most of the blame for that).
Surnames are something we're born into, maybe even more than a first name. After all, our parents sometimes anguish over first names. They fight. Hopefully, they don't come to blows and hopefully, they don't name their child after the first thing they see (Plexiglass, anyone? Know who was named for Plexiglass?) But a surname... forget it. We girls are sometimes lucky, in that if we like our husband's name, we can take it and shuck off our old name. But the guys, by and large, are stuck. As are we all, at least until we're 18 and can face a judge and explain why Heffenshitzel isn't such a great surname.
(This is where I point out the irony that the band ShapeShifter was named for Trevor's surname -- Wolff. And that I named Trevor before a friend, whose maiden name was Wolfe, named her son Trevor.)
So, of course, when Wylie asked about rock stars named Walter, I went with what she'd given me -- a rock star named Walter. It didn't dawn on me until after I'd posted the first Thursday Thirteen list that Walter had no surname.
Fortunately for me, this realization came at one of my favorite times for letting my mind wander: 4:30 in the morning, which seems to be my latest time to wake up for a potty break during the night. And which seems to be when I've been doing some really cool envisioning of scenes that get written out over the following few days.
Even more fortunately, Walter's surname popped into my head immediately. Cicewski. Pronounced "Chi-Chev-ski." You can tell a bit about the area in which I live if that name and pronunciation came together so easily.
So Walter's got a surname. He's got an outtake featuring a few familiar faces, too, but not for a few days yet. Sheesh. I'm still trying to get you guys more Pam, who didn't have a surname for years.
She was just fine. Never got cranky about it. So why did Walter?
It's all about character, huh?
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address?
Labels: Inside Writing, surnames, Walter
Friday, April 20, 2007
Fiction: Walter
First off, I'd like to say that She is NOT getting the Thinking Blogger award for this post.
Secondly, if you weren't here yesterday and are wondering who Walter is and how he fits into the grand scheme of things, scroll down and read yesterday's Thursday Thirteen. That should give you the background you need, but really. You can blame it all on Wylie. I'm not calling this an outtake because... I have no idea what it is yet. Maybe an outtake. Maybe the start of something longer. Tell me if you want more.
And anyone who catches the reference to another TTer and writer wins a cheer.
There was no doubt about it: Walter's fingers were stiff and sore come morning. In some ways, they didn't feel like fingers at all, but like claws, or those skinny little bird's toes, all red and rumply. The sort you stared at as they moved, presaging disaster.
A few of those pills that Dr. Rosen had prescribed worked wonders. Over the years, Walter had learned not to ask what sort of pills Dr. Rosen was giving him. They worked, they got him through, that was all he needed to know. They gave his fingers their life back so that the show could go on.
Walter rolled over in bed and grabbed for his cigarettes and the lighter with the big, arthritis-happy flicker. The show… ahh, the show. The one that they said would tank, not last all these years. The one they said that fifty-year-olds had no business performing.
Tell that to Rat Catcher, Walter thought with a smile. They were as old as he was, had been at it as long as he had, and could still rock the house. Maybe not as long or hard or with as much energy, but they could still rock.
So much for those preconceptions of youth, Walter thought. Better to die before the aging process set in. Better to hang it up before age 40, just because 40 was when you got too old to have long hair and play the guitar for more than ten people at a party held in your living room.
It was funny to hear the young kids who came to play with him or just pay homage. A lot of them still believed those old tales. They'd blurt out something stupid like that, firmly inserting their feet in their mouths, all the while completely oblivious to it.
Walter and Dr. Rosen would have themselves a few good laughs about it later on. Sometimes, Lila would join them for those laughs, but usually, she held back. Lila wasn't much for laughing at anybody anymore, least of all the young kids with stars in their eyes. She'd learned the hard way how that sort of behavior could backfire on you.
So had he, which is why Lila and Dr. Rosen were the only people he laughed with. Over the years, as his acquaintances had grown, his trusted inner circle had shrunk. People were too fast to sell you out, to crawl over you in their own race for the top.
How many times had he sat down with an eager young kid who wanted to be his next disciple and told that kid that being on the top didn't matter? That having a steady, loyal audience and a consistent sales level was where it was at.
They'd always point out that in addition to a disciple, Walter himself was always latching on to a new hot guitarist with a huge following. They never got that it was all about marketing, that the idea was to use the hot guitarist to draw in new fans, many of whom stayed once the hot guitarist had cooled and drifted off into obscurity or a spot playing behind true has-beens like Jim Shields and Terry Fantillo.
The only ones who stuck around were the smart ones, the ones who did a stint with Walter and then went on to create their own band. Or to join a band with staying power, like Rises the Night.
He'd seen all sorts of kids over the years. The cocky ones, the quiet ones, the sex-obsessed ones, the junkie ones. He'd learned. And he'd survived.
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Secondly, if you weren't here yesterday and are wondering who Walter is and how he fits into the grand scheme of things, scroll down and read yesterday's Thursday Thirteen. That should give you the background you need, but really. You can blame it all on Wylie. I'm not calling this an outtake because... I have no idea what it is yet. Maybe an outtake. Maybe the start of something longer. Tell me if you want more.
And anyone who catches the reference to another TTer and writer wins a cheer.
There was no doubt about it: Walter's fingers were stiff and sore come morning. In some ways, they didn't feel like fingers at all, but like claws, or those skinny little bird's toes, all red and rumply. The sort you stared at as they moved, presaging disaster.
A few of those pills that Dr. Rosen had prescribed worked wonders. Over the years, Walter had learned not to ask what sort of pills Dr. Rosen was giving him. They worked, they got him through, that was all he needed to know. They gave his fingers their life back so that the show could go on.
Walter rolled over in bed and grabbed for his cigarettes and the lighter with the big, arthritis-happy flicker. The show… ahh, the show. The one that they said would tank, not last all these years. The one they said that fifty-year-olds had no business performing.
Tell that to Rat Catcher, Walter thought with a smile. They were as old as he was, had been at it as long as he had, and could still rock the house. Maybe not as long or hard or with as much energy, but they could still rock.
So much for those preconceptions of youth, Walter thought. Better to die before the aging process set in. Better to hang it up before age 40, just because 40 was when you got too old to have long hair and play the guitar for more than ten people at a party held in your living room.
It was funny to hear the young kids who came to play with him or just pay homage. A lot of them still believed those old tales. They'd blurt out something stupid like that, firmly inserting their feet in their mouths, all the while completely oblivious to it.
Walter and Dr. Rosen would have themselves a few good laughs about it later on. Sometimes, Lila would join them for those laughs, but usually, she held back. Lila wasn't much for laughing at anybody anymore, least of all the young kids with stars in their eyes. She'd learned the hard way how that sort of behavior could backfire on you.
So had he, which is why Lila and Dr. Rosen were the only people he laughed with. Over the years, as his acquaintances had grown, his trusted inner circle had shrunk. People were too fast to sell you out, to crawl over you in their own race for the top.
How many times had he sat down with an eager young kid who wanted to be his next disciple and told that kid that being on the top didn't matter? That having a steady, loyal audience and a consistent sales level was where it was at.
They'd always point out that in addition to a disciple, Walter himself was always latching on to a new hot guitarist with a huge following. They never got that it was all about marketing, that the idea was to use the hot guitarist to draw in new fans, many of whom stayed once the hot guitarist had cooled and drifted off into obscurity or a spot playing behind true has-beens like Jim Shields and Terry Fantillo.
The only ones who stuck around were the smart ones, the ones who did a stint with Walter and then went on to create their own band. Or to join a band with staying power, like Rises the Night.
He'd seen all sorts of kids over the years. The cocky ones, the quiet ones, the sex-obsessed ones, the junkie ones. He'd learned. And he'd survived.
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Labels: character sketch, creative writing, Walter, Wylie Kinson
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #25 -- Inspired to think
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I was debating this week about pulling out my soapbox and blathering about how important it is for us to be a community, whether online or in our neighborhoods or whatever. But actions speak louder than words, so here's the story: I gave my good friend zzz  , and he turned around and gave it right back to me. At first, I was stunned and flabbergasted. But then Wylie asked me about characters on her blog and... well, I'd like to give to Wylie for that post.Thus... 1. Walter was born because Wylie asked if a rock star could be named Walter. How could I not rise to that challenge? 2. Walter is fifty. He's been rocking for over thirty years. 3. He's a guitar purist and innovator. Think Joe Satriani. All guitar, all the time. What can it do? What are the bounds of the instrument, and how can those boundaries be pushed? 4. Walter may have thinning grey hair, but what's left gets worn back in a ponytail that makes him look more like a hippie than a rocker. 5. Walter has pretty bad arthritis and a really good doctor who keeps his hands limber through advanced pharmaceutical use. 6. Walter has a companion, Lila, who's been with him for twenty years. 7. Walter's had a number of gold and platinum records over the years. He's played for as many as 20,000 during the peaks in his career -- and as few as ten during the dips. 8. Grizzled road veteran… that pretty much says it all, right? 9. I think you have to have a certain level of smarts, savvy, and luck to have this sort of career. 10. And good people around you. 11. Hopefully, Walter expands on your idea of a Rock Star. Does a rock star have to be someone who shines all the time, like Mitchell and Trevor? Can you be a star if you've never reached the pinnacle? 12. The outtake I'll post over the weekend may actually be the start to my exploring Walter and writing a novel about him. Be sure you stop back and tell me what you think. 13. So… Wylie and others… from what little you've seen so far, CAN a rock star be named Walter? Lest the Thinking Blogger award fun be over so fast, I'd also like to give it to Colleen Gleason. Read the outtake carefully once I post it and you'll see why. And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me! Back to Thinking Blogger stuff: Here are the rules, for you newly tagged folk... How participation works: If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme. Optional: Display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote. |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Labels: Blogger's Choice Award, Colleen Gleason, Thinking Blogger Award, Walter, Wylie Kinson
Monday, April 16, 2007
Fiction Outtake: Naked (The Early Years)
Mom alert: Some grown-up words in this one, and if you didn't guess, some nudity, too. It's fiction; it's all good.
It wasn't turning into a good afternoon. Mitchell had been over at the Owenses' house, trying to mow their lawn. Trying; they'd left Sarge, their German Shepard, outside, and he'd either stick himself between Mitchell's legs or else he'd laid down in the mower's path, tongue lolling as if he was laughing. Because, of course, Mitchell couldn't mow over the dog, much as he wanted to.
He got home hot and crabby, disgusted to hear that Amy had her friend Valerie over again. They were in Amy's room, the door was open, and Mitchell could hear them giggling and laughing. Just like usual. They'd never learn.
He shucked off his sweaty t-shirt and shorts; the socks and shoes had gone even before he'd entered the house. The underwear absolutely had to follow; there was nothing worse than sweaty underwear. It chafed.
The towel he'd left in his room had, of course, been stolen by Trevor. That meant he had to…
Mitchell grinned. Amy's door was wide open. Amy's door was between Mitchell's room and the bathroom. And nothing or no one could go past Amy's room without her looking out. This was going to be beautiful. Better than usual.
Sure enough, as he strolled past, the girls shrieked, then Amy wailed, "Mom! Mitchell's naked in front of Valerie again!"
He stopped, of course, and came back to stand just within view. "You left the door open," he told them.
"So? That doesn't give you the right to go parading around the house naked."
"I'm not parading anywhere, you fucking princess--"
"Mom!"
"I'm going to take a shower," Mitchell continued, ignoring her latest screech. Ma wasn't going to get in the middle of this one, and if she did, it'd be to tell Amy to keep her bedroom door shut already.
"Why can't you shower at normal times, you loser?"
Mitchell took a step closer, all too aware that Valerie was checking him out. So far as he knew, Valerie didn't have any brothers. This was probably good stuff for her. "If someone in this house wouldn't hog the bathroom for a good half-hour every morning, maybe I could get in there before school."
Amy shut her mouth, cutting off whatever she'd been about to say.
"And if that same someone," he continued, taking another step forward, "would shut her fucking flap every time I try to take a shower before bed, I'd do it then."
"Going to bed with wet hair--" Amy started, but Mitchell held a hand up.
Amy recoiled.
"Got a whiff, huh?" Mitchell asked, lifting his entire arm. "While you were in here, giggling over guys in magazines and proving I'm right that you don't have a brain in there," he said, tapping Amy in the forehead, "I was out, working my butt off and trying not to mow Sarge. While you two were in here, dreaming about your stupid weddings, I was out there, working to make my dreams come true. You don't like the results, shut your fucking door."
He surprised even himself when he pushed Amy back into her room and leaned in to grab the door and shut it himself. In the back of his mind, he could hear Trevor nodding with approval, but he felt like an idiot. Ma would kill him for touching Amy like that.
She flung her door open before he could close the door to the bathroom. "Oh, yeah?" she yelled, stalking down the hall toward him.
He ignored the impulse to shut the door in her face. Whatever she was about to say might be good.
"You think you're hot shit, strutting around all naked like this, huh?"
He sighed. "Aim, what the fuck do you want?"
"I want… I want…" Her eyes darted back and forth as she tried to think on her
feet. Fortunately for Mitchell, she wasn't very good at it. "I want you to leave me and Valerie alone!"
"I walked past your door, you egotistical bitch!"
"Mom!"
Mitchell pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Calling for Mom like that's only going to get you in trouble," Trevor said from the other end of the hall. "And quit being jealous that your brother's got all the family jewels and you've just got those teeny titties already, will you? Let the idiot go shower before I go and get naked on you. 'Cause let me tell you, girls, if I go and do that, I'm not staying in this hallway, youknowwhatImean?"
Chuckling as the girls shrieked some more, Mitchell finally closed the bathroom door. That almost made up for that stupid dog laying down in front of the lawnmower. Even if it had taken Trevor to make it good.
Just a reminder... go vote for me!
It wasn't turning into a good afternoon. Mitchell had been over at the Owenses' house, trying to mow their lawn. Trying; they'd left Sarge, their German Shepard, outside, and he'd either stick himself between Mitchell's legs or else he'd laid down in the mower's path, tongue lolling as if he was laughing. Because, of course, Mitchell couldn't mow over the dog, much as he wanted to.
He got home hot and crabby, disgusted to hear that Amy had her friend Valerie over again. They were in Amy's room, the door was open, and Mitchell could hear them giggling and laughing. Just like usual. They'd never learn.
He shucked off his sweaty t-shirt and shorts; the socks and shoes had gone even before he'd entered the house. The underwear absolutely had to follow; there was nothing worse than sweaty underwear. It chafed.
The towel he'd left in his room had, of course, been stolen by Trevor. That meant he had to…
Mitchell grinned. Amy's door was wide open. Amy's door was between Mitchell's room and the bathroom. And nothing or no one could go past Amy's room without her looking out. This was going to be beautiful. Better than usual.
Sure enough, as he strolled past, the girls shrieked, then Amy wailed, "Mom! Mitchell's naked in front of Valerie again!"
He stopped, of course, and came back to stand just within view. "You left the door open," he told them.
"So? That doesn't give you the right to go parading around the house naked."
"I'm not parading anywhere, you fucking princess--"
"Mom!"
"I'm going to take a shower," Mitchell continued, ignoring her latest screech. Ma wasn't going to get in the middle of this one, and if she did, it'd be to tell Amy to keep her bedroom door shut already.
"Why can't you shower at normal times, you loser?"
Mitchell took a step closer, all too aware that Valerie was checking him out. So far as he knew, Valerie didn't have any brothers. This was probably good stuff for her. "If someone in this house wouldn't hog the bathroom for a good half-hour every morning, maybe I could get in there before school."
Amy shut her mouth, cutting off whatever she'd been about to say.
"And if that same someone," he continued, taking another step forward, "would shut her fucking flap every time I try to take a shower before bed, I'd do it then."
"Going to bed with wet hair--" Amy started, but Mitchell held a hand up.
Amy recoiled.
"Got a whiff, huh?" Mitchell asked, lifting his entire arm. "While you were in here, giggling over guys in magazines and proving I'm right that you don't have a brain in there," he said, tapping Amy in the forehead, "I was out, working my butt off and trying not to mow Sarge. While you two were in here, dreaming about your stupid weddings, I was out there, working to make my dreams come true. You don't like the results, shut your fucking door."
He surprised even himself when he pushed Amy back into her room and leaned in to grab the door and shut it himself. In the back of his mind, he could hear Trevor nodding with approval, but he felt like an idiot. Ma would kill him for touching Amy like that.
She flung her door open before he could close the door to the bathroom. "Oh, yeah?" she yelled, stalking down the hall toward him.
He ignored the impulse to shut the door in her face. Whatever she was about to say might be good.
"You think you're hot shit, strutting around all naked like this, huh?"
He sighed. "Aim, what the fuck do you want?"
"I want… I want…" Her eyes darted back and forth as she tried to think on her
feet. Fortunately for Mitchell, she wasn't very good at it. "I want you to leave me and Valerie alone!"
"I walked past your door, you egotistical bitch!"
"Mom!"
Mitchell pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Calling for Mom like that's only going to get you in trouble," Trevor said from the other end of the hall. "And quit being jealous that your brother's got all the family jewels and you've just got those teeny titties already, will you? Let the idiot go shower before I go and get naked on you. 'Cause let me tell you, girls, if I go and do that, I'm not staying in this hallway, youknowwhatImean?"
Chuckling as the girls shrieked some more, Mitchell finally closed the bathroom door. That almost made up for that stupid dog laying down in front of the lawnmower. Even if it had taken Trevor to make it good.
Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Labels: Amy, Blogger's Choice Award, creative writing, fiction, Mitchell, outtake, Trevor
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Susan's Too Overwhelmed to Speak: More Blogger Choice
Wow. Every time I check in at the Blogger's Choice Awards, I see that some smartass has nominated me for more. Best blog design? Hottest Mommy Blogger?
Well, *I* may not think I belong there, but you guys apparently do, and I'm not going to argue. No way, nuh-uh, for-get it.
Instead, I'm going to say thanks and to let you in on a secret: I'm working on something that I think you guys will really dig. Yeah, okay, there's an outtake in the works that'll have you Mitchell lovers going nuts. Anyone who laughs until they cries will get a special award from me, even.
But there's more. So stay tuned. Tell your friends to stop by and visit. And most of all, keep voting! I'll admit it: if I can't win, I at least want to be on the first page, for maximum exposure. Let's flood this joint with groupies.
Trevor will be a very happy boy.
And a big thanks to our blogging/author goddess, Colleen Gleason. I won a copy of The Rest Falls Away and not only did it arrive yesterday, Colleen's got a way with an inscription. Wow!
Labels: Blogger's Choice Award
Friday, April 13, 2007
Susan Speaks: Lots to Party about!
First off, come hang with me today at Working Stiffs. I sort of like it there; hope you do, too. (but not more than here! How dare you?)
Secondly, my buddy Claire nominated me for a Blogger's Choice Award. Please go vote for me.
That's it for now, but isn't that party-worthy? No? Then try this on for size: Penguins. Sid the Kid and the Wonder Twins in the post-season for the first time.
And some really great confections from my favorite baker to go along with them. Let's go Pens!
Secondly, my buddy Claire nominated me for a Blogger's Choice Award. Please go vote for me.
That's it for now, but isn't that party-worthy? No? Then try this on for size: Penguins. Sid the Kid and the Wonder Twins in the post-season for the first time.
And some really great confections from my favorite baker to go along with them. Let's go Pens!
Labels: Blogger's Choice Award, Pittsburgh, Working Stiffs
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #24 -- Perk Me Up
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| If you didn't check in yesterday or earlier today, you may not have seen my Oh So Rock and Roll Moment. (scroll down, or, if you're viewing via your reader, click through and then scroll down.) Since these sorts of things never happen to my ultra-cool cast of characters, and since Trevor's been pitching a fit lately because the book's all about him but he's been rather absent around here lately, I decided to let him talk up his life. Here you go: 1. Being able to say, "I'm in the band" instead of "I'm with the band." 2. Reps from guitar, bass, and drum companies -- not to mention the occasional renegade luthier looking to make a name for him/herself -- who offer us free gear. The best of the best gear. The shit we couldn't afford until now, when they want to give it to us. 3. The ability to look cool wearing leather pants and to not ruffle feathers when it's eight in the morning and I show up someplace wearing the pair I put on last night. Still. 4. Even ugly fucks like me and snots like Eric turn into chick magnets. We're still no threat to Mitchell , but hey, we gotta start somewhere. 5. The chance to prove Hank and Jenny wrong and actually be someone. 6. The bragging rights of having travelled around the world even if most of what got seen was the inside of airplanes, busses, and concert halls. And bathrooms. Don't forget the lovely variety of bathrooms we get to see while on tour. Very few of them are the type any sane fuck'd write home about. Some smart asshole might want to set a few horror flicks in them, though. 7. Those neat Gold and Platinum Records that one day, I'll get around to hanging on my walls. Yeah. Uh-huh. Hang shit on the walls. Riiiiigggggghhhhhttt. 8. Having the money for cool cars and homes. Not that I feel any need to move out of my place on top of Decade, but you know. Daniel and Mitchell felt the need, even if Mitchell still drives that God-awful Bronco. Good thing I've got the Vincent. It more than makes up for that thing. 9. The end of the speculation that because the band had to sleep in Mitchell's Dad's Bronco (later Mitchell's) on the first tour, we were all gay. Refer back to #4 for the absolute proof as to that one. 10. We never have to be alone. There are always people around, wanting to do shit for us, even if it's bring me beer I won't drink or buy us more cigarettes. They don't care; they'll do it for the bragging rights. 11. Tickets and backstage passes to any and every concert out there. Especially bands I can't stand; why are they always the hottest to meet me? 12. Restaurant people who fall all over themselves to give me weird food you didn't order, rip up the check, and have a busboy pull around the car that Mitchell self-parked. 13. Respect. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Labels: meme, Thursday Thirteen, Trevor
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Susan's Fashion File: Accessorizing
Levi's at Costco: $16.99
Way Cool Belt at Roberta Weissburg Leathers: $88
Keeping your pants from puddling at your knees: Priceless.
Best of all, the jeans in question are a size too small. Explain that.
I am so very rock and roll, aren't I?
Way Cool Belt at Roberta Weissburg Leathers: $88
Keeping your pants from puddling at your knees: Priceless.
Best of all, the jeans in question are a size too small. Explain that.
I am so very rock and roll, aren't I?
Labels: fashion
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Susan Speaks: Thinking Blogger awards and a Carnival!
Mondays are the slowest day in the entertainment business. But don't tell that to Lil' Duck Duck, who's hosting a carnival of Family Life (#49, in fact!). Go check it out; you might recognize a familiar face and an outtake you may have missed.
Mondays aren't slow around here, though. Even though it's been a few days since this happened, I'm still in shock.
Robin, of Around the Island, was amazing enough to tag me with The Thinking Blogger Award. Not just for one post, but my entire body of work here on the blog. I am flattered and touched and pleased and thrilled -- and proud. Any writer loves to hear that you make people think, and when I got the e-mail from Robin telling me to check her blog, I was in a funk. The timing was absolutely perfect.
In keeping with the rules of the Thinking Blogger Award -- no one have a heart attack; I do occasionally follow the rules! -- I get to pass this award on to five other nice people. So here they are...
To She at the Screaming Pages for this post about her recent India adventures. Like many a traveller before her, India (and the Philippines) this time had a life-altering effect on her. And I'm not talking about the food poisoning, but what came when she got home: she took a deep breath and stepped off the edge of the world, quitting her job. That, woman, takes guts.
My good friend Milan always makes me think, especially when he does his Thursday Thirteen posts. Here's one that really illustrates how much effort he puts into them and how hard he stretches my brain. He may not post a 13 every week, but I'd sure argue that he's a valued member of the 13 community.
Of course I have to nominate Erica. The woman, the blog, the whole ball of wax. She juggles being a mom, a blogger, an aspiring writer, and a full-time employee. She's always up on the latest fads -- screening them for me, I joke with her -- and her enthusiasm shines on through even the rough spots. I'm proud to be her partner in the Debut a Debut contest, as well as the upcoming summer reading contest.
It may be really tacky of me, but I'd like to give the award back to Robin, for this post. If you'll read the comment trail, you'll see that my son has a friend whose behavior is similar to Robin's daughter's. This post gave me new insights into my son's friend and while I may not be in a position to help my son's friend, at least I have some insights that help me be a better guardian when he's here playing.
I'm going to stop at four, not because I want to buck the rules but because now I'm going to start nominating all my friends who write book blogs -- karen!, Antheras, Cheesygiraffe, CheriePie, Breeni, Ace and Hoser. And on. And on. You've seen me mention them all here before, you've seen them in my comment trail and as entrants in my various contests. These guys are my friends above and beyond blogging, even though I've yet to meet any of them face-to-face. They inspire me to new heights of writing and other fun ideas, and they are quick to stop me from doing something dumb or pointless. As much as all of you readers inspire me, these guys are my front lines. Check them out; I don't doubt you'll be nominating them for Thinking Blogger Awards.
Here are the rules, for you newly tagged folk...
How participation works:
If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
Optional: Display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote.
One last note... those of you who read me in a feed reader have noticed a bunch of posts lately. Most of them are old posts; I'm catching up on my labels and tags. Read, have fun, comment away. Just be sure to click through and check the posting dates!
Catch you guys in a bit...
Mondays aren't slow around here, though. Even though it's been a few days since this happened, I'm still in shock.
Robin, of Around the Island, was amazing enough to tag me with The Thinking Blogger Award
. Not just for one post, but my entire body of work here on the blog. I am flattered and touched and pleased and thrilled -- and proud. Any writer loves to hear that you make people think, and when I got the e-mail from Robin telling me to check her blog, I was in a funk. The timing was absolutely perfect. In keeping with the rules of the Thinking Blogger Award -- no one have a heart attack; I do occasionally follow the rules! -- I get to pass this award on to five other nice people. So here they are...
To She at the Screaming Pages for this post about her recent India adventures. Like many a traveller before her, India (and the Philippines) this time had a life-altering effect on her. And I'm not talking about the food poisoning, but what came when she got home: she took a deep breath and stepped off the edge of the world, quitting her job. That, woman, takes guts.
My good friend Milan always makes me think, especially when he does his Thursday Thirteen posts. Here's one that really illustrates how much effort he puts into them and how hard he stretches my brain. He may not post a 13 every week, but I'd sure argue that he's a valued member of the 13 community.
Of course I have to nominate Erica. The woman, the blog, the whole ball of wax. She juggles being a mom, a blogger, an aspiring writer, and a full-time employee. She's always up on the latest fads -- screening them for me, I joke with her -- and her enthusiasm shines on through even the rough spots. I'm proud to be her partner in the Debut a Debut contest, as well as the upcoming summer reading contest.
It may be really tacky of me, but I'd like to give the award back to Robin, for this post. If you'll read the comment trail, you'll see that my son has a friend whose behavior is similar to Robin's daughter's. This post gave me new insights into my son's friend and while I may not be in a position to help my son's friend, at least I have some insights that help me be a better guardian when he's here playing.
I'm going to stop at four, not because I want to buck the rules but because now I'm going to start nominating all my friends who write book blogs -- karen!, Antheras, Cheesygiraffe, CheriePie, Breeni, Ace and Hoser. And on. And on. You've seen me mention them all here before, you've seen them in my comment trail and as entrants in my various contests. These guys are my friends above and beyond blogging, even though I've yet to meet any of them face-to-face. They inspire me to new heights of writing and other fun ideas, and they are quick to stop me from doing something dumb or pointless. As much as all of you readers inspire me, these guys are my front lines. Check them out; I don't doubt you'll be nominating them for Thinking Blogger Awards.
Here are the rules, for you newly tagged folk...
How participation works:
If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
Optional: Display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote.
One last note... those of you who read me in a feed reader have noticed a bunch of posts lately. Most of them are old posts; I'm catching up on my labels and tags. Read, have fun, comment away. Just be sure to click through and check the posting dates!
Catch you guys in a bit...
Labels: Carnival, Thinking Blogger Award
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Byline: Chelle LaFleur -- Flipped
With apologies to Karen!, who was expecting to see this posted earlier.
I swear, you'da thought my desk was hostin' Christmas the way the whole greedy office buzzed around here the other day, sniffin' around for handouts. What do you mean why? You think Chelle LaFleur's not worth sniffing around?
This one time, you just might be right, but don't let that get to your head. It's the mail that was so hot. A good ten packages stuffed full of CDs showed up, all at once. Looks like record company folk really do care that I know what I'm writing about when these bands roll through town.
Now, don't no one go telling them that I know more'n I let on. You really think I get all hot and bothered over a record company thinking I'm so dumb, they gotta send me lots of CDs and press kits about their bands? Got any clue how much money someone'll make on eBay once I'm dead?
Even funnier than the fact that I've got these folk snowed is the way my coworkers react. You'd think they're in a record store or somethin', pickin' up all my new music and turning it over, as if the back cover will tell them the secrets of the universe or somethin'.
Ever notice that? How every single person on the planet picks up a record, a cassette -- yeah, remember those two things? -- a CD, whatever, and turns it over and gives it a good, long look?
Seems to your friend Chelle here that if the universe wants to give up its secrets, it'll do it inside the record and let it come out that way, in the music. I've never seen anything on the back of a CD 'cept a pretty picture -- okay, I've seen plenty of ugly ones and even more boring ones. -- and some really small print that hurts Chelle's old eyes.
You heard it first and you heard it here: It's a waste of all our time time to flip a disc over and read what's on the back, but I dare you to try and stop yourself before it's been flipped. Like women who want to keep their mouths shut when they put mascara on, we just can't stop.
I swear, you'da thought my desk was hostin' Christmas the way the whole greedy office buzzed around here the other day, sniffin' around for handouts. What do you mean why? You think Chelle LaFleur's not worth sniffing around?
This one time, you just might be right, but don't let that get to your head. It's the mail that was so hot. A good ten packages stuffed full of CDs showed up, all at once. Looks like record company folk really do care that I know what I'm writing about when these bands roll through town.
Now, don't no one go telling them that I know more'n I let on. You really think I get all hot and bothered over a record company thinking I'm so dumb, they gotta send me lots of CDs and press kits about their bands? Got any clue how much money someone'll make on eBay once I'm dead?
Even funnier than the fact that I've got these folk snowed is the way my coworkers react. You'd think they're in a record store or somethin', pickin' up all my new music and turning it over, as if the back cover will tell them the secrets of the universe or somethin'.
Ever notice that? How every single person on the planet picks up a record, a cassette -- yeah, remember those two things? -- a CD, whatever, and turns it over and gives it a good, long look?
Seems to your friend Chelle here that if the universe wants to give up its secrets, it'll do it inside the record and let it come out that way, in the music. I've never seen anything on the back of a CD 'cept a pretty picture -- okay, I've seen plenty of ugly ones and even more boring ones. -- and some really small print that hurts Chelle's old eyes.
You heard it first and you heard it here: It's a waste of all our time time to flip a disc over and read what's on the back, but I dare you to try and stop yourself before it's been flipped. Like women who want to keep their mouths shut when they put mascara on, we just can't stop.
Labels: Chelle LaFleur, creative writing, fiction
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #23 -- The Balancing Meme
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My good buddy Erica at Writing Aspriations tagged me for the balance meme. You know, Lillie Amman's meme about how to achieve balance in your life, especially when you're juggling being a writer, a blogger, a literary agent shopper, a mom, a wife, a classroom volunteer, a gym rat, and the mom of a cat with irritable bowel disorder. But it's not me Erica wanted to tag. Rather, it was my "delicious fictional characters" she wanted to hear from. Not that I blame her; they're way more interesting than I am. That's why so much of this blog is devoted to them. (what? Did you think I was trying to sell you something? There's no book to buy yet!) So, to combine the fun with my weekly Thursday Thirteen, here you go, Erica. one Kermit Ladd: The question I've been sent here to present to you today is how you achieve balance in your lives. You're these mega-huge rock stars, but you're also ordinary guys. How do you do it? What is the biggest challenge you face in balancing your lives? Trevor: Wait. What happened to that babe who called us delicious? Would she like a taste? (He leers. When that gets no reaction, he eyes Mitchell nervously, but the singer merely stretches his legs out before him and casually crosses his feet at the ankles.) Trevor: Okay, then. Just make sure she knows how to find me. two Kermit Ladd: Balance, Trevor. Not women. Daniel: Why can't women be the balance? Even if it's only for two minutes in an elevator, any sane man can get lost in a good woman. There's your balance. You get that time to forget about performing for an audience and get to think about you. three Kermit Ladd: Most people would call that selfish since you're not caring for your partner. That's not very balanced -- or is that your biggest challenge? Trevor: My biggest challenge is doing it right. You need both feet on the floor. (He stands up and lifts one foot. Immediately, he sways and has to touch his toe to the ground.) See? My balance sucks. Eric: There's real wisdom in there, Trevor. (The bass player turns away, but not before a sneer crosses his face.) There's a reason people call us stars. They think we belong up there-- Mitchell: In outer space. Like freaks. Eric: No, M. High in the heavens, with the other celestial beings. Worshipped and celebrated. But the truth is that we're just people. four Kermit Ladd: Exactly. Now, how do you manage to balance your audiences' expectations? Mitchell: We make better music and put on great shows. Eric: We're approachable. Our fans can come up and talk to us. Mitchell: Well, they could before they got so thick. We had to hire security to save us from them! five Kermit Ladd: So you've got the fans. What about being yourselves? How do you maintain that balance between private person and rock figure? Trevor: Well, Mitchell's parents kick us in the ass when we need it. Eric: They remind us to keep both feet on the ground. When we're at home, not only do we do our own laundry-- Trevor: No, Mitchell's mom does mine. Mitchell: Kerri does ours. Won't let me near it. Trevor: You turned her favorite panties pink? Mitchell: No. She said please. Please leave it for me. (He shrugs.) If it makes her happy, I'm all for it. Daniel: Happy women are good things. Trevor: Gotta have both feet on the floor to keep a woman happy. Or both knees on the bed. Take your pick. Daniel: Val's happiest when I'm home and paying attention to her. I can be Daniel, not Daniel of ShapeShifter, and I do that because she makes me check my ego at the door. six Kermit Ladd: So, sometimes, it does get to your heads? Eric: We wouldn't be human if it doesn't. seven Kermit Ladd: How do you come back to Earth? Mitchell: A roadie stops our prima donna routine over a broken amp by plugging it in. Management calls with something we need to deal with. You kick the garbage all over the kitchen floor and realize you're the only one home to clean it up and take it out already. Trevor: Eric and I get stoned. That's a good way to come back to Earth. Daniel: Sure beats those announcements the doctors make, telling what you caught this time. eight Kermit Ladd: What about priorities? What are your priorities, and how do you meet them? Mitchell: It's a dead-heat between Kerri, making music, and running the band. As for taking care of it all (he shrugs), I do what needs to get done. Any spare time's for me. Daniel: Ditto. It's what we do in our spare time that's different. Eric: I meet things one at a time and try not to freak about how much lies ahead. It's about faith: having enough faith that I'll get through everything and will have time for myself. Trevor: My priorites are simple: women, girls, bimbos. My bike. Getting stoned. And the band. Possibly in that order, but you need to put girls in between all the other shit. nine Kermit Ladd: How about balance in your personal lives, then? Mitchell, you're married. Daniel, you've got a long-time love. How do you balance the demands of the fans with your personal lives? (Daniel and Mitchell exchange looks, daring each other to go first.) Mitchell: Sometimes, you have to turn to a fan and ask if they'd mind giving you some space. I hate to do it, but say you're in the hotel pool, getting some laps in, and they're standing on the edge, yelling at you to come sign an autograph. What do you do? We deserve down time, too. Daniel: I had it once at an Otters game. Sitting in the stands, digging the ball field, eating my hot dogs-- Trevor: And Cracker Jack? Daniel: Wouldn't be a ball game without it. But there's this fan, bugging you and not letting you watch the game. You feel like a total heel for asking them to let you alone, but you've got to, or suddenly, there's ten thousand people forgetting they came to watch baseball. Instead, they're standing in line for your autograph and the team's gathered on the field, drawing straws to see who gets the privelege of knocking you out. Ten Kermit Ladd: What does that have to do with the women in your lives? Trevor: Nothing, unless they're at the game, too, and the fans are stepping on them to get to us. I've seen it happen. Mitchell: You told them to do it. Trevor: Well, the fans weren't crawling after us, so what did we care? Besides, the girl who got stepped on dumped that dick and ran off with me. I got what I wanted in the end. eleven Daniel: I think that sometimes, our fans forget that we are people first. That we can't be ShapeShifter twenty-four-seven. Kermit Ladd: Why not? Eric: We'd only have one foot on the floor. Show him again, Trev. (Trevor stands and, again, lifts one foot. Again, he quickly wobbles.) Daniel: See? You've gotta have both feet on the ground or you're useless. Mitchell: Especially when you need to adjust something on your guitar's foot pedal without stomping on it. twelve Kermit Ladd: You make it sound easy. Mitchell: Sometimes, it is. Sometimes, we need someone to stand on one foot so they can use the other to kick us in the ass. Especially when we're on the road and we're surrounded by people who get paid to say yes to us, no matter what we ask for. Trevor: No one said yes when I asked to spend a night in the locker room with those cheerleaders. Mitchell: You could've spent the night. You just got pissed when we said you'd have to do it without the girls. Trevor: What's the point without them? thirteen Kermit Ladd: Final question and it's back to the women, so please answer it this time. How do your women deal with you guys being on posters that fans pin to their walls? Eric: We stay in a lot. That way, the girls don't have to deal with the jealous pettiness of the others. Daniel: Bodyguards. Trevor: I let a girl pin me to … okay, not the wall 'cause I don't get that hardcore. But the floor. With her knees. It was a lot of fun. (He ducks as Mitchell takes a swipe at the back of his head.) Mitchell: Kerri's strong enough that when she's in a bathroom and hears someone saying how they wish she was dead so they could take her place, that sort of thing doesn't bother her. And when girls come on to me and tell me to forget about her, she laughs in their faces. Daniel: She likes telling you about the shit she overhears. Mitchell: And most of it's shit, too. We all know whose bed I'll be in. Trevor: Yeah. Just remind the world you're the idiot who picked her over all the better ones out there, why don't you? Kermit ends the conversation here as Trevor takes off running, Mitchell hot on his heels. One last note, now that you've reached the end: Don't forget to scroll down to the Buy a Friend a Book Contest. And happy birthday to my blog! It's one year old today, Wednesday April 4. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
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Labels: Daniel, Eric, meme, Mitchell, Thursday Thirteen, Trevor, Writing Aspirations
Monday, April 02, 2007
Tagged!
The ultra gorgeous Sanni at Coffee2Go tagged me last week with the music meme: what seven songs are you currently into?
Well.
Seven SONGS. SONGS?
What are you, nuts???
You really expect me, music-lover extraordinaire, to pick seven songs?
That's like asking my fictional character of Trevor Wolff to pick his favorite seven women he's slept with. Or asking my fictional character of Mitchell Voss to pick his favorite guitar. Or asking my fictional character of Chelle LaFleur to pick the seven best shows she's been to in her lifetime. (If you don't know or are too lazy to follow the link back to her bio, Chelle's a music journalist and goes to lots of shows.)
In a sense, it's like asking someone to pick their favorite author based on single books. Yeah, I loved Lalita Tademy's Cane River, but does that mean I'll love everything she wrote? (and no, I haven't gotten my hands on Red River yet. But hey, it's Buy a Friend a Book Week, isn't it?)
Besides, my favorite song changes based on what's playing at the moment. Really. Truly.
Thus, I'll compromise with you guys, who are probably rolling your eyes at the way I've managed to tie books and music together yet again. Here are my seven hot bands of the moment:
1. Metallica
2. Disturbed
Okay, those two are probably always and forever choices. Too bad if you don't like it. More for me. (Anyone seen the great bike jerseys in the Metallica store? I've got a birthday this month, you know... Wear a medium...)
3. Flyleaf
4. Linkin Park (new stuff May 15! Single just out!)
5. Godsmack
Those are really good, solid bands. I have high hopes for the future of Flyleaf, especially, and I'm hating life because I won't be able to see them when they're in town next week. I really like how Godsmack's songwriting is maturing with them. You can tell they learned a lot from their recent tour with... guess who (see #1 if you're not sure).
And then two bands who I always flip to when I see them playing on my XM Online:
6. Iron Maiden
7. Queensryche
Just some classic rock and roll with an attitude. Speaking of Iron Maiden and books, I never managed to get my hands on Bruce Dickinson's fictional attempt from the early 90s. One of my record label reps at the time (back during my radio days) told me he did NOT want me to see it. He wouldn't give me a reason, and I always honored his ... uhh... directive. But now, Jim won't return my e-mails to see how the hell he's doing, so bring on The Adventures of Lord Iffy Fairbarn, or whatever the frell it was called...
As for who to tag next, go for it, folks. Talk music to me and amongst yourselves.
Back in a few to answer Rashenbo's latest tag, all about balance.
Well.
Seven SONGS. SONGS?
What are you, nuts???
You really expect me, music-lover extraordinaire, to pick seven songs?
That's like asking my fictional character of Trevor Wolff to pick his favorite seven women he's slept with. Or asking my fictional character of Mitchell Voss to pick his favorite guitar. Or asking my fictional character of Chelle LaFleur to pick the seven best shows she's been to in her lifetime. (If you don't know or are too lazy to follow the link back to her bio, Chelle's a music journalist and goes to lots of shows.)
In a sense, it's like asking someone to pick their favorite author based on single books. Yeah, I loved Lalita Tademy's Cane River, but does that mean I'll love everything she wrote? (and no, I haven't gotten my hands on Red River yet. But hey, it's Buy a Friend a Book Week, isn't it?)
Besides, my favorite song changes based on what's playing at the moment. Really. Truly.
Thus, I'll compromise with you guys, who are probably rolling your eyes at the way I've managed to tie books and music together yet again. Here are my seven hot bands of the moment:
1. Metallica
2. Disturbed
Okay, those two are probably always and forever choices. Too bad if you don't like it. More for me. (Anyone seen the great bike jerseys in the Metallica store? I've got a birthday this month, you know... Wear a medium...)
3. Flyleaf
4. Linkin Park (new stuff May 15! Single just out!)
5. Godsmack
Those are really good, solid bands. I have high hopes for the future of Flyleaf, especially, and I'm hating life because I won't be able to see them when they're in town next week. I really like how Godsmack's songwriting is maturing with them. You can tell they learned a lot from their recent tour with... guess who (see #1 if you're not sure).
And then two bands who I always flip to when I see them playing on my XM Online:
6. Iron Maiden
7. Queensryche
Just some classic rock and roll with an attitude. Speaking of Iron Maiden and books, I never managed to get my hands on Bruce Dickinson's fictional attempt from the early 90s. One of my record label reps at the time (back during my radio days) told me he did NOT want me to see it. He wouldn't give me a reason, and I always honored his ... uhh... directive. But now, Jim won't return my e-mails to see how the hell he's doing, so bring on The Adventures of Lord Iffy Fairbarn, or whatever the frell it was called...
As for who to tag next, go for it, folks. Talk music to me and amongst yourselves.
Back in a few to answer Rashenbo's latest tag, all about balance.
Labels: books, Buy a Friend a Book Week, Disturbed, Flyleaf, Godsmack, Linkin Park, meme, Metallica
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Fiction Outtake: Mitchell's Desk (Trevor's Song Era)
Way back on Thursday, I promised you guys an outtake based on my Thursday Thirteen. Here it is and don't forget about the BAFAB contest I'm throwing!
Mitchell joined Amy in the doorway to the room that used to be Wayne's private space, back when the farmhouse had been Wayne's. Mitchell looked things over; it was shaping up into an office all right. His office. Like Kerri's studio in what had been an attic was hers, this was his.
"M," Amy said, drawing the sound out as if she was eating something good.
He grunted, immediately on guard. This wasn't going to be pretty.
"What's that big wooden thing in the middle of the room?"
"A desk, Aim," he said, playing along. Privately, he was disappointed that she couldn't do any better. After all, he'd practically been voted Least Likely to Need a Desk in high school. Rock stars didn't need desks, unless they got caught up in the drama of sweeping everything off them so that a girl could be laid down there. It was better when you left the stains for someone else to clean up.
"You." Amy said. It was a declaration. "You have a desk."
"A whole office-like space," he agreed, nodding. "I've got a band to run, remember?"
"You didn't need a desk in your apartment."
"Not so long as I was happy eating off my lap," Mitchell said. "What did you think the table turned into?"
She played with her lower lip, thinking. "That really is a desk," she finally said.
"Scares the shit outta me, too," he lied. The truth was it felt good. Powerful. Like he knew exactly who was in control of ShapeShifter, and he was the one who had that control.
Okay, he admitted. That part scared the shit out of him. But it wasn't like Trevor could have run the band. Eric refused to do anything more than hear the final decisions and Daniel wasn't willing to handle it alone. That left it up to Mitchell.
Amy nodded, like she'd agreed with something he'd been thinking. She clapped him on the shoulder. "The band's in good hands," she said, and left the room, heading down the small hallway to the breezeway that led to the new addition.
Mitchell stayed in his office for a minute, letting Amy's words sink in. Had she really just praised him?
"Aim!" He tore down the hall after her.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her hand on the doorknob of one of the new guest rooms.
"You just… you were nice. You feel okay?"
"Every now and then, Pipsqueak, you earn it." Her smile, that sisterly one he hated, broadened. "Must be Kerri's influence 'cause we both know you couldn't do it alone."
He put his arm around her shoulders. "That's better."
"It is a cool desk, Mitchell."
He snorted. "The whole fucking house is cool, Aim."
"Yeah, well, I'm still mad it's yours and not mine. Don't push your luck."
Mitchell joined Amy in the doorway to the room that used to be Wayne's private space, back when the farmhouse had been Wayne's. Mitchell looked things over; it was shaping up into an office all right. His office. Like Kerri's studio in what had been an attic was hers, this was his.
"M," Amy said, drawing the sound out as if she was eating something good.
He grunted, immediately on guard. This wasn't going to be pretty.
"What's that big wooden thing in the middle of the room?"
"A desk, Aim," he said, playing along. Privately, he was disappointed that she couldn't do any better. After all, he'd practically been voted Least Likely to Need a Desk in high school. Rock stars didn't need desks, unless they got caught up in the drama of sweeping everything off them so that a girl could be laid down there. It was better when you left the stains for someone else to clean up.
"You." Amy said. It was a declaration. "You have a desk."
"A whole office-like space," he agreed, nodding. "I've got a band to run, remember?"
"You didn't need a desk in your apartment."
"Not so long as I was happy eating off my lap," Mitchell said. "What did you think the table turned into?"
She played with her lower lip, thinking. "That really is a desk," she finally said.
"Scares the shit outta me, too," he lied. The truth was it felt good. Powerful. Like he knew exactly who was in control of ShapeShifter, and he was the one who had that control.
Okay, he admitted. That part scared the shit out of him. But it wasn't like Trevor could have run the band. Eric refused to do anything more than hear the final decisions and Daniel wasn't willing to handle it alone. That left it up to Mitchell.
Amy nodded, like she'd agreed with something he'd been thinking. She clapped him on the shoulder. "The band's in good hands," she said, and left the room, heading down the small hallway to the breezeway that led to the new addition.
Mitchell stayed in his office for a minute, letting Amy's words sink in. Had she really just praised him?
"Aim!" He tore down the hall after her.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her hand on the doorknob of one of the new guest rooms.
"You just… you were nice. You feel okay?"
"Every now and then, Pipsqueak, you earn it." Her smile, that sisterly one he hated, broadened. "Must be Kerri's influence 'cause we both know you couldn't do it alone."
He put his arm around her shoulders. "That's better."
"It is a cool desk, Mitchell."
He snorted. "The whole fucking house is cool, Aim."
"Yeah, well, I'm still mad it's yours and not mine. Don't push your luck."
Labels: Amy, fiction, Mitchell, outtake
