Tatterdemalion and a New Book of Poetry

In an earlier post, I mentioned my novel 'Tatterdemalion' being picked up by Cauliay Publishing, and also promised to give a few updates from time to time. I've been sparse, dotting various Twitter posts in my revisions and other information, but thought it was time to post here and update the two people that read this on the happenings.

Tatterdemalion is nearly complete on the publisher's end. We've got the book finalized and ready to go out, save for a couple of incidentals that we're working on right now. I've spent a huge amount of my time (all of it, really) over the last few months putting together a supplemental material package to send out to reviewers. It's huge, autoruns, and I had to design every page in it both graphically and in regard to its content. Here's a list of some of the things on the disc (which is all nicely labeled with full-color inserts... the works (and I designed all of that, too).

1. Background information on the book, including specific reasons for writing it.

2. Author's Introduction

3. Publisher's Introduction

4. Character concept art of the heraldic characters in the book

5. Cover art for the book

6. Alternate/concept covers for the book that we didn't go with (7 of them)

7. Small Press tie-ins (the Main Character sends out to real mags, and often)

8. About the Author section (this is where a bio and all that is found)

9. Explanatory Notes (on the bizarre styling, characterizations, and trickery in the book)

10. The ebook version of Tatterdemalion

11. Contact, link, and order information

And a ton more. Each one of the above 'features' has a few pages within it, full of other related features. There's video, audio, images, effects, a lot of painful design that I've finally managed to make smooth, and it can interact with the internet cleanly. The entire thing is interactive, and runs as a stand-alone program. You can email me, surf the web for details on the book, and even read the book, all while in the bonus feature program, or outside of it. You can even set up your own music playlist in the bonus features, with your own music, to listen to while you read, if your the type who likes music on when you read. Every page is dotted in various graphic art I've made for it, even as background material. There are even easter eggs hidden in the depths of the features.

I've worked pretty hard on it. Here's a teaser screenshot:



I've also been working on a new book of poetry, with an incredibly long title. All my books have had shorter titles lately, so I thought I'd go out on a limb and use a long one. The title of my new book of poetry is:

I Won't Breathe for It-- The Dull Chatter of Ends, Humping Catastrophes and Lounging Where One Sets Aside the Mind.

So yes, long. Here's a couple of images of some poems in the book. I added effects to the pictures so you won't be completely bored.

That's about it for now. I was also recently invited into the World Poets Society, and had an interview recently in Tom's Voice. No Tell Motel will be featuring some of my work in April, and there are some new spoken word tracks up over at The Adroitly Placed Word, as well.

Lately (well, continually), I am entirely enamored with my little son's antics. Being a stay-at-home dad is wondrous (though at times, it can be extremely difficult to get things done... i.e. subsequent revisions of a novel for one's publisher...) Paint-paint is talking well now, and just last night sat me down to tell me a 'story'. I'm a writer so that was poignant as hell. His story was about a ghost playing with his toys. He struck the ghost on the ass with his fist and frightened it. The ghost then ran away and hid in one of my son's Hot Wheels cars, driving slowly away.

Funny, I never took him for the horror sort.

Oh, hi there!

Dear World, Please Read My Book... Please.

I've been meaning to post here for a few days regarding the hammer of good news that hit me last week.

Yes, it's official: My novel 'Tatterdemalion' has been picked up by Cauliay Publishing and is scheduled for a 2008 release. For those of you who haven't read this blog before, I wrote a novel at the end of 2006, for which I wrote a post on. I was very excited about the novel, which was gigantic and, due to its enormous size, likely unpublishable so long as I'm a newcomer. Anyway, after I finished that novel, I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing, and in a zone, so I wrote another one. I sent the first book out to various agencies. Half of them rejected it, the other half never even bothered to respond. The second book, 'Tatterdemalion', I sent to the wonderful Michael William Molden (from here on referred to as 'my publisher'). The first book is dead in the water, but the second book was accepted by my publisher and the process of more revisions has ensued.

So, instead of being a struggling novelist, I have been upgraded to the regular kind, just really, really broke.

I'll be posting much here on the developments to come, dealings with my publisher, and of course, the release dates and where you can find the book. I will also be going through a short process of deflating my head and slapping myself around a little, to get clear.

On another note, I've recently finished another book of poetry, 'Skep', am hard at work revising 'Tatterdemalion', and getting ready to write a small series of poems for an upcoming peace conference I've been invited to read at.

New work at several publications accessible from my main page / publication history: http://www.raysuccre.blogspot.com (those at the top are the most recent).


Happy New Year to all,


-Ray

Huge Budget Hollywood

Having recently watched 'I Am Legend' and a few other newer movies, I have decided to write a brief letter to Hollywood, asking and entreating the producers and writers to hear my pleas.

Dear Hollywood,

It has come to my attention (forcefully, with Dolby Surround Sound), that certain things in many of the recent movies being released simply don't work. The reasons for these numerous troubles are varied, but I've decided to give you a short 'heads-up' in regards to some of them, in case the overpaid film-designers in your ranks haven't done their research, or are too lazy to care.

1. Stop shortening film titles. There is no logical reason why 'The Way of the Peaceful Warrior' needed to be shortened for the movie version to 'Peaceful Warrior'. We're not so dumb as you think, and have the brain capacity to handle more than a three-word title. If you greenlight a script entitled 'Night in the Desk of Calvin Coolidge', there is no need to shorten it to 'Coolidge'. Titles aren't simply for exhibiting the lowest-common-denominator of the subject in summary.

2. Bad script alert: If you receive a script with any of the following lines of dialogue in it, the script is bad. I'm serious.

A. "No, that's impossible! We killed you!" No one wants rehashes of Freddy Krueger stories or badly made things in a similar vein.
B. "Get me the _______" (name of a person or superhero like Cobra, Daredevil. Also: President, Secretary of Defense, Media, etc...)
C. "So what you're saying is..." This is always used to introduce really obvious backstory, and it's like a slap in the face. EXAMPLE: "He's a real loner. He's complicated and keeps to himself." "So what your saying is he doesn't trust anyone?" "Yes."
D. Any dialogue where a white kid talks in a really false and overexaggerated street-slang and using overemphasised hand gestures. We get it. You're setting up this character to be the butt of some dumb joke about how he's not black, to make the dull character doing the joking more witty. The thing is, it's transparent and DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE. Also, other stereotypical bullshit.
E. Any dialogue that begins with "Think of it this way..." This is usually just an excuse to take your space-jargon or other 'technical' description and translate it into something for the audience. "Think of it this way... The air will be pulled displaced from the room and he'll suffocate." "Oh, thanks for pampering me. I was too dumb to know carbon monoxide could hurt you."
F. Any narration in a preview that includes the three words 'in the dark'.
G. "You gotta be kidding me."
H. "This could mean the end of..."
I. "I grew up in the sixties."
J. "What are those things?"

The list goes on and on... Anyone with suggestions can place them in the comments to this post.

3. No matter how much you think it's great, Man fighting CG is old. We know it's CG. How do we know? It doesn't look real. Why doesn't it look real? Because it isn't. Seeing Will Smith fight off packs of roving cannibal-mutants in 'I am Legend' would have been a lot better if the 'mutants' mouths didn't stretch like taffy to unbelievable proportions whenever they screamed (making noises no human larynx could, I'll add). Also, while I'm bitching about 'I am Legend', if your foreshadowing is really obvious and statement-oriented, you haven't done it well.

4. This one is a big one, Hollywood: ENOUGH WITH THE TRILOGIES. Pirates of the Caribbean 2 should have been called 'Men Fighting on Things that Roll Down Hills', and Pirates of the Caribbean 3 should have been called 'What the Hell is Even Going On? Johnny Depp's In It, That's All We Know."

5. It grows embarrassing for everyone when a movie spawns B-sequels that begin to have nothing to do with the original. American Pie, anyone?

6. Let Keanu Reeves and Cameron Diaz go. They've been trying really hard to do it themselves. Just... just let them go.

7. Oh, also, can you start levelling the volume in your DVD releases a little more? Please? It gets really annoying having to turn up the volume twelve notches so I can hear the dialogue, then clutch my chest in seizure when someone in the movie kicks in a door and makes my fucking windows rattle, forcing me to grab the remote and hit volume-down in a mad panic at 1 in the morning.

There's so much more... I can't focus on it there are so many weirdnesses to fix...
If anyone else has anything they'd like added to the letter, feel free to post them in the comments.

Sinister Events Strike in the Heart of My Small Town

Article from 'The World' newspaper, Coos Bay, Oregon

Cows lead police on chase in Coos Bay

December 7, 2007 - 11:33 a.m.

COOS BAY — The Coos Bay World reports that two cows have led police officers on a chase through the streets of Coos Bay.

A driver stopped for gas for his truck, which was towing a livestock trailer. After getting his fill, he drove away. His cows stayed behind.

According to the Coos Bay Police Department, the driver of the truck failed to properly close the back door to his trailer and the cows got out.

The two cows led police officers on a chase through the streets of city, rushing up toward the high school, past the U.S. Post Office, back downtown and even into the bay.

At last check, the chase appeared to be slowing down near the waterfront.

The following image was not taken from the newspaper, but does demonstrate the nature of these criminal, devilish cows well enough, I think:


And this image sums up the nature of the police in my town, as well as local sentiment quite well:

Dadda, Painter Need Surgery

I woke this morning and, after bidding my little boy 'good morning', was greeted with the same statement for which this post is titled. I stared for a moment. Did he mean the word 'sugary', as in wanting some sort of candy? Had I simply heard him wrong, or he'd gotten his words crossed?

"Dadda, Painter need surgery."
"Uh... wow, kid. Do you mean sugary? Candy?"
"Dadda, Painter surgery. Please."
"Surgery?"
"Yeah, sick. Painter need surgery. A doctor."

So that was that, he did, in fact, mean 'surgery'. No doubt this idea of his was spawned from my own surgery I had earlier in the month, though it wasn't something I'd ever explained to him. He just assumed I was 'sick'. That's the cutest thing I've ever heard of. I did go over the notion that he required no surgery, though he kept pointing at his stomach.

"Need surgery."

Creepy as hell, that was. I pictured him being a character in a Stephen King tale.

I think I mentioned something in a previous post about posting an image of my surgical aftermath, but I can't remember and I'm not going back to check right at this moment. Here you go-- My disgusting, abdomenal, post-operative self:

Most fun. And yes, I look ridiculously pot-bellied, and they shaved me. I don't know what I'm up to with posting this picture and the one in my last post, showing my disturbing, permanently injured, ever-bloodshot eye, but it's certainly not showing off my good looks (of which, by now you'll realize I have none).

And here's The Little Boy Who Wanted Surgery (I may use that as the title of one of my children's books, at some point, along with my previous big hit "The Little Boy with Ants in His Heart"):

Skep

Just a quick note on my new book, Skep, which is coming along well enough. I'm at about 24 poems in, and will continue until the vacinity of 80. A 'skep' is a sort of natural beehive, usually constructed out of hay. What does that have to do with a book of poetry? Enough for what I have in mind. Below are two pictures of my work in progress. Yes, this is a college-ruled pad and yes, my handwriting is fucking tiny (three handwritten lines fit within one college-ruled space qualifies the term 'fucking' in this statement). For no particular reason other than to give indication of what writing this small does to me, I've separated the two images with a picture of my right eye, which has been bloodshot since I was a kid. I actually have a permanently injured eye, so the bloodshot nature of it never goes away. My left eye is normal. Look in my author images (main page) and you can spot this bloodshot right eye in action here and there.




I should have it completed in a little less than a month. Yeah, I put some effects on the pictures. If interested in what these particular two poems are about, look through my Twitter posts (http://twitter.com/raysuccre), for the titles of the poems: Stingray, and In a Flock of Strange Things.

Appearance Links

I've had more than a few people lately explaining a difficulty they've been having with my main page (raysuccre.blogspot.com). The trouble seems to be that they're trying to locate some of my work online, for passive reads, but don't like navigating through the archives of online mags and the such. I use my main page for several purposes. The first and foremost is to post a bio, some author images, and a complete publication history / editing history, etc... The Twitter posts add a bit of me to the page, as well. The page is simple, and I post all on a single page, able to be scrolled through for long durations, or quick-linked from the sidebar, whatever your flavor is. The page is mostly designed for editors, who, after correspondence with me, via submissions, subscriptions, and other various queries, can take a look around if they'd like to get to know me on paper. This blog, raysuccre2.blogspot.com, is a much more personal page designed to allow a little access to me outside of publishing and the such. You know, what I'm up to, all that.


However, the people that have contacted me recently (and there have been mentions in the past, as well), feel my Publication History on the main page would be greatly enhanced by posting appearance links as well. They think it's great I link to all mags that have or are planning on printing my work, and that I link to the editors of these mags as well, but people don't want to wade through archives searching for my work. So, from here on out, I'll be adding appearance links to any online/electronic publications in my history, for anyone who'd like to read any of my published work.

I suppose anyone who follows one of those links and reads something of mine has an interest, and so anyone who does so is free to email me with any opinions or criticism they may have. I may not follow it, but I'd love to hear what people have to say. It's one thing to print in mags, and you know there are certainly readers somewhere that have gone through your poem, but it's another thing to actually get feedback from readers. It's a kind of proof, really, that yes, someone read what you wrote, which can offer a much-needed dose of momentum to someone like me.

So there.

Recuperation is Swift but Shaky

Having undergone my vibrant and unruly surgical procedure, and had my junk laparoscopically and systematically 'improved', I have been spending some time at home recovering. With the exception of the tightness that has overwhelmed my entire abdomenal region, I'm doing well with it all. I tend to heal rather quickly, so I wasn't entirely worried about it. Mostly, my worry was in dealing with the surgeon, who, despite any argument I could muster, would still end our relationship by slicing into me with a scalpel. There was no avoiding it. My doctor/surgeon was a talented young buck, but the ways of medicine still frighten and elude me.



Still, I'm recuperating and feel around 80%, and by this time Saturday, I should be back into my normal frame of juggling regiment with whimsical sloth. This is how I expect to be feeling by then:


To anyone out there debating whether they'd like to have an inguinal hernia or not, go ahead and weigh your options, but my ten cents is that you should avoid the situation. Sure, you get to meed new people, network with the rising stars of American McMedicine, and they get you wasted at certain, crucial points on difficult to pronounce drugs, but the overall testicular shrieking and the folding of your gut like origami just ruins the party.

My Literary Life and My Crotch are Spread Too Thin

To the Grand Republic of Blog Purveyors,


This is a quick update on various happenings that have occurred and are slated to occur, as well as a touching commentary on the nature of my busted crotch, for which I am to undergo a magnificent and vivid surgery.

First off, a great thing has happened in that some of my spoken word is going to get some radio play in Scotland, on SHMU, November 4th, 2-4 p.m. GMT. The time zone difference equates to the following in the U.S.: 5-7 a.m., Sunday the 4th. This has been set up by the excellent Michael William Molden, of Cauliay Publishing, who has graciously invited my work onto his broadcast, as well as showcased some of it on his site. The link, for those of you wishing to experience this joyous occasion, is http://www.shmu.org.uk/radio/radofrm.shtml. You can tune in live for the broadcast, and I'm fairly certain you could access it later, if you're the sort that likes to sleep in the wee hours of the night/morning. The show goes out to around 200,000 listeners.

I'd like to thank Mr. Molden, the academy, the little people, and everyone in Aberdeen, Scotland. I shant forget you.

Blood and Ink, the collaborative effort disseminating all sorts of how-it-works information on the arts, and of which I am a contributor, has moved to a new home with wordpress, and can now be found at http://elijahbrubaker.com/bloodandink. It appears in connection to the site of the illustrious Elijah J. Brubaker, illustrator extraordinaire and all-around great guy you should love and buy things from. Go. Right now.

I've begun a new book of poetry, and have managed to gain some print in quite a few lovely mags in the last few months, for which I owe much. You can find any of these magazines and publications listed on my main page, http://www.raysuccre.blogspot.com, under 'Publication History'.

Now, on to the crotch. Everything always ends there, doesn't it?

I was recently diagnosed with an inguenal hernia, after a bout in the E.R., where I was seen clutching myself and shivering. For those without knowledge of things inguenal, or who haven't studied up on this sort of hernia, it works like this:
Yes, that's what happened to me. In fact, this is an actual photograph of me, except they got some of the 'dimensions' wrong. Anyway, the randomnity of the pain is horrid, and I've now had two different doctors wring out my junk like a dishrag.

Though I was seen in the E.R., and diagnosed but 5 days ago, the repair of this problem is slated to take place this Monday, the 5th of November. They're going in through my stomach area with wriggling little night-vision cameras to fumble around in my guts, and build some things in my groin from the inside. This pelvic strike is to take place with me unconscious, anesthetized, and most likely, drooling into nightmare. I have enclosed several images that, in an abstract way, symbolise the way I feel about this entire situation.












And here is the hospital wherein the adventuresome surgery will take place:



That's all for now. Wait, no... we took Paint-paint out for Halloween last night in his spankin' cool costume, which was a blast, even though I had to limp the entire way.




Awwwwww...

Flash Gordon: Saviour of the Universe

Recently, my wife and I decided to rent Flash Gordon: Saviour of the Universe Edition from our local video store. This is the one in which Max Von Sidow plays Ming the Merciless, and Queen plays the soundtrack. The movie is everything I remembered it being, and there was certainly a bit of cheesy, embarrassing nostalgia involved in viewing the film, as I loved it when I was a youngster.

In the special features of this edition, is an entire episode of the 1930's era Flash Gordon serial, starring Buster Crabbe. I'd never actually seen the original serial, and have only a rudimentary connection to the comics and stories that have involved Flash Gordon over the years. We thought the special feature was neat, so watched it. Near the finale, my wife and I both began exchanging looks of confusion and intrigue. I'll explain the scene in question, as it had both of us laughing to the point I was unable to contain my laughter and had to leave the room until I could get ahold of myself.

The scene in question is in Episode 1 of this Flash Gordon serial. I've included screenshots. In the scene, Flash has been captured by Ming and his minions and has been tossed into an arena to fight.

He is noticeably worried about the situation, as can be seen in the screenshot below.

I am noticeably worried about the situation.

I mean, seriously, what's going to happen to poor Flash? He's a good-lookin' guy, probably plays sports, knows his way around a stiff drink and a loose lady, but come on... He's just crash-landed beside some giant lizards, been abducted by another humanoid race that seem to wear an awful lot of bondage-like gear, he's trapped indefinitely in an alien world, the chick he likes is being held beside the evil lord of this strange place (who probably has the hots for her, too), and a bunch of metal-clad guards have just tossed him into an arena, presumably to face something malicious, horrible, and life-threatening.

When thrown into this terrible predicament, this magnanimous and dire situation in which his very life could be on the line, all he sees is this:

Nowhere to hide!

That's right, three iron-barred gates... and THEY'RE OPENING. What's going to happen? Is this the end of Flash's life? Will he never play football and score with chicks again? Mortal combat is approaching... But what infernal horror is about to be unleashed upon him? Ming seems pleased at Flash's fright, and indicates what a weakling Flash must be, by pointing at him in front of the metal-clad guards as if to say "Look at the wuss from Earth. He shall surely pee his pants."

Power.

Then the gates fully open and, panicking, Flash gets into a fighting stance. It all comes down to this tense confrontation. Will it be inhuman monsters? Murderous machines? Claw-sporting animals with a thirst for the young jock's blood? Wait... here they come... it can't be... no... NO.... THEY'VE EMERGED! it's, it's....

SABER-TOOTHED JEWS IN DIAPERS.

Well, okay... just two saber-toothed jews in diapers, and one regular, non-saber-toothed jew, but still in a diaper. The three attackers, making grunt-drool noises, slowly lumber after Flash, who must fight for his very life. Mostly, the saber-toothed diaper jews only seem to want to wrestle, kind of greco-roman style, and Flash finds this to his advantage. He must have wrestled in high school, because he knocks the creatures around for awhile. However, the saber-toothed diaper jews only seem to get more aggressive as the fight continues, and soon, they gain in speed, rushing poor Flash again and again.

Fucked.

It's only a matter of time. Flash is human... inevitably, his energy will run out while defying death by fighting these superhuman, razor-toothed, incontinent, lumbering semites. What can be done? He valiantly pits his blonde, buff self against them, waging epic, pectoral skirmishes again and again, but in the end, he is defeated. The diapered ones make their final play and catch Flash off guard.

It's over.

After subduing Flash Gordon, the creatures are called off. Flash has failed. His semi-girlfriend nearby, beside Ming screams out, "Oh Flash!", but nothing can be done. The three creatures hold him down and drool and grunt some more, but seem incapable of inflicting any further damage to our hero. They just kind of crawl around on him and make goofy noises. Ming is pleased.

Mwa ha.

The episode pretty much ends on that note, with no further episodes on the disc. I watched it several times, unable to control myself. So take note, modern world: The Earth can be a pretty tough place. We have famine, disease, inequality, confusion, malarchy... but beware, for one day Ming may send us his horde of saber-toothed jews in diapers, and on that day, we will know what poor Flash Gordon went through, and all of our world's problems until that moment will seem as but the minuscule trifles of lesser things.

Beware, for the day will come...

Nostalgia

Now that I've got a wee tot myself, I've been going through the memory banks and trying to remember the things I liked when I was his age. I'm having trouble with it, because he's 2, but I do have a couple of memories that I can draw from. I had a plush zebra that I slept with incessantly, among other things. Painter has a donkey. I remember my parents both had really big paychecks come in one year, when I was 4, and we had a gigantic Christmas. It was the one year wherein they decided to officially spoil us, even once. Out of the huge medly of toys I received that year, two stand out. These are the greatest toys ever made. No matter what toys you liked when you were a kid, these beat those toys up all day long.

The Speak & Spell is pretty obvious. I played with mine from the age of 4 until 8. I rigged it to alternate power sources, I toted it everywhere. It is no wonder I later became a writer. I spent my childhood staying inside and spelling shit all day.




The only difference is that my Godzilla figure shot its fist off with eye-blacking power, and his other hand was replaced with red missiles that were best launched with a trajectory leading them to my toddler brother's head. I have no idea why this toy had rockets for one hand, or what sort of bizarre marketing that was, but I loved the thing.

Painter plays with Hot Wheels cars. That's his thing, for now. We've got a thousand, at this point.

And when he falls asleep, I play with the Hot Wheels cars.

Wings of Icarus

For those interested, Andrew David King and Tony R. Rodriguez have a new ezine looking for good work, Wings of Icarus. Send your best.

http://www.freewebs.com/wingsoficarus

More information can be found in their guidelines.

The House

In a much earlier post, you might remember I posted a number of images that showed my grandmother's house sitting in the waterof the Coos Bay flood, a year-and-a-half ago. The house was salvageable, but had to be gutted completely. It's taken some time, for which my grandmother has been in a series of trying and stressful situations with insurance companies and grant-workers, various other organizations relating to the flood that occurred, but finally, something is happening with her house. They're raising the house ten feet in the air, and rebuilding the ground beneath it. Here are the odd, surreal pictures. Keep in mind that I spent three of my high-school years in this house, and now my bedroom is 15 feet up in the air. Unfortunately, we couldn't get any pictures of the water at it's largest height against the house, as we didn't have enough time to wade out there... this was a very sudden flood and receded after a day or two, then happened again, then receded after another day or two. Here's an image (note the mailboxes for an indication of height):

And here, a year-and-a-half later, are a couple of the house-raising images:

The above image shows the house at about 12 feet off the ground, and it took around 6 hours to raise it with water-pressured hoses attached to specialized lifting jacks. I don't know the parlance or terms for these sorts of machines. The entire interior of the house has been gutted and removed. This is a house on the outside only. There are no walls, no pipes, nothing. There are a series of large beams running through it, which you can see in the above images.

It was strange standing underneath my high-school bedroom and looking up at the ceiling, which was now 15 feet higher above me than it used to be. Walking under the house in general is surreal, as you can look up into it, and it just seems like you're looking up into a two-story house who's ground level has been destroyed, though it's really just a one-story house up on beams. What a trip. I'll post an image or two of the finished house when it's done. They're currently pouring a new, huge concrete-walled foundation beneath the house at the level it's at in the above picture. The house will be raised a total of 10 feet, once all is said and done, and remain there indefinitely.

Interviews with the Twilight of Blood and Ink Pigs of 2007

It has been a small time since last post, but my initial point to this ugly little thing was to post about once a month. Much has been happening recently, and it's difficult to boil it into a format I can quickly type.

The writing has been going well. In the last year, I've written two novels, one of which is gigantic, and 4 books of poetry, at around 80 poems each. The last, 'In the Twilight of Pigs' is a bit different for me, but has worked out well. I've currently got it tied up in a few handpicked submissions to a few handpicked magazines that I'm hoping will handpick me back.

I'm going to start a new book of poetry later tonight, though am giving serious thought to working on some short stories for a collection, instead.

This year has gone well for me in the small press. This year thus far, 2007, I have poems appearing or forthcoming at Takahe, Skyline Magazine, TheEclectics, Kafla Inter-continental, Prakalpana Sahitya, Riversedge, Four Volts, The Verse Marauder, Paperplates, Small Spiral Notebook, My Name is Mud, Red China, Coconut, Ancient Heart Magazine, Ascent Aspirations, Kritya, Dispatch, Sein und Werden, Ceremony Collected, EOAGH, Unfettered Verse, Wandering Army, Wet Asphalt, The Persistent Mirage, Static Poetry, Pemmican, Tryst, La Fenetre Magazine, The Smoking Poet, First Time, Greensilk Journal, LostWriters, The Swallow's Tail, The Written Word, Wicked Alice, East Village Poetry, Tipton Review, Going Down Swinging, Ken*again, Bergen Street Review, The Scribbler Ink, Ygdrasil, Venereal Kittens, MEAT Journal, Brave Little Poem of the Day, Chaotic Dreams, The Flask Review, Clockwise Cat, Bolts of Silk, Death Metal Poetry, Salt Flats Annual, 2000, Blue Skies, Faulty Mindbomb, Ceremony, Breed, Ceremony Collected II, Flutter Poetry Journal, Rokovoko, Enfuse Magazine, Conceit, edificeWRECKED, The Aggregated Press, Halfway Down the Stairs, Riverbabble, The Cynic, Harûah: Breath of Heaven, Poor Mojo's Almanac(k), and most recently, The Blotter.

I am very thankful that things have turned around lately. I'd be stupid not to be.

Maisy and I are trying to move to Portland, and were hoping to be there at the start of September, but now it's looking like we'll have to wait another few months. We spent too much money trying to scout out a place to live there, and everything we got a lead on went bust. We can always wait until tax season, and then use our return to move, if we have to. Especially now that we've paid off that ancient student loan of mine that septupled in size long before Maisy and I ever met, and for which I didn't even attend school with ($1500 loan that turned into nearly $8,000 worth of debt over seven years, with most of these years seeing me homeless or on the verge, spare-changing and groveling about my little town to keep alive). I almost miss those years, as much as they battered me at the time.


Painter is growing and talking galore. Today, he woke me up by shouting, "Oh, mail! Dada, mail!" I love it. I've gotten all milky and dopey in previous posts about how much I love my kid, but jesus, it's powerful, right? What a scampish, bright little man he is. Anyway, being a stay-home dad is enjoyable, though not without it's difficulties (cabin fever, for one, getting my boots pissed in one morning, for another).

I've been writing for Blood and Ink for quite a few months now. It's a sort of repository for a few writer and illustrator colleagues to post articles we're writing on the different facets of creating art. I've been focusing on publishing in my articles mostly, but have some new work to place there soon on various forms of poetry (Ghazal, Sonnet, Pantoum, Fugue, etc...). I've just realized that I have yet to mention it much here. A shame, as it's worth your time. The articles at Blood and Ink are written from the knuckle, truly.

http://www.bloodink.blogspot.com

Also, I've been doing interviews with certain celebrity writers over at Interviews with the Dead, for some time now. The people I've interviewed thus far are Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Homer, Kobayashi Issa, Walt Whitman, and Dante Alighieri. Most of these were difficult interviews, but a few of these authors were cooperative, sort of. Interviewing the dead is always hit or miss. I've contacted Mark Twain and he's consented to an interview, so I've been preparing questions the last few days.

http://www.interviewswiththedead.blogspot.com

Oh, and you may have noticed the syndicated Cat and Mouse strip at the top of my page. This is a product of my illustrious friend Elijah Brubaker. Visit him immediately at EJB Comix.

Enjoy the rest of Summer.

Jahul Needs You

To my various compatriots, of which I believe there are in numbers less than three, I announce that Jahul can now be found on YouTube, as well as Google Video. See him fulfill his destiny, watch as he resurrects the unfortunate, witness as he ascends to paradise on the Holy Receptacle, view his chase and conquering of the fearful Child of Light, and you can even experience the trailer for his feature-length, forthcoming film, "Jahul: Beast of Time". Yes.

To locate him in these bins of showmanship, approach Google Video or YouTube and search for 'Jahul'. You will find him in a driven mood. It is his gift to you.

Poor Ed, He Can't Be Trusted, and Neither Can His Kids

This is Ed, and Ed loves his video games.

Now, Ed is 30 years old, and grew up with video games in vast production. They eclipsed books as a source of his childhood fun. As he grew older, like all of his friends, more adult games were released. When he was 18, he voted, then went out and bought a pack of cigarettes and some porn, because he was 18 and could these things. He was a grown up, finally. This delighted Ed.

When he turned 21, he went out and had a drink in a bar, then a few more. He could. What a wonderful thing being a mature, consenting adult was. No wonder his parents knew so much: They were grown ups and had choices. Ed is now 30, and can vote, be tried as an adult, own a home, buy pornography, cigarettes, prescription drugs, alcohol, hire prostitutes (in Nevada), and rent movies where people are decapitated, shot, starved, screwed, anally raped, beaten, and even killed as part of genocide. He can serve in the ARMY and question authority, and can perform any variety of sexual acts with consenting whoevers. His tastes are his own, because he is an adult human being.

But Ed recently discovered a hitch in his natural right as a grown up:

http://www.el33tonline.com/main/show_news/3140

It seems the one thing Ed can't do is play Manhunt 2, a game he's been looking forward to, on his Wii or Playstation 2, or ever in the future on his Xbox, because it's been rated an 18-and-older game. Wait... 18+? That should be fine, because he's 30. Ed was 18+ before it was cool. But it seems he won't be allowed to play this game as is, because it's been banned in the U.K., Ireland, and refused (at the last second) by it's distributors, who now won't carry it.

Does that make any sense? It doesn't to Ed, that's for sure. He's 30, so an 18+ game should be all clear, right? Unfortunately, this particular 18+ game has now been banned in two countries, Ireland and England, and both Sony and Nintendo, who were slated to release the game in the U.S. on July 10th, 2007, now will not. The reasoning? The game is an 18+ game, and both companies have refused to sell an 18+ game.

Ed is confused. He's upset. He's getting pissed off. What possible problem could there be in a 30-year-old man, and a man weaned on video games his whole life, playing a game rated just for him? Banning Manhunt 2 because it received an adult rating is the same as banning a movie because it's rated R. Others may not like or approve of the game, but it's Ed's choice if he wants to buy it. And he does. He wants to buy it bad.

So, as it is, Ed won't get to play the adult game he's been waiting on, since he's an adult who, as the basic message can be perceived, isn't smart or trustworthy enough to buy something he's legally entitled to. It's a shame, too, because Ed's been getting awfully tired of being given child-like games. The games made for kids are great for kids, but Ed is a grown man, and no amount of hopping around collecting coins in the form of a cute, smiling animation in a virtual world is going to satisfy Ed's need to be a grown up that can both handle and satisfy himself with the material he decides to buy. He isn't the sort to watch handfuls of Disney family movies in his little apartment all day, and he doesn't want to play the video games of them either.

Ed can't play Manhunt 2, wherein an escaped patient from a mental institution goes on a killing spree, but he can certainly watch the myriads of movies on the exact same thing. He can read Silence of the Lambs, if he wants. He can watch it on the news, certainly. He can rent all the Friday the 13th movies he wants, wherein an unkillable lunatic in a mask goes about on a rampage, killing innocent people in horrid, disturbing ways (and Ed can even play the video game based on it some time back, which was released with a rating appropriate for him as a CHILD, when he played it).

Does the video gaming world realize they have created a vast demographic of adult fans that they aren't serving at all? A demographic that's slowly leaving because they're getting tired of being programmed down to? This game was slated to be released, is finished, and ready to ship. Now, it won't until Rockstar Games dumbs it down and makes it 'happier' for us all.

What use is a rating system if everything is for kids?

Shit, Kurt Vonnegut Died

There are remarkably few authors that have managed to snag my adoration. By adoration, I mean an unruly and logic-defying literary crush. I've had a few, and a small number of them have carried on into the present. Carl Sandburg, Walt Whitman, Dante Alighieri, Dylan Thomas, Hart Crane... hell, when I was very young, old Stephen King was in there. Kurt Vonnegut held a strong running in me.

Kurt Vonnegut was an author whose works I met, like many young writers, in a passing phase, but whose work, unlike other authors I read in that time period, stuck around in my head for some time. I read Slaughterhouse Five, Galapagos, Cat's Cradle, Breakfast of Champions, Mother Night, Deadeye Dick... about a dozen or so. I even read Sirens of Titan and that book of short stories, Welcome to the Monkey House. I've actually written poems based on imagery in my head that I somehow kept from reading his descriptions of Dresden's firebombing. I read his son's book, too, hoping to learn more about the author I couldn't know.

It somehow does bug me that I'm writing about him now that he's dead, because of it. It makes me feel like a phony asshole. I don't know if it's supposed to bug me when an author I've crushed on dies or not. It didn't bug me much when Bukowski died, or Burroughs, and it doesn't bug me that Vonnegut has. It seems appropriate, I suppose. Conclusion. End of book. Now we can watch our culture slowly boil all the flavor out of the books he wrote and footnote him in annotated textbooks and tribute anthologies, the occasional indie rock song that utilizes a term of his. Hey, that sounds dire, but it's not. It's the tragic stipend of having written, popularly. I was in love with Vonnegut's work for awhile, but it's difficult to discern from reading them if he enjoyed them as much as his readers.

Have a good one, Mr. Vonnegut. Thanks for being human, and for the books, as well.

You Sap

It’s been some time since I mentioned the fatherhood thing, which was to be my original subject of this online journal. The reason there hasn’t been much in the way of parenting posts is because things regarding fathering and raising my baby kid happen with such incredible frequency that they begin to blend together into one, long memory. The minute I have something I want to post, something I’ve come up with or even a basic observation, something else will occur, and I just can’t keep up with all the parenting happenings I’ve wanted to place here, online. So, I’ll keep it brief and give an update from time to time.

While going through numerous pictures on my backup drive, I found some of the early images of Painter, and found myself shaken considerably by the sheer amount of change he’s already gone through. Two years ago, I looked no different than I do now. But the difference in Painter is astounding. Sure, all kids change considerably between birth and two. They have to. It’s still baffling to me just how much difference there is. I know that the shocked sensation I felt was only due to having been with Painter for two years, and his growth and development have been somewhat analog to me. Things slowly change, day by day, and you don’t notice so much until you see an old picture. But it still catches me off guard when I note this:

and then look at this one, taken on his second birthday.




This has occured during the time I’ve had this blog.

Being a father is both incredible and completely mundane at the same time. I love it. It’s like finding a buck laying on the ground, but every time you leave the house. And I get at least another 16 years of it (or until I get outmoded by his more interesting friends, somewhere in the vacinity of junior high). Fuck, I hope this next decade doesn’t go by too fast. I’m digging every minute of this.

Of course it will. And so will I. And so will you.

So for now, I get to hang out with my little man and my wonderful Maisy, most days, and write novels and poetry, and publish and revise and do most of the things I like doing, and I can even feel generally good about it. I’m ugly and broke, but that’s never really hindered me with these things.

I hope I see this the same way in hindsight, much later, and remember what a lucky piece of shit I was.