Digitalis Dreaming

Stories of glamour - overnight in Central Park

2012-02-13T12:41:00.000-08:00

Another request I got was for stories 'from the front', as it were.

I apologize in advance for not making much sense here - I've been up for a few days. (How's that for a glamorous example of what working in film and theater is like?)

One of my least favorite aspects is often dealing with weather.

In this case, setting up and tearing down a fashion show in Central Park in February. It was 20 degrees. The first day, I wore two sets of long underwear under jeans. Wind tore right through all of it - I felt like I had forgotten to put on pants at all.

So I went out and bought a pair of waterproof snow pants instead of sleeping.

We did an overnight, outdoors, in 20 degree weather. The drinking water was slush, it snowed, the cables were frozen, and I got windburn. Ahhh, showbiz. Highlights of the evening included sophomoric commentary about frozen cables (you could hold them out up to four feet from your body, and they'd be straight and stiff - not good for one inch diameter electrical cable, but great for dick jokes) and deconstructing Chapterhouse Dune while waiting for a truck to arrive.

So, that's a reality around fashion week. 40 hours of labor in two days for a 13 minute show that's probably been forgotten by now.

The only funny story mentioning Auschwitz that I know

2012-02-09T09:51:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine's grandmother is a survivor. She's an amazing, tough little lady.

Who is not very fond of her son in law. He complains, often, about anything you could imagine.

When he complains, she often compares the minor troubles of making a life in the US to the hardships she went through, indicating that he should probably man up and deal.

One day, he had the following outburst.

"Auschwitz, Auschwitz, Auschwitz! I get it already! Just because it's not as bad, doesn't mean our problems aren't real. I'm sick of hearing about the damned camp!"

She drew herself up to her entire four foot nine frame, wagged a bony finger in his face and said: 'I survived Auschwitz. I survived torture. I survived starvation."

"But I ain't gonna survive YOU!"

Best argument ender EVER.

Sometimes this is just how I feel

2012-01-27T15:38:00.001-08:00

window freaky3 copy, a photo by digitalis_vitae on Flickr.

Like I'm in a dark room, but the world outside is too bright and feels kind of unreal.

after the fire

2012-01-27T02:46:00.001-08:00

after the fire, a photo by digitalis_vitae on Flickr.

...A friend's house burnt down. That's all for today. (Everyone is fine.)

I didn't blog Monday, but I have an excuse!

2012-01-24T22:26:00.000-08:00

Excuse as follows - I was in the office of my favorite producer re-editing reality show sizzle reels. Fingers crossed that we hook one. We've had a great deal of passing interest, but so far no solid bites. Sigh.

The other thing I've been up to (besides brain eating headaches and uselessness inducing insomnia) is researching how to write a grant proposal. Conclusion: writing a proposal is a whole lot like writing a book report. I feel like I'm back in third grade.

The scary bits are the other research. Or frustrating. Yeah, frustrating. Finding what grants you may or may not be eligible for, and the pages of criteria are farking daunting. (Farking is not a real word. But I'm using it anyway.)

My adventures searching for a real grant writer to do this instead were...interesting. The big guns were either way too expensive (yeah, the really good ones charge up front fees that make me question my career choices), or far more interested in broader social issues projects.

The smaller guns were mostly useless. They ranged from people who had never gotten funding/never written a proposal but they got an A in high school English class, to people who's correspondence was so mind blowingly awful that I wondered if they could write their own names correctly within three tries. And yes, the ones that couldn't spell or construct a sentence wanted money. Some of them, a lot of money. I do wonder if they get it. More likely, someone told them what a great writer they were in an elementary school class some time ago, and they have a huge reality disconnect.

So fuck it. I'm doing the grant proposals myself. At least I can write my own name. And I got straight Os on those third grade book reports. So I'm hoping that something I did in elementary school will have a direct correlation to something I'm doing $^#%$% years later. (That one is a word. Just not one I care to share.)

Some of the following posts will be my continuing adventures in grant proposals, how my kitty mood swings from adorable to incredible asshole in seconds, and how I still don't want to wear pants.

Why I don't edit or proofread these blogs.

2012-01-21T22:14:00.000-08:00

Every work of fiction, every piece of text you expect an audience to pay for should have an editor. Not just your mother/cousin/English teacher, but a bone fide, knows-what-they're-doing, kick butt editor.

That said, I don't even proofread this blog for errors. Let completely alone edit for content, or logic.

That may seem horribly lazy or counterproductive, or a thousand other negative things, and you're probably right.

This is why: I have the most evil inner editor on Earth.

Every writer has one; that little person living in your head that makes you go back and check the spelling, polish your dialogue until it gleams, questions whether or not the chosen word is just right for the situation or not. Usually, this creature is not a bad thing.

Mine is a hellion. A dominatrix with six inch steel blade heels that will settle for no less than absolute perfection in my fiction. That will have me reading the entire dictionary and thesaurus for the absolute right word - no exceptions or substitutions allowed.

This is a bad thing. She is not quiet as I write the first draft of anything. Rather, she stands behind me, one flashing silvery heel buried in my shoulder, and twists every time I mistype a word, wonder about spelling, or can't think of that perfect adjective. The slightest interruption? My fragile bubble of writing is shattered like crystal on concrete, and no amount of yelling or meditation will get it back. The rest of my writing for the day is shot. I've kept going after that break. That infuriating distraction that no normal person can understand, where the page has vanished, my characters cavort around me, and words flow like champagne.

At those times, I write words that are sometimes so beautiful that I can't believe they came from me. The words outside of inspiration are insipid pap, bland soldiers plodding along through the waist deep muck of mediocrity. It happened just now. I try not to snap, because it makes me seem mad. In both senses. Perhaps I am.

I don't edit or proof these for two reasons. The first, is that this blog is a conscious effort to try and get that inner editor to shut the hell up for a while so I can produce, rather than spending three days building, tearing down, and reconstructing the perfect paragraph. That is not an exaggeration. This bitch is evil.

The second, is my lack of confidence with my own writing, which has to do with the inner editor. That's why she's so strong, of course. She wants me to make sure that each of these posts is pristine. Perfect and error free. As a human, there is no such thing. Therefore, if left to her devices, I would never even finish these posts. There would be no blog, I would just keep revising forever.

I do hope, that as I continue this daily exercise, I shall be able to use what I've learned here in my fiction writing. And hopefully be able to work through those well meant interruptions without flying into a frustration induced mini rage. (Non well meant interruptions are exempt - I can still get pissed off about them.)

I feel like a failure, and quantum physics of light (as per request)

2012-01-20T09:03:00.000-08:00

My illustration class, that I'd worked myself up into a tizzy over, has be cancelled due to low registration. I can't express how disappointed I am about this - but that is not going to make for a fun or interesting blog. Hadn't been back to school in years, and feeling the creative rut and winter blahs.

And the weevil headache. Still. With any luck, it'll consume the pain centers of my brain and I won't have to feel it soon.

My buddy Shadoe requested a post relating quantum physics to lighting on set, which is a great poser. (I could have taken the easy way out - FireSign Theater - but why start now?)

The allegories are probably going to be tenuous at best, but I'll give this a go. Might as well start with a mini science lesson. This is all really basic layman stuff, so feel free to skip it if I'm boring.

Quantum mechanics is fun science for the geektastic laymen like myself because its a relatively new set of studies, and some of the mysteries are intriguing. I won't pretend to understand the majority of the math (never got past Calc III - I warned you that I'm not that sharp), but we can hit some of the basics.

What is a quanta, anyway?

A 'quanta' in layman's terms (the ones I can understand) are basically the minimum amount of physical interaction of any particle. For quantum mechanics, this usually refers to the energy of an electron - the teeny particles that whirligig on the outside of an atom.

Metaphorically, this could relate to the amount that I care about a film after running a 16 hour day when production refuses to provide a second meal.

In actuality, I only deal with this at the most rudimentary of levels as an electrician. While I don't think about this much on set, electricity is, at it's most basic level, the effect of excited free electrons attracting and repelling each other - induced by agitating them through some other power source, typically a generator. Couloumb's law, the Leyden jar, all that fun stuff, if you want to dig deeper. When on set, I'm much more concerned about balancing power and voltage drops, so this is kind of fun for me to write about (thanks Shadoe!).

Ahem, moving on.

For the purposes of this post, let's skip Planck and head right to Einstein. (Planck was more about thermal transfers and radiation, rather than the next theory, that relates more.)

The great light wave/particle weirdness (not really a debate) kind of starts with the discovery of photons. A photon is like a single, teeny packet of light.

This again, isn't something we think about much on set, but if electricity didn't work this way, we wouldn't have lightbulbs. Thank Heinrich Hertz, who discovered that you could get light from metal. Light bulbs were being developed all over the world before this, but I feel like it was Hertz and Lenard, who came up with the fact that frequency of emission, rather than intensity being responsible for light emission, helped make the lightbulb a practical invention rather than an interesting novelty that both ate tons of power and was hot enough to melt your face off if you got too close.

I'm tangenting again, sorry.

Anyhow. A dude named Louis de Broglie grabbed onto that wave/particle debate, and ran with it. While light is a series of particles, those particles behave like a wave. Without that, we wouldn't have diffraction (the way light can bend, as well as split into colors) and lighting tools would probably be very different than they are. Lenses like Fresnels, for example, wouldn't 'soften' a beam the way they do, and a great many other tools like gels just wouldn't function in the same way. While learning the theory doesn't change how light works, it does give us a greater understanding of how to manipulate light, and methods for developing new tools, or fashioning low rent versions of existing ones.

If light didn't bend, for example, reflectors wouldn't work.

Another tool that takes advantage of the wave theory is called a cookaloris, or cookie. (I don't know where the name comes from, and haven't been able to find a satisfactory answer.) This is a solid piece of material - usually wooden or metal for those with a budget, I've made them from cardboard - that creates shapes when placed in front of a light. One of the most interesting details of these, is how you can 'focus' them. The farther they are from a light source, the clearer and sharper the edges of the shape. Closer, and you get a softer, less dense shadow with fuzzier edges.

This can be explained with the double slit experiment, performed by Thomas Young and Augustin Fresnel (eh? eh? There he is! In case you were wondering where the Fresnel lens came from) in 1827. You can read up in detail on your own - basically, they discovered a diffraction pattern in light waves when objects (in this case, walls with slits) were placed in front of an object. More objects also create further diffusion, resulting in layers of harder and softer shadows. I use this sort of thing all the time at work.

Honestly, Shroedinger and Heisenberg's principles, interesting as they are, can only come into play in the most metaphorical of senses when talking about film lighting. Mostly the effect that I don't know whether or not this next gig will suck giant donkey balls until I get there or not. Ahh, uncertainty and the cat in the box applied to freelancing.

Wave function collapse, on the other hand, is integral to making light look the way it does. As a light wave travels through the air, those teeny particles encounter resistance. That resistance causes the wave function to collapse and the particles to disperse, meaning the light doesn't go on forever. In industry lighting, we call that 'fall off', basically where the cast light begins to dim, and finally disperses completely. Without this happening, we couldn't create dramatic scenes with high intensity key lights and deep shadows.

Some of the other things, like electrical fields, are practically important for safety reasons - like not starting fires and electrocuting actors and co workers. While you don't have to understand the deeper math involved, having a basic understanding of how electricity works helps ensure the safety of the set.

A quick example would be that using a carrier (most typically an extension cord) that's too small for the voltage draw can start a fire. Instead of those excited particles running all the way to the lighting unit, they 'flood' the carrier, escaping in the form of heat. Too much of that, and you can melt the cable, or your co worker.

So, that's my attempt to relate quantum physics theory with practical, on set use. I hope you enjoyed it.

So I'm trying to blog every day

2012-01-19T11:13:00.000-08:00

And this is the beginning of the attempt. I've opened this page with absolutely no idea of what I'm going to write about, so it'll be a bit stream of consciousness (that's the highbrow phrase for 'I don't know what to say so I'm just going to babble a bunch of random shit and post it').

My big fear is that I'm not that interesting, and I don't have that much to talk about. What could I possibly do or say every day to keep you guys entertained for five minutes? Back when I used to babysit, it was much easier - I had kids who were into one thing, and could be entertained for weeks with the same video tape.

...this is going well...

Anyway, things on my mind right now.

I'm taking an illustration course at SVA this semester. Its been about a decade since I was in school, so I was nervous about that. Currently, not having a list of needed supplies, not knowing if I can afford them, is taking a back seat to the fact that the school hasn't scheduled a room for the class yet, so I have no idea where I'm going on Monday.

Yeah, the class starts in four days, and I don't know WHERE. WTF. I'd forgotten about that particular bit of college joy over the years. I'm remembering it now. Hoo boy, am I ever. I'm the kind of person who wants all that information the week before.

The hot water in my building isn't currently working, so I can't have a shower. This has not happened here before. Not fun. I am also not the sort of person who loves exhilarating plunges into crystalline mountain streams while some invisible dude yodels into brisk mountain air. First, that shit is COLD. Second, who the hell is that creepy yodeling dude? I don't want him looking at me. What if he's actually invisible, and not just over the next mountain range? Invisible yodeling creepers are way scarier than the garden variety kid at the end of the block with binoculars.

This is why I shouldn't watch regular tv. The commercials are way too scary.

I've had a headache for three days straight. Which sucks. And I try not to whine about it, but trying to get any proper fiction type writing done while there's a weevil behind your right ear trying to bore into your innocent, unprotected brain matter is nigh impossible. Then I have guilt and anxiety about not getting anything done, plus a brain weevil.

Anyway.

What do you guys want me to write about? I've written about writing, photography, film, life on set, and personal junk; cool stuff I find, and stuff that just annoys me. What do you like to read about the most? I'll try to do more of that.

Oh %&$^, where do I live again?

2012-01-04T07:52:00.000-08:00

This happens to me every time I have to fill out a form.

Over the summer, Boyfriend and I celebrated not having to move from the glorious apartment that we found last August. It was a big deal for both of us. Since we've lived together, we moved every single year. I moved around a lot before that.

Still trying to wrap my head around the idea of 'home' and setting up a space. The first two or three places that I moved into after college, my roommates and I would fix up and decorate, only to have it then sold out from underneath us, or an unscrupulous landlord suddenly jack the rent up by double.

Now that I'm thinking about, I've probably moved at least once a year every year since 1998. Holy crap. Didn't really do the math until now. That equals roughly a fuckton of different living spaces; some with roommates, some not; some houses, some apartments; everything from what felt like a timeshare on part of a bathroom in Manhattan, to a five or six bedroom Victorian house with one of those octagonal side-tower deals.

It makes a little more sense now, that I've been having trouble settling in and making any big home purchases.

The other problem, is that I often forget where I live.

Not the actual place, per se. But the addresses meld together into taffy like amalgams of actual places in my brain, leading mail to end up at places I lived at three years ago, addresses I've never been to, or best, places that don't actually exist. I'll put the street number of one place, the street name of another, and a zip code of a third (or a zip code misremembered or dislexified so that it doesn't exist at all).

I had that happen again this morning, as I was signing up for a class that I can't really afford, but more importantly, can't afford not to take any longer.

Its a weird, sinking feeling, when you try to fill out the address lines on the form, and can't remember what they are. (Though not as bad as realizing that you've just written alpha numeric pudding of several different ones, and have to ask HR for the paperwork back because you've just managed to screw up your own address...)

I messaged Boyfriend in a panic. 'WHERE DO I LIVE? AAAAAAGGGGH!'

He hasn't responded yet. Maybe he thinks I'm screwing with him. I would, but this time its serious. I was looking around for mail, but I was actually trying to be productive this morning and do some cleaning, so I threw out all the junk mail.

Let this be a lesson - never clean the house, because then you won't know where you live.

The 'I'm still five' edition, where I have a case of the 'why'.

2012-01-02T13:35:00.000-08:00

First of all, happy New Year, everybody!

Boyfriend has the day off, so we made grand plans to do some major housecleaning.

Umm, yeah. As of four p.m. today, we have assembled the last of the new bookshelves (more on that tomorrow), extracted six cases of books, and watched an episode of Dr. Who. All while still in our pajamas. Because that's how we roll on days off - gnarly and unshowered, ready for an emergency nap attack. Which totally happens.

Anyway, I'm craving chocolate cake. Knowing that any bakery worth going to is probably closed today comes second to the distasteful idea of having to take a shower and actually get dressed. But we do have cake mix. WOOOO.

(Yes, I do understand the logic gap in laziness that requires me to bake rather than put on pants. Its just one of those things.)

There's this recipe for rum scotch cake that I absolutely love. Its super dense, moist, chocolately nirvana. If anyone wants to try it:
http://allrecipes.com/recipe/chocolate-rum-cake/detail.aspx

I don't bother with the glaze or the nuts - who puts nuts in chocolate cake? You put more chocolate. Duh. I'm out of chips, but I do have a chocolate bar that I'm willing to sacrifice for the cause. What I do not have, is instant pudding mix.

In the interest of 'no pants Monday', I've started a search about what in the pudding mix is so important to the cake. Apparently, it makes the cake more moist. But no one seems interested in WHY. So far, I've spent about an hour on research trying to figure out what it is that makes this ingredient so magical. So far, its either saltpeter or animal bones, or some other archaic ingredient that I don't really understand. Boyfriend thinks we should just suck it up and get dressed. I totally think we should try making saltpeter in the kitchen, which he says doesn't even go in food. Whatever.

Boyfriend says we'll blow up the kitchen. I still think that beats putting on pants, but I think I'm going to get outvoted. The cat is usually neutral, but boyfriend is bigger than I am.

Maybe I'll just go to the grocery store in my pajamas. They're all festive, with champagne glasses and confetti on them - totally in the spirit of the day. And it will still be No Pants Monday. I win.

The Hills Are Burning: Know The Rules.

2011-12-20T12:48:00.000-08:00

The Hills Are Burning: Know The Rules.:

'via Blog this'

It drives me crazy - so many freelancers don't know their rights, and let themselves be bullied by unscrupulous producers. Labor law is actually on your side, guys. Protect yourself and your crew.

Freelancers: When to give it away?

2011-12-10T20:22:00.000-08:00

This is something each person has to figure out on their own, and we've been discussing it at work.

When/how to provide your services and expertise for nothing?

The simple answer: when its worth it.

What does that mean?

To me, it means when either the time involved is minimal, or the positives for building and growth far exceed the layout.

Case one happened to me this afternoon.

One of the volunteer ushers at a theater I work at also teaches stage craft at a local, very under funded high school. He popped into the booth while we were waiting for the house to open, in order to ask some questions about gobos (those pattern things that go into lights).

The projections are quite large in this house, due to the size of the throw. He wanted to know how big the patterns themselves were. (About two inches in diameter). He also wanted to know about costs. I gave him some information about making your own safely, that would also be really cheap. He was thrilled, and talked to me about possibly talking to the kids at some point as a guest lecturer.

Cool.

This was all of five minutes of my time, where I was sitting around chatting with my coworkers anyway. Always worthwhile.

Case two, is much more involved on my end.

I shot, and am in the process of editing, a really nifty music video for a non profit group. (Remember kids! Non profit is a charitable designation, NOT a 'you ain't gettin' paid because our wanna be rap star's mom won't spend money'.)

They were a ton of fun to work with, and the post is being done on my schedule, with no clear deadline. These two things are very important to me for something like this - if a gig is a hassle, then its not worth doing for nothing. If there's a time frame, particularly an insane one, they better be paying.

Three is an ongoing adventure with a long time friend. He directs, I shoot, and vice versa. We borrow each other's gear. We also hire each other whenever possible. I love working with him, and paid or not, we make some cool stuff. Days are always smooth and short. See how that works?

You've probably gotten THOSE emails - 'We have no money and we're making an epic that's going to x film festival (yeah, that's not a guarantee, ever) and we need this impossible thing done by next week for nothing'. No.

NONONONONONONONO.

You, no money people, are in no position to make demands of anyone. Plus, I've made the mistake of agreeing. A few times (I was that desperate kid once). They have all been, ego ridden, demanding, and usually obnoxious, as well as delusional about the initial quality of the project. None of these was ever worth putting on my reel, so they were a complete loss. Steer clear of these. If they really have anything worthwhile, they'll find a way to get money for it. And if they do, you won't see a dime if you agree to work for nothing. Unless they have something of real, tangible value to trade, walk away whistling.

In a nutshell: Is the project fun? Are the people awesome? Is it a real non profit, or some jerkwad who's purposely misusing that title? Am I going to walk away with something of tangible value?

That's how I decide whether or not a project gets my skills for free.

A little more on tangible value - is there something missing from my portfolio, or that I need to practice, that this gig will help with? If so, and the time investment isn't too large, I might consider that as well.

How do you decide?

stoney321: LDS Sparkledammerung IS HERE!

2011-11-29T22:35:00.000-08:00

stoney321: LDS Sparkledammerung IS HERE!:

'via Blog this'

Written? Kitten!

2011-11-26T09:03:00.000-08:00

Written? Kitten!:

'via Blog this'

For every x number of words, you get rewarded with a new kitten picture.

Write or Die by Dr Wicked

2011-10-30T11:58:00.000-07:00

Write or Die by Dr Wicked:

It sounds rather extreme, and maybe it is. A tool for those of us (I'm looking at Me, Self...) that can spend an entire day crafting and re crafting a single paragraph in the futile search for perfection. Or perhaps there's a hidden fear that the finished work won't be any good, so we're loathe to get the damn thing done. Or end up with a million word opus.

Anyhow, this nifty little program (free online, ten bucks for the desktop edition) is designed to help you keep putting words on the page. If you get distracted, or agonize over a word for too long, the screen turns red and an alarm sounds, in normal mode. I believe in Kamikaze, your words start unwriting themselves. I'm too chicken to try it, even for random words just filling a page.

Since I signed up for NaNoRiMo again this year, I need something to shut up the inner editor. My goal for writing is 1500 words in a day. I suspect a third of them will be readable, but I need to get into the habit. For those people without evil inner editors or the attention span of a chipmunk, this bit of software is pretty useless.

For people like me, it might just be the bit of a push that they need to get them moving. I'm going to try it for a month. If it does the trick, I'll thank the creator by purchasing the software.

Here goes nuthin...

I found the picture of the two Jack Sparrows!!

2011-10-28T14:09:00.000-07:00

OMG I found it!!!

Remember that story I told about watching two Jack Sparrows get into a fist fight? I FOUND THE PHOTOS. Well, not of the fist fight, but the moments before. I can't make this stuff up.

Hope this makes your day, they certainly made mine.

Porn Star Kareoke - How did I not know about this???

2011-10-26T17:30:00.000-07:00

How do you make a tacky thing awesome?

Multiplication. It works for anything, really. One garden gnome, tacky. An army of creepy, smiling plaster constructs staring vapidly at the neighbors from your front yard = kind of awesome.

A single cheap stuffed animal carnival prize jammed into the corner of a teen girl's bedroom is just kind of sad. However, sewing a hundred of these little things onto a suit and roller skating down Main Street, USA sounds pretty amazing. (Disclaimer: I have not done this. Yet. I don't have the carnival prizes. If anyone wants to hook me up with them, I WILL do this. And take pictures. And post them here.)

Another great thing I didn't know about until recently was the customization of My Little Ponies. You might remember these smiling little rubber horse shaped toys with nylon hair and a graphic on their butt - I had a collection myself when I was a kid. Until I discovered Breyer horses, but that's another story. (Yes, I was a little girl obsessed with horses. Imagine that.)

Dragons, The Borg, oh heck - pretty much any pop icon you can imagine. Who knew this was a thing? Aren't you glad you read this now? (Proof that one, anything can be elevated to an art form if the creator is good enough at it, and two - you can make a living doing anything.)

But that's not what I wanted to talk about (remember, I warned you about those tangents...).

What I wanted to talk about is potentially the most amazing marriage of tacky that has ever been conceived. Porn stars doing karaoke. I shit you not. Personally, I feel like this is the true spirit of Los Angeles wrapped up, packaged, and presented with a cheap satin and lace neon pink bow. And I'm excited. I must see this before I die, so be aware, LA friends - I'm going to beg to go to this.

Porn stars sing at Sardos.

I think this will be an experience on par with watching the two Jack Sparrows duke it out on the Walk of Fame. I think I'm starting to miss LA.

Buying with intent, and the excitement of it all.

2011-10-18T18:40:00.000-07:00

I purchased a comforter cover. A brand new, custom printed comforter cover from DENY designs. It came yesterday, and I've been excited about it for a solid 24 hours now.

Which led to a bit of navel gazing: why on Earth is this blanket cover such a thrill?

It finally hit me.

Every other bit of furnishing that I've ever owned has been one of these:

Free. (Either discards from relations, friends moving, or clever curbside rescue. I sleep on Chevy Chase's old mattress - but that's another story for another time.)

Thrift/yardsale.

Semi disposable. You know the stuff. Plastic, cardboard, pressboard, usually found in big box discount stores, ubiquitous denizens of college dorm rooms; purchased with the understanding that once one graduates, that stuff will be replaced. Um. Some of my plastic drawers date to the college years.

If it weren't for the cat, much of my furniture would be inflatable. It's cheap, fuss resistant, and incredibly portable.

With the life I've led, that last bit used to be incredibly important - between travelling a great deal and moving about once a year, there's a lot to be said for not being tied down to a lot of nice furniture.

This summer marked the first one in over a decade that wasn't spent frantically shoving things into boxes, which in turn were crammed into my twelve year old hatchback to be carted to the next location. Not moving is a thrill in itself, and we celebrated. But it also marked a subtle, if deep change in our lives.

Roots. For the first time, we started thinking about chairs that didn't double as rubbermaid bins with fabric draped over them. But the thought of building a 'proper' home space, with decor, and thought, and (eek) money put into it, was more than a little off putting.

Our old comforter died. It was fairly horrid to begin with - some nasty synthetic fabric that pilled almost immediately, sewn together with what appeared to be fishing line, a pattern that would have felt at home in a 1970's log cabin, lumpily filled with some polyester spin that did absolutely nothing but remind one of how cold the room actually was, and think about getting a new blanket the second that time and money have met.

We didn't actually know that it was sewn together with clear, stiff, nylon 'thread', until it started unraveling. The cat helped. So in addition to the pilling, fading, and other attributes, the blanket now sported lots of little pokey bits that had a supernatural power in regard to finding sensitive flesh.

The new comforter itself was a sort of impulse - we found it on clearance after a mark down, and it came with two pillows! So I gulped and paid for it.

It changed the whole bed - suddenly, we felt like our little sleeping alcove had been transported to some luxury B&B. So I highly recommend not waiting as long as we did on a new blanket.

However, it didn't come with a cover - that proper comforters even needed one came as a bit of a surprise.

So, began the quest for a cover to protect the new investment. This would be the second non essential purchase related to building a home that I've ever made, and I was determined to do it right. For weeks, I scoured every place I could find. These things were either horrible, or insanely expensive.

Seduced by thread count, frazzled by reviews, I came upon the Deny site randomly after weeks of searching. They had some nice looking designs, not too expensive...then I saw it.

Custom design - you send them an image, they put it on the item of your choice! If I was going to do this 'making a home' thing, I'll do it exactly how I want, and see exactly what I want to see. Honestly, if I'm paying anything above a thrift store price, I just can't settle.

So I gulped, paid, and waited.

The results are even cooler than anything I'd imagined:

For the first time in my entire life, I'm turning a living space into a home. I'm decorating! Oh yes, there will be more of this in the coming year.

New Tumblr page, and stuff

2011-10-03T21:04:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy time, and as usual, I inflict most of it upon myself.Firstly, I got myself one of those new fangled tumblr things.http://digitalis-vitae.tumblr.com/

Don't worry, this blog will stay right here. Even better, it will be focused more on the writer end of the artistic process. (That's what I'm currently designating my Rorschach pattern of wank - it sounds much more impressive that way, doesn't it?)

Tumblr is prettier for hosting photos, so all of my discussions about photography, photo postings, and visual epherma will happen there from now on, leaving this space free to talk about making word strings that evoke emotions. I'm trying to be organized about this stuff for once.

There's also a new Facebook group, Authors Helping Authors. It's dedicated to educating writers about scams, and helping the victims of writing scams - hence the moniker of 'Authors' rather than 'writers'.

Um, what else. Theater has been busy, and most of the 'net news has been dedicated to Occupy Wall Street. It's unfortunate that major news groups are now just corporate holdings, so all of the coverage has been from citizens like you and me

. I am planning to explore the scene. Just like Spider, only with hair.This protest is probably the biggest civilian political action that we'll see in the states in our lifetime. It's something that I'm not surprised to see, though I am shocked that it took this long.

We've been legislated into a controlled state, our rights stripped from us one strand at a time for years, but creature comforts have kept the masses distracted for a long time.It's finally gotten bad enough that the public is pissed. The normal channels (voting, town hall) are so mired in kickbacks and bribery that they're no longer effective.

The public is tired of being treated like chattel - of having their homes, employment, and opportunities to make a life siphoned away, that they will no longer be distracted by shiny toys, shiny celebrities, shiny lies disguised as political rhetoric. Catchphrases and double speak that ultimately mean only that a politician is jumping from one pocket to the next.

I'm not usually political on this blog. But I'm inspired. And angry. Inspired by the thousands of people making noise. Angry that so many people still swallow the lines they've been fed.Wake up, Tea Party. You are not part of a grass roots organization. Never were. It's a scheme funded by some of the biggest corporate players - the Koch brothers. They sent corporate shills into town centers to gain support for a 'movement' with catchphrases that mean nothing, and the goal is to dump even more money into BILLIONAIRES' pockets.

They hold up teachers, fire fighters, bus drivers as the enemy, for making a living wage with health benefits. Guess what? Teachers generally get paid crap. I can't count how many times I've heard 'well, city worker x makes $100,000 a year, I wish I was rich like that'. Wake up, dumb ass. That bus driver makes a salary like that on a base pay rate of $14.00 an hour, by working 100 hours a week.

It's a distraction. A shiny statement to take attention off the CEO who gets a five million dollar bonus for running a company into the ground. That's the scum you need to pay attention to - not the guy who never sees his wife and children, overworked at a menial job.

Please, please.

Wake the fuck up.

First Paragraph Review - The Smoke in Death's Eye

2011-09-25T18:22:00.001-07:00

I must be mad. Or have indulged in some bad fish, because I'm at it again.

That's right gang - the first paragraph reviews are back. For a little while, at least. I don't think they'll ever be a regular feature again, but if you or someone you know wants to send me one (this time including screenplays!), I'll do it. Probably not right away, but I'll do it.

Anyhow. The format will stay the same. First, the page as I received it (forgiveness for copy/paste directly into email). Then, the page with commentary.

Without further ado:

The lights, a mixture of yellow and neon blue, splash evil shadows against the walls. I liked that. I lived in those shadows, the hum of the Smoke, a never ending presence.

My target leaned against a scarlet red spinner as he scanned the traffic in the air waiting for his clients. A pusher of the worst kind, he sold 24 hour addiction to the net, the matrix, whatever the mutual illusion we call cyberspace really is, but I watched him because he possessed knowledge I needed. I had to be careful though; he hacked the local cams with his built-in wetware.

Despite the poor lighting I could see him clearly. My TacScreen feed streamed to me by my built-in A.I., Artificial Neurological Analyser, ANA for short, to a chip resting against the back of my retinas. The TacScreen, glowing pale green created the effect of being projected in front of my vision showed he was much bigger than me, at least 6 foot tall, but sickly looking somehow. He wore retro style jeans and a fake denim jacket cut off at the arms with no t-shirt showing off the body art on his torso of a skull and cross bones which glowed fluorescent green in the dark. He wore jump boots fashionably unfastened with his jeans tucked at the front of his boots. His name was Demetrez of mixed race. His dyed blond hair, cut in a Mohican and long at the back, sat atop his face framing pale grey eyes which I assume he was not born with.

And now, the commentary.

The lights, a mixture of yellow and neon blue, splash evil shadows against the walls. I liked that. I lived in those shadows, the hum of the Smoke, a never ending presence.

(Ok, the first sentence bothers me for a specific reason that most people might not catch. Additive color theory. Yellow light plus blue light equals white light. Light splashes light, not shadows. So not only are there no projected shadows, the colors chosen would combine to create pure, white light. Many people are only familiar with subtractive (pigment based) color theory, so even a sharp editor might miss this one.

I have mixed feelings about the jump from present in the first sentence to past in the next two. The last sentence feels like it has extra words and unneeded commas.)

My target leaned against a scarlet red spinner as he scanned the traffic in the air waiting for his clients.

(Things I like: the casual use of target, and the offhand comment about the traffic being 'in the air' are great for indicating early and well that we're in science fiction, and our protag may not be the nicest guy. I stumbled on 'scarlet red'. Does scarlet come in any other color?)

A pusher of the worst kind, he sold 24 hour addiction to the net, the matrix, whatever the mutual illusion we call cyberspace really is, but I watched him because he possessed knowledge I needed. I had to be careful though; he hacked the local cams with his built-in wetware.

(Story wise, this works for me so far. We've got bits of awkwardness with the sentence structure. My other confusion is 'selling addiction'. How would selling an addiction, rather than the drug, work? Were this a hard science or present day/real world story, it would bother me more. Maybe this universe has a drug that mimics addiction for some reason? But why? Or maybe the wording is just off. Were I paying to read this, I'd need to know very soon.)

(LOVE this. I've seen way too many lousy stories with the 'even though it was dark, I could see' bit. The why immediately follows the statement, which is great. There's more stumbling over the name - the Artificial Intelligence Artificial comes off as a little silly, as if the writer weren't sure of the term. I'm not sure why a visual aide of this type would need to have it's own consciousness, which is AI. I'd recommend dropping the AI portion of the description, unless this neural net functions as the wise cracking sidekick projecting snarky comments directly to the protag's brain. More awkward comma placement - this will need a good edit, but shows a lot of promise.)

He wore retro style jeans and a fake denim jacket cut off at the arms with no t-shirt showing off the body art on his torso of a skull and cross bones which glowed fluorescent green in the dark.

(Eeek. Run on sentence, for one. The second thought is info-dump. A small one, but how important is this list, and what part is significant to the protagonist? If this outfit is normal, how much would he notice? I do like the glowing tattoo.)

He wore jump boots fashionably unfastened with his jeans tucked at the front of his boots. His name was Demetrez of mixed race.

(His name was 'of mixed race'? Somehow, I think this is more awkwardness. We've also been told he's wearing jeans twice - not needed. Personally, I think the second mention works better, and the first should be dumped. As always, these parenthesis are just my opinion.)

His dyed blond hair, cut in a Mohican and long at the back, sat atop his face framing pale grey eyes which I assume he was not born with.

(I'm guessing that this is a spelling hiccup, unless there's a new hairstyle. The Native American tribe that the haircut is named after is Mohawk. Completely different. It could sprout on top of his head, but the 'atop his face' makes me think of one wicked unibrow. This whole bit could use rewriting. I like the mention of the eye thing, though I'd want an explanation fairly soon.)

Thank you, Jorge Salgado - Reyes, for offering your first page, and I hope this is helpful to you.

FreakOutNation » Imagine if Tea Partiers Were Treated like This: Wall Street Protesters Maced, Arrested, Tased

2011-09-24T14:48:00.000-07:00

FreakOutNation » Imagine if Tea Partiers Were Treated like This: Wall Street Protesters Maced, Arrested, Tased:

'via Blog this'

The macing, arrest, and tazing of peaceful protesters. A lot of them.

What's going on?

CameraSim simulates a digital SLR camera - SLR Photography Demystified

2011-09-19T13:02:00.000-07:00

CameraSim simulates a digital SLR camera - SLR Photography Demystified:

'via Blog this'

This is a brilliant little tool for exploring what all those manual settings on your camera are, and actually DO. Extra points for the 'use a tripod' button. (Generally speaking, it's wise to use a tripod ANY time you're using a longer lens - I often don't when I'm willing to experiment with 30 different shots, and there's no client to worry about. Your mileage may vary.)

BBC News - Severed head of patron saint of genital disease on sale

2011-09-08T10:00:00.000-07:00

BBC News - Severed head of patron saint of genital disease on sale:

'via Blog this'

I couldn't come up with a better caption than this. Now my brain is plenty weird, and I come up with strangeness that makes people in the grocery store suddenly remember that they needed to be in a different aisle (am I the only one who's chased my roomates around the store with a genuine, whole cow tongue?), but real life sometimes throws me such a great dose of WTF, that I'm all 'you win, world - I couldn't make this one up if I tried'.

This is such a time. Not only did I not know there WAS such a saint, some lucky person could own this guy's preserved head.

The Significant Other is damn lucky that I'm both broke and that this is already over, or I'd totally greet him at the door with the severed head of the saint of GD. I'm still kinda pissed that I missed this auction. Who needs food? I NEED the preserved head of the saint of genital disease.

And then I'd stand outside the local clinic with it, offering Hail Herpes and cleansing via prayer to the head (and all the dumb jokes that go with it). Donations of a financial nature welcome.

UPDATE: This is the chat conversation I just had with the SO about it -

SO: so, how much did the head go for?

me: expected to go for between six hundred and 1200 dollars
I would have done it.

SO: almost seem worth it
seems even

me: That's the only kind of useless item I would have done it for
SAINT HEAD OMG
I didn't know you could own such things
now I want one
I love you Catholics, making a billion saints so I have the opportunity to own the severed head of one of them.

SO: there was even a dog that was suppose to be a saint

SO: To have a real sanctified alter in a Roman Catholic Church, it needs to have bones from a saint in it. Not all of the bones, sometimes just a piece or a finger joint

me: dog saints? gotta have a saint? You guys are nuts.
PIECES OF SAINTS? Now that's just gross.

(Yes, functionally I'm five. Parts of dead people are gross yet compelling.)

Symphony of Science: the Quantum World!

2011-09-07T13:52:00.000-07:00

Symphony of Science: the Quantum World!:

'via Blog this'

Autotune is not always evil. I've enjoyed Autotune The News off and on for irreverent silliness, but this may be my new favorite tune. Ever.

The Empowerment Plan

2011-08-25T13:36:00.000-07:00

The Empowerment Plan:

'via Blog this'

This is probably the coolest social action project I've ever seen.

More 'stranger than fiction' - true stories from my otherwise boring life

2011-08-03T12:01:00.000-07:00

Since people seemed to enjoy my Jack Sparrow fistfight story so much, I figured I'd start sharing a few more 'gems'.

This is an oldie.

When I was a kid, my parents (specifically my mom) were travelling artisans. Mostly renaissance festivals, to be specific.

We trekked down to Florida one year to participate in a show at Vizcaya in Dade county. If you ever get a chance to visit, go. The show was a bust, but the scenery is breathtaking, and it was worth the trip just for that.

Anyway, you're here for a story, not a travelogue.

Another artisan that we knew, let's call him Fred for the sake of protecting the innocent, was also there. Fred was a super fun guy, as long as you took his pathological lying with a large grain of salt. He always had entertaining stories and a gift for telling them.

One morning, Fred runs into our booth. He points toward the ocean, which we were set up next to.

"You wouldn't believe what I just saw!" Generally, no.

"An 80 year old Elvis impersonator playing The Cars on a Mandolin!"

Say what?

As we're trying to parse that statement into something that makes sense, the gentleman in question walks up the marble stairs from the water into our view. All activity ceased for a moment, as we stared in shock and admiration. That little old man wearing a spangled jumpsuit and playing for all he was worth will be embedded in my mind forever.

You go, mandolin Elvis.

The guts of a great book trailer

2011-08-02T11:18:00.000-07:00

Click the title of the post for some background information.

I chose this article to give you guys some idea of the amount of work and workflow required to create an awesome book trailer.

I can hear gasping and fainting right now about the prices. Yep, I realize that not all of you guys have that kind of money to put forth for your book trailer - but unless you have some skills of your own, or have a favors relationship with a great video creator, you may have to get creative in other ways.

A couple of the trailers I've posted previously were created by the writers, one paper cut out stop motion comes to mind.

Now look into the people you know and what they might be able to help you with. This fellow knew quite a few athletes, and had them perform doing what they did best. He didn't try to get them to monologue Shakespeare. I bet you know people who are amazing at something, and can use that for your book. Heck, I can imagine the time lapse footage of someone knitting being really awesome, for instance, and could be a great shot for a cozy mystery. (You do still have to light and frame the shot.)

Do you NEED pros? I'm shooting myself in the foot a little, as this is how I make my living...

For the quality above, yes. For a trailer that does it's job? You may not. Depends upon your approach. If you want something action packed and heavily stylized, finding a pro is probably your best bet. And a thought on performance and voice overs - find an actor or vo artist who's just starting out, but be sure they have some sort of reel. I can't tell you how many trailers I've seen with friends and family doing this, and it mostly doesn't work. You might have a friend or family member with unusual talent, just don't bank on it.

Of course, if you're just making a trailer for the hell of it, just as a fun activity, do whatever you like.

SUNNY GUY on Vimeo - I shot this

2011-08-02T10:05:00.000-07:00

SUNNY GUY on Vimeo

This is my first stop motion project. The second is in post now, and I must say - I LOVE the medium.

I wasn't really sure how much patience I'd have for the art form, as I'd heard it's notoriously slow and fussy.

It is - and suits my own exactitude and pickiness very well. Since every shot really is a still, you can muck with every frame of your movie!

Why, yes, I'm a gamer

2011-08-02T09:42:00.000-07:00

Boy, Games Sure are Getting Close to Movies: The ‘Bioshock Infinite’ Trailer - NoFilmSchool

Tags: GameTrailers.com, BioShock Infinite - E3 2011: Full 15-Minute Demo HD, PC Games, PlayStation 3, Xbox 360

Here's why. This is fifteen minutes of actual gameplay. They're calling games like this 'interactive movies', and the storytelling innovations get better every year. Inspiration is everywhere; this is just one of my sources.

Terry Pratchett - Official Website : Wyrd Stuff

2011-07-28T11:21:00.000-07:00

Terry Pratchett - Official Website : Wyrd Stuff

Terry Pratchett's 'Wee Free Men' is currently available to read on his website for FREE. DO IT DO IT DO IT.

If you have not had the pleasure of reading Sir Pratchett and exploring his unique fantasy world, this is a treat not to be missed.

Pratchett originally wrote 'Mort', the first novel in what became the Discworld series, as a parody of the serious fantasy genre. Discworld has since progressed into a 20(?) novel 'series' (in quotes because each novel works perfectly well as a stand alone) with well rounded characters the reader can care about, deep themes ranging from women in the military to Middle Eastern politics, all wrapped in a rollicking adventure with grace and humor, set at a page turning pace.

I'm always careful about buying one of these, because I'll be unable to tear myself away from it until it's finished.

Regretsy

2011-07-26T16:46:00.000-07:00

href="http://regretsy.com/>Regretsy Makes me happy.

It's like the worst of fan fiction on display, only for the crafting universe. Poorly constructed, often born of a mind that would give sane persons nightmares, these 'crafts' are the worst of the worst offerings on a site for all things handmade, Etsy (barring all of the retail items there, of course).

The mind doesn't boggle so much that there are people out there that are lousy craftsmen; not everyone's creative bent translates well through manual skill. What does give me pause is that people have put these things up for SALE. The equivalent of (often x rated) macaroni art on craft paper. And often at an exorbitant price point.

And I thought self delusion belonged only to us writer-types.

VIVA-LA-CRAP!

Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction

2011-07-24T11:18:00.000-07:00

It took me a little while to figure out how to get back to this blog.

I've been thinking about that 'write what you know' advice, and another level on which it often fails.

Real life experiences can sometimes be stranger than fiction, and more importantly, they don't have to make sense.

I visited the walk of fame in Hollywood a few years ago. Struggling actors dress up as costumed characters and busk for change from tourists in exchange for having their pictures taken. Some spots are considered 'prime', and there's a bit of competition for them, sometimes violent.

There was a person dressed in a spectacular Davey Jones (from Pirates) costume, and a fairly viable Jack Sparrow set up shop on one side of him. A few minutes later, another Jack appeared on his left. The Jacks glared at each other behind the scene stealing Davey (neither Jack was particularly good performance wise, and both were relying on the attention of the center performer). They began catcalling and harassing each other.

This escalated to fisticuffs after a little while.

That's right - in real life, I saw two Jack Sparrows trying to beat the crap out of each other while Davey Jones watched, shrugging and waving to the crowd.

If I put this in a story, no one would believe me. It didn't make a whole lot of sense (perhaps in the context of desperate actors?), and it had not much to do with the rest of my day. I have no idea how this would fit into a narrative.

Mostly, this was an excuse to tell you all about the fistfight between Jacks with Davey Jones keeping score, which was just awesome.

Book Trailers (thoughts on the good and examples)

2011-06-05T11:27:00.000-07:00

Looks like the obsession with book trailers is here to stay. The topic keeps getting hotter, and I can't honestly figure out why - I've purchased exactly zero books as a result of a trailer, so I'm wondering how many of you guys have different experiences.

That said, there are some titles that made my radar because of an exceptional video. I just haven't purchased them yet.

That said, most book trailers, even for the big guys, kind of suck.

I did some digging and found some that don't:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_jyXJTlrH0&feature=player_embedded

This one, the writer created herself - so it can be done.

OMG ElfQuest online!

2011-05-18T13:35:00.000-07:00

The entire ElfQuest series.

I'm having a major nostalgia attack right now - these were my absolute favorite comics ever as a kid.

I was quite the aspiring artist as a kid; I can remember being surrounded by art supplies in my little 'nest' in the loft of my parents booth at the renaissance festival (yup, my mom is an artisan/crafter, and we did shows as far back as I can remember).

When we first started doing that kind of show, my brother and I were far too young to be much more than trouble. Rather than allowing us to run wild on the grounds (a popular, yet honestly dangerous practice for many families), my folks set up a 'clubhouse' in the storage loft of our booth. What a brilliant, sneaky move. The only way up (unless you could fly) was a ladder built into the wall. My folks could keep an eye on us without having to constantly monitor our activity. We had a private, relatively quiet space all our own, where we could 'spy' on our parents and patrons coming into the booth, as well as a window to watch the shows and adventures that happened outside.

Our clubhouse was totally tricked out with pillows, blankets, snacks, toys, books, and whatever other weirdness that we could carry up the ladder.

One of the things that I did up there was tirelessly draw things. People walking by, critters out of my head, whatever struck my fancy. I did fairly accurate plants and animals at the time, but my human anatomy was influenced more by Warner Brothers than Da Vinci. When proudly displaying the fruits of my labor, a friend had asked if I was an ElfQuest fan.

I didn't know what it was, so he kindly lent my brother and I the first four graphic novels.

We were hooked. I can remember sneaking in my sleeping bag with the flashlight head half unscrewed to dim the bulb, so that my parents might not notice that I was up well past bed time.

Now the whole series has been scanned by its creators, and is available online for free. I'd love to know what you think of the series, if you're new, or share other memories of it if you discovered it long ago.

Space Case - A Visual guide of what NOT to do.

2011-05-10T23:00:00.000-07:00

Space Ark

Wow. Just...wow. This is pretty much a textbook teaching tool of what NOT to do.

Check out that website design circa 1993. Difficult to read turquoise text. Funny shapes in the text, RAINBOW text...

And that's before you even get to the excerpt. I dare you to read past the first sentence. DARE you. Double dog stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole dare.

Demanding that agents pay $35.00 to read a copy is a nice touch, too. I'm not sure which is the best part of this, though the artwork is up there in caliber with the text, which is equal to the web design.

This is pure comedy gold, and made my evening.

I'd like to support you, but the book sucks...

2011-04-25T13:53:00.000-07:00

This is happening to me more an more often, as self publishing becomes (supposedly) as simple as uploading a MS onto CreateSpace. (There are other one button uploaders, but this one seems to have the most traffic.)

I've been told that this digital self productions and distribution mechanism is the 'great equalizer'. While you could always pay a printer for bound copies of your manuscript, the 'ebook revolution' (sorry for the number of quotes) allows anyone to upload a copy onto, say, Amazon, and reach a network of millions of potential readers with one click.

POTENTIAL readers, not guaranteed readers. Amanda Hocking is a fluke, darlings. A wonderful, hard working fluke and, if to judge by her blog, a capital human being to boot.

Amanda Hocking is not you. Or me. And the people trotting her out as an example of self publishing success are feeding into the illusion that it could be you. Or me.

I could win the lottery next week as well - the odds are about as good. Intellectually, I know this. I also know I have the self promotion skills of a hamster. Yet late at night as I stare up at the ceiling waiting sleep, I wonder if I could be the next break out.

Everyone does - so don't feel guilty about that. Miss Hocking did it the best way she could - she had covers designed, hired editors (who still didn't help as much as a publisher round would) and is also incredibly prolific.

Are you any of these things? And do you have a bit of disposable cash to spend on a cover and a real editor?

Doing this right is HARD (as Miss Hocking herself has mentioned, particularly at the editing end of things), and most people just don't do it right.

Which brings me to my current quandary. Each and every person has this little voice in the back of their head that just KNOWS they're going to be this exception. No matter how logical you are - it's the same little voice that makes a person play lotto (if you do), take 'opportunities' that may not actually be as presented (I'm guilty of this one) etc. It's called hope.

This springs eternal in the artist, and isn't totally a bad thing - it keeps us from giving up.

The issues I see, are where hope and ability don't mesh, and the creator genuinely doesn't understand this. Add in the research and practice factor, and goals will eventually be reached - but that only happens when the artist understands what level they perform at, and what to do in order to reach the level that they want.

This self publishing thing cuts out the middle man, sure. But that middle man involves all of that research and practice and learning. I have honestly yet to see a work of fiction on CreateSpace that comes anywhere close to a commercially published story, in terms of writing, story arc, or grammar. Sorry guys, that's just the truth.

And the authors themselves are relentless promoters. Usually, not good ones, just relentless. I get dozens of new updates every day from friends and acquaintances who have opted to self publish.

I do want to support their efforts, I really do. I just can't bring myself to buy something where the excerpt either bores or makes me cringe. If the grammar is fine, the writing is flat.

And don't get me started on covers. This is THE thing that's going to make someone click on your book - and the covers range from god awful to non existent. Some of these writers are even trying to charge others for their cover design 'skills', which is terrifying. Owning photoshop does not make one a cover designer. People spend years of time, effort, and schooling to become designers. There's a reason.

For whatever reason, the cover design tends to be indicative of the quality of writing within - I keep waiting to be surprised by a gem that just has a lousy cover, but it hasn't happened yet. I have no idea why this is. Perhaps the same people that have delusions regarding one skill have similar issues looking objectively at their other skills?

So, a few more helpful hints:

1. I understand the being 'so close' frustration, I really do. Here's where you might think this option is viable - if agents and editors have requested fulls. That means either you're nearly there, or you are there, and there's just no room in the line up right now. If you're not getting past the query or partial stage, there's a reason.

2. Unless you have a graphic design background, don't do your own cover. Please. It's going to suck. Don't assume you'll be the magical exception.

3. You CANNOT edit your own work. Your mom, teacher, college prof, etc, also cannot edit your work. Every single time I've seen something edited this way, it sucks. Every time.

4. Be aware - if all of your sales are coming from friends and family, there's one of two things going on: either your marketing sucks, or your book sucks. I'm sorry to say, it's probably both.

I can't help but feel for some of these books, if not the writers. How many could have been something with a real editor and copy editor, with a real cover design, etc. Now those first rights are gone, and the poor writer is stuck with an unsellable mess where they could have made a few bucks.

I hear all the time 'better to have it out there to maybe make money, what's the harm?'. Besides your first rights being gone? If it's terrible, no one will probably notice it, and it'll disappear. No big deal - unless you count all the effort of writing the thing in the first place.

Your work is worth more than that. If you are going to self publish, please do it right.

Comprehensive guide for comic book scripts

2011-04-25T12:47:00.000-07:00

The Ultimate comic Guide

For all you aspiring comic writers out there!

The Atlanta Nights Movie website

2011-04-20T12:10:00.000-07:00

I decided that this little blog o' mine already covers two pretty broad topics, and isn't really the right place for updates about my personal film project - especially as this blog's goal is primarily educational in nature, rather than promotional.

So from now on, all news, silliness, and updates about the film project will appear on the official site, rather than my personal blog. (If something really interesting happens, I may post a link, but no more endless movie posts here.)

Feel free to follow and comment on that site as well, I run both of them, so you're still talking to me.

Positive reviews that DON'T help.

2011-04-17T08:13:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine's mother writes short stories, and they were looking for an inexpensive way to have them bound to share with friends and family. I just sent a link to Lulu.

While there, I figured I'd do some perusing to see what's new and interesting in the world of...

GAAAAAAAAH MY EYES!!!

Followed by sighs of incredulity.

Each and every one of the competently (not even well, just competently) written blurbs that I've read so far has been either from a book put out by a commercial press, or an anthology collection from a well respected magazine. Those are also the books that sport covers that don't make my eyes want to leap from my head and run under the sink, where blessed darkness may ease the burning.

Yes, I'm sure I'll hear 'there ARE well written self published books' recited back at me like the mantra that it has become. My response?

Who the hell wants to waste hours digging to find the one that appears at least competent? I clicked on about fifty links this morning. There was ONE self published fiction that looked well written, and it was only marginally fiction: a series of hauntings from one county in Tennessee. While marginally fiction, the book appears to be interviews and history, with a bit of paranormal speculation.

Every single other blurb that I read was swamped with awkward sentence structure, clunky writing, and in some cases, mind boggling spelling and grammar issues. If the blurb is incomprehensible, the thought of suffering through an entire manuscript by that writer makes my hands shake.

The only thing worse (or funnier, depending upon your taste) were the obviously shill reviews from friends and family, raving about how great they were. When a self professed non reader takes the time to say how 'grate' a book is, and how it was a 'page turner' without hinting at the story itself, that doesn't help sell a book. When 'a reader' waxes on about the skill of a writer (which is clearly belied by the blurb) with zero other thoughts to that book, it kills any semblance of reliability of that review.

Reviews CAN help you sell this thing to someone other than Aunt Edna, but only if that review feels realistic and balanced. I'd be far more inclined to take the chance on something that 'could've used another round of copy editing' or 'exposition fell flat in some places, but still an enjoyable story' far more than 'teh gratest book evar writen' and 'I couldn't put it down' without saying WHY. (Didn't that type of advertising go out of fashion in the mid 1980's?)

Used car commercial language is silly in used car ads. It's absolutely dismal in an obviously biased, poorly thought out review from a friend that wants to help. Honestly, it doesn't help.

And for dog's sake, do not give a raving review about your OWN book. It makes you appear a bigger ass than those other reviews.

Atlanta Nights, read the book

2011-04-14T12:05:00.000-07:00

I've had a few people asking me just how bad this book is. While I can wax philosophic for ages, I found an online PDF so you can experience it (and this book is quite the experience) for yourself!

(Link by clicking on the title of this entry.)

If you like the book, consider buying a print copy from Lulu - the proceeds go to the Emergency Writer's Fund.

If you want to see this become a movie, consider donating to my kickstarter fund here:

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1603898280/atlanta-nights-the-movie

Wonderfully Creepy Sculptures Carved From Bananas

2011-04-13T22:56:00.000-07:00

Wonderfully Creepy Sculptures Carved From Bananas

I just had to share this one. When the need to create is great enough, nothing will stop you.

Drop Box - Rachael Saltzman - Picasa Web Albums

2011-04-13T14:37:00.000-07:00

Drop Box - Rachael Saltzman - Picasa Web Albums

From Artsy

George Takei Should Be Spiderman | Tosh.0 Blog

2011-04-13T14:24:00.000-07:00

George Takei Should Be Spiderman | Tosh.0 Blog

Yes, this is silly. Yes, George Takei is a mad genius. I particularly like his line about having great insurance. What a comic mastermind.

Moment of panic!

2011-04-13T14:03:00.000-07:00

I've done something (I honestly don't know what) to my Google profile, and couldn't see this blog from it. For now, I have to go through blogger.com to find it.

Sigh of relief that it still exists. Now, to figure out what it was that I've done...

Is that gig really worth it? A guide to how I figure it out. Part Two

2011-04-05T14:31:00.000-07:00

All aspects of our lives are composed of relationships, including business, and none more so than entertainment.

All of your actions and choices reflect upon those relationships - building them, altering them, sometimes severing them.

There are more people asking for one's time an expertise than several lifetimes can fill. How on earth to choose which relationships to cultivate, which to stand on the sidelines for, and which circumstances it makes sense to walk away from?

The number one way I figure this out is: does this person need me? The answer, which you might think strange, should always be 'no'.

Huh?

Let me explain. The people that I want to work with are talented and motivated in their own right. They don't need me holding their hand every step of the way, and will manage whether they have my assistance or not. They'll want to work with me because our sensibilities mesh well, we share a goal, we can help each other.

I have both personal and professional friends in this category that I'll go out on a limb for, go the extra mile every time because I believe in them just as much as they believe in me. We do great work together. But if I were hit by a meteorite tomorrow, their projects would move on, whether I'm there or not.

That is the person I want to work with. These are the people that I'll fly across the country for, that I'll volunteer time and effort to help.

The other sort, are the ones that like the idea of fame and fortune, rather than the process of making something. They expect that merely knowing someone who works on films is enough to make them a famous actor, a top tier writer, whatever. (These are most often the strangers that want you to work for free, too!) Somewhere, they think making films is like playing lotto, at whatever stage. Some have the 'great idea' that's been floating around for a decade, unwritten. Some have even gotten to the 'made a movie' stage, but didn't realize how much time, effort, and expertise goes into one until it is far too late.

I suspect you have friends like this too - 'I could write a novel, if I only had the time', 'I have this great idea...', 'I could be an artist/graphic designer/pro blogger but...', and a slew of others.

I'm not a pro blogger (obviously). I have no one to blame but myself for the unwritten words to my novel. I'm not really an expert anything - that's right, I'm NOT an expert. I do share observations on life and work that have worked for ME. They're designed to be helpful, so hopefully I can save you some of the heartache that I've gone through on my path. That's all.

Is that gig really worth it? A guide to how I figure it out. Part One

2011-03-28T12:23:00.000-07:00

This is a topic that springs up from time to time, usually inspired by conversations with fellow friends and colleagues in the industry, who are tired of being taken advantage of.

There are so many factors to cover, that this is probably going to be a mini series so that I don't ramble too much, nor have the post end up the length of my languishing novella.

(Me, pontificate? Perish the thought.)

Ahem, right - back to this part of the topic.

How the heck does one choose projects? There are zillions of them, ranging widely in potential, both creatively and pay scale.

My most basic is a sliding scale based on those two factors. The less I get personally out of a project, the more money I'd better see - or the project better be insanely simple. I once got conned into shooting part of an infomercial for free, because I was flat out lied to about it, the 'producer' claiming that it was a documentary on research for new cancer treatments. To say I was irked would be a bit of an understatement.

What I've come to notice, is that newbie producers genuinely believe that the whole industry runs on hype and bullshit. Save that crap for promotions, where it can occasionally work that way. Experienced producers understand that honesty is the most important commodity that they have. They are honest about the scope of each project, the requirements, and the rates.

So baby producers - stop lying, stop exaggerating. The only people who believe you are in no way experienced enough to add value to your production. Don't tell me that a piece that hasn't been shot will get into Sundance, let alone win - you cannot predict that. And if you start your pitch with 'this will be great for your reel', I'm going to smack you through the phone. Really want to impress potential crew? Try 'we believe in this project and have really great catering'.

On awards - really, nobody you want working on your movie cares. Now, if you have an extensive track record of major awards, by all means, mention it. Single awards, or even a series of them for a single project is not so impressive - it makes that work sound like a fluke. There are so many factors for each film, and each one is unique. Honestly, seasoned production is far more worried about good accommodations, decent food, and the checks clearing.

As a brand new production person, by all means take a wide variety of offered projects - you'll get your hands dirtier, and learn more that way. Only you can tell where your limit is, and you'll figure it out in time.

More on that 'great for your reel' thing. Yes, everyone does need material, and to keep shooting stuff. Here's where it breaks down - why should I kill myself on a project for no money when I have a network of pros who all want to shoot personal projects in their free time, and understand what goes into it? I can take a day with some friends to shoot something awesome and have a great time getting more footage for my reel. You're asking me to do what I'd do for a friend, but we don't even know each other. I can collaborate with friends who are also seasoned pros to get great footage if that's all I'm looking for. So this is NOT a prime selling point.

If I want to read the script before deciding whether to work on your project, send me the thing. Trust me, I don't want to steal your student film project opus idea. I have plenty of ideas of my own. What I'm looking for is a script that's both strong, and seems like it could reasonably be shot in the number of production days allotted. Refusing to send me the script tells me two things - you're a paranoid egomaniac who's going to be a nightmare to work with, and that your script probably sucks. (Believe me, this is a safe assumption.)

Out of the scripts I've been sent (figure around ten or more every month) over the past, let's say five years, I've been excited by the writing on...

One.

So yeah, chances are the script alone isn't as brilliant as the writer/director wants to believe. The vast majority are nearly unreadable. The remaining ten percent are just awkward, overdone, or tired - I think mostly because the creator is only familiar with either blockbusters, or the top few films of the last decade or so. Watch widely. Read widely.

More thoughts on that sliding scale in the next post.

Your old writing

2011-03-10T09:18:00.000-08:00

People often ask about one's old work - if they can read it (I'm not that evil), what it was like, how long you've been writing. Not one writer has ever sprung fully formed from the first sentence - we all have trunk novels, stories, and whatever else is formed of words on paper, in varying degrees of awfulness. Through a series of moves, my old work is long lost, and mostly forgotten.

I can, however share this 'gem' from memory:

My best friend and I were huge ghost story and Twilight Zone fans, and decided to become 'rich and famous' or somesuch by writing our own. (We were six or seven at the time, I suspect 'rich' included such things as getting our own pony.)

The memory is a bit fuzzy, but I believe the story had to do with a woman reading about a train crash and then perishing a few hours later the same way. Nothing wrong with the basic premise - the writing?

All I can clearly remember was the debate about the title, remedied by using both ideas. This masterpiece was called:

'The Fantom book of Fate/The Phantom book of Phate'

We thought the spelling change was terribly clever, but couldn't agree on which to use - so of course we used both.

I suspect the rest of the writing was equally inspired.

MARScon - the trip and pre convention

2011-03-04T09:46:00.000-08:00

I made it to Minnesota!

The trip was not without it's interesting points.

The first exciting bit was that I nearly got dropped off at the wrong airport. My dear friend Gene was kind enough to drive me, as he had business in the general area anyway. While in good spirits, neither of us were at our mental best at six o'clock in the morning. After two hours of joking about which airport I was headed to, there was some confusion about which one was actually correct...

After being dropped off and finding my gate, I was left with a great deal of time to kill. Two flight attendants sitting next to me were debating the breed names of brown and white cows. I mentioned Jersey and Gurnsey, the only two I know. (I've seen cows at the county fair, and that is about the end of my intimacy with the subject.) We looked at pictures of cows, discussed farms - which a relation of one of the attendants had just purchased, complete with some sort of brown and white cows.

Turns out, they were Hereford. I find a new use for my smartphone every day. Discovered that the camera bag that I have is both overly bulky and awkwardly designed, yet I still managed to nearly forget it under my seat in the waiting area. Minor heart attack #1.

The first leg of the trip, I more or less slept. Southwest has this 'open seating' policy, where you pick your own seat, and board based on where your ticket appears in the line up. I chose not to pay extra in order to board early, a choice I will continue to make. Families can board earlier, so if you choose not to, you don't have to be near four screaming children. For that alone, I like the open seating plan.

I usually get a little airsick. I had a layover, as SW had no direct flights. This actually isn't a bad thing, particularly if you choose not to check your luggage. I suspect that would add a layer of tension to an already tight trip. Somwwhere between getting on and off the first plane, I lost my second boarding pass. One of the cow attendants (meaning one of the guys I'd been talking about breeds with) assured me that they could print a new boarding pass quite easily.

Getting off the first plane, I looked around rather blankly for someone who could help with the boarding issue. Some bank promotion was going on, and they followed me for a while telling me the advantages of the flyer miles through their bank. If they had told me where the help desk was, I might have accepted some of the literature that was thrust toward my face.

Getting a new pass genuinely was as easy as the attendant had assured me, once I found the desk.

On the second leg of the trip, I sat next to a lovely woman who grew up in Minnesota. She splits her time now between NY and Arizona. When I found that the next leg of this plane's trip was Tuscon, I had a brief bout wrestling with myself as to whether or not to just stay on the plane. Particularly when we arrived, and the tarmac was decorated in snowdrifts.

But I'm here, and the excitement should begin in about an hour. Next up, the night before

I will eat almost anything

2011-02-24T12:23:00.000-08:00

I had a location scout today for an unrelated project, but that's boring, so I figured I'd confide in all you wonderful people instead.

Everyone has an inner child somewhere, or so I've been told. Mine lurks so close to the surface that I might as well still be four years old sometimes. One example is that I love texture - so much of the world comes in through our fingers! I adore visiting posh shops around the holidays, just so I can feel all of the sweaters on display. It takes real self control not to run my hands through barrels of flour or dried beans at bulk food stores, they just feel so marvelous. The staff neither understands nor appreciates the sheer tactile pleasure of running your hands through barrels of dried peas, though.

For whatever reason, I'm very aware of certain basic instincts (no, probably not what you're thinking!). The dear SO bought some chain maille making supplies for his new hobby, including these really cool glass rings to weave into some projects.

Upon unpacking them, I had this almost irrepressible urge to put them in my mouth - they look like little life savers, only brighter, shinier, with some sort of beautiful depth. (While I managed to keep my mouth glass free, I can totally why a toddler would want to try and eat one.)

fairyhedgehog mention!

2011-02-18T15:12:00.000-08:00

A special thanks to Fairyhedgehog for giving the film a shout out!

http://fairyhedgehog.blogspot.com/2011/02/support-worst-film-ever-made.html

You should check out the rest of the blog. Its funny, down to earth, and has some great insights!

Oh my gosh!

2011-02-18T01:31:00.000-08:00

Atlanta Nights: The Movie has been announced on Making Light!

Special thanks to Theresa Nielsen Hayden and Jim Macdonald for doing this:

http://nielsenhayden.com/makinglight/archives/012847.html

Check out the comments section, I was laughing my butt off.

Interview, and a bit of sprucing up

2011-02-15T20:34:00.000-08:00

I've just done my first interview for the project - less nerve wracking as it was via email, so I could think about what to say rather than stumbling and stuttering like a Morlock in direct sunlight.

Since I didn't sound too bad, and there's some extra bits of information there, I'm going to share it with all of you wonderful people!

Interview at Writers Gone Wild

Neat, huh? As other movie flavored stuff solidifies, I'll be sharing it right here. Or most of it, anyway. There will be some exclusive video footage only available to Kickstarter donators - access granted for all donations of one dollar or more! I did that on purpose so that anyone who wants to follow the whole process and see what I'm up to, see full interviews with some of the greatest living science fiction and fantasy writers, and really get some inside info can have access very easily. Much cheaper than going to a convention, and you can watch right at home!

Okay, shameless plug over. I don't want to be a pest to anyone, especially my readers. This is kind of an important project despite it's silliness - making the rest of the world outside pro literary circles aware that there are sharks in the water.

The word spreads!

2011-02-15T20:17:00.000-08:00

Holy carp! This little movie project of mine made it all over Twitter (I have no idea where this started from).

Nick Barlow mentions it on his blog here, http://www.nickbarlow.com/blog/?p=1330

Which is a repost from SF site news here http://www.sfsite.com/news/2011/02/13/atlanta-nights-optioned/

My mind is boggled. Things like this keep me going though - this is going to be an interesting adventure.

Atlanta Nights, the movie!

2011-02-14T17:11:00.000-08:00

You know that big announcement that I've been talking about?

This is it. I've purchased the film rights to Atlanta Nights, and am making the movie. The worst book ever written will now become the worst movie ever made!

It's a big step for me in terms of film making - I've worked on plenty of features before, but this is the first time helming up a whole project. It's nerve wracking, exhilarating, and pretty much any other word you can imagine that describes a roller coaster ride.

For the basic info about the project itself:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1603898280/atlanta-nights-the-movie

It's nearly all I can talk or think about at the moment, so if you guys have any questions at all, do post them in the comments, and I'll be happy to answer them!

New music video

2011-02-09T13:30:00.000-08:00

http://filmmakeriq.com/groups/screening-room/forum/topic/music-video/#post-7096

I shot this some time ago (as evinced by the lack of snow), the final product appeared today!

Secret proejct

2011-01-24T11:47:00.000-08:00

I've been spending a ton of time working toward putting together a film project - more news soon.

The bright spot in a really lousy week - life imitating art.

2011-01-16T13:14:00.000-08:00

My week, and weekend so far, have sucked massive donkey...ears.

Started out well enough, I got a last minute call for some video work which was a wonderous little cash infusion in a usually completely dry month.

The first phone call came - a mutual friend of the other shooter and I had died due to cancer complications. Meh.

When I got home from the job, I found out that a college buddy's mother had passed away. Then, I found out again. Yep. Two different friends, two different mothers, all in one week.

Two of the funerals took place on the same day, at nearly the same time. It has been a long time since I've had a dilemma of this particular nature, and am not looking forward to experiencing it again.

I have about six million things that I'm obligated to work on, and can't concentrate on a single one. (This blog has taken over an hour.)

To ice the crap cake, someone tore the rear bumper off my car last night.

The one bright, and more than a bit surreal moment in an otherwise miserable chain of events:

As the officer I had filed the report with began to drive away, a woman poked her head out of the window of the apartment building that overlooked the parking lot.

"I seen it! I seen the whole thing!"

I didn't even know anyone lived in that building. (Well, I knew, but in that vague, diaphanous sort of way, like 'the building isn't falling down and there are curtains in the window', but I had never seen anyone come in or out.)

A spark of hope? Hanging onto that idea like a monkey with the last banana on Earth, I clumsily encouraged her to tell the story. Luckily for me, she was more than happy to talk. With the occasional 'shaddup' to some small creature at her side, we got an approximate time. I felt like the MC of a mystery movie, where a 'deux ex machina' character pops out of nowhere to drop key pieces of evidence. That bit was pretty cool. Alas, no license plate number. I do however, feel better about the neighborhood, and amused that there actually are people who spend the evening peering out of windows. I totally would, except the sole window of my apartment looks over the HVAC systems in the middle of the building.

Being the brilliant (if someone hits me over the head with it, I'll notice) detective that I am, I didn't think to extend the conversation - but I did pick up a piece of the perp's car, left next to my dead bumper.

Hopefully, some light will appear at the end of this tunnel.

Happy New Year!

2011-01-12T23:43:00.000-08:00

I hope your holidays were marvelous! I was down for the count with a head cold that left me as a prime contender for the role of Reagan in the remake of Exorsist.

My first job of the new year involved creating a time lapse video of the building of a windmill for a Christmas tree farm. In four feet of snow.

You can read the details of the adventure here:

http://filmmakeriq.com/groups/screening-room/forum/topic/trying-out-this-time-lapse-thing/#post-new

Confessions of a literary voyeur

2010-12-24T12:25:00.000-08:00

I love reading other people's blogs - mostly informational blogs: GalleyCat, ERECsite, Miss Snark, The Evil Editor

Sometimes, it'll be things like Forgotten New York, or the tidbits of obscure history from Cracked.com - interesting pieces of history and the human condition that may spark stories of my own, or introduce me to places that I can actually go visit and find out more about on my own.

Lately, most of my online reading has been personal blogs and anecdotes from complete strangers. It's as though a million characters have opened their windows in this immense apartment building, graciously allowing the peeping tom outside a peek into some pastiche of their life. More than allowing, I suppose. They set out the fine silver and china, for many, painting ideological portraits of memories. Others bring out the heavy metal posters and toss the mattress onto the floor (which you suspect was perfectly well made only moments ago) and sensationalize some event until it has all the believability of a morning talk show guest.

The ones that get my attention the best are a balance. They don't so much sugar coat events as find that soft spot that makes us still love crazy Uncle Jemmy (not a real person) even though he pours Bud Light over his corn flakes every morning. The trials and frightening parts of life are matter of fact, often responded to and written about with the wry humor of a survivor.

When writing fiction, it seems part of the difficulty is making the story compelling and human. Creating fully dimensional characters with strengths, weaknesses, talents and foibles. The more information you have to draw from, the easier this becomes. Writing convincing fiction is difficult from a vacuum.

Don't plagiarize, but do open your eyes and ears to all different kinds of stories, from all sorts of people. The only way to make your imaginary characters feel real, is to make them 'real'.

Bo's Cafe Life

2010-12-13T20:14:00.000-08:00

The art of the simple web comic. I think this particular creator has drawn six panels or so - ever.

And it's a great comic!

Click on the blog title for the link

What's your writing goal?

2010-11-28T08:20:00.000-08:00

I'm not talking about word count per day of letters here. I want to know what your ultimate fantasy goal is with your writing career.

We spend so much time fretting about sentence structure and daily word count (or at least I do) that sometimes the 'big picture' gets lost under all those details. Lose track of it completely, and you risk losing some of the motivation that got you started in the first place!

For me, I want to make a living doing what I love. Yeah, that's a little vague. Ok, I want to write fun, engaging horror and fantasy stories that take people on a little ride away from their daily lives for a while. I want to create worlds for people to get lost in. I want to write so well that some person I've never met forgets their problems for a little while.

And I want to write scenes and dialogue for video games. I'll be dating myself a little bit here - I remember when Nintendo came out. It was cool for a while, then I could take it or leave it. Sorry Mario.

One day, I bought this game called Myst. I'm pretty sure that I lost at least a week of my life to that game. The world was immersive. It was the first 'sand box' style game I'd ever seen, where you could go where you wanted, and do what you wanted, in pretty much any order. And the puzzles! Oh, the puzzles.

There weren't all that many characters to talk to at the time, but technology has evolved since then. There are more open style games with engaging characters, layers of mystery. And I love the way the storytelling became built up, through unreliable characters, books, tapes, or diaries left on computers. The player is left to build the story of what happened based upon the information received from various sources and the objects in front of them.

To me, that's the perfect form of gaming - and I want so badly to contribute to it, to help create these incredible alternate worlds populated with realistic people, and littered with their own complete and distinct histories.

So I guess, that what I really want to do is to be able to play pretend with the whole world.

What is it that you want to do with your art?

dan

2010-11-20T10:53:00.001-08:00

dan
Originally uploaded by digitalis_vitae

Hey guys! It's been a kind of crazy season, which means not a lot of time for meaningful blogging.

What it does mean though, is new toys!! Such as the 50mm prime lens that came in the mail this week.

I hadn't had a chance to bust it out until this afternoon, and my darling SO was playing with some prop flavored items that we have kicking around the place. As a bonus, he happened to be in front of my new black backdrop!

The lighting is overhead bounce from our ceiling light, and the glow of the computer monitor he's sitting in front of :).

For some reason, all of my photos of humans tend to look much more posed than they really are - he didn't even know I had the camera out until I said 'HEY!'

I'm not sure why, as most (like this one) are completely unplanned.

guitar guy

2010-11-16T22:28:00.001-08:00

guitar guy
Originally uploaded by digitalis_vitae

Sick :/

2010-10-21T10:12:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't been up and about in far too long.

Post summer madness, I jumped onto another feature. Yay, more work, right?

I promptly jumped right back off after the most severe case of the flu I've had since I was a child. Two weeks later, and the view of a real meal is still making my stomach leap around like a gymnast with Tourettes. Ugh.

Filling time when you're that sick becomes it's own challenge - the lack of focus makes writing or drawing darned near impossible. I tried anyway - the results were promptly deleted. I orally expelled more interesting things than what came out of the fried brain pan.

So I surfed the web. Read some Hugo winning short stories - oh my. Science Fiction has come far. The past years winners were lyrical, engaging, heart - wrenching character based works that leave you with that fuzzy headed 'WOW' at the conclusion.

Lest you think I'm over focused on work:

http://accidentalpenis.com/

Because life is no fun without a childish giggle here and there.

Happy October!

2010-10-04T12:31:00.000-07:00

Finally have the time to get back to writing. Oy.

In order to keep this from being boringly short, I'm going to share an older anecdote:

I had been spending the night at a friend's house; up late, chatting, the usual. She wants to show me something.
Sure.

A few moments later, she puts this small, whitish, egg shaped item in my hand. Looks a lot like a candied almond. I'm holding it, trying to figure out if I should eat it, try to guess what it is, etc.

After a few more moments she told me what it was.

'It's my gall stone."

GAH. I almost ate someone else's gall stone.

She keeps it in a small cardboard jewelry box as a memento. In the cotton batting.

I almost ate it.

I'm not quite sure what that says about either of us, but there you go.

Freedom! And other things.

2010-09-30T19:59:00.000-07:00

Gorgeous, isn't it?

That's a project from my friend Eric Thomas - sometimes the simple things are the most inspiring.

In my universe (because I'm a self centered creature, and this is my blog, so there):

Finished working on a season finale of a reality t.v. show.

Beta reading this AMAZING steampunk flavored mystery from a friend across the pond.

Planning and plotting some directions for a super secret project that I can't talk about just yet.

Rearranging some scenery in the novella.

Debating the purchase of some new toys for my shooting kit.

I have to finish up and send off some one sheets this week. For those who don't know, a one-sheet is a 250 word (approximately) outline of a feature length film. I tend toward being long winded (if it weren't obvious) and struggle at making one-sheets read like anything more interesting than stereo instructions.

Granted, they don't have to be. This isn't a logline, pitch, etc. After a pitch, a producer will often ask to see a one sheet, just to make sure the storyline elements are in place. That way, they don't read 100 pages of screenplay only to find out you've fumbled toward the end, or don't have an ending at all.

But it doesn't hurt to make the damn thing less painful to read. Ugh.

Celtic Thunder and crazy naked man

2010-09-21T08:31:00.000-07:00

Finished that Celtic Thunder tech through and DVD shoot, and developed a dead-on Dublin brogue while doing it. For whatever reason, if I'm working 12+ hours a day with people who have an accent different than mine, I end up talking like someone (someplace?) else.

I am now slowly working the word 'mine' back into my vocabulary, and filing away useful bits of slang in case I ever have need of them again.

The hours were bollocks (bad), but the crew to a man was the dog's bollocks (completely fantastic). I guess this equates to the US difference between 'shit' and 'the shit'. Interesting, how the entire connotation of a word can go from such a negative to a positive with just a little modifier!

I have some scene rearranging and thinking to do about the novella, and glad to have a little time to get back to it. I would like to publish again before I'm 80...

So the other interesting part of my week...the crazy naked man.

Originally, this fellow contacted me to do a charcoal drawing for a poster - a poster for some avant guarde theater performance where he's naked and tied up. That bit doesn't really bother me - I have performer friends who stick fish hooks in their eye sockets, or get branded and suspended from piercings on stage. (Not everyone's cup of tea, but I've seen some interesting things.)

This dude, however, managed to creep the hell out of me. How?

He FaceBook requested me, supposedly to talk about poses. The conversation quickly degenerated into things like 'will you enjoy tying me up' (no, it will be part of the job and you wouldn't actually be tied up - this is a drawing) to 'bring your friends and they can eat sushi off of my naked body' (ewwww - can we say sanitary issues, much?). Around the time that he offered to 'let me make more money' by 'having my friends take him to clean their homes naked while his clothes stay at my place' I told him that I'm an artist, not a dominatrix, and he really needs to find a professional to fulfill his needs.

Yeah. Creeped. I can't even make this stuff up. There's a huge difference between commissioning a drawing and getting your jollies off, and I draw. Gack. Hack. Spew.

I hope you are as befuddled as I am, and at least twice as amused. I need some mental floss.

Bad Blogger, no biscuit!

2010-09-12T07:11:00.000-07:00

Hello, patient friends and readers!

I've been a bad, bad blogger this summer - two posts in three months? For shame!

I do have reasons, the gossip of which I'll share with you now.

I was working on movies and Rock n Roll.

Two movies, in fact.

One of them was called Peace, Love, and Misunderstanding, shot in upstate New York, and starring Katherine Kaneer and Jane Fonda. Mz. Kaneer is marvelous, I look forward to both working with her again, and seeing her performances.

Another is called Summer Child, starring no one in particular, and also shot in upstate NY.

I also worked the Bethel Woods summer concert season - always a great time with fabulous crew and some great acts. (Special kudos to the country group who came in with a longhorn - skull shaped mirror ball bigger than my car!)

Of my remaining few hours, I greedily slept them away rather than keeping you folks updated - I apologize for the brevity, and can't guarantee it won't happen again at some point.

By the end of the coming week, I will have worked ever Celtic tour currently sweeping the countryside. Somewhere in there, I will post my project for filmmakeriq.com's NOIR contest.

It'll be awesome, and you should totally enter:

http://filmmakeriq.com/2010/07/filmmakeriq-com-film-noir-video-contest/

I can almost guarantee your project will be better than mine!

My Emily - The Screener!

2010-07-28T13:24:00.000-07:00

One of the shorts that I shot over the past few months is now making it's festival rounds!

My Emily:

http://vimeo.com/13214211

Still working on a different feature, writing while I can, and picking up some EPK/junkets work for a few bands here and there. I've been trying to write in the little holes of time, only to end up with QWERTY stamped across my face.

At least there will be lots more video flavored goodness from the Digital DP!

Life update

2010-07-03T12:00:00.001-07:00

Working on another movie, so posts will be few and far between for a while. Happy 4th, American friends!

Paragraph Review Eight - And so on, by Spiralese

2010-06-21T14:51:00.000-07:00

A man sat alone on the steps of a building in the middle of a city. It was a busy afternoon, a constant crowd of motion eddied around him. He watched the ground.
            After a time another man came and sat beside him and, having looked about, asked, “He’s not here yet?”
            The first man gestured a reply of, can you see him?
            The newcomer gave a shrug of, fair enough. He sat back. It was warmer than expected and he was regretting his choice of clothes. Something on the other side of the square caught his eye. He squinted against the sun. “Isn’t that …” he trailed, pointing with the stubble on his chin.
            The other looked up and nodded his head.
            “But who’s she with?” continued the second man, the man on the right. “I think it’s that senator.”
            The other raised a hand against the sun, nodded, then returned his eyes to the ground.
            “Dirty old git,” said the man on the right.
            They waited again. A third man joined them, immediately asking, “Isn’t he here yet?”
            “Can you see him here?” asked the man on the right, now the one in the middle.
            “Okay, okay,” the newcomer answered, nettled by the tone. “I’m only asking.” He sat back and regarded the afternoon shoppers busily pumping the heart of the city’s commercial district.
            “There’s what’s-her-name,” he said with surprise. “Look, there. She’s with that senator.”
            “We know,” sighed the man in the middle, now thoroughly bored with waiting. He was thinking about the cool shops behind him, the shade they afforded. But he stayed where he was.
            Soon enough another man joined them. He sat down. “He isn’t here yet?”
            The first man rolled his eyes. The second tutted.
            “This could go on all day,” joked the third man.

A man sat alone on the steps of a building in the middle of a city. It was a busy afternoon, a constant crowd of motion eddied around him. He watched the ground.

(This isn't a bad opener. Simple - but simple can work. I'd like to see some description soon though.)

After a time another man came and sat beside him and, having looked about, asked, “He’s not here yet?”

(I'd suggest making this more than one sentence and putting the dialogue on its own line, but those are copy edit things. So far, we're at 'okay'.)

The first man gestured a reply of, can you see him?

(And were I reading a submission, we'd be done right here. If the writer can't show me a shrug and a gesture, rather than telling me about it, this is going to be a long, dull ride.)

The newcomer gave a shrug of, fair enough.

(Again, give visual cues to lead the reader to the 'fair enough' conclusion, don't just tell him/her about it.)

He sat back. It was warmer than expected and he was regretting his choice of clothes.

(Give a little something more to go on - is this guy wearing an overcoat in spring? A snowsuit on an unexpectedly warm winter day? A suit in the middle of a July heatwave?

You don't have to get bogged down in minutiae, but I have zero idea what's going on here.)

Something on the other side of the square caught his eye. He squinted against the sun. “Isn’t that …” he trailed, pointing with the stubble on his chin.

('Pointing with the stubble' made me giggle, but not in a good way. Is this dude's beard sentient? I do like getting the unshaven detail of the character - but I bet you have a better presentation in you.)

The other looked up and nodded his head.

(What else could he be nodding?)

“But who’s she with?” continued the second man, the man on the right. “I think it’s that senator.”

(While we don't need to know who 'she' is just yet, I'd like to see some sense of place. Did they watch her get into a limo? Having lunch in a park? Are they looking into a hotel room? Something.)

The other raised a hand against the sun, nodded, then returned his eyes to the ground.

(Is anyone else having trouble figuring out which man is doing what yet? I am.)

“Dirty old git,” said the man on the right.

(Is this about the senator, or about the other man watching?)

They waited again. A third man joined them, immediately asking, “Isn’t he here yet?”

(Shoot me. Now there are three unknowns. Aside from one having stubble, they make the same gestures, speak in the same voice, and have no distinguishing characteristics. Unless they're waiting for Godot, there better be a point soon.)

“Can you see him here?” asked the man on the right, now the one in the middle.

(Gah.)

“Okay, okay,” the newcomer answered, nettled by the tone. “I’m only asking.” He sat back and regarded the afternoon shoppers busily pumping the heart of the city’s commercial district.

(Ok, we now have a clue as to where they are. Nobody's stopped to comment on three guys sitting on a stoop in a busy shopping area? We also now have a time: afternoon. But it's far too little, far too late.)

“There’s what’s-her-name,” he said with surprise. “Look, there. She’s with that senator.”

“We know,” sighed the man in the middle, now thoroughly bored with waiting.

He was thinking about the cool shops behind him, the shade they afforded. But he stayed where he was.

(So far, there's absolutely no logical reason for these three people to still be sitting here. Do none of them have cel phones?)

Soon enough another man joined them. He sat down. “He isn’t here yet?”

The first man rolled his eyes. The second tutted.

“This could go on all day,” joked the third man.

(This reads like a really boring telling of a joke without a punchline.)

I have no idea what this piece is about, and there's not enough here to make me care.

One Hour Game Review 2 - Mystic Gallery

2010-06-14T23:37:00.000-07:00

In this game, I guess you're supposed to be an apprentice at an art gallery? I'm not really sure.

The 'history' of the gallery is presented in huge chunks of backstory text (I largely ignored it) given to the player by a mediocre still figure of the gallery owner.

The hidden object bit itself is full of 'mystery meat' - rather than creating original art, there are famous paintings deluged with random objects in incredibly random places. Sometimes one must click on the correct object several times before it's acknowledged. This gets irritating, as it effects your score.

The mini - game wheel on the side gets annoying fast; just send me to the game. The mini-games themselves feel pretty tedious. What original art there is, is uninspiring.

Another annoying factor is the score calculator. The same still figure pops up wearing a different dress, an acid green curtain rises (aren't these supposed to be galleries? with taste?) and then the 'other branches' of the gallery flip cards and give Olympic style scores. There's no way to skip this, and it's just annoying.

I didn't even finish my free demo. This one is a pass.

One Hour Game Review 1 - Midnight Mysteries 2 Salem Witch Trials

2010-06-14T23:31:00.000-07:00

I'm downloading demos from Big Fish games, so I don't play an of these for more than an hour (sometimes less, depending upon the demo).

In this game, you meet the ghost of Nathaniel Hawthorne, who in this reality was brutally murdered, and you have to catch the killer.

The art is solid, true to itself, and the opener is nicely done, transitioning well into the first scene - which takes place in your study. The dialogue is simple, but not flat, and there is no voice acting. The puzzles are well laid out, if simple, and the story compelling.

The hidden object portions have objects in relatively logical places (no sky camels), and I have few nitpicks about the item names (a recorder is NOT a flute, flour SIFTER - there's no such thing as a 'flour filter'). A few things are mislabeled, but not deal breakers (clicking on a rifle, rather than a musket, for instance).

The transitions are interesting and short, with no huge loading lag.

I admit, I do have a soft spot for the paranormal and 'creepy' games, and this one has a nice gothic feel to it without being too scary for a general audience. The historical bits are put in as interesting asides, rather than feeling like you're being force fed history.

Soft recommend.

Adventure game reviews...

2010-06-13T23:20:00.000-07:00

My other love in this universe, besides writing (and making movies of course) is video games. In particular, puzzle/adventure style games. The MYST series remains my favorite (except URU - kind of a mess imo), and I've been considering adding reviews of these as well - if not for one big reason:

Aside from graphics and gameplay, the story makes or breaks one of these games for me. And the more engaging the story, the more likely I am to buy the game.

Writing some of these can be as simple as dialogue and character development (as if that were ever really simple). Others, the story forms from visual clues, recordings - it's the ultimate 'show', where the player learns about the world and the situation from artifacts, and the story unfolds in a truly organic manner (MYST, Riven, Fallout, BioShock, for example).

I'd like to look at some of these from a story telling standpoint.

Thoughts?

Paragraph Review Seven - Untitled by Theresa

2010-06-13T14:44:00.000-07:00

Theodore Kerns was sitting on the rack in the basement of his home at three a.m. and was puzzled how he'd gotten there. He remembered going to bed around midnight and had drifted off to sleep soon after turning off the light. He had no history of sleep walking, nor did he remember dreaming; which was a nice break, since the nightmares of his youth had returned. He didn't understand it, but he would take walking in his sleep over nightmares any day of the week. He glanced around the room at all of the other devices of torture and smiled. Perhaps his mind knew where he truly felt more comfortable.

Ready? Here we go:

Theodore Kerns was sitting on the rack in the basement of his home at three a.m. and was puzzled how he'd gotten there.

(Run on sentence - c'mon kids. One subject, one predicate. This could easily be broken into two, and with a fairly decent first hook.

Additionally, I want a little bit more about the 'rack'. It could be a bookshelf, tool table, or medieval torture device. Perhaps a more succinct word is in order.)

He remembered going to bed around midnight and had drifted off to sleep soon after turning off the light.

(This again heads into the realm of 'too much information in one sentence'. It makes the sentence feel rushed and stumble. Plus, there's a dearth of 'telling' here with no show.)

He had no history of sleep walking, nor did he remember dreaming; which was a nice break, since the nightmares of his youth had returned.

(I think this was meant to feel ominous or provide some foreshadowing - it does neither. The first half is fine. The second comes off as forced and silly. What does 'nightmares of his youth' mean? Yeah, bad dreams - but we have no sense of scale. Plus, what tends to frighten a child would not concern an adult. Without a visual aid (i.e. some 'show') the reader has nothing to relate to.)

He didn't understand it, but he would take walking in his sleep over nightmares any day of the week.

(I don't understand the allure of yellow tights and red shoes either. The 'it' in a sentence tends to refer to the last noun in the preceding one, so whether the writer intends it or not, this sentence is talking about nightmares, not sleepwalking.

Also, unless these nightmares are humdingers (which haven't been shared, so we don't know) sleepwalking is NOT preferable, so it doesn't make sense. Sleepwalking is attributed to doing things like falling down the stairs, urinating in closets rather than restrooms, wandering all sorts of unpleasant places in pj's. When wakened, the sleepwalker is at the least disoriented, and sometimes in a state of panic. So no, this doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense.)

He glanced around the room at all of the other devices of torture and smiled.

(Ok, it IS a torture device. That really would have helped show a bit of the character in the first few sentences if we knew that. Telling the reader now is too late.)

Perhaps his mind knew where he truly felt more comfortable.

(He's more comfortable wandering around unconscious than dreaming, for some reason. Maybe he likes being tortured? Or collects historical objects?)

This is really vague and not very compelling.

What I'm seeing a lot of, is writers afraid to 'give too much away' in the beginning, hoping to draw a reader in with questions. The problem arises when the reader isn't presented enough information to be interested in the first place.

Paragraph Review Six - Untitled by Emily

2010-06-02T11:29:00.000-07:00

Fighting the urge to yell and draw attention to himself, Jacob instinctively whipped the dish towel from it's customary place on his shoulder and wound it tightly round his finger. He tried to remember if he'd actually washed his hands after prepping that last batch of chicken or just wiped the worst off on the towel, meaning to throw it in the laundry next time he passed. He wasn't sure if you could get salmonella that way or not, but it had to be better than bleeding out in the middle of the kitchen on his first day at work.

"Shit" he muttered under his breath, realizing with dismay that even through the thickness of five layers of material, unmistakable blooms of poppy-red were appearing; the razor-sharp edge he'd honed to perfection that very morning had come back to bite him on the ass, or the finger at least.

"Where the fuck are table nineteen's app's? They should've been sent five minutes ago, but the docket's still up! What the fuck? Did I look like I was joking when I called 'em?" Chef lumbered towards Jacob, all set to make an example of how little tolerance he had for time-wasters, but his anger turned to exasperation as he took in the scene.

"Oh for fuck's sake, what'd you do?" Without waiting for a reply, he yanked Jacob's hand towards him and peered under the blood-sodden towel.

"Taz! Take this clumsy fuck out for some air, see if you can find a glove or something for him to wear. Callie! You're on app's now, move it, I need that table sent NOW!"

Cold rough brick pressed into Jacob's back and the wet concrete step he'd slumped down on was rapidly adding to his discomfort. Taz had handed him an antiseptic wipe and a clean dish cloth then disappeared back inside, and as the adrenaline wore off, the pain was becoming more apparent. Gingerly unwinding his make-shift bandage, Jacob could feel the blood welling to the surface, and sure enough, once the pressure was off, thick drops started to splatter at his steel-toed safety shoes. He tore open the wipe with his teeth, weighing up the benefits of having a slightly cleaner wound against the cons of that stinging agony once the alcohol touched exposed nerves, but eyeing the state of the cloth he'd just peeled off, he didn't really have a choice.

This was all Jade's fault, he decided. If she hadn't given him that age-old ultimatum of 'get a place together or get out of my life', he would still be happily slaving away in the same little cafe he'd worked in since he quit school. That was ten years ago now, getting paid just enough to get by on but feeling like part of the family and getting satisfaction from knowing that the regulars were regulars because of his food. This time last week he'd been cheerfully singing along to the radio, elbow-deep in coleslaw, (gloved hands replacing the mixing blades that had broken months ago and couldn't afford to be replaced,) deciding what specials to go on the board that day.

"Now look at me" he thought, "bottom of the brigade, in way over my head, and watching rats dine on leftovers that are worth more than my rent back home."

All set? Ok, here we go:

Fighting the urge to yell and draw attention to himself, Jacob instinctively whipped the dish towel from it's customary place on his shoulder and wound it tightly round his finger.

(Surplusage: excessive or nonessential matter. There's a bit of over-writing in this piece which makes the sentences feel clunky and breathless. There are a billion ways to rewrite this to repair the problem, and the challenge lies with the writer to figure out which bits of information are essential to the story at this stage, and which are merely superfluous.

I'll give a couple of examples, just to show how they can change the flavor of the sentence:

Fighting the urge to yell, Jacob whipped the towel from its customary place on his shoulder and wound it tightly around his finger.

Fighting the urge to draw attention from himself, Jacob instinctively whipped this dish towel from his shoulder and wound it around his finger.

Fighting the urge to yell and draw attention to himself, Jacob whipped the dishtowel from his shoulder, and wound it round his finger.

Etc.

And that's without changing any of the wording - merely removing some words.)

He tried to remember if he'd actually washed his hands after prepping that last batch of chicken or just wiped the worst off on the towel, meaning to throw it in the laundry next time he passed.

(Same issue. Figure out what's essential.)

He wasn't sure if you could get salmonella that way or not, but it had to be better than bleeding out in the middle of the kitchen on his first day at work.

(This is solid - we have Jacob's internal conflict, and the information that it's his first day at this job - though clearly not his first day in a kitchen.)

"Shit" he muttered under his breath, realizing with dismay that even through the thickness of five layers of material, unmistakable blooms of poppy-red were appearing; the razor-sharp edge he'd honed to perfection that very morning had come back to bite him on the ass, or the finger at least.

I have mixed feelings about 'or the finger at least'. Besides needing a comma of its own, it feels a little bit like the writer is trying a bit too hard to be cute or clever. It could work as part of Jacob's voice, perhaps, as a sentence fragment, or if the sentences weren't quite so ponderous.)

"Where the fuck are table nineteen's app's? They should've been sent five minutes ago, but the docket's still up! What the fuck? Did I look like I was joking when I called 'em?" Chef lumbered towards Jacob, all set to make an example of how little tolerance he had for time-wasters, but his anger turned to exasperation as he took in the scene.

(Two things here.

The first recalls my own admittedly limited experience in a kitchen - there flat out wouldn't have been enough time for a rant that long. The head cook where I worked did have profanity down to an art form; the longest thing I can remember him saying during a busy hour was "Fuck you, you fuckin' fuck!'. The reply was much to the tune of 'argh', 'gah', or a similar wordless sound of derision.

Were Chef taking a bit of a walk over to Jacob's station, I could buy the longer phrasing. Which brings us to point two:

That all important 'show'. Don't tell the reader he's pissed, give visual clues. We're told a lot about what he's up to, but not allowed to come to that conclusion by ourselves through creation of the scene. Kitchens are generally noisy. Like battlefield chaos noisy. And entrance to Hell hot. Chefs have bullhorns genetically built into them to shout above the noise, and often remind me of drill sergeants. I'm not sure if this guy is more basic training or Full Metal Jacket, but I'd like to know - and this is a perfect missed opportunity to express both that, and give the reader a little more about this particular kitchen.)

"Oh for fuck's sake, what'd you do?" Without waiting for a reply, he yanked Jacob's hand towards him and peered under the blood-sodden towel.

(No issues here.)

"Taz! Take this clumsy fuck out for some air, see if you can find a glove or something for him to wear. Callie! You're on app's now, move it, I need that table sent NOW!"

(This feels like a kitchen - the show must go on. Apropos of nothing, this gave me an extra grin because Taz is the name of my cat.

Subjective? Absolutely. I wanted to mention it, because so much of this stuff is so subjective. This piece isn't quite there yet for me, but might work for someone else.)

Cold rough brick pressed into Jacob's back and the wet concrete step he'd slumped down on was rapidly adding to his discomfort.

(Yay! This is the first view or outside stimulus we've seen so far. I'd add a comma between cold and rough, as it constitutes a list.)

Taz had handed him an antiseptic wipe and a clean dish cloth then disappeared back inside, and as the adrenaline wore off, the pain was becoming more apparent.

(Watch out for that 'was' version of passive sentence structure. While the sheer length of the earlier sentences overwhelmed this issue, it's becoming pretty glaring in these two. 'was rapidly adding', 'was becoming more' - 'was' is one of those words that can often be omitted from the sentence without changing it with any noticeable significance.)

Gingerly unwinding his make-shift bandage, Jacob could feel the blood welling to the surface, and sure enough, once the pressure was off, thick drops started to splatter at his steel-toed safety shoes.

(This could easily be two sentences. I like the safety shoes - again, I'm a big fan of 'seeing' what's in the scene.)

He tore open the wipe with his teeth, weighing up the benefits of having a slightly cleaner wound against the cons of that stinging agony once the alcohol touched exposed nerves, but eyeing the state of the cloth he'd just peeled off, he didn't really have a choice.

(Exposed nerves? That must be one hell of a deep cut. Is there a more active/involved way to relate this information? Right now, it seems that Jacob is completely detached while weighing his choices.)

This was all Jade's fault, he decided. If she hadn't given him that age-old ultimatum of 'get a place together or get out of my life', he would still be happily slaving away in the same little cafe he'd worked in since he quit school.

(Cool. This is enough backstory to be interesting, without resorting to an info-dump.)

That was ten years ago now, getting paid just enough to get by on but feeling like part of the family and getting satisfaction from knowing that the regulars were regulars because of his food. This time last week he'd been cheerfully singing along to the radio, elbow-deep in coleslaw, (gloved hands replacing the mixing blades that had broken months ago and couldn't afford to be replaced,) deciding what specials to go on the board that day.

(Here we walk the line of info-dump. I do like the coleslaw line, as it gives a great picture of the family cafe - but there's a touch too much wordiness here in general.)

"Now look at me" he thought, "bottom of the brigade, in way over my head, and watching rats dine on leftovers that are worth more than my rent back home."

This would be a pass for me, as it feels like the piece would just require too much editing work before submitting.

I want to talk a little bit about what I mean by a 'breathless' sentence. Human beings process information at different speeds, sure, but there is a maximum. That's why run-on sentences can be so frustrating. Give a reader a sentence with too much information, or too many extraneous words, and the brain starts tripping over those words and needs some time to catch up. You generally don't want to have a sentence where a reader has to go over the same line twice in order to parse all the information, and it's worse when that 'information' is just made up of additional words that don't really add depth or meaning.

Paragraph Review Five - "Sounds of a Dying Universe" by Collodi

2010-06-02T09:08:00.000-07:00

If you strain your ear hard enough to the heavens and wait for that moment when the wind dies down and traffic stops, you can hear the sound of the universe dying. Not a moan like a dog's whimper or a groan like a man sucking out his last breath, the sound of the dying universe is a perfect b-flat note. Playing for twenty billion years, I often imagine that celestial note hanging like the reverberations of a piano gasping out Chopin's Sonata No. 2 in b-flat minor, Op. 35. Though it brings me to tears, on dark nights when I pour back red wine and watch the river pass by my window, I listen to Chopin and wait for the universe to end. So far, it hasn't happened. When it does, I will surely miss Chopin.

And my thoughts, for what they're worth (by the way, consider me floored):

If you strain your ear hard enough to the heavens and wait for that moment when the wind dies down and traffic stops, you can hear the sound of the universe dying.

(The first part of this sentence rides the edge of too long, but it still works.)

Not a moan like a dog's whimper or a groan like a man sucking out his last breath, the sound of the dying universe is a perfect b-flat note.

(This is just neat. Besides being the default note for clarinets, there's some Gregorian chant significance to b-flat, as well as the diatonic tonal system - where the b-flat was a source of controversy. The turn of phrase is elegant without additional information; but the added significance of this particular tone lends layered meaning to the statement. Nicely done.)

Playing for twenty billion years, I often imagine that celestial note hanging like the reverberations of a piano gasping out Chopin's Sonata No. 2 in b-flat minor, Op. 35.

(Can you see the speaker yet? While I don't know exactly who they are, the topic and the voice make me feel like I've a pretty good connection with this character's emotions and thought patterns.)

Though it brings me to tears, on dark nights when I pour back red wine and watch the river pass by my window, I listen to Chopin and wait for the universe to end.

(Here, we sport both the place and an activity. Both vague enough that the reader doesn't know exactly where we are, but we sure know who we're with!)

So far, it hasn't happened. When it does, I will surely miss Chopin.

You know how I keep ranting about starting with the action, place, etc? If you can pull off something like this, don't worry about it. Why does it work?

Voice. I may not even know the gender of this character yet (I'm guessing male) but I know exactly how they think, and what emotional state they're in. Most importantly, it's interesting. I care what's going to happen next.

The single most important thing you can reach for in writing fiction is this thing I call the 'give a damn'. It's the reader caring what's going to happen next. Once you've got that, people will keep reading because they NEED to know what's going to happen. The 'give a damn' is more important than a clever turn of phrase or a plot point - it's where the reader is emotionally invested in the story, and curious about it. That emotional investment makes or breaks a story, and this one has it, in spades.

I'll buy this when it comes out.

Paragraph Review Four - Untitled by Monica

2010-05-31T04:54:00.000-07:00

First, the paragraph (or page, really) without commentary:

Have you ever had the feeling that something was about to happen? You’re not sure if it’s good or bad, but all the same, you know its coming. What if there was something that you had to do, some mystical mission that you just had to accomplish? Do you think you would know what it would be? Would you even know where to look?

Well, let me tell you, things are not what they seem. The signs that are trying to lead you in the right direction can only be ignored up until a point. That’s where I am now. At the point of no return, the point where I am standing at the other end of a pistol while some guy yells at me in Spanish about how I stole from him. I keep telling him that he has the wrong person, but he doesn’t listen. My face is void of expression as I plan my line of attack.

After ten years of being a mercenary for higher you learn how to keep your cool under pressure. It felt like it was a whole other lifetime ago. It’s moments like these when you know God is testing you. I try to live a good clean life, you know. No more killing. No more drinking. Well, not as much drinking, but I think God knows my heart is in the right place. Most of the time I can ignore the fuck faces who try to start shit. But right now, this motherfucker is getting on my last nerve.

And now, with thoughts:

Have you ever had the feeling that something was about to happen? You’re not sure if it’s good or bad, but all the same, you know its coming. What if there was something that you had to do, some mystical mission that you just had to accomplish? Do you think you would know what it would be? Would you even know where to look?

(Have you ever had the feeling you were being drowned in rhetorical questions? There's a reason you don't start queries with one, let alone five. The same for a book.

Save for the 'mystical mission' question, this feels like someone's left a Watchtower pamphlet on my doorstep. I haven't the vaguest idea what this book could possibly be about - nor is there any motivation here for me to care. It could be anything from signing up for the right car insurance, to local computer repair - but mostly it makes me think of late night evangelism on the public access channel. Trying to get me to buy something, but not doing a very good job of it.

I'd dump this entire paragraph.)

Well, let me tell you, things are not what they seem.

(Good, because I'm perfectly happy with my current phone company.)

The signs that are trying to lead you in the right direction can only be ignored up until a point.

(All signs right now are pointing to 'stop reading', so there'd better be a different one soon. So far there's been half a page of nothing. I'm guessing that this book is supposed to be in the vein of Christian or 'inspirational', but at this point I'm completely guessing based on the repetition of 'signs' and 'right paths'. Beyond that, I couldn't tell you if this is supposed to be a memoir, how-to, fiction, etc.

I won't go into the sophomoric sentence structure at this point because there are so many other issues. Were I reading for pleasure or information, I'd have passed by sentence one.)

That’s where I am now.

(On the highway? Because seriously, I have no idea what's going on.)

At the point of no return, the point where I am standing at the other end of a pistol while some guy yells at me in Spanish about how I stole from him.

(Ok, I lied - this sentence is an awkward mess. I'm not sure whether this is the start of the story, or another extended metaphor either.)

I keep telling him that he has the wrong person, but he doesn’t listen.

(The beginning of the story. First person present is a tough nut to pull off well, and this writer isn't doing it very much justice. We have an unknown protagonist, in an unknown place, possibly speaking Spanish, who may or may not have stolen, um, something.)

My face is void of expression as I plan my line of attack.

(A protagonist who can look at themselves from the outside, apparently. I've got nothin'. There are absolutely no emotional cues, no visuals, no input whatsoever to connect with the reader.)

After ten years of being a mercenary for higher you learn how to keep your cool under pressure.

(Unless this mercenary has wings, it's for 'hire'. A flub this basic and obvious, combined with the missing comma in this sentence, says the writer has a long road ahead. We've also jumped voices, and the character is now speaking directly to the reader, another trick that's hard to do well, and not working here at all.)

It felt like it was a whole other lifetime ago.

(What 'it'? Being held at gunpoint? Stealing something? We've jumped completely out of the scene, before ever being in it.)

It’s moments like these when you know God is testing you.

(Aha! This is supposed to be Christian or Inspirational. Beyond that, I still haven't the vaguest idea what I'm reading.)

I try to live a good clean life, you know.

(Like mercenaries are known to...

I can't figure out if the writer is trying to tell a story, or make me take that Watchtower pamphlet.)

No more killing.

(Ok, so what does this hired gun DO, then?)

No more drinking. Well, not as much drinking, but I think God knows my heart is in the right place.

(This is an awful lot of explaining unnecessary crap to the reader while the character is presumably being held at gunpoint. It's called an 'info dump' and needs to be edited out.)

Most of the time I can ignore the fuck faces who try to start shit.

(The profanity here feels really forced and out of place, and is still more of an aside to the reader than the thoughts of the character.)

But right now, this motherfucker is getting on my last nerve.

(This is the first sentence where I've felt the presence of the character, rather than the author.)

This has a LOT of problems, the two biggest ones being the info dump and the author insert.

For readers unfamiliar with the terms:

An info-dump is pretty self explanatory - it's a whole bunch of information or asides that have absolutely nothing to do with what's currently happening, and that the reader doesn't need to know at that point in the story. It most often appears in high fantasy, where the writer is so proud of every bit of world building that they have to share every single note with you; or in historical fiction, where the writer tortured themselves learning every small detail regarding a time period and wish to subject the reader to the same.

If your name is Neal Stephenson, you can get away with it. Otherwise, knock it off.

An author insert is where the author emotes on a topic or situation, rather than the character. It pulls the reader out of the story, changes the voice, and is generally considered one of those 'things that shall not be done'.

In fiction, one important thing to remember is that people are reading to be entertained. If they happen to learn something on the way, cool. They're generally not reading fiction to learn one writer's personal views on anything, read political manifestos, or to be preached at. If the writer happens to be good enough to get a message in there somewhere, cool. (Terry Pratchett is a wizard at this. He is also an extraordinary writer.)

This would be a hard pass with zero qualms - there's just too much wrong. The writing feels stilted and unnatural - like reading a high school essay - it feels like the writer isn't yet comfortable with the basic rules of writing in English. (I do not know if English is the writer's native language.)

I give props for attempting a couple of very difficult gags, even though none of them worked.

What I would advise, is not to worry so much about trying to send a message. Worry about crafting an interesting story full of well rounded characters.

Thank you, Monica, and best on your writing journey.

Paragraph Review- 'Proper Questions' Nick Anthony

2010-05-30T19:00:00.000-07:00

This is from a fantasy WIP by writer Nick Anthony. (A WIP trilogy! A man with a greater attention span than I have.)

The paragraph:

Above the towering Oakenwood trees an early winter storm raged. A light dusting of snow and sleet filtered through the late autumn foliage. Nathin had ridden through snow storms before, but something about this storm bothered him.

A stronger gust of wind rattled the tree limbs above him. A clump of snow landed a few paces from where he lay. He opened his eyes and sat up, drawing his sleeping furs with him.

Nothing moved beyond the light his small campfire provided. No leering eyes or sinister movement in the underbrush. Perhaps he was just overly tired from his long journey home. Even his mount Dusty showed no signs of concern.

Additional moments of quiet observation passed before he lay back down, drawing his sleeping furs about him to recapture the warmth.

No more than a dozen flickers of the candle passed before a fragile beckon of power touched him. He was sure it was not his imagination this time.

He bolted from his furs and held his staff before him, whispering a minor word of power, “leoht.”

My thoughts and inserts, for whatever he takes from them:

Above the towering Oakenwood trees an early winter storm raged.

(My first 'meh' is right here - this opener feels like the fantasy version of 'a dark and stormy night'. Fantasy and horror are 'my' genres, in that they're what I write, and primarily what I read, so I'm going to be a lot harder on these sorts of pieces. What the capitalized 'Oakenwood' does do for us, is reveals the genre right off the bat - I'd be very surprised if this weren't sword and sorcery in a medieval flavored setting.)

A light dusting of snow and sleet filtered through the late autumn foliage.

(A light dusting from a raging storm? Contradictory, and we're not really getting any new information, save that these large oaks still have leaves in late autumn. Not very interesting.)

Nathin had ridden through snow storms before, but something about this storm bothered him.

(Grrrr. Okay, here's what's making me nuts. This is total tell, rather than show. If there were some action or insight from Nathin's point of view directly afterward, it would be more forgivable. As is, I'm bored within three sentences. I don't really know anything interesting about Nathin from this, and that's really what stories are about - characters.)

A stronger gust of wind rattled the tree limbs above him.

(Wait - a perfect set up to talk about the character, what he thinks is weird about the storm, and we're right back into that setup? Argh. Your reader wants to know about the character, not that a winter storm has wind. They KNOW that. And stronger than what? We haven't had any previous gusts of wind to compare it to. Unless this snow is technicolor, get to the story.)

A clump of snow landed a few paces from where he lay. He opened his eyes and sat up, drawing his sleeping furs with him.

(I'm having a bit of a logic disconnect here - highly suspect snowstorm, and our character was asleep? Don't get me wrong, characters need to sleep. But you can start a narrative anywhere - and the writer chooses to start with the character waking up? This isn't the best idea for any genre, and tends to be a trope of new writers who aren't quite sure where they're going in a narrative sense. I've seen it done well, in a WIP from someone where the world built was so unique that the act of waking and having breakfast was interesting. The average world building isn't so involved - and this isn't interesting.)

Nothing moved beyond the light his small campfire provided. No leering eyes or sinister movement in the underbrush.

(This is trying to set some tension - the problem is that there isn't any. And the world building before isn't evocative enough to be drawn into the scene on the strength of that alone, so we have two more sentences of nothing going on.

I keep thinking of Robert Frosts' 'Passing by Woods on a Snowy Evening', and comparing that set of visuals to this.)

Perhaps he was just overly tired from his long journey home.

(The writer needs some 'show' in the worst way. We're told this guy is tired - well, he did just wake up after all. Give the reader something to grab onto, to identify with. Most people in the modern age have been tired, and have been on long journeys. Show us some aching muscles, grainy eyes, muddled thoughts - anything. Or ignore the issue and get to some action. Ever had that bone-tired black sleep with glued-shut eyes that you were tempted to destroy whomever woke you up from - especially without coffee? Ever been so tired that you see ghosts and shadows that aren't really there? Or even those little sparkles at the corner of your eyes? I bet you have. Showing is about making the reader feel what the character feels. I'm not connecting with this guy, the setting, or his situation - and there's nothing going on.)

Even his mount Dusty showed no signs of concern.

(I'm gonna say it - showshowshowshowshowshowshowshowshowshowshow! Without being given a description of Dusty, the brain is going to think 'horse'. The writer can change that if needed, which is a different issue all together. The real issue here, is the 'show' again. Animals have more developed senses than we do, so show the reader what the horsey is or isn't doing - is it sleeping? Digging through the snow for grass? How do we know that the horse isn't worried about anything?)

Additional moments of quiet observation passed before he lay back down, drawing his sleeping furs about him to recapture the warmth.

(Wait? He's gone back to sleep? After being woken by who knows what on a long, tiring journey? ARGH. HE WENT BACK TO SLEEP? BORING. And we know nothing new about this character, except that he hasn't actually done much wilderness traveling, particularly in bad weather. One, he appears to just be camping on the side of the road in a snowstorm. Two, that warmth is quick to leave and slow to arrive - you either get up, or there's little short of a nuclear explosion that's going to get you into the cold.)

No more than a dozen flickers of the candle passed before a fragile beckon of power touched him.

(Candle? What candle? Who has a campfire and a candle? What traveler is going to waste candle wax, tallow, whatever, when there's a frigging campfire next to them? What candle is going to sit there flickering in a snowstorm with huge gusts of wind? Not to mention, the character was just touched by an adverb. We're almost at the bottom of the page before anything of interest happens.- far too little, far too late.)

He was sure it was not his imagination this time.

(I didn't realize he was he'd been wondering, but at this point, I don't care.)

He bolted from his furs and held his staff before him, whispering a minor word of power, “leoht.”

(Too late, I've passed.)

If this submission had appeared in the early 1980's, it would have had a better chance - the passive style was still running though submissions, and there wasn't as much fantasy to choose from. Currently it feels like a throwback, and there's just too much engaging and interesting fantasy out there for this to stand a ghost of a chance. The world and the plot could be the best thing since sliced bread, but the dated, flat method of storytelling has it dead in the water - this needs a serious rewrite and some study of the more modern methods of storytelling.

Best to Nick, and thank you for letting your hard work be used in this project!

Second Paragraph Review: Untitled by Robbie Manson

2010-05-30T10:22:00.000-07:00

A first paragraph from something by Mr. Robbie Manson. Again, the first paragraph without commentary:

The lights of the tunnel whipped by, lighting up the cabin like a flickering strobe. Kane closed his eyes and rested his head on the window behind him, enveloped in air-conditioned cool. The throb of the train was lolling him to sleep. Forget the theatre. She’d understand. He‘d ride the subway to the end of the line, to Brighton Beach and back again, dozing to the rhythm of wheels clattering on tracks.

But Alison wouldn’t understand.

She’d be sore if he didn’t show. In any case, he knew he wouldn’t sleep.

The train shuddered to a halt with a squeal of brakes. As the doors opened, the hot crowd heaved inside, polluting the cabin like a gust of stale breath. Through the window Kane could make out the last few people trying desperately to squeeze inside before the doors lurched closed. Poor suckers. No wonder subway suicides were so high. You could suffocate in these underground stations. They were dug too deep, too close to the core. The reception halls of Hell.

The doors closed and they lurched forward like an overloaded cattle train. Kane could no longer doze. For the rest of the trip he sat there gritting his teeth, jostled by passengers, trying not to breathe in the reek that seemed to grow stronger with every passing station. He made it to Brooklyn and got out at Atlantic Avenue, relieved at last to escape. But there was no relief above ground. The air shimmered with heat and the street rang with the noise of traffic snarling down Flatbush. He felt his headache returning.

With commentary:

The lights of the tunnel whipped by, lighting up the cabin like a flickering strobe.

(I love this - to me, it immediately set the scene in a train.)

Kane closed his eyes and rested his head on the window behind him, enveloped in air-conditioned cool.

(I could be really nit picky here, and say the 'cool' is gratuitous after 'air-conditioned', but I honestly don't mind it from a stylistic perspective. Were we talking poetry I'd be fussier, as each word holds more individual weight in a shorter piece. For a novel, each sentence doesn't have to be world's most carefully crafted glass flower - get the mood right, and you'll keep the reader happy.)

The throb of the train was lolling him to sleep.

(This is a word choice issue for me - I suspect that 'lulling' would be a more desirable verb than 'lolling'. The first is to soothe into a relaxed state, while 'lolling' is to hang in a loose or lazy manner, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense in this context.)

Forget the theatre. She’d understand. He‘d ride the subway to the end of the line, to Brighton Beach and back again, dozing to the rhythm of wheels clattering on tracks.

(No issues here - without spelling it out, we know where Kane is, why he's there, what his conflict is. Nice. Plus, the writer has further established location -a subway - and if you've a little more information, what city he's in - New York - without resorting to an info-dump.)

But Alison wouldn’t understand.

(Nice way to introduce the name of the other character, easy and subtle.)

She’d be sore if he didn’t show. In any case, he knew he wouldn’t sleep.

(The use of 'sore' here is quite a bit dated, which pulled me out a touch. In the time period which 'sore', 'gee whiz' and the like would be common vernacular, the subway wasn't air-conditioned. I'm not sure which is the anachronism. So far, it's niggly, but not a total deal breaker.

The second sentence is a touch ambivalent - will he not sleep in the theater, or on the train now that he's thinking about Alison? This alone isn't a deal breaker either, but pile enough 'almosts' into the first paragraph, and I'll put the book down and look for something else.)

The train shuddered to a halt with a squeal of brakes. As the doors opened, the hot crowd heaved inside, polluting the cabin like a gust of stale breath.

(While the first metaphor felt smooth, this one feels a little obtuse and forced. How much metaphor can you get away with on the first page? Depends totally on the writer. Personally, I'd drop this one as the hot, heaving crowd is a nice clear visual without the addition.)

Through the window Kane could make out the last few people trying desperately to squeeze inside before the doors lurched closed. Poor suckers. No wonder subway suicides were so high. You could suffocate in these underground stations. They were dug too deep, too close to the core. The reception halls of Hell.

(Nicely inside Kane's head without any author insert, which is good. It seems like Kane is subject to a bit of melodrama, but his voice is consistent. I do wonder if it would become overmuch in a novel-length piece, but I honestly can't tell from the excerpt. So far, so good.)

The doors closed and they lurched forward like an overloaded cattle train.

(About now, that 'not deal breaker' has become a deal breaker. The metaphor that broke the cattle train? Anyhow, I'd like to see this writer using some more visual cues to lead the reader to this conclusion, rather than yet another metaphor. This one adds no depth, and feels like a lazy answer, rather than adding visual information to provide an emotional cue.

As you can see, the writing doesn't have to be bad to get a pass - it would completely depend upon what else crossed my desk that day. Were I reading for submission, I'd ask for more pages to see if the problems compiled or resolved themselves.)

Kane could no longer doze. For the rest of the trip he sat there gritting his teeth, jostled by passengers, trying not to breathe in the reek that seemed to grow stronger with every passing station.

(This last sentence feels just a little bit awkward. I suspect that either breaking up the sentence into two or adding a semi-colon would give the needed mental breathing room.)

He made it to Brooklyn and got out at Atlantic Avenue, relieved at last to escape. But there was no relief above ground. The air shimmered with heat and the street rang with the noise of traffic snarling down Flatbush.

(I'm not a big fan of 'but there was no relief', because he's relieved in the sentence before. Contradictory. If the reader was allowed to follow him emotionally - rushing toward the surface in anticipation, only to be disappointed, for instance - then there'd be a space of time, and the feelings would be both clearer and make more sense.

The air shimmered with heat - eh, I'd like to see a slightly less overused wording; same with 'rang with noise'. I've yet to hear traffic ring, either - blare, snarl, cacophony - sure. Ringing makes me think of phones, bells, clear voices echoing; but doesn't really make me think of the total noise of traffic. This is my opinion, your mileage may vary.)

He felt his headache returning.

(? This is the first the reader's heard of it - is it chronic?)

Were I reading for submission, this would probably be a pass, but just barely. And that stuff is highly subjective, another reader might absolutely love it as is.

Were I browsing a bookstore, if this were on the markdown shelf or the used bookstore, I'd give it a whirl. Doubt if I'd pay full price. Again, this is just my taste.

Thanks, Robbie, for putting your work on the chopping block, and much success in your future!

First Paragraph Review: Mid of Evil by Allen Taylor

2010-05-28T13:31:00.000-07:00

First, the paragraph, as sent to me - before thoughts, remarks, etc, and in the format sent:

He unsheved his sword his breath was with him nor did his
heart beat fast. He was as calm as if he was at his cottage sitting by
the fire. The night was dark and moonless the air was cool and had
the stench of blood in it. His eyes focused and his hearing keen he
dismounted from his horse and waited only muddling the words
“come you bastards I haven’t got all night”. Just then from behind
the trees a shadow leaped out, with one smooth swipe of his
sword ashes lit up the dark then another leaped out and again he
swiped his sword as if it was apart of him and turned the creature
into ash. As he stepped back a man appeared stepping out of the
darkness, He wore an old knight’s garment and appeared to have
been a kings guard. The swordsman sheved his weapon and knew
he would have to draw it again, for he could smell the death and
blood on the knight and knew he was no longer a man. “You have
killed my squires’ swordsman I guess you will have to take their
place”. He said with a grin that showed two enlarged sharp teeth.
“I will be no ones slave and especially not to a night demon, your
time in this world has come to an end” the demon pulled from his
side a sword and raised it halfway into the sky.” I will not kill you swordsman but you will feel much pain as I slice you up a little; I might even cut off a few of your fingers after all you killed two and only offer yourself as one, you need to be taught a lesson”.

Ok. Here's the paragraph again, with the line by line underneath each sentence, as promised:

He unsheved his sword his breath was with him nor did his
heart beat fast.

(Unsheved? While I suspect this is a misspelling of 'unsheathed', it brought to mind languishing crops.

The grammar here is a mess. While I do tend to over-use commas, using none at all is not a good compromise.

I'm not quite sure who 'he' is, or why his breath being with him is significant - does it go on holiday by itself?

Why choose the overly verbose 'nor did his heart beat fast' over 'steady hearbeat' or 'calm'?)

He was as calm as if he was at his cottage sitting by
the fire.

(I still have no idea who 'he' is, where he is, or what he's doing there. But he's apparently relaxed about it, as we've gotten the same information twice in the first two sentences, at the expense of learning anything about the situation. It should be 'were', not 'was'.)

The night was dark and moonless the air was cool and had
the stench of blood in it.

(This piece needs a copy editor(at the very least) in the worst way. Out of three sentences, we have two run ons. In the first paragraph. Which is unfortunate - I don't mind the simplicity of the tone. When used properly, a simple, matter-of-fact voice could be quite compelling. At least we start to have some clue about where this mysterious 'he' is.)

His eyes focused and his hearing keen he
dismounted from his horse and waited only muddling the words
“come you bastards I haven’t got all night”.

(Wait, what? Ok, I suspect he's outside at this point - but the horse was kind of a surprise. From the first two sentences, it appeared that 'he' was lying in wait for something. Apparently, he was doing that on horseback?

We have another run on sentence - three out of four.

'Muddling' the words? Maybe he has a lisp.

and yes, the dialogue is shoved in the middle of the paragraph, and without capitalization.

This is also a very strong example of telling, rather than showing about the situation - we're flat out told that this guy has good eyesight and hearing, without any stimulus to indicate as such, we still don't really know where he is, have zero idea of what kind of world he occupies, and have no idea what the situation could be.)

Just then from behind
the trees a shadow leaped out, with one smooth swipe of his
sword ashes lit up the dark then another leaped out and again he
swiped his sword as if it was apart of him and turned the creature
into ash.

(More run on sentences! Writing exciting action scenes can be tricky even for a writer with a full arsenal of mental tools at his or her finger tips.

This is just really, really awkward, particularly the 'smooth swipe of the sword ashes lit up' bit. On first read, it implies (vaguely) a glowing sword that trails ashes. But it somehow appears that attacking shadows turns them into flashes of ash, or that the shadows are really creatures of some sort of...oh heck, I'm confused.)

As he stepped back a man appeared stepping out of the
darkness, He wore an old knight’s garment and appeared to have
been a kings guard.

(Yikes. I'll stop mentioning the run-on sentence issue, as it appears that the majority of lines in this sampling have that problem.

It's samples like this that created the new writer guideline 'show, don't tell'.)

The swordsman sheved his weapon and knew
he would have to draw it again, for he could smell the death and
blood on the knight and knew he was no longer a man.

('Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves...' Sorry, that's one of the only hymns that I know, and I'm stuck thinking about sharecroppers again.

How did he know he'd have to draw it again? If he knew, why on earth would he bother sheathing his weapon at this time?

Further confusion - so this dude was just attacked by shadows, but meeting a knight (at least so far as we've been told) that smells like blood, right after battling monsters, means that he's a bad guy? How? I was under the impression that people that fight all the time often get a bit bloody.

Is that the only indication that there is? If so, how accurate could it possibly be? Seems pretty far fetched. Again, we have no physical description of this knight other than he wears a 'garment'.)

“You have
killed my squires’ swordsman I guess you will have to take their
place”. He said with a grin that showed two enlarged sharp teeth.

(Killed who? So far, we've seen shadows and creatures, and been told nothing about them. Was this knight a past transgression?

Research Fail: Squire's are the apprentices of knights - they don't have swordsmen of their own.

Their place? From the dialogue, our hero only killed one guy. From the action, two shadow creatures. I'm guessing this is more of a writing problem than a story continuity issue.

Other thought - this hero must have supernatural vision himself, as the story seems to imply he's roaming around on horseback in pitch blackness, the only light given by exploding shadow creatures. Yet he can see the detail in some guy's mouth without any other source of light.)

“I will be no ones slave and especially not to a night demon, your
time in this world has come to an end” the demon pulled from his
side a sword and raised it halfway into the sky.

(The dialogue tags indicates that it's the demon, not our hero who is saying this. I'm ignoring some of the grammar stuff in this line-by-line, as there are just so many problems in this piece(in case you're wondering).

Halfway to into the sky? This dude must be really, really tall. Like the size of an apartment building. The writing also implies that the sword was in the actual flesh of the demon, though I suspect the intent was that the sword was hanging from his side, rather than embedded into his side...

The 'night demon' thing is annoying, just because this is the first paragraph of a first book - there's no frame of reference. The writer may know very well what this creature is in his head, but it's not being shared with the reader.

The other thing that's making no sense - two people stop mid battle, put away their weapons, engage in some not so witty reparte, and start fighting again? This is illogical, captain.)

” I will not kill you swordsman but you will feel much pain as I slice you up a little; I might even cut off a few of your fingers after all you killed two and only offer yourself as one, you need to be taught a lesson”.

(Ok, I'm going to say it here. Every single bit of dialogue in this piece is a mess - stilted, overwrought, awkward, and unrealistic.)

Overall review:

This is just a mess. Just - everything. I'd usually point out one or two specific things to work on, but there are too many problems in here.

For the writer, I highly recommend getting copies of Eats, Shoots, and Leaves; Self Editing for Fiction Writers, and The First Five Pages.

I cannot, in good conscience, recommend this book to anyone; but if you're that sympathetic, this book is an offering from Publish America, $25.00 plus shipping for 136 pages.

Thank you to Mr. Taylor for sending me this paragraph, and sincere well wishes on your writing journey.

First paragraph review?

2010-05-28T12:07:00.000-07:00

I'm thinking of offering free first paragraph reviews/critiques here in my blog.

How it works: send me the first paragraph of your book. It can be published, self published, or a WIP. I'll do an overall, and a line by line critique of the whole paragraph!

There's no competition, no fee, no silliness - if you want to participate, just send the paragraph (and let me know whether you want to be listed under your name, a pen name, or anon)

I'll post the critiques in the order that I receive them. Let me know if you want to play!