Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

This is What Happens in Summer

Man, take away my structure...and wham...I don't blog for days, I forget to shave...and what's my name?

I'm on point this week with the boys (my wife has an extended contract, and works through Friday). Happy to say I am writing, but fighting my instant lack of structure at the same time.

It happens every summer, and it is a good problem to have.

The best part of time off of the ol' job is more time spent with Thing 1 and Thing 2. Owen is learning to read. Man, how he lit up this morning when he realized (and showed me) that he can read Hop on Pop by Dr. Seuss. I'll have him devouring Lovecraft and Poe in no time.

Speaking of Poe, I have a couple of nonfiction projects rattling around in my head. Both are hybrids of my day job and my love of dark fiction. The first, a collection of Poe stories with teacherly resources, annotations, and other goodies. Sure, teacher's guides and annotated editions exist, but most are too pricey (publishers must think teachers/schools are made of money...wait...they are made with tax money) or just plain lame. Teenagers sniff out lame faster than...well, something really fast.

The second, and this one is a stretch, is a book about teaching horror as a way to reach adolescent non-readers. Most books I can find on the subject approach horror as one would in a graduate level literature class. I'm thinking about a course for at-risk readers with high interest material (good quality stuff, too--not just schlock and gore). Even my most reluctant students perk up at the mention of Poe. You should see the reaction when we read "In the Vault" by H.P. Lovecraft (Cthulhu might be a little over some heads).

So...am I already missing school, or do these ideas have any merit?

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Licking My Wounds...In Public No Less!

Growl.

I'm feeling the old "black hole" again, that place of dispair I like to slip as a writer from time to time. Four rejections in the last three days, and I thought I had a shot a couple of them. Lick, lick. I don't even know where that figure of speech came from...hmmmm

Suck it up and move on. Okay? Better.

To tell the truth (fanfare...cue fanfare) I think I'm growing very lazy in the "revision" stage of my short stories. I think I need to let them cool a little more before I revise, gain some better perspective. I'm in such a damn hurry to zip a submission out there. Even the fast magazines take a couple of weeks to give a look, why can't I take a few more days to make the story perfect?

Patience, grasshopper. Perfect might be asking too much. How about, damn good?

Too much free time this summer makes Aaron...what? Frusterated, impatient, silly? I'm just going to blame this on my sinus infection, and I'm going to blame the sinus infection on the kids...this passing the buck thing sort of rocks...but who the hell gets a sinus infection in June?

Friday, May 30, 2008

The Wasteland (Summer Break)

Well, the honeymoon is over. The first couple of days of summer break are always fun, especially with the boys (Owen - 4, Max - 2), but the glow doesn't last long. After a morning of biting, pinching, squeezing, and good old fashioned meanness, I'm wondering when school starts again.

This past week was pretty quiet in my writing life: just one rejection/semi rewrite request and plenty of waiting. I finished the first draft of one short fantasy/magical realism piece, "Tigers in the Common Ground" and my imagination spawned a couple of ideas for flash.

If anyone (anybody out there?) reads this, especially writers, I'm looking for some quaility submissions to my Tainted project. C'mon, you know you want to write a juicy supernatural story, right?

Ah...

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Short Fuse

You wanna talk about a short fuse? How about an illusion?

Start with me: age ten, one "phantom" bomb, and one lit punk. The driveway needs a little loose gravel. Yeah.

A lit punk still smells like freedom and youth. The ten-year-old Aaron drops the glowing tip of that thing on the fuse and zap--nothing. I wait, the smoke dances into the afternoon air, and my little heart revolts, trying to run without the rest of the body.

At ten, my feet are a bit big for the job, and clumsy me skids across the loose gravel, crash. Bloody knees, a little red badge of courage for summer fun.

And bang. The bomb explodes, sending little specks of sawdust skyward. God bless America. Thank China for the cheap explosives.