Where I’ve Been
December 22, 2009
Hello, chaps and chappettes. Time for a year ending thingamapost to placehold my wordpress account before they kick me off for lolligagging. Truth be told––and those of you who know me already know this––I’ve been attacked by many projects at once. Those of you who really know me also know that I tend to check out from the world when embroiled in a number of creative adventures, and I’ve come to find that includes online worlds, as well. Sure, I supply my share of comments in this forum or that blog but when it comes to concentrating on reportage of the more personal variety, I tend to leave it go. The idea overwhelms me a bit, and I’m sure you’ll see why very soon.
Novels –– I’ve completed what really feels like a polished edit for sWitch. I’ve queried it around, gotten some positive feedback and some garden-variety rejections. Next up: get it to print so I can send it around in its complete form (I think of it as an art piece of sorts, so it has to be framed) and create a website for it. I’m thinking of using social networks to create a naughty buzz. I feel I’ve written something the likes of which you’re not likely to find at your local bookstore, and I’ve decided to make that an asset rather than an obstacle. You don’t get the chance to review your own work in a query, and to be honest it’s not really my style. Still, I’d like to take this opportunity to say that sWitch is challenging, smart, fun, scary and not afraid to push all of your dirty buttons. Who knows, if it becomes cultishly popular in the next year, maybe I’ll work up an illustrated coffee table version that will offend and delight your guests in equal measure. Or perhaps I’ll edit a trailer for the outrageous film it’s begging to be. My ultimate dream is for people to throw “sWitch Parties” where everyone dresses like a suburban square save a few sexy, paganistic touches and dances to lounge music while eating pentagram cookies. Can you dig it, man? Anyway, also coming soon is Square One –– a science fiction novel about the rediscovery of humankind by our own cybernetic creations centering on the most unlikely love story of all time against an all-too-familiar sounding rebellion. Notes are being taken with the first chapter not far off in the horizon.
Screenplays –– I’m still querying Shelf Life and am considering a few fledgling filmmakers to send it to. I’ve given some thought to making this one, as well. Since becoming pretty handy with my relatively new Canon XH A1s digital video camera, the idea to shoot something for a festival has greatly appealed. I write like a filmmaker, so why not take the next step? Ditto for Welcome to Cydonia, which needs making in a bad way. Cape May is still waiting, and you don’t keep an old girl like that waiting for long.
Other writing projects –– my animated vignette The Ballade of Haunted Hill will hopefully be completed sometime early in the new year thanks to the extraordinary efforts of my wonderfully talented collaborateur and sometime tea lady Teodora Parvanova (Soon to be Teodora Jones, which is probably the coolest name since Cleopatra Jones). She and I are also working on an animated TV series that we’ll be entering into a European animation contest. The story is based on an old Bulgarian Fable of sorts about an incorrigible young boy who finds his heart after losing his head in hell and it’s pretty rad in an Alice in Wonderland kind of way. And if you’re wondering, yes, finally getting my big break with an animated TV series after collaborating with a Bulgarian animator I met over the Internet by answering her “ad” for a writer is exactly how I envisioned my career path to go. All kidding aside, Teddy’s a delightful gem with a bright future and it’s been educational and fun to work with her. Whatever comes of our projects, I’m already proud as punch to have created what we have and hope to continue our partnership long into the future.
Music –– because there’s still a little time left between working, eating and sleeping, in addition to gigging and embarking on various projects with my band Surrounded By Idiots I’ve been putting my solo acoustic act together and am available for hire come the new year. It’s been an embarrassing amount of fun to get serious about––not only writing new songs and finding my identity as an acoustic artist––but honing my guitar skills. Most of my weekend is taken up playing and rehearsing and if you’re interested in learning more, head to my website and check out my artist list (which is constantly growing).
TV/Web Productions –– for the past few months I’ve been developing a cooking/reality show called “Table 42 with Chef Darryl Harmon” that takes place at The Water Works Restaurant in Philadelphia. Chef creates special dishes for a lucky couple who have been selected to dine at the famous “Table 42″ where over 300 wedding proposals have taken place as well as all sorts of other special moments. For more info on that, check out the website and look us up on Facebook. Shooting is scheduled to begin next month and we’re hoping to host a premier party at The Water Works for Valentine’s Day. Forks and fingers crossed we’re able to pull it off. So watch all spaces and keep an eye on your HDTV sets, as the table is set for us to be there, too.
And that, folks, is all the time I can afford to give you. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you, it just means you’re a few pegs down the list. Hey, at least you’re on the list, you ungrateful, time-stealing, bas–just keeding. Allow me to leave you with one of the most beautiful folk guitar performances I have ever seen and a song I hope to include in my repertoire. Ladies and gentlemen, Jesse Winchester singing Sham-A-Ling-Dong-Ding on Elvis Costello’s excellent Sundance Channel series “Spectacle“.
I agree, Neko. Have the best damn holiday ever, everyone. Peace to you all.
Master Distractor
February 20, 2009
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.
A Very Special Day
December 15, 2008
Hello, all. As you may have gleaned from the title of this post, today is a very special day for me. You see, some time ago I picked this day, December 15th, 2008, as my deadline for securing literary representation.
Most of my time leading up to this day was spent writing and filling my portfolio with “product”. In the beginning, I was bold and ambitious, drafting huge titles such as B.L.O.O.M., a five night miniseries about humankind being scanned into android containers in order to escape a self-destructing planet earth and continue the race in the unfriendly climates of outer space. I was sure it was better than anything being offered on the Sci-Fi channel at the time, and whether I was wrong or right remains a mystery. If one were to deduce from my success and the success of those scribes responsible for classic fare such as “Yeti” and “Mansquito”, I would have been proven quite wrong. As it was, I could only contact a small bunch of agents as many that might have found it interesting required I be represented already; a quandary I’ve yet to get my head around. Anyway, it was too much for anyone to accept for a new writer, or such was my conclusion. Maybe it was just bad. Who knows? But it remains in a drawer where it is likely to stay until human beings really do need to escape the planet–which, if I may borrow a little cynicism to cheer me up, could be soon from the looks of things.
After B.L.O.O.M., I began to pen wildly: big budget horror trilogy here, complex, semi-animated dark coming-of-age tale there. Getting smart–or so I thought–I eventually wrote a screenplay for something that I thought fit the budget of most of those producers one finds on Inktip.com (where I listed all of my titles for $50/ea). It was a small movie, but scary in a subtle, unsettling sort of way. It was, I thought, tightly scripted, yet loose enough to include a director’s touch. It pushed the moral envelope, as I’m wont to do, but I suffered great pains to reset the compass at the end in order to include a larger slice of American movie-going public. As Hollywood cranked out remake after remake, I dared them with my story of false redemption by the sea. I even made a video about it for a contest that I didn’t win. But no matter, some projects you believe in no matter how many signs seek to convince you otherwise.
And then I got a call.
It was an honest to goodness Hollywood agent. I’ll never forget it, as it was a dreary Sunday night and I was already heading for bed. It was damn near the greatest phone call I’d ever received at that time slot: she fawned over my style and craft; she loved the characters, right down to their clever little names; she got all my inside jokes and was picking Hollywood A-listers in her head for the roles. She even shared my interest in characters with skin color anomalies! And then, after two hours, my phone’s battery began to alert me that it was about to cut off. She said no worry, we would talk later. In a few days, I think she said.
Errr…no. It was never, actually. A few reassuring emails and another screenplay sent post-haste to her door later, the romance was over. I’m not sure if it was the second screenplay I sent her (complex, semi-animated, dark coming-of-age thing) or something entirely unrelated to me and my writing. People, as it turns out, are human. And humans have shit come up all the time. But instead of getting bitter, I took the little jolts of confidence that the original phone call sent through me and decided to write something new; something that seemed a surefire sale, but without compromising the subject matter and style inherent in my other “product”. This one would be something I could almost budget over the phone, and I even had a high concept teaser to go with it. “Lost in Transfusion” I called it, in an attempt to excite another to call with dreams of pushing an indie horror film that boasted an elegant, Sofia Coppola vibe but with a large toe in the vampire zeitgeist pool. It was set at a three-day horror convention in a hotel and everything (timelock!). Young girl with tragic past meets old author dude with a horrific solution. So excited was I–and undaunted by my rejection–that I started immediately penning a character sketch of the main character, Eliza.
Two months later I had a novella. Yeah, I wasn’t feeling burned about Hollywood at all. Noooo.
But you know what, I loved it when it was finished. Still do. And it got me to do my next book, which I’m buttoning-up just now. And it seems I’m starting back at the beginning when I was writing about subjects that you will not easily find on the Border’s front tables. In fact, just yesterday I took a stroll around the popular bookstore franchise and was a little hard-pressed to work out where this new story would fit. Horror was close, but not quite right. And up front next to the new offering from the guy who wrote The Kite Runner was a stretch too far, for sure. Where do the genre-benders go? Do we have a special club where we smoke cigarettes and say clever things until the wee hours? Is their a movement about, because I’d really like to know. At the moment I’m calling it “high-camp, dark fiction”. I could just as easily call it an “over-the-top thriller with horror elements”. A part of me would love to just slip a few next to a Martha Stewart cookbook, and see how it goes over. Anyway, the queries for this one are in production, and at least I get a chance to say there’s a message under all that romp. We’ll see, won’t we?
Anyway, today’s professional specialness is running a little low. I don’t think I’ll get that call, but I’m likely to get a few others. And what is always as sure as “shit on your shoe”, I’ll be writing and querying and pushing the boundaries as I see them until it’s time to go home. Because possibly worse than never becoming a serious author in my lifetime is becoming one writing stuff that betrays those early efforts where I was bold and undaunted by the industry, the economy, remake hysteria and being just another guy in the middle of nowhere who thinks he has something to say. I think I always want to be that guy.
It still wouldn’t hurt to get another Sunday phone call that doesn’t go where you think it might, though. But like so many journeys a writer takes, if he takes them for the right reasons, where you end up may prove well worth visiting.
Rest in peace, Ms. Page.
Frightday!
December 5, 2008
Or Friday, whatevah. Don’t get all up in my business.
Just kidding, it’s sort of why you’re here, so why not let you all in on what my Fridays are like:
I start work at 8am. Well, I get in around 7:30 cause I’m like that. I like the quiet, and I try to use it well. For the rest of the day I alternate between keeping my day job afloat, and stealing a few hours to continue work on sWitch, my latest novel. For those of you who don’t know, it’s about a square––almost retro 50’s style––family who are about to implode due to various cultural and dysfunctional pressures, originating both from within and without. When the mother (we’ll call her Barbara, cause it’s her name) inherits a dilapidated old home in the mountains, they drag their batty carcasses to it and things begin to change for them. Generally, they all get various wild hairs up their precious behinds, and Barbara introduces them to her latest project: Satanism! Hilarity ensues, as I’m sure you can believe.
Anyway, soon after they get some visitors who may or may not be escaped convicts and a crazy chick with some serious dermatological issues and straightaway they get to torturing our already tortured family. And boy, did they pick the wrong time to do it. The tables turn pretty quickly, and before you can say “bat shit insane” it becomes a little difficult to discern who the evil ones are.
The final third of the book involves a new challenge that sees them reaching even further back into their dark ancestry, discovering the secrets of the house, and developing new connections between the family members that are a complete departure from the lives they left down the hill. Talk about lapsed Catholics! Hopefully, it’s scary, twisted, wickedly funny and over-the-top in all the right ways.
Anyway, once I’m done working on that, I go home and crank up an excellent podcast from the folks at Rue Morgue. They’re a bunch of Toronto terrorhounds that publish a great horror magazine by the same name, and for those who like that kind of stuff, put down your copies of Fangoria and go check them out. I like Fango, but these people are both big and clever and I really can’t say enough good things about each one of their enterprises. Anyway, check out their podcast here and enjoy the ghoulishly great music they intersperse throughout the interviews and horror news. Great stuff.
Then I mix up some tunes. Lately it’s been some Psychobilly concoctions, and if you don’t know what that is, try going here first, and then once you’re done listening to a few of those shows, click on over to here. For those who don’t wanna check out those links cause you’re all “too good” for that kind of thing and whatnot, Psychobilly is generally considered to be the “official” soundtrack to all things horror. Now, others have their ideas, but for scary fun that’s both sexy, stylish and downright dance-able, you’d be hard pressed to disagree.
And that’s pretty much my routine. Sometimes I enjoy a Guinness or two (sometimes three, don’t judge!) during the proceedings and jamming a little on my piano or guitar, but I’m pretty much about the work and the cool jerk. After dipping back into the story a few more times until either my eyes fall out or the Guinness has affected my professionalism, I’m usually ready to call it a night. And you ain’t gonna hear me complainin’.
So check out those links if you get a chance, and hopefully next time I’ll have some more info on my very own podcast, plus a few links to some great radio dramas that I’ve been digging. ‘Til then, enjoy the weekend, and don’t be afraid of the dark!
Feel Good Satanism
October 3, 2008
Well, maybe that’s going a little overboard, but I think the concept would make a funny commercial for sWitch if it was ever made into a film. And if it were, the Drive-In would be where it belonged. I’m not much for big, posh, multiplex theaters crowded with cardboard adverts and noisy arcades. I like to hear the projector or the crackle of a dangling speaker, not some idiot on a cell phone. And with your date in a tube top and a six-pack of Michelob in the trunk, what could be better? You could even hit the diner later and unscrew the salt shakers.
I’m not that huge a retro-fan – okay, I certainly am, but I like to think that I recognize the truly special in contemporary popular culture – but there seems to be a commercial agenda to broaden the cultural perspective so that the entire family can join in on the fun with their wallets. I’m always hearing that we’re “getting what we want”, so much so that I’m starting to wonder a) how they know what we want, and b) if they’re not just telling us what we want. To be honest, I want to know what you as a filmmaker/writer/artist wants and I want you to try and convince me of your point of view. In other words, not so much “here it is!” as “check it out!”. We’re so focused on raising the bottom line that very little is a surprise anymore. In the end, I suspect, we lower the standard for our imaginations. No wonder there’s so much attention being paid to remakes and retreads. How something from 50 years ago is still relevant has less to do with new effects and cultural signifiers than where we are now in terms of the human animal.
The story of The Ducharme family was, on the surface, a twisted and sexy romp that attempted to turn modern horror paradigms on its ear. Believe me, that sounds far more pretentious than it really is. I just wanted things to “switch” in the middle, and have the hunter sort of become the hunted and mess with our ideas of who is really the bad guy and so forth. If that’s enough for you, and I’m fine if it is, you can stop right here and enjoy the picture. The likes of which you, too, can make by going here. But if you’re in the mood for the real pretentious stuff, read on.
sWitch is my comment on the culture quandary caused by a commercialized, cookie-cutter caricature of the American Dream. I had grown tired of “feel good” narratives that propped up the wholesome brand while basically pretending that our darker instincts didn’t exist. The practice is the entertainment equivalent of a local beauty pageant. And with entertainment making enormous profits by raising our children these days, I believe we as a society addicted to entertaining ourselves are fixing them with overly simplified versions of what they should expect of their values, bodies, minds and the world. While I strongly believe there is room for low nuance and high sentiment in what we might dub mainstream recreation, fucking hell, have you seen an episode of America’s Got Talent, lately? Why can’t we mix family values with bold and truly creative expression of which diversity is not a challenge of otherness but intrinsic to our strength? Where’s our Adam’s Family, Hollywood?
At this point, there appears a stagnating divide that perpetrates a culture war within our own families. In essence, we’re at war with ourselves in modern American society and therefore we’re at war with everyone outside of it. We’re covering up, painting over, and sublimating our true nature –– a nature that is open to change in a variety of forms –– and the results are social and political constructs that support conflict, division and ill mental health (much of it organized under a rotting belief system).
I’m not trying to spur a revolution with rock and roll literature, and I actually believe that real cultural growth needs a balanced view of social propriety and experimentation. In fact, what fun would it be if there were no inherent conflicts in human social nature? It’s awesome to have a Bogeyman unite us, as long as we’re all clear on where he comes from and do our due diligence to determine what exactly is “real”. With sWitch I was definitely championing what I perceived to be cultural scapegoats and pariahs to try and make people examine their own personal beliefs and see if they recognize anything profoundly full of crap. And if they do, I would love to say to them, “Hey, it’s cool. Sometimes you need to play along to get along but let’s not confuse the matter further by giving up our connection to the earth and our own, natural born strengths”. I know that might sound like some lame Chicken Soup for the Soul definition of dark paganism, but if we’re bent on adhering to some saintly marketing concept that, under scrutiny, actually opposes togetherness and growth, I think it’s not only unhealthy, but ultimately fruitless, as well.
What I’m saying is, we don’t need to be afraid of who we are as human beings. What we should be afraid of is a lack of inward examination and self-exploration. We’re created to be comfortable with the dark as well as the light, with the earth and the stars and with sexuality and pleasure. It’s not wrong to lust, nor is it wrong to release our deepest desires through all forms of expression, as long as we’re not asking anyone else to adopt them. In nature, everyone is held accountable for their actions. There is no court of high appeals and no sociological “time outs”. Are we now too comfortable with a margin for error that is so easily filled with empty doctrine and self-serving spin? We’ve lost so much trust for ourselves, we’re creating hundreds of billions of walking powder kegs who are mourning the passing of self-respect in all kinds of weird and scary ways. And not “cool” weird and scary, more like “really” weird and scary. There’s a difference, folks.
Hey, I don’t give a damn how you look, what you drive, what kind of house you have, where your kids go to school (as long as they “teach” there), what kind of music you like, how much you “give” and what silly little bullshit you might have “lost” doing it. I give a damn about your humanity and understanding enough about what that means to wake up and accept that you might have a responsibility to keep working, growing and stay out of the way of real, evolutionary progress. In short, and perhaps in toto, sWitch sets out to be a wickedly fun way to hold you responsible for your connection to yourself as a human being and hold others responsible as well. I’m not even sure I succeeded in doing what I set out to do, and if some of the ideas turned you off, then consider yourself filtered. I’m okay with that. But you still have to ask yourself if you are doing enough to discover your own strengths and recognize your own real weaknesses, or are you expecting someone else’s marketing concept of who you should aspire to be dictate what’s right and wrong, and what’s appetizing and what isn’t?
It’d be swell if we stopped being afraid of who we really are, and more importantly, who we really could be. It requires a malleability of vision and the development of courage to accept what our experiments truly yield. Expectations are okay, just as long as you don’t expect anything but the truth.
