Pride of Lions

“Storms are, by nature, and among other things, scary, awesome, chaotic, terrible and beautiful all at the same time. My personal theory is that you cannot look at a storm brewing and not feel anything stirring in your gut. Likewise, in going through an art gallery, the masterpieces that have stopping power are not unlike storms in that they evoke emotional responses from us are the very same ones we consider great.”
— Edmund Shern, from Turbulence: The Art of Storm Lion



Storm LionI don’t usually do this sort of thing but…

As many of you know from reading this site, I’ve had some conversations with a development company in Singapore about a few projects. Regrettably, we never got far enough to find out what. However, although we’ve never been able to find the right combination of circumstances for working together, I’ve followed Storm Lion and their progress with no small amount of interest over the past few years since they first reached out to me about turning “Assam & Darjeeling” into . . . well, something. I’ve no doubt they would have done exciting and amazing things with it, if we’d been able to work out the rights.

Sandra Tang / Storm Lion




So it was a bit of a surprise and disappointment to hear the rumors this past weekend that they were possibly closing their doors — and right on the eve of their big splash at ComicCon later this week.

Sad stuff but, as it turns out, the reports of their demise are (hopefully) exaggerated. News today came through that Storm Lion isn’t quite ready to throw in the towel just yet. Their ComicCon plans will proceed full speed ahead, as will the launch of their new art book “Turbulence”. I was lucky enough to get a sneak peek of the book a week or so ago and it’s full of great work from great talent.

If you’re going to ComicCon this week, stop by Storm Lion’s booth (#4122) and say howdy to Edmund and the team for me. While you’re there, show your support by picking up a copy of “Turbulence”.




———————

GRAMI’ll be doing a reading at the Grand Rapids Art Museum this Friday evening, the 23rd of July. The reading starts at 6pm and three other local writers will also be reading: Adam Schuitema, Jennifer Armintrout, and Tanya Eby (who was nice enough to set the whole thing up and ask the rest of us to join in). If you’re going to be in town, stop by and clap loudly. There will be live music afterwards and fun for all. I don’t know that there will be books for sale at the event, but I’ll be handing out vouchers so attendees can order a specially priced copy through my website.

Or if you’ve got a copy of “Assam & Darjeeling” or “Matters of Mortology” you want signed, bring it along. I’ll have my pen at the ready.

Hope to see you there.

Tomiyasu Kenichiro / Storm Lion















Occasional Wasp & Other Thoughts

Kneel Before Zod

After my iPad post a few weeks ago, this picture cracked me up.

Quick Quiz

Is the phrase “T.M. Camp is mine.” either
(a) What the bill collectors whisper when I answer the phone late at night.
(b) The opening salvo in a cease-and-desist letter from the director of a Transcendental Meditation retreat.
(c) The start of a very, very, very nice compliment I received in a recent e-mail.

Answer below.

Birthday Book Bingo

Last week people on Twitter fought and kicked and clawed to get their hands on free copies of Assam & Darjeeling and Matters of Mortology.

Well, maybe it wasn’t that violent. But thanks for playing along anyways, kids. The books have all shipped. Hope you enjoy them.

And if you weren’t one of the lucky ones this time around, we’ll do it again sometime. I promise. It was too much fun not to.

Birthday Book Blues?

Don’t forget: If you really, really want to read one of my books you could always buy a copy. All you have to do is click on one of the covers over there on the right.

It’s worth noting that Lulu has free shipping all summer long, Amazon and Barnes & Noble are selling it with a big discount right now. And people are also ordering autographed copies directly. And there’s also a nice, crisp free-to-download PDF out there for each one, too.

Just saying…

sleepyJay Garrick’s Lament, The Sequel

Back when my first child was born and I was supremely unprepared for the impact of a new baby in my life, I had a schedule that allowed for four to five hours of uninterrupted writing time every night. It’s almost sixteen years later and, boy oh boy, have times changed.

I have less time now, of course. And I’m way better prepared, having been through this a few times now.

Even so, Sophie is kicking the crap out of me.

She’s pretty darn cute, though.

Either the extremity of sleep deprivation utterly wiped out any memory of how hard these first months are, or she’s come to earth with powers and abilities far beyond those of ordinary mortals.

All of which is to say that the “forthcoming” joke on the Acknowledgements page of Assam & Darjeeling sounds less and less funny to me every day.

I started a short story just before Sophie was born — it’s the next Jee story, as a matter of fact — and the baby’s early arrival threw me off kilter for weeks. I did my best to chip away at the story a little bit here and there, but it wasn’t long before my momentum had flagged and I’ve been struggling to get it rolling again.

It’s driving me a bit crazy, to be honest. It’s not writer’s block. I’ve got it all together and ready to go. The story is right there, ready to be written. But it needs the full flood of effort and not the few rivulets I can squeeze out here and there.

(The delay hasn’t been a total washout, however. In the intervening weeks, I’ve made a few discoveries — minor things for the most part, little conversations and images scattered here and there. But they were worth the wait, so I shouldn’t complain too much. One bit in particular is something I’m very proud of, although I suspect I didn’t come up with it. Writing, for me, always feels like I’m eavesdropping on someone else, something Other. Metaphysical blog post on this topic to follow.)

Someone asked me about my process recently, specifically how I kickstart something that’s lost traction. Here was part of my answer…

“What works best for me is to start over. If I’ve been away from something for a period of time and find I can’t quite pick it up again — even though there’s no earthly reason why I shouldn’t be able to — I’ll read everything through as far as I’ve gotten and then do a quick sketch of the story: It’s overall shape, the sequence of events, an inventory of important things to include. Once I have that, I’ll start writing again from the beginning, transcribing my original draft and tweaking it as I go along, referring to my sketch whenever I have something new to incorporate. Usually by the time I get to the end of the previous text — the spot where it stalled — I’ve got a full head of steam built up again, and I can just keep chugging along.”

Hey, works for me.

Once the new story’s done, it’s time to wake up poor little Pantheon and get it rolling again. There’s a lot of work there, a big book waiting to be written — so it’s going to take a lot of work.

And, honestly, I’ve no idea how long it’ll take. I’d like to think I can have a first draft done by the end of the year. But there’s no way to know. All I can do is write as much as possible, as fast as possible.

Well. It’ll take whatever it takes.

Another Reason Why I Hate Summer

Worst performance review ever.Now that it’s Summer, my coworkers enjoy opening the office doors in the afternoon. This brings in the breeze as well as large black flies and even the occasional wasp. They buzz around my head, retreating to tap against the top of the tall windows next to my desk. Eventually, they come back to divebomb me again. It’s maddening.

I have a deep, intense, and slightly pathological dislike of flying insects.

As I type this, my skin is crawling. I’m like Matt Cable over here.

On the Wagon

"I can quit any time."Speaking of which, I stopped drinking alcohol when Sophie was born. It’s not like I was a falling down drunk or anything, but I probably knocked it back more than most people usually do — typically late at night while I was writing.

So, faced with a unpredictable sleep schedule, an increasingly complicated set of priorities, and rapidly evolving stress levels… Well, the last thing I needed was “a psychoactive drug that has a depressant effect” (Shut up, Wikipedia.)

I haven’t really missed it at all. I find that I’ve got no desire for it. I’m not anti-drinking or anything like that. I’m just walking past that aisle in the grocery store now. And it’s become a little bit of an interesting exercise for me, even a challenge. I don’t have a set timeframe, so there’s a bit of “Let’s see how long I can go…” underlying it all. It’s also interesting to see how people react when the subject comes up. Some get a little twitchy and uncertain, as though I’m one Michelob Ultra away from becoming Montgomery Clift.

Really. I’ve just got a baby girl to take care of, after all. I pretty much did the same thing when her older brother and sister were born.

Recently, someone on Twitter mentioned they were reading Stephen King’s On Writing which led to an interesting conversation between a few of us about what we liked and/or hated about the book. I didn’t mention it at the time, but I’d already been thinking about King and his book. Parts of it are surprisingly personal and frankly confessional. I enjoy the memoir aspect of it most of all, and his revelation about his own addiction was startling.

However, one of my main points of irritation is King’s assertion that most (if not all) writers are drug addicts and/or alcoholics. He essentially claims that “we’re just wired that way.”

Call it denial, but I don’t buy that at all.

Tea on the other hand? Now that’s a drug I won’t be giving up any time soon.

And the answer is…

Buy Now“T.M. Camp is mine. No I’m not a stalker and definitely not insane..what I mean is…well, maybe it’s a little hard to put into words but just like you I have shelves dedicated to Alan Moore and Neil Gaiman and Dave Sim…but everyone…everyone knows them…at least now anyway with the success of movies. But I DISCOVERED “Assam and Darjeeling” on the iTunes podcast. I don’t care if you wrote it and created it…I found you…”

I love getting e-mail like that. Seriously. That sort of thing makes my day.

Assam & Darjeeling is just starting to get out there and the early response overall has been very positive. We’re seeing reviews go up on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, as well as sites like Goodreads and LibraryThing. But more wouldn’t hurt. So don’t be afraid to put your own out there, if you’re so inclined.

And if you really want to help out, go into your local bookseller and ask them to order you a copy. Do it three or four times, tell them how much you like the book and that you’re buying copies for all your friends. Don’t forget to mention how much you wish I’d come to your town for a signing/reading.

You never know what might come of it.

Copies are going out to bloggers and reviewers as well. If you fall into one of those categories, you can request a review copy directly from Aurohn Press.

Coming Soon?

Some very nice people have asked me when my next book is coming out. Having blown through Assam & Darjeeling and Matters of Mortology, they’re reduced to subsisting on The Gospel of Thomas and whatever clever things I manage to say on Facebook or Twitter.

As I said above, the next novel is a ways off. If you listen in to The Gospel of Thomas, you’ll probably hear excerpts over time. And eventually it’ll have it’s own free audiobook/podcast. But we’re easily a year away from being able to buy a copy. Unfortunately.

However, it occurred to me recently that I actually have a few older books that are just a few steps from being ready for the world. I haven’t talked about them much here. In fact, very few people have even seen them. In all honesty, I’d forgotten about them until late last night when I was moving a few things around in my office.

Through no fault of their own, I don’t think about these stories much in the context of the rest of my work — although, upon reflection, they fit in rather well. I created them for very personal reasons, as one-off gifts for people over the years.

But a few of you had been asking for new work and I’ve been thinking about that. I read comics, after all. I know what it’s like to wait for the next thing to come out, and wait… and wait… and wait…

And there they were: Two books sitting on the shelf all polite and patient, just waiting for me to remember them.

So. That being said, Aurohn Press has tentatively added them to the 2010 schedule. If all goes well, the first “new” book will be released this August.

I should mention that it’s a children’s book, of sorts. A picture book.

It’s called The Jupiter Egg.

“As Those Fabulous Dragons Teeth…”

“The enemy of most authors is not piracy but obscurity.”
Dave Charest

About a year ago, I experienced what some might describe as a moment of clarity, one of those points where your perspective changes and you find yourself unable to go back to the way it was before.

Sometimes these are small moments, a sudden flash of intuition in a situation reveals a whole level of understanding you didn’t previously possess. Other times it’s something more profound, an evolution in your perspective that forever alters how you view the world.

Last year I asked myself a question and, without meaning to, I nudged myself into a different mode of thinking that completely re-framed how I thought about my writing.

Simply put, the question was “What do I want?”

The answer came almost immediately: “I want people to read my work.”

Ultimately, my goal as a writer — my reason for writing at all — is not to be famous, to get rich, to go on Oprah, or land a movie deal. I know plenty of writers who want those things, who write in order to achieve them. And while I would not shy away from those opportunities if they were given to me, they are not why I started writing and they’re not why I’ve kept writing all these years.

Mostly, I just want people to read what I’ve written.

And so I asked myself another question: “How can I make that happen?”

“Refine my synopsis yet again” was not the answer…

“Write the perfect query letter” was not the answer…

And even “Find an agent” or “Get a publisher” was not the answer…

Oddly enough, the answer wasn’t any of the conventional things that the industry traditionally tells all authors — things that I’d been doing for years in the hopes that I might get lucky.

No, the answer was a lot more obvious: “You want people to read it? Share it with everyone. Put it out there as far and wide as you can, make it easily available and free to anyone who might want to read it.”

That’s actually not a big a stretch — at least, not for me. Since the earliest days of this website back in 1997, I’ve been putting my stories, poems, and plays out there for people to download. And both “Assam & Darjeeling” and “Matters of Mortology” have gotten a great response on the strength of their availability on iTunes as free audiobooks. As has my latest podcast “The Gospel of Thomas”.

So. That being said…

I get e-mails every few weeks from people who have listened to one of my free audiobooks, asking how they can buy a “real” copy of their own.

Well, now you can.

You’ve probably noticed already those links over there for downloading or buying my novels Assam & Darjeeling and Matters of Mortology.

Take a look. For each of them, there’s a link to download an electronic copy of the book free of charge. If you do, feel free to share it around, e-mail it to friends you think might like it, or post it on your blog. That’s what it’s there for. And if you really like it and want to buy a copy you can hold in your hot little hands, there’s a link for that too. Right now there’s free shipping if you buy it through Lulu Marketplace.

Or I’ll even sign a copy and send it to you. People seem to like that too.

However you choose, I’m grateful for your interest in my work and I hope you’ll drop me a line and let me know what you thought of it.

And if you like, take a minute to head out to iTunes or Amazon or Goodreads or Barnes & Noble or anywhere else — give it a rating, write a review, let the rest of the world know what you thought of it. I’ll be very, very grateful.

Like the man said…

“I know books are as lively, and as vigorously productive, as those fabulous Dragons teeth; and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men.”
John Milton

And now, a little bit of powerdorkery…

squee

Longtime readers of this blog — and anyone who had to sit through a meeting with me in the late Nineties and early Aughts — might remember my enthusiasm for a little Apple device called the Newton.

I won’t go into it’s history here, but I absolutely loved the Newton. It was a great tool for writers, lightweight and easy to use. It had a (for the time) a nice long battery life — surprisingly enough, it could run on AA batteries in a pinch. It had a nice set of native applications, including a more than adequate word processing program. And it easily sync’d with the Mac OS, making it a snap to move project files back and forth.

And, despite the bad press, I never had any difficulty with the amazing (but much maligned) handwriting recognition software.

As I said, I loved it. I first started using a Newton when I managed to cajole my bosses into buying me an eMate — a stripped down laptop running the Newton OS and sporting an amazing clamshell design that marked the first major design revolution at Apple. I took it to meetings and stopped traffic. People came in from the halls to ask about it. I could have sold a hundred of them just by showing up on client sites with it in my hands.

I loved it so much, I scraped together money I didn’t have to buy the MessagePad, a handheld “brick” version that offered much more processing power and versatility than the eMate. It wasn’t as visually impressive as it’s younger sibling, but the MessagePad stayed in my hand wherever I went.

The first lines of a short story that would eventually become Assam & Darjeeling were written on it. As was the first scenes of my adaptation of The Odyssey. Plenty of other poems and short stories and ideas started (and, sometimes, stalled) on the Newton as well. And, after shelling out a few bucks on eBay, I got my hands on a modem. So now I could do e-mail too.

Long after Apple abandoned the platform, I hung on to my Newtons (in fact, I still have them up in the attic, along with my first Mac). Sure, it was dead technology at that point, but I was still using it. In my own defense, I might very well be the person who coined the term “Zombie Technology” is justification for my commitment to the platform — with it’s eerie green glowing screen, the label was an apt one.

But eventually, I had to let it go. It was just too difficult to use in conjunction with the OSX platform and, ultimately, what had once freed me up as a writer was now slowing me down. So I buried it, tamping the dirt down as gently as I could.

Since then, I’d see little signs that the ghost of the Newton still wandered the halls of Cupertino. The scribbly little cloud puffs when you deleted a file in OSX were a cut and paste job from the Newton OS. And when the iPhone and Touch appeared with their neat little square apps and convenient dock at the bottom of the screen, I felt a familiar twinge in my fingers. Despite the disdain that Steve Jobs was rumored to have for the Newton, it was undeniable that some cannibalization was being done.

With the Touch and, later, the iPhone, I found myself once again wandering around with technology welded to my hand. And I was perfectly happy.

But . . . this was an iPad review, yes?

I apologize.

After dropping a few well-placed hints earlier this year, the nice people I work for were kind enough to give me the green light on ordering one of those newfangled iPad gizmos with all the trimmings. And they even sprung for the 3G model, pretty much ensuring that I could irritate all of humanity no matter where I went.

When it got delivered last Friday, I was out of the office taking care of Baby Sophie. Using up the last of my cajoling tokens, I was able to convince a coworker to bring it to me at the end of the day. Once the baby settled down for the evening, I started playing.

Life is, as I’ve often said, very good.

Like most everything Apple makes these days, the iPad was a breeze to activate and configure. I was off and running within minutes. You forget what a relief that is, until you have to work with something from another company.

I’d been waiting a while to get my hands on the iPad and the first hour of using the damned thing was punctuated by a series of delighted chuckles. My lovely and patient wife endured a barrage of “Oooh! And it also…” comments throughout the evening. She didn’t wholly appreciate my referring to it as Sophie’s new baby brother, but she loves me enough to know when I’m (most likely) joking.

Overall, the iPad feels great. It’s just the right size to carry in one hand, without being too heavy. And it doesn’t feel too small in two hands. After a few hours, I could feel my iPhone getting jealous.

As a media device, the iPad is outstanding. I’m not an HD or Blu-Ray snob and I don’t have a television the size of a king size mattress, so watching a movie or TV show on the iPad is no problem for me. And once you start using the YouTube, ABC TV, and Netflix apps, the geek joy goes even higher. Now I can finally watch “Lost” and see what all the yammering is about.

As an internet device, the iPad is a joy to use. These kind of things can be clunky and more trouble than they’re worth, but Apple long ago cornered the market on interface design. So it’s a relief to use a device that requires little or no time to learn — especially if you’re already familiar with the iPhone or Touch. The e-mail interface (particularly in landscape mode) is very clean and easy. And the browsing experience is terrific. Much has been made of the lack of Flash compatibility but, in all honesty, I didn’t even run across a Flash “hole” until after a day or so. And, even then, it didn’t really diminish my experience overall.

Assam & DarjeelingAs a book reader, I’m going to make an obvious prediction and say that the Kindle’s days are likely numbered if Amazon doesn’t do something dramatic. First of all, there’s the Kindle app — which worked great on the iPhone already and is now even better on the iPad (and both of my books look great as well, just saying).

I have to admit, the new Apple Book Store seems a little derivative of what Amazon and some of the other book reader apps have already done. But that’s a minor quibble. I expect it will evolve. My only peeve with the Apple approach to books is their adoption of that damned “page turning” animation. It’s an effect I’ve always disliked when I’ve seen it elsewhere online or in interactive media. I don’t like developers pretending a screen is paper. It’s a bit condescending to their user audience and forcing the digital to ape the physical analog world just seems wrong conceptually. Programmers should be looking for new ways to let new media deliver content, setting it free to be itself instead of pretending it’s something it isn’t. But hey, that’s just me. I have issues.

(I won’t weigh in on the closed system approach Apple has taken to the device and the iTunes store as a whole. That’s a subject for a different time. Suffice it to say that the Kindle versions of both Assam & Darjeeling and Matters of Mortology are both DRM-free. Amen.)

ComiXologyAnd I was surprised at how well comics translate to the device. After downloading a number of free issues for the ComiXology and Marvel apps, I can see the appeal of, say, having the whole Claremont/Byrne run of X-Men at your fingertips. But I don’t really see anyone giving up either the social aspect of going to their local comic book store each week, or the tactile pleasure of holding the comic in your hand. I’d say the same is true for digital vs. physical books . . . although the author/publisher in me is more than a little excited by these new media, channels, and devices. Again, that’s a different post for a different time.

I’m not a big time gamer but there’s definitely a whole new level of development waiting int he wings thanks to this device. It’ll be very interesting to see what kind of content gets produced, to see how far the adventurous programmers can push the interface and user expectations. Or if they just, y’know, settle for porting over Pac Man to yet another device.

A lot has been made of the touchscreen interface and keyboard. Personally, I didn’t have too much trouble using either. I type very, very fast on a conventional keyboard, so the onscreen one slowed me down a little. A few common keys are out of place, which led to a bit of hunt and peck from time to time (I did miss the Newton’s handwriting recognition more than once, though). But overall, it seemed perfectly serviceable. I expect I’d be able to hammer away on it or a few hours at a stretch without too much trouble. Although my preferred writing program Scrivener won’t make it to the platform any time soon (if ever), the addition of an iPad version of the Pages software is a welcome addition. I won’t be writing my next novel on it, but I bet more than a few chapters will get banged out on it.

So . . . long story short, I really like the iPad — and not just because it reminds me of how much I loved the Newton. Technically, I supposed you’d say it’s a “tablet” — living on the technological continuum between smartphones and laptops, serving as a hybrid that shares select features and functionality of both. In that context, it’s quite successful. My biggest disappointment is that I don’t own one of my very own. At some point soon, I’m going to have to share it with everyone in the office. I’m not by nature a selfish person, but it’ll be very, very hard to give it up when the time comes.

A few weeks back, I had the opportunity to spend an afternoon training a number of middle managers on social networking. I started off the session by saying: “I grew up reading comic books and science fiction. Which is another way of saying I’ve been waiting my whole life for the real world to catch up. At long last, I’m finally living in a world that I used to read about. And I love it.”

The iPad is just one more reason why.

——————————————————————

Things I Did on the iPad in the First 24 Hours

  • Tried not to squee too much about it on Twitter.
  • Composed, sent, and replied to a boatload of e-mails.
  • Watched the latest episode of “Doctor Who” and the first four episodes of “Lost”.
  • Made notes for a new poem about Sophie that I’ll get around to writing about the same time she starts sleeping through the night.
  • Bought a book from the Kindle store.
  • Downloaded and read the free Clairmont/Miller Wolverine #1 using the Marvel app.
  • Wish more than once that DC would put their comics out there.
  • Spent $100 on work-related apps.
  • Sent our accounting department a reimbursement request for the aforementioned $100.
  • Obsessively polished the screen, just like every Apple device I own.
  • Wrote this blog post.

Things I Didn’t Do

  • Porn.
  • Skype.
  • IM or Chat.
  • Buy a book from the Apple store.
  • Buy a comic book from Comixology or Marvel.
  • Use the dock or wireless keyboard we bought to go with the device. Didn’t really need ‘em.
  • Share it with anyone.

The First. The Tenth. The Third.

A few months back, my wife had to switch doctors. She’d been with the same physician for years, so losing them halfway through her first pregnancy was a little bit of a disappointment. But it wasn’t the end of the world. The new doctor was a very experienced, businesslike woman who radiated confidence. Some people might want a warm and fuzzy bedside manner during a pregnancy, but it was good to have someone with a steady hand on the tiller (so to speak). So we made the change and continued on course.

Two weeks ago, we saw doubt and concern on our doctor’s face for the first time. It was a Friday, one of our weekly appointments. Our routine was pretty well nailed down at this point: On the days when we had an appointment, I would stay home and work for a few hours in the morning before we’d go to the doctor’s office. The doctor would examine my wife — an activity that seemed akin to dowsing as it appeared to involve nothing more than laying her hands at various angles on Keeley’s belly and asking how she was feeling. Once we’d answered and asked a few questions, my wife and I would head off to lunch together and talk about all the things we needed to get done before the baby was born.

As I said, routine.

Except for this one Friday a few weeks back.

I’d been staying up late that week to get Assam & Darjeeling ready for publication, working every night until about 3AM. I was pretty pleased to have finished up the Kindle version of the book and I’d made some progress on an iPad version as well. In addition, I’d been doing some good work on a new Jee story that night and I was looking forward to finishing it over the coming weekend. To celebrate, I’d made my self a fairly stiff drink and settled in to read for a while before bed. Honestly, I was spoiling myself a bit. I knew I wouldn’t get many chances for this sort of thing once the baby was born.

And, after all, I didn’t have to get up too early in the morning. I could always take a nap after the appointment. And there was the weekend when I could catch up on any sleep and work I’d missed out on. So I felt a little more tired than usual the next morning, but not debilitatingly so. Just a bit blurry around the edges.

I got a lot sharper during our appointment, when I saw the doctor pause with her hands on my wife’s stomach. Up until this point, the woman had been following a routine of her own. But something shifted somehow and I understood that I was no longer looking at her face.

I was looking at a mask, the thing you put on when you don’t want people to see what’s really there.

She made a few more measurements with her hands — a few more than usual, pressing a little harder than usual — and then she went over and leafed through my wife’s charts . . . something she had never done before.

I don’t remember the exact words she used, but the gist is that she suspected the baby was breech. This wasn’t too much of a shock, really. She’d mentioned it during a few previous appointments and, with three weeks to go, there was plenty of time to sort things out.

Only, uncharacteristically, she seemed unsure. She asked if we had time to stick around and do an extra ultrasound, just to be sure.

Ultrasounds are a lot of fun and the only plans we had were to get lunch afterward and, hopefully, take a nap together that afternoon. So, yeah, we could stick around.

The doctor sent us off with a nurse while she interrupted someone’s lunch break, so they could come confirm the baby’s position.

Once we were done, the technician sent us back off with the nurse again. “Okay,” she said to us out in the hallway, “I’m going to go get the doctor to come and talk with you. Based on the ultrasound, the baby is breech. Also, there’s zero amniotic fluid in there. So that means you’re going to have a C-section. And you’re going to have it today.

Oh. My.

We had to sit for a while and wait for the doctor to come back to talk with us. She told us what we’d already figured out: That we were very, very lucky.

We were lucky that our appointment had been moved up from later in the afternoon, lucky that the doctor hadn’t been able to confirm the position of the baby, lucky that she’d ordered an extra ultrasound, lucky that we’d decided to skip lunch to do it . . . lucky that they’d checked in on our little girl before we’d gone another three weeks.

There are a lot of things that could be the source of the missing amniotic fluid but what mattered most was that the baby needed to come out as soon as possible. With nothing to protect her, the risks were very real. It’s never a great thing to hear your doctor say the word “stillborn”. No matter how many times she says the word “lucky”, you’re going to have trouble forgetting that she said the other word too.

We went to the hospital straight from the doctor’s office.

I called my wife’s parents once we were settled in, monitors keeping watch over my wife and our baby.

“What are you doing tonight?” I asked when I called her father. He said he didn’t have any plans. I asked if he wanted to drop by and hold his granddaughter three weeks early. They were there within the hour.

I called my parents as well. My father prayed.

I’m not very good at very many things, but my mind moves pretty fast and I do pretty well in a crisis. Also, my wife tells me that I look pretty good in scrubs.

A little while later, I tried to ignore a Caesarean going on over left my shoulder so I comfort my very frightened wife while we waited for our daughter was born.

But, in all honesty, it felt more like a rescue than a birth.

And so . . . at around 7:30PM, someone over my shoulder said “Do you want to see her?”

We did.

Her mother named her after the Greek word for wisdom. And I’d like to think that there must have been an owl whispering in the doctor’s ear that afternoon, sent from Athena to nudge us all in the right direction to make sure that ultrasound happened.

It did. And now we have Sophie.





Il Terribile Pescecane

In which I relate how I got my Big Break . . . and then let it go.

I’ve been dropping hints here and there for a while now, but here’s the full story…

Assam & DarjeelingA few weeks back I received a professional inquiry from a company in Singapore, interested in my novel Assam & Darjeeling. They’ve got connections with companies here and overseas, everything from comics to anime to manga to you-name-it. Pretty exciting stuff, really. It’s exactly the kind of inquiry you want to get and it’s hard not to say “Oh man, this is really going to happen.”

After a number of e-mails and phone calls back and forth, they asked for permission to “pitch” the story in their conversations — which was perfectly fine by me. I prepared a packet for them that included a synopsis, sample chapters, and about an hour’s worth of audio from the podcast. Along with this, I included a release that allowed them to discuss the story in their meetings but also clearly outlined where the boundaries of the relationship were. Thus armed, off they went.

Throughout all of this, everybody was enthusiastic and hopeful but the conversations were tempered with a healthy does of realistic expectations. All good stuff.

Reporting back, they let me know they’d had some conversations (I don’t know if I can say with whom, so I won’t) and those had gone well. There was a lot of interest in what they were now calling the “property” and also a handful of questions and ideas for me to consider.

I work in advertising so I’m used to being open to ideas from other people. And my work as a playwright has taught me that there’s often good energy generated when different ideas come together. And I know enough about the Industry to not be offended by the term “property” in relation to my work.

Not surprisingly, some of the questions reflected the typical concerns that crop up in any meeting with Marketing people: Who’s the audience? Is this a book for kids or adults? What’s the demographic?

I have these kinds of conversations all the time. And, admittedly, Assam & Darjeeling isn’t perhaps a story that lends itself to age-based marketing. And there was a tone in the comments I was hearing that suggested it wasn’t a matter of trying to define what the audience was, but to redefine the story for a specific audience. As I wrote in my response “Oftentimes, this tendency results in a redefinition of the story to meet what marketing perceives to be the expectations and/or tastes of that audience. The results of that effort are not always successful.”

Diplomatic but valid.

Polite disagreement crept in on a few other points as well. There was a comment that the title was perhaps too “obscure” and also a concern that it sounded “too feminine” — this last one was pretty baffling to me.

Alternate titles were suggested that were more interesting (to them) and more in line with the theme of “payment” at the center of the book (as perceived by them). Since that concept isn’t, in fact, the central theme of the story, I didn’t mind offering more polite disagreement.

DarjeelingTo help clarify where I saw the audience for the book, where I saw a market for the book, what I believed the central theme to be… well, I thought it would be helpful to point them towards a few things that resonate on a similar frequency. It takes some kind of gall for an unknown author to invoke masterpieces like Pan’s Labyrinth, Grave of the Fireflies, Night of the Hunter, and To Kill a Mockingbird, but I did it without apology. And they seemed to understand where I was coming from.

Overall the conversation was a good one and everyone involved seemed genuinely interested in finding common ground to make this a successful venture.

But there was a question that been nagging at me since the beginning of our conversations and I followed up with an e-mail to ask it: Where were they heading with all of this?

See, to me it’s a book first and foremost. But my conversations with them had run through a wide range of possibilities including anime, manga, comics, feature films, merchandising, etc. — none of which I’m opposed to, of course. But in my mind it all grows out of that book I wrote. I had the impression they had a different focus. So I sent off my e-mail and waited for a reply.

The next conversation was, by everyone’s standards, a hard one. They were still quite interested in the property but they had serious concerns that they wouldn’t be able to do much for me if they didn’t have the freedom to explore everyone’s ideas in their conversations. That is to say, if someone had an idea in a meeting — say, for instance, to change the names of the characters — they needed to be able to run with it. And I had to accept the fact that whatever this things turned out to be — movie, manga, Saturday morning cartoon series, or breakfast cereal — it was likely to be different than what I’d written.

But, of course, I could count on them to stay true to the spirit of the original idea . . . in some form or another. They had a lot of faith in the property as a franchise of some kind and I could be confident that I’d get my share of the royalties. But in order to be successful, to take this property as far as they could go, they needed complete creative control. They needed, in short, to own the “intellectual property” outright.

Well . . . golly. Where to begin?

The phrase “complete creative control” is not one that sits well with me as it sometimes predicates an artist getting screwed with their pants on. Coupled with the assertion that “you’re just going to have to trust us” I could feel my inner Temperamental Artist getting his hackles up. I know my history, I’ve gone to school on the experiences of people like David Mamet, Jack Kirby, Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, and plenty of others. I don’t pretend to have the clout or expertise, but I do have the same rights and responsibility to my work.

More questions from me only weakened the confidence on both sides: What about the novel I’d written? Would I be free to publish it? Would I be free to write future stories about these characters and settings?

We ended the conversation at an impasse, both of us had some thinking to do.

We spoke last night and it went pretty much the way I expected it would. These are very nice, well connected people who have a real enthusiasm and drive for what they do. I have no doubt that if I agreed to their terms, they would make something out of the property and take it as far as it could possibly go.

But I said “No.”

I’d be lying if I said it was an easy decision. I’ve been working and waiting for a chance like this a very long time. I’d love to be (as Tom Waits said ) big in Japan. I’d love to see what a director like Tim Burton or Guillermo del Toro (two names mentioned as possibilities) might do with the story on the big screen. I’d love to see Assam and Darjeeling lunchboxes and Juniper action figures and, sure, even Black Annis breakfast cereal (okay, probably not that).

But to follow that path, on the terms they offered, would mean that the book I’ve spent so much time developing might never see publication — at least, not in the original form. And I would have no control over how it ultimately did come to market. Neither would I be free to write anything else about my characters because, of course, they would no longer be mine.

And I don’t want to stand aside and watch as my characters get swallowed up in the belly of the whale.

EdgarWhether it’s the smartest thing I’ve ever done or something I’ll regret for the rest of my life, my reasoning is pretty straightforward: I have more stories to tell. Darjeeling is very, very precious to me and I’m not done with her yet. And there’s quite possibly a whole book about Edgar somewhere out there. And not a day goes by that I don’t think about poor Juniper and how he got his heart broken. Those are all stories I want to tell.

I feel an obligation to make sure they’re told, an obligation to the characters themselves. They need me.

And I need them.

Although I’m disappointed things didn’t work out, I’m not angry at these nice people who were so interested in my work. They’re just doing what they do, after all. And I wish them success in their other efforts.

Mostly, I’m grateful that this story has traveled this far, so far. And this episode gives me faith that it will, in time, find its way into the right hands.

Until then, give the story a listen (iTunes or RSS) and then drop me a line. I’d love to hear from you.

——————-

UPDATED: Got a very nice note in reply from my main contact at the company who showed so much interest in my book. Good to know we understand each other and that our paths might cross again sometime. These aren’t bad people, their business model is just different than where I’m trying to go. They respect my work and my position, and I respect theirs.

And I appreciate everyone’s support and comments below. It means a lot and I hope you’ll spread the word, tell your friends about the book, even leave a review on iTunes if the mood strikes. Who knows what doors might open, thanks to you?

“The Third Day Comes a Frost…”

Cold times here in the Midwest — single digit temperatures and below, arctic winds, and lots of grumpy people. And when the sun does shine, it’s a brittle, cheerless light.

So, of course, I’m loving it. Unlike other writers, I don’t flee the frost — then again, I don’t have to walk a dog or carry it up and down stairs, either. Neither have I won the Newberry Medal. Perhaps there’s a correlation?

Assam & DarjeelingMatters of MortologyThis might just be the case. My writing time over the past month or so has been disrupted by a frustrating bundle of interruptions and accidents, too numerous to mention here. It hasn’t helped that much of my time has been spent preparing and revising submission materials — easily my most hated task by far, as it feels exactly like the opposite of writing. But it is also Playing By The Rules in order to make a connection with the right sort of agent to represent my work. And with two books done and a third one on the way, I’m not quite ready to give that up just yet. Not quite.

Speaking of books and weather… I should also mention that The Winter Chap is still available. Originally, I’d planned to limit the Chaps and retire each preceding season once the new one was available. However, people are still discovering it and buying a copy (you could be one of them) so I’ve decided to leave them out there. Which means Winter is going to remain available for purchase once The Spring Chap is released in early February.

The Winter ChapA few people have asked me why I’m doing the Chaps (a question I much prefer to be asked in writing rather than having it spoke in, say, a crowded shop) and it really comes down to vanity. I’ve got a lot of odd little bits and pieces which might never see the light of day otherwise. There’s short stories and poems and other oddments that don’t quite fit anywhere else, so this is a way for people to discover them on their own. And the price isn’t so bad for fifty or so pages of unpublished stories and poems, really. I myself have spent far more on much less.

It’s perhaps worth noting that, at the end of the day, only a dollar of that lands in my threadbare pockets. The rest of the asking price goes to feed the little children whom, I imagine, Ms. Lulu has enslaved to do her bidding. See their tiny hands laced with paper cuts banging away on staplers and saddle-stich machines? Is six bucks and some change too much to ask that their efforts not be in vain? I think not.

I’ve got about forty-seven tabs open in Firefox right now, all sorts of little interesting things that caught my attention over the past few weeks. Here’s a few to help to while away the long, dark hours of winter…

Batman is(n't) Dead…Alan Moore’s writing another volume of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and this time it’s a musical — which is either baffling or genius, possibly both…

…we have a new president and someone took a picture of the event, creating a real-life Where’s Waldo…

…that nice Mr. Doctorow has some pretty good advice for writers…

…there’s this photographer named Michael Kenna that, somehow, has found a window into my dreams

…people are starting to notice this Andrew Bird fellow and I say it’s long overdue…

…I’ve discovered that reading agent and publisher blogs like this one is akin to looking up your medical symptoms online. It’s always fatal…

…and, yes, I have heard that Batman is dead. I’m not buying it. This kind of foolishness is one of the reasons why I typically avoid mainstream comics these days.

Starship Sofa review of “Assam & Darjeeling”

Starship Sofa

Over at Starship Sofa, they’re running Julie Davis’ very kind review of “Assam & Darjeeling” in their latest podcast. She’s expanded her comments a bit further than in her original review, but in case you missed it…

One of the truest pleasures of Assam & Darjeeling is the relationship between the forceful younger sister, Darjeeling, and the thoughtful, sensitive older brother, Assam. The way that they work together to save their mother, yet often clash in the details of how they must proceed is what carries the story and makes us believe in their relationship. It rings true to anyone who has siblings whom they love but who also have the capacity to irritate beyond belief in daily life.



The prolonged squeee sound you hear is, of course, me. I’ll stop eventually.

You can download the full podcast and review here or through iTunes.