This morning, sitting around having some oatmeal (and refusing to listen to the voice in my head that suggests that possibly, just maybe, the Red Bull will taste good if mixed with the oatmeal) my nephew (who is in 3rd grade) asked if I wanted to read his story.

Of course I do.

So he went and got it out and as he is handing me this stack of hand written stuff, 40 pages big, he looks at me expectantly.

“No,” I told him, “you’d have to ask your mom before getting anything of mine to read.”

He just nodded.

Part of me still wants to give him some Binkles.

Separately, I was also gawked at for eating oatmeal with nothing in it. Just plain oatmeal. Sometimes in life, you need some gruel. Sheesh.

Anyway, off to adventure today. Plane tomorrow that won’t land until about midnight EST, which is kind of sucktastic.

Had to head out to the supermarket today. Various items were needed, but really it was simply that there was no Red Bull here. Not a single can. None. All that other food purchased? that was a cover for the fact that only the Red Bull mattered.

Anyway. In this supermarket, and I don’t go to those anymore I use Fresh Direct, and in a supermarket in San Francisco mind you, and there is a Starbucks. In the supermarket. Near the deli counter.

Say what?

Well fine. If that’s the gauntlet they’re gonna throw, then fine. So be it! So while there was shopping going on there was also a big-ass (that’s a size, people) cup with about 4837490.746 shots of espresso in it. Because that’s how I roll.

That’s how I roll.

Now people are back here and I have to run.

I can run really fast with 93872094857943.092847 shots of espresso in me.

Writing this on someone else’s computer as I can get no signal on my own. Which also means the strong chance of typos. Winds from the Northwest.

Anyway. Did L.A. yesterday, now in SF.

Meeting went well. Very. More news in a few months when I can discuss it in public.

On the flight out they said “Today’s feature film is Superman III. They said it at least four times. MAN was I excited. I wanted to see how a plane full of strangers would react. This was interesting! This was SCIENCE!

And then they said it a last time and amended “Oh, we’re sorry, the movie is Spider-Man III, not Superman.” I’ve seen a fullscreen and slightly cut version of Spider-Man III now. Dear fucking hell was the dialogue shit. Utter, fantastical crap. The plot made no sense, the dance senses were useless, random and badly done and Emo-Parker made me wind to find a wood chipper.

So anyway yeah. Paying writing gig coming up, high high chance. Only reason I still say chance is because I don’t have the first paycheck. Second gig already planned for. Other things folded into that which make it even cooler.

I should get back to things here, but don’t except a post from me seriously until Tuesday. Might happen. Might not. Who knows.

Topics I want to post about and discuss at length:

• Current novel
• Next novel
• The L.A. trip - things about it
• Other projects

Topics I find I can actually discuss here, currently, of those above:

• [NULLSET]

Frustration level:

• High
• Blustery
• Rising
• %&*#$

Making bullet lists:

• Soothing
• Useless
• Pretty
• Soothing

(via the BBC): Thai cops punished by Hello Kitty.

Police chiefs in the Thai capital, Bangkok, have come up with a new way of punishing officers who break the rules - an eye-catching Hello Kitty armband.

The armband is large, bright pink and has a Hello Kitty motif with two hearts embroidered on it.

From today, officers who are late, park in the wrong place or commit other minor transgressions will have to wear it for several days.

The armband is designed to shame the wearer, police officials said.

“This is to help build discipline. We should not let small offences go unnoticed,” Police Colonel Pongpat Chayapan told Reuters news agency.

“Guilty officers will be made to wear the armbands in the office for a few days, with instructions not to disclose their offences. Let people guess what they have done,” he said.
———————————————–
Oh dear lord this is pure genius! Shame the cops by making them wear Hello Kitty arm bands! Do the really rebel cops have to wear Badtz Maru arm bands as well? Maybe a Chococat helmet! Or My Melody gloves!

What about the Thai cops who love Hello Kitty? Will they misbehave in order to get in trouble and get the arm band for free? Will we see black market Thai arm band sales on ebay? Of course we will, duh.

But will you by one? Of course you will, duh.

Anyway, yeah, I just… wow. Look at the guy in the picture. He loves the arm band. He doesn’t fool me. Neither do you.

I won’t be at Horrorfind Weekend this year. My first miss in a while. And I will miss it, it’s become a great weekend for hanging with good friends and drinking. Oh, and selling books.

Speaking of if you are there, hit the Die Monster Die! table. You can pick up all three Strange Angel volumes, they might have some copies of Crazy Little Thing laying around and more.
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Of course, you can also go and buy a copy of The Dead Walk Again. Zombies! Lots of zombie fiction, including a story by me. The first one of these was a best seller at Shocklines and the single biggest zombie book at the Horrorfind it debuted at.

So you might want to buy one now, just in case - I’m not sure how many will be making it to the show, frankly. But people are already wanting copies. So.
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If you are going to Horrorfind, have a drink for me.
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In other news: We now have levitation, according to the Telegraph.

(from the start of the article, click above to read the rest)

Levitation has been elevated from being pure science fiction to science fact, according to a study reported today by physicists.

In earlier work the same team of theoretical physicists showed that invisibility cloaks are feasible.

Now, in another report that sounds like it comes out of the pages of a Harry Potter book, the University of St Andrews team has created an ‘incredible levitation effects’ by engineering the force of nature which normally causes objects to stick together.

Professor Ulf Leonhardt and Dr Thomas Philbin, from the University of St Andrews in Scotland, have worked out a way of reversing this pheneomenon, known as the Casimir force, so that it repels instead of attracts.

Their discovery could ultimately lead to frictionless micro-machines with moving parts that levitate But they say that, in principle at least, the same effect could be used to levitate bigger objects too, even a person.
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So where is my hover board?

They can start to levitate shit now, right?

I mean, they said they can!

So where is it? I want a hover board. Right the fuck now.

You can keep the damn shoes, I never liked those shoes.

But I demand my right, as an American, to kill myself while floating on plastic. I demand this right!

Build me a hover board!

Now!

Ever been in the middle of a heated discussion and suddenly think “Well, no wait, it doesn’t matter, because Bon Jovi is on, so rock on, whatever.”

Or is that just me?

So I saw this news story and one thing led to another and… well the story is … shit here’s the first line: “Tibetan living Buddhas are no longer allowed to be reincarnated without permission from the atheist Chinese government, state media reported Friday.” Got that? And it got me thinking, how long until we had Tibetan Living Buddha spam?

So I wrote some.

From: Xigaze Nyari
Subject: CONFIDENTIAL ENLIGHTENMENT PROPOSAL

My name is Xigaze Nyari. I work in the spiritual credit and accounts department of The Eternal Enlightened Ones of Tibet. I write you in respect of a problem with the Chinese Government. Recently they decided to impose the ability to tell who would be reincarnated as a living Buddha, by themselves.

Since the since the choice of the Government, the Chinese who do not really rule us, who have many guns and bombs, I have kept a close watch of the spiritual deposit records and accounts and since then nobody has come to claim the living Buddha status as befits someone who could. There is also $18.5mllion in a cave in Tibet and the cave is guarded. It is only an insider that could produce the guns or bombs to kill the Chinese, because we are peaceful. As it stands now, there is nobody in that position to produce the needed heresy other than my very self considering my position in the Order. Except I can not.

Based on the reason that nobody has come forward to defeat the Chinese government, I hereby ask for your co operation in using your name as the next living Buddha to send confuse the Chinese and also steal these funds out to a foreign offshore bank for mutual sharing between myself and you. At this point I am the only one with the information because I have removed the computer from the Dalai Lama’s chambers. By so doing, what is required is to send an application laying claims of being the living Buddha on your name. I will need your full name and address telephone/fax number, company or residential, also your bank name and account, where the money will be transfer into, and also the robe size required because you will need one to blend in. Also please defeat the Chinese.

Finally I want you to understand that the request for a foreigner as living Buddha is occasioned by the fact that the Chinese are pissing us off but we are peaceful and so for that reason alone a local cannot kill them. When you contact me, then we shall discuss on how the money will be split between us and others, though I can not keep it I wish to have some to look at for the sake of looking. We shall also speak in details about the living Buddha issue. I am currently in Tibet for a six months course, you can reach me on this number for further discussion 0031 900 283 342. Kindly send your reply to my private email address stated below [redacted]

Trusting to hear from you,

I remain Respectfully yours,

Do not forget to defeat the Chinese,

Xigaze Nyari
0031 900 283 342

When you first make mention that you’re writing a novel people tell you certain things. they tell you how your first novel will suck, by default since “all first novels suck”. They’ll tell you how little money you’ll make. They’ll point out that you’ll only make that pittance if you sell it, which you probably won’t.

They warn you about all sorts of things.

Now, I’ve been writing for a while and I’ve published a bunch of things. When I mentioned I was working on a novel people told me all those things anyway. Hell, I’ve said some of them to people. Mostly the no-money ones.

Some people think they are doing themselves a favor, or the world, or worst of all you, by telling you how much you’ll suck. Really? They are insecure themselves and take it out on others. Or worse they think that being abusive is a good thing because that’s “the way the world works”. Generally being an abusive prick and blaming it on “the way the world works” is what people do before they beat loved ones. I’m sorry, but it’s true.

Regardless!

So the novel is done, nine weeks later. I sat at home the other day and thought about the warnings I had received. Does the novel suck? Very possibly. I’m too close to it right now to tell. Will it make money? Oh please. Even if I sell it I won’t make much of anything. But then, since when do I write for the money? So whatever.

But I found something that no one warned me about and I will pass this one on to you:

You end up with a literal two inch thick stack of manuscript to edit.

Two inches of printed paper is formidable. It looms. It has mass. The fucking thing leers at you and taunts you. Because you realize quickly that a single red felt tip pen (my editing tool of choice at least) won’t be enough. You’re going to have to lay in supplies for this puppy. There will have to be a plan of attack This is a mission. And see? Suddenly you find yourself using military terms to describe the event.

You can’t just stick it in a bag and go. You have to make room for it first. One doesn’t just whip out a stack of manuscript like that on a train, you have to plan for it. Do you try and three-hole punch it and put it in a binder? Use a rubber band? Prayer?

So it sits, right now, at home.

Waiting. Leering. Watching. Looming.

So last night I found out that genetics will kill me.

I have, in my living room, a lamp. The lamp has a white cone that extends upward from the black base to form a lamp shade of sorts. The light shines upward and illuminates the room. This is all fairly simple lamp mechanics here. Not anything special.

Except a few months ago the lamp and the wall it is near met with a hefty collision. The white cone snapped off. It still sits on the lamp just fine, and it does its job, the cone of plastic simply isn’t attached to anything, so at times it tips. Nothing major there, either.

Last night I wandered back into the living room and brushed against the lamp without noticing. I sat down at my desk to write. I wrote for a while. Then I started to notice I felt a bit dizzy. I couldn’t pin down why I felt dizzy but I certainly did. Also kind of nauseous. I chalked it up to life and kept working.

I decided, after a few more minutes, to get up and walk around the place in an attempt to feel better. As I stood up my eyes naturally ended up pointing toward the lamp. The plastic shade had tipped worse than ever before and the cone rested directly against the bulb. The bulb was merrily melting a hole in the cone. I quickly moved the cone away from the bulb, turning the shade so the discoloration and hole would point into the corner where it couldn’t be seen.

I opened some windows and moved the bigger fan into the living room to help clear out the noxious plastic fumes that were making me feel like crap. The fumes themselves were sparse, so it wasn’t a horrible thing but I just kept ignoring it.

And I thought back to a story my family would tell me. My father wrote in a tiny room, with a typewriter, a metal trash bin and an ashtray. One night he emptied the ashtray into the bin, which being near a typewriter, already found itself full of discarded paper.

One cigarette in the ashtray was still smoldering.

So my father keeps writing. The room fills with smoke? He writes. My mother and a friend get us all out of the apartment? My father hasn’t noticed because he’s writing.

They went back for him.

But there you go. Death by absent-minded stupidity while writing? In my genes.