Now I’m tasked with choosing between two new book ideas as sWitch remains out on query. One, titled The Cull, is a sci-fi thriller that involves a draconian plan to depopulate a gravely overcrowded biodome city and how that affects a group of young friends during a night out on the town. Yes, I want the entire, full-length novel to take place in one evening. I’ve not seen it done very often, so the challenge appeals.

The other, titled Square One, involves a race of robots in the extreme future who discover the DNA of man. It sparks a great deal of political and spiritual controversy as many in this society don’t believe man to ever have existed, let alone be responsible for their creation. When humans are bred into this world, they cause quite a stir and introduce some harmful as well as beautiful elements into what is a very efficient and peaceful, if slightly cool and drab society. Think Jurassic Park meets Planet of the Apes meets Asminov on a bender.

I’ve other ideas that I’m just not ready to begin yet as they require more extensive research––a historical novel set in bohemian Paris at the turn of the 20th Century called The Unveiling and something of a modern take on gangster life (set in the world of NYC fashion) called Ganster Lean. More to come on those soon. For now, let’s have a laugh at The Wiggles. Sometimes, when life’s got you down, you just have to point your finger and sing about fruit salad.

So…I’m gently easing myself back into the blog thing. I think taking it slowly has been to everyone’s benefit, as I would have likely been a terrific bore these last couple of weeks and my focus here has always been to lift and stimulate others with similar interests. As it was, I was making people cry, and shoot, who needs that in the dead of winter, eh?

But for all of you who have shared your comforting thoughts here and elsewhere, I really can’t thank you enough. I saw my last entry as an explanation of sorts, and it turned out to be more of a eulogy. I probably had it in mind all along, and I’m glad it turned out like it did. If it did happen accidentally, at least in part, it turned out to be well worth it. There was an outpouring of support that propped me up long enough to take nourishment and an expression of deep appreciation is definitely in order.

In the downtime, I worked very hard on two things: one, querying sWitch, from which I received a request for a full manuscript (hurrah!), and two, mastering the art of distraction. Now, before you shrug that off as the collective habits of unproductive losers, hear me out. This won’t take long for reasons that will soon become very apparent.

What You’ll Need:

A television – any will do unless it has rabbit ears. Access to hundreds of cable channels is preferred, but if you’re on a basic tier, no worries. This part will only be cut shorter, with time lost to be made up later during other activities.

A computer – any variety, as long as you have Internet access. I suppose serious gamers need not worry about that, but you’re the exception here and I don’t play games anymore. Bonus points if you have a) a wireless router, b) a laptop, c) a 17 inch screen or bigger.

Speakers – these can be hooked up to your computer or to a nearby stereo, but having access to music through your desktop is preferable because it decreases the need for you to break stride. More on that in a moment.

Alcohol – teetotalers, skip this section and move on. The rest of you, listen up. Sure, you could substitute booze for another vice, but there’s nothing like a steady introduction of your favorite spirit(s) to move the night along. Those who have told their spouses or significant others that they’ll be home in an hour and end up being dumped out of a car the next morning know what the fuck I’m talking about.

Fancy lights – these are not essential, but if you have lots of cool glowing things around you, or at least a glut of gorgeously ridiculous artwork, they can come in handy not only to set the mood, but when you need something to ogle for a few.

Comfy clothes – again, another element that I wouldn’t qualify as critical, but if you don’t want to stand out as a rookie, a pair of broken-in sweats and a snug skully keeps you from needing to–ahem–adjust or be mindful of your appearance or posture. The point is to resemble a happy human slug by the night’s end, so we don’t need to be fretting over wrinkling anything but our lazy derrieres.

Okay, once all these elements are in place, lock the door, put the ringer on vibrate or turn it off entirely, and do as follows:

1) Turn on the TV. Pick something that you kind of want to watch, but preferably something that updates frequently like sports, an old movie that you’ve seen a bunch of times that you can sample from, or even a cable news network that will keep you informed through a bottom line. The point is to check on it when you need a stretch, not let it play you. You’re in control here, and for fuck’s sake nothing with subtitles.

2) Start the tunes. Assuming most of us listen through our computers, pick shuffle or a playlist that will keep the vibe alive for at least 45 minutes. Lately, because I’ve needed an extra lift, I’ve been going to the well for my favorite songs from English Beat and General Public. Which is all of them. That’s good, because the playlist will take a while and I don’t have to think about it again for a good long stretch of unadulterated, magnificent distracting.

3) Get your drink on. I like to crack open a beer (Guinness or Miller Lite–the libation equivalent of Rich Man, Poor Man) and prepare a shot. I’ve been on a tequila kick lately for it’s smooth, grinny buzz, but I’ll do a nice whiskey or vodka if changing it up sounds like fun. See, that’s the key: changing it up. It’s all about constant variety in stimulation, and just like our favorite physical act–that’s right, dancing–doing the same thing ad nauseam will put your ass back into your head and we do NOT want that. Remember: reality is the enemy.

4) Once you’ve got your shot ready, grab it and your drink and decide what it is you think could use a toast. I have several options: Arsenal Football Club (since this is mostly a Friday routine, they usually play the following day), my girlfriend (we’ve been known to do this via phone, which is an excellent way to keep in touch), my dearly departed Lucy which necessitates a visit to her mini-shrine in the back room, and any combination of friends, family, ideology, or, obviously, your own fine self.

5) Do the shot. Chase it. Good pupil.

6) Return to “home base”, which is at the computer but near enough to a TV where you can either look up and see it or a minimum of movement can put it’s wisdom at your disposal. That’s why you get bonus points for being wireless and portable, cause it’s easier to move around to make this so. Once you’re settled, again, it’s all about mixing it up.

Lately, I’ve been hitting writers forums and sharing pointers and opinions. Sometimes I go to my football blog and say obnoxious things that are hilarious to me at the time, and embarrassingly excellent to read back later. And like most people, I am frequently called to Ye Olde Book of Fayce for an update or to make fun of something someone just said. To make this easier, my 17 inch screen lets me have several windows/applications open at once, facilitating distracting maneuvers. Whatever you do, and I can’t stress this enough, keep the act moving and do not force yourself to be “responsible”. Serious is for another time, so wrap serious in a serious blanket and deposit it into the serious drawer. This is about following your muse/buzz/whims, not solving any of life’s great mysteries. That’s what college was for. We know better, now.

But that’s not to say it must be all play. Many times I’ll get some great ideas for my stories and jot them down. But notice I said “jot”. Do not confuse this with “draft”, or “compose”. You cannot take a long time to “jot”. By definition, to jot means to get the fuck out with it and then get the fuck on with it. And by “it” I mean mastering hardcore distraction. So put the pen down, Skankespeare, and get another shot. And make it quick before you miss that part in Sixteen Candles where Anthony Michael Hall is found trapped under the coffee table after everyone has left the party.

At any time in the above steps, please feel free to improvise. That’s an important part of escaping: escaping the escaping. Let your soul dictate where you go next. And don’t apply too many restrictions. Okay, streaking around the block may sound like a great idea but would your 90 year-old neighbor really appreciate it? To be safe, keep it inside. That’s why I had you lock the door. It wasn’t just so no one would come in unannounced to catch you bare-ass naked in the downward facing dog position.

At some point, you’ll forget everything. In fact, “you” will disappear entirely if you do it right. You’ll transform into a conduit of positivity and groovy sensation. Just be careful not to overdo it. You don’t want to end up a conduit of anything else. Will you fuck it up? Probably. But don’t give up. The mastering of hardcore distraction takes practice, but with a few tweaks here and there depending on your personal constitution, you’ll get it. And you won’t miss a thing but a chicken wing and an onion ring (this will make sense when you’re doing it right, so jot it down).

Oh, one last point: be sure to go to bed with a glass of water and a couple of aspirin. You may not need either, but why take the chance? Okay, that’s all for now. I need to do something else.

And hey…you’re all stars, those of you who came when I called. Bright, beautiful stars.

Now imagine your average teenager. As modern technology and its inundation of objectifying messages isolates them and at the same time sublimates their importance by selling them images of who they are meant to be that few will likely match, they become pushed into their own set of corners where they are also forced to adapt. Sometimes they create electronic personas with which to communicate, other times they withdraw into lives of quiet desperation where any number of dead ends await including drugs, crime and massively dysfunctional family cycles. In cases all too common these days, violence against innocent people becomes another choice.

In both cases you have an intelligent creature who somehow falls in between what is expected of them and what we allow them to be. Usually what accompanies such expectations is a serious lack of understanding, and a tendency towards generalization and simple definitions of what they mean to our adult concepts of progression. In my opinion, only one generalization can be made: both mark a failure of society at large. Sure, human beings need to spread out and a cursory glance to the food chain means that little, furry fellers like the coyote need to move aside. But are we doing all that we can so that the transition demonstrates an advocacy for both species? And what of teenagers who are fed images and expectations that they can never meet because the tools of achieving them – our educational system, for one – is insufficient, or worse, itself sublimated to a culture where they are only as important as what can be taken from them. Both creatures adapt by their instincts, and to counter those instincts is to create an enemy.

Think about that for a second: create an enemy. What if all of our problems could be solved by looking forward, taking the time to understand all the factors involved, and then taking steps to avoid them? Sound like a perfect world? Am I doing some kind of tired, out-of-my-ass Eddie Vedder impression? Sadly, I guess I am.

My point here was not to soapbox but to draw parallels and relationships between two interestingly connected elements of modern society, and in particular, elements that we find every day in the city of Los Angeles. In California alone, 2007 NRS statistics put the number of crisis calls from runaways at 28,178. Needless to say, not every one of them calls. And in most cases, I gather, no one calls at all. As for the coyotes, well, there is only so much room, and it’s running out just as fast as the tolerance for these “evil vermin”.

So I got to thinking: what about a story involving – not a boy and his dog like we have become accustomed to seeing – but a boy and his coyote, and connecting it to the problem – our problem – of marginalized youth? The Lost Boys did the runaway thing to an extent with fantastic results, and to be honest, mullets never looked better. Of course, there has to be a killer, horror hook or I’m not interested. And I think I have one – but more on that later. For now, let’s get back to our story (note: parts one and two available in the “stories” section):

As Friday winds to a close, Dr. Radan is strangely compelled to work an introduction to our pill-popping heroine. Soon after, he indulges in a rather unusual happy hour up in his room while Eliza finds her own way to wind down from the day’s events. And as Friday comes to a close, we’re left with an eerie suspicion that the two will meet again.

HorrorCon – Friday (part three) available by request only.

Check out the pic above of those two guys who look like they’re showing their boring home movies to a parking lot full of no one cause everybody left. You may be asking yourself “What the fuck are they doing, showing boring home movies, etc.?” and if you are, that’s good. You’re inquisitive. That will get you far in life (provided you’re not a cat). And if you’re a writer like me, it will hopefully get you far in that, too. Now, click on the pic and come back. I’ll wait.

They can’t spell for shit, but it’s cool, huh? It’s called “lazer tagging”. These graffiti dudes use these big, fuck-off machines to blast laser light across town and put up a temporary tag on some unsuspecting building. Then they pack it up and move along cause I think it’s illegal. Pfft, like they care. But can you imagine what you could tag if you had a big enough machine? And what if the messages you were sending were exposing some kind of government corruption? I think it might be cool if they also rallied up some oppressed peeps into a big, ol’ army which then organized against their oppressors. And what if said oppressors were in orbiting space stations with crazy-ass, monk-like mercenaries that they would send down to quell the uprising? Well, I’d say you’d have one bad-ass mess on your hands. And lots of lasers. Fighting + lasers + graffiti art = cool. That’s what I’m thinking.

Anyway, I’m playing with that idea and trying to see how it might fit into a game. GTA San Andreas had some tagging in it but it was pretty low-key. Still, I might have to load up CJ again and have a chat. He’ll tell you anything you want for a slice of pizza and the chance to whup some ass, don’t you know. And Getting Up looks pretty killer, but I’m shooting for something more intense and futuristic.

Okay, onward to our next chapter of HorrorCon (and remember, if you miss a week, you can find all previous downloads under “Stories”, or just click here):

When we last saw Eliza, she was “praying to the porcelain god/talking to Ralph on the big white telephone/screaming at the ground”, etc. Being around all those people at the convention was too much for her, even as hopped-up on goofballs as she was. In Part Two we meet Dr. Dmitrije Radan, celebrated horror fiction author and a guy with some weird habits. Also, Eliza will make a new friend who just might be able to get her head out of the toilet. Enjoy!

HorrorCon – Friday (part two) available by request only.

Anyhow, from the makeshift “stage” from which the onslaught of hoarse but high-energy modern rock poured forth, I could see rows of slot machines flashing and dinging and whistling and propping up any number of septuagenarian punters at any one time. In fact, outside of our melodious maelstrom it seemed to be a slow night at the old saloon, which gave the otherwise buzzing atmosphere an apocalyptically creepy vibe. The escalator transported invisible souls up and down to new levels of solemnity, and the small coveys of hunched-over high-stakers quietly dripped out their social security checks one coin at a time as if attempting to buy a few more years of youth. I even joked that if any one of these slightly sad-looking figures were a mere smidge away from a stroke, surely a sudden cymbal crash could cause their poor hand to bust.

So naturally, as I searched for areas of my throat that could be used to produce an acceptable note, it got me to thinking all story-like and shit…

…suppose one of those slot machines was haunted? Suppose it laid in wait for one rather poorly wired Winnie or Walter Witherington to kick their quarter bucket just as they pulled the arm? I guess it wouldn’t have to be a blue hair, but that seems the most likely. And what if, as they went gently if somewhat tastelessly into that good night, they hit the jackpot? All of these remote possibilities could combine to beat a very different set of odds – odds with a horrifying payout. Perhaps grandma unslumps in her chair and rises, her listless gate and cataract eyes alarming no one. In fact, nothing at all would seem out of place save the pile of tokens accumulating noisily at her stockinged feet. That is until she opened her mouth and took a chunk out of the floor boss’ shoulder.

And just like that, it’s on. In the time it takes to lose three hands of blackjack, the place is crawling with undead. Immediately the place is put on lock down, as casinos have been known to do. And a few drunken young’ns having the time of their life in a nearby bar suddenly have a new agenda. Especially the plucky co-ed dropout who just sold her grandmother’s expensive heirloom and quadrupled her cash at the roulette table which meant she would be able to go back to school just like she promised her nan she would. No way is she going to let a ravenous virus ruin her G-fucking-P-A. And then there’s the bartender who just put in a double and wants to get home to watch the finale of “Californication” before he passes the fuck out. And the band (shall we call them “The Embalmed”?) aren’t ready to stop, so they figure if they keep spewing forth the hits maybe a few more of them will drop. Their last set provides the soundtrack for the others’ shot-fueled descent into hell. From that point, there’s no end to the ways they can get into trouble, and for a select few, back out of it.

It was right at this point that I forgot the words to “Land of Confusion”. Hmm…

That’s right, I said “soon”. Which means, “not now”. Why am I being so ridiculously dramatic about this? Well, because I’ve just posted the script (which is also suited for a graphic novel, in case anyone looking for that sort of thing is reading this) on a site called Inktip. Inktip is a place where writers can make their works available for industry folk like producers, directors, agents, and managers, etc. For a relatively small fee (than what it would cost to contact all these people individually, I assume) you can lend your loglines, synops and scripts to the eyes of umpteen interested parties in the hopes of having one or more contact you with the idea of doing some kind of business together. Or something. And while I think the three screenplays I have on the site might be a bit out of range for most who are using it, I have to think that it’s still a good idea to place my work there and will continue to do so with subsequent efforts.

What’s been lucky recently is the downloading of my loglines by literary agents. By definition, hitting on one of these is like getting seen by a number of interested parties all at once if one is to assume they are agencies with contacts to a more concentrated list that may be closer to my genres of choice. It’s always fun to do a search for the agencies and entities that peruse my storefront, and I’ve been learning a lot by looking a little further into what might get me more bites in the future. So, I thought it best to let The Collection: LOFS simmer a bit on the site before making it available for reading to the masses. And by masses, I mean those few who seem to find it a reasonable investment in time to read my blog and to whom I am eternally grateful.

So The Collection: LOFS remains veiled until a future date when I deem it could use more exposure – perhaps in measured excerpts, or in some kind of serialization. I’ve already started on my next project that focuses on smaller budgets and shorter production windows without sacrificing narrative impact. It’s been a welcome diversion from the more ambitious ideas I’ve managed to complete, and yet offers it’s own set of unique and enjoyable challenges.

And I really do apologize for comparing my fantasy/horror screenplay to Da Vinci’s most popular portrait, but it was the only photo I could find that I liked of a painting’s unveiling. Imagine being there among the crowd reporting the event for an art’s publication, witnessing a murder, finding a clue suggesting the unthinkable, and uncovering an ancient mythic creature also prepared to introduce itself to the world. Hmm, imagine The Unveiling.

I like it.

I’m working on a screenplay/graphic novel that involves just such a challenge. Tonally, I believe I’ve got it sound; the setting is bleak with a background of violence and war, thereby foreshadowing something wicked this way coming. However it also involves a manifestation of sorts of my main character’s imagination. It’s one of those hero versus himself stories, where the antagonist is more the circumstances that surround his life and his own demons than a big monster out to impregnate someone with their multi-fanged, demon seed. So there’s no clear-cut villain in my story, or rather, it’s up to the reader (viewer?) to decide where their loyalties reside. One could attribute the same sort of description to a film about, say, a serial killer. Although, something like Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer isn’t exactly “horror”, is it? It’s more thriller/documentary/drama, I think. Yet if he was possessed by the devil and did the exact same things, it would be horror, right? To be honest, I just don’t know anymore. It’s kind of like that loose judicial definition of obscene: I know it when I see it.

As far as I’m concerned, horror makes the viewer or reader feel scared all the time. You constantly dread a possible event or series of events that will render your character irrevocably changed forever in what is likely the worst possible way. It’s the participation of an extreme experience just for the thrill of it, like jumping out of an airplane or sticking your tongue on a nine-volt battery. In fantasy, we sense we’re being lead on a journey of discovery and that, while we may come up against evil things that want to suck the eyeballs out of our heads, we will prevail and be better for the battle – kind of like the difference between suffering pain for gain, as opposed to just a hangover.

If those assertions are to be regarded as fact, what, then, is fantasy/horror? Well, in my case, the reader is full of dread, scared a lot, shocked out of their comfort zone, but can see that their hero is on a journey where he will ultimately fulfill his true destiny. There will be triumph, but at a dire cost. There will be shouts of victory, but they will be misted with bile.

And to quote our good old pal Jigsaw, “Oh yes, there will be blood.”

*photo courtesy of Lisa de Araujo

It’s not a particularly good time to be stuck with this dilemma either, as I have to take another story out of treatment phase and into screenplay format. See, that’s another thing I tend to do: hold off a project in the “chamber” until I have one ready to go in the “magazine”. I’m not entirely sure why I do that, really. Maybe it’s to do with the fact that I work faster knowing there’s something I’m looking forward to on hold, or that I tend to work with more confidence, knowing that I’ve got another project loaded with potential up ahead that will give me another shot at hooking some representation. I don’t generally work on two projects at once, preferring to submerge into the tone of one without the danger of inhaling the fumes of another. In my experience, that can get confusing, and possibly, contaminating.

The projects that are dueling it out in my head couldn’t be any more different from one another either, yet both utilize the title both in theme, and in a really juicy story element. One is action-oriented, with a sort of mystical sci-fi theme that could also get pretty scary. It’s something I would normally love to sink my teeth into, and my main character taps into a few personal issues of mine that would give him a little more depth, in my opinion, than most action heroes that I’ve run into recently. You know, at the Action Hero Mall. In the Action Hero Food Court. Eating…erm…heroes?

So sorry.

Anyway, the second idea involves a very hip, urban character whose raison de etre involves a very popular illegal activity that not only presents a host of visual possibilities, but allows me to imagine that activities’ evolution about 25 years in the future. Sort of like the way Back to the Future gave us floating skateboards, only my concept is far more subversive – and classically demonstrative. Oh what the hell, I’m talking about graffiti. Go ahead and run with it, if you like. Through its use by our main character, I imagine a revolt against an oppressive future society that gives me nervous tics just thinking about it. I guess it could be described as Turk 182 updated for the subcultural elite of this and the next generation. What’s more, I love to scratch that Art v. Homogenous Society itch so much, I could easily have the outline to this one done long before the other one is past a loose dramatis personae.

So which direction I take might depend on which one begins to overtake my mind the most in the next few days as it develops faster and begins to take on a vibrant life of its own. Sure, I could just change the title of one of them, and add two fresh files to my story folder, but these two words match both stories so well, and are so hook-filled, that I’ll always regret changing it more than I’ll regret giving up on the other story, which may recycle in some way later. Yep, one must win the duel to the death for The Name. I mean, how else do I attract representation who will undoubtedly demand I change it?

Funny world. And no, that’s not it.