Like Watching Sausage Being Made, But Not As Interesting

Yesterday I watched the opening session of the Maine State Legislature. It was basically pomp and circumstance with addresses by our governor, John Baldacci (if only there were an emoticon that expressed "I feel nauseous just thinking about this douche bag, let alone writing his name; and I can't wait until he is out of power), as well as from the newly appointed Speaker of the House, Hannah ("Hi Mom! Thanks for getting me the job") Pingree. OK, so I'm not impressed with them, but what's the alternative, voting Republican? Hello, lesser evil.

Anyway, using my poli sci degree I will attempt to breakdown a few of the wonders I witnesses yesterday.

First: What's the point of giving these people a lunch buffett? Can't they go to the cafeteria and get their own damn food? There are a lot of needy people in Maine facing benefit cuts at the hands of the same people going for a second helping of rolls. I don't think that was government cheese I saw on the table.

Second: Should we feel proud or frightened in regards to that unstable guy who seems to show up at every government session, whether it's the State Legislature or a meeting of a local school board? On one hand, it's nice that people show an interest in the process; on the other hand, these people seem to carry one or more types of Hepatitis, haven't discovered the wonders of a comb, consider Old Duke an acceptable substitute for mouth wash, think showers are a once-a-month event and usually express their opinions out loud to whomever is on the other side of the conversation in their head. Maybe these are the true political scientists. Most people weren't as riveted with the whole spectacle as this guy. I wonder what his party affiliation is.

Third: OK, I admit it, I'm a sucker for the whole government thing. I'm proud of the architecture of our State House and the enthusiasm in the air. For small moments of time, I forgot my cynical side (the reasonable one) and enjoyed the ceremony of it. Do I dare say that I'm optimistic? Well, it was nice while it lasted.

Standing on the Edge of Definition

The definition of noir can be pretty fleeting. There is no universal standard, other than it is dark. I still like Dennis Lehane's definition that noir is working class tragedy, and as I continue to write I find what I'm interested in is that tragedy. It's funny that you need to spend a couple of years writing before you realize what it is you want to write.

So, does that mean the hard boiled stuff of tough guys and dames and guns is over for me? Hell no! That stuff is still fun to write, but more and more the stories that appear before me on the computer screen are tales of muted desperation and remorse instead of escapism. Basically I'm veering dangerously close to that literary divide the snobbish jackass literarti made up so they can sneer at genre fiction. I hope like hell I never cross it; fuck those idiots. Where I want to be is in the twilight where intelligent, open-minded readers appreciate character and plot equally. Yes, there are stories that are tilted more toward character and ones that lean heavily toward plot, but I don't thing the two are mutually exclusive. Some will tell you that you can only lean one way or the other - bullshit, that's two-dimensional thinking. Where would you place The Great Gatsby on that scale, or They Shoot Horses Don't They? or The Last Good Kiss?

So, we as a group will continue to fail in our efforts to grasp a concrete universal definition of that phantom we call our genre, but for me, it's a little more solidified. At least I can live with it.

Sleep

Ok, it's twenty minutes to three in the morning and I'm up. I've read a little bit (George R.R. Martin's A Fest for Crows), a watched a little TV (John Huston's The Misfits) and wrote a little (502 words!). Now what?

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuckity Fuck

If you're still reading this after that tasteful title, then I assume you can handle a couple of swear words. Words happen. We read them, we hear them, we think them; they will never go away, and we can't really ignore them. If you're a writer, you probably shouldn't stop thinking about words - or how anyone else chooses to use them. Yes, this is a rant on censorship. Let's begin:

Say you are an aspiring writer and you attend a conference and you hear a dirty word, what should you do?

A. Go bat shit crazy.

B. Head to the nearest listserv and condemn potty mouths who use such language.

C. Sit in the frumpy couch you've awaited the sweet kiss of death in for the past ten years and complain to your six cats, one of whom is the inspiration for your knitting/feline/cooking themed novel.

D. Realize that as a writer you shouldn't tell anyone how to express themselves.

If you picked A,B or C - bullshit. You'd never make it pass the title, so I'm not too worried. The correct answer is D.

Oh, George Bush, We No Longer Need You

Not only do we get a new President, but we also gained a new national embarrassment. If Sarah Palin continues to do things like this, well, I think she'll remain in the national spotlight.

I have to say this is the funniest damn thing I've ever seen on MSNBC.

Interviews

I was thinking about starting up the interviews again on the blog. The last one I did was with the incredibly talented, distinguished and over all nice guy James Patrick Kelly, seen here in this dignified photograph:

Yes, Jim, you're number in my book too.

Would you guys read them? Any suggestions? Let me know.

Research

I need to do some research. Nothing too deep; I'm not looking to write a peer reviewed journal article or anything, just enough knowledge so I can pretend I know what I'm talking about. Of course, it's also a wonderfully deceptive procrastination.

It Shouldn't Have Been This Close

Congratulations to Alaska for not re-electing the first convicted felon to the U.S. Senate. That's one less political embarrassment for the state.

Tired

I was completely exhausted when I got home last night; I barely made it past 7:00 before I conked out. It was a combination of the whirlwind through Crimebake this weekend and arguing most of yesterday (not with my wife; it was work related). So, that means I have to do really well tonight and find at least 45 minutes to write. 45 minutes or 600 words, which ever comes first.

Crimebake

So, I went to Crimebake this past weekend. It's only the second conference I've attended; the first being Noircon in April. I'm getting better at these things. I made a few more contacts, had a publisher interested in seeing my novel, caught up with friends (including a dear friend from high school I hadn't seen in about 12 years). Oh, and I signed some books - for strangers! These people weren't related to me at all, and they still wanted me to sign their books. They felt no obligation. I think I signed about 30 books in all. How fucking cool is that? Very fucking cool.

So, yes, my story Some Things Can Never Be the Same has been published in Level Best Books' latest anthology, Deadfall, and the book is available right now.

And I got recognized by a few people, and not in a police lineup sort of way, but in a "I like your stories" sort of way. They may have been polite in saying it, but hell, I'll take it.

Recognized

Apparently, people actually read this thing.

I had a pretty cool weekend. More later.

A Great Day

I can't remember a time when I was more inspired by my country. For the first time in our history, the rhetoric of the American Dream has become reality. This feels like a new beginning of American greatness.

Jesus, I hope he doesn't screw up.