So, here's some updates...

So I'm taking a break from the ranting and raving about politics or sports or whatever to update you all on what's happening writing-wise...

Punch-Drunk Bastards is still in its last copy edits.  The copy editor I've hired is doing a wonderful job.  I've heard some positive feedback from some of my Facebook Test Readers, still waiting to hear back from others.  After Labor Day, I'm going to be going full steam to getting this in print.  Best case scenario is I sell this to a publisher, but if not I have no problem self-publishing again.  The stuff I learned from The Fab 5 has been instrumental in driving this project.  A more professional approach has been taken here, and the end of a seven year-long journey will arrive this year.

Open is last year's unfinished NaNoWriMo project that I've been tweaking here and there.  I completed 1/4 of the contest length of it during WriMo, and that's the most work I've ever generated in such a short period of time.  It felt good.  I had earlier stated that I would release bits of that story episodically on this blog, and I still plan on doing that once the first draft is completed.  Hopefully, publicly posting it would invite critique that I could use to improve the novel as a whole.  Look for the first draft sometime in December.

The Enclave is a vampire story I'm developing for this year's WriMo.  It has its roots in a series of short stories I wrote when I was younger, and had a little bit of notoriety among my close friends.  I won't say much about it now, but to be blunt... it ain't Twilight.  There's blood and gore and bullets and neuroses.  It's very much a guy's vampire story... ha ha ha.

Killer's Royale is an independent comic book project that I've been tapped to write.  Details are scarce, but I'm excited about it.   Scripting a comic has been a dream of mine for a very long time and I'm very excited that I'm even being considered to lend a voice to the project.

There are other projects in the hole that I haven't even gotten my head around as yet, but these are the four that should occupy the remainder of 2012, and most of 2013 if the Mayans are wrong.  One should always have a contingency plan, I guess...

So I'd like to take this time to give all my friends and family very loud and vocal thanks for the support shown over the years, it's been greatly appreciated and I look forward to making you all proud.  One day I'll add the word "fans" to the list of thanks, but I won't get too far ahead of myself.

Deuces!

Politics: In Case The Revolution Comes

Living in Brooklyn in the early 1990's meant dealing with gun violence.

In Flatbush at night, shots were frequently fired into the air and sent many of my friends diving for cover, even in the relative safety of their own homes.  Gunshots broke through windows and splintered doors, and it seems that almost nightly there was news of someone dying in a violent shootout somewhere in the borough. suffice it to say, it wasn't exactly fun.  Fast-forward 20-some years: the Second Amendment is touted as one of our most sacred of rights, that the threat of losing the right to bear arms is tantamount to the dissolution of civilization itself.

Take away our guns, and the terrorists win.

Before branding me the liberal that I am, let me say out loud and on the record that yes, I do understand that there is a difference between the guns that were fired on the block back home are different from the guns that everyone else is talking about.  Those guns were obtained "illegally" and likely were bought to perpetrate some evil crime or something or another.  The guns that the "good" people are talking about make everyone safer; after all, good responsible folk don't go around shooting people randomly, do they?

Living in the Pacific Northwest has been an eye opener to me.  New York State's gun laws are restrictive and nearly oppressive, being highly punitive to unlicensed weaponry.  Assault weaponry is banned, particularly in New York City, and the emphasis is keeping guns out of the hands of unbalanced people, and off the streets for potential criminal activity.  This makes New York State, despite the proliferation of illegal firearms in the State, one of the safest places from the threat of firearms.  By contrast, Washington State's culture regarding firearms is a bit different.  The laws are more lax, the attitudes are more lax.  Should it be surprising, then, that according to the FBI's unified statistics on crime, there are more violent crimes by handgun per capita in Washington State than in New York?  It shouldn't be but I bet people are shocked.

Now here's the question I want people to answer for me.  I understand why we have the right to bear arms, but why do we have the need to bear arms?  The answer I hear most is for protection, which seems kind of absurd to me.  I mean, only scared people need protection, and only scared people are likely shoot other people.  Why do people need to carry guns outside of the home?

I am, obviously, a big supporter of strict gun control.  I've seen too many funerals of too many friends from too many shootouts.  I believe the Second Amendment was made in a time of war, where the last thing anyone wanted to do was be unprepared in the event of an invasion by the British.  The times have passed, and unless we're waiting for the Revolution to come, we don't need to be armed like that.

I do believe the Federal Government should impose strict gun control laws.  I believe that there should be a yearly cap on the amount of firearms and ammunition produced for anything other than military and law enforcement purposes.  I believe that the right to carry in public or conceal and carry is ludicrous and should be repealed.

Unless, of course, the Revolution gon' come.

Review: The Newsroom: We Just Decided To

I had given up on scripted TV.

Great drama was sparse.  Intelligent television got canceled after barely a chance, and somewhere along the line, entertainment veered toward sensationalism with a particular focus on the drunken misadventures of Italian-American twentysomethings who referred to themselves in the derogatory.  Thank goodness for Aaron Sorkin, producer of The West Wing, because within the first nine minutes of HBO's The Newsroom, I was sold.  This is DVR-worthy.

Jeff Daniels does a remarkable job as beleaguered anchorman Will McAvoy, who while on an interview panel at Northwestern University, gets pressured into answering a question that went against his journalistic integrity.  What follows is a five minute pipe-bomb of a rant as to why America is NOT the greatest country on the planet.  (The answer will be the subject of my next blog entry.)   He returns from a three-week exile to find his entire staff turned over and faces the realization that he's not the man he used to be in many of the most important ways.  McAvoy's boss, played by Law & Order's Sam Waterston, hires his ex-girlfriend as his new executive producer, and she tries to get him back to being a newsman.

I never watched a Sorkin series.  Didn't catch a single episode of The West Wing.  I came away thinking maybe I should have.  I can't think of too much TV that left me with goosebumps.

The rest of the supporting cast was incredible as well, but this was Jeff Daniels' star vehicle.   His initial breakdown that set events in motion is something I wish I would see in news today.  Again, that's the subject of another blog.

Intelligent TV is back again, people.  We should watch it while we got it.

Can we all get along?

That question has been repeated so many times, played for laughs and effect in so many situations over the last 20 years that people forget it was once not only a legitimate question, but an impassioned plea for peace.  Or at least for a return to the time where the hatred wasn't so open and destructive.

I thought about that question today, as I found out that Rodney King, the man who asked it, was found dead at the bottom of a swimming pool this past Sunday.  I thought about the question itself, the time it was asked, the circumstances behind it, and if 20 years later, we are any closer to an answer.

For those of you that don't know, Rodney King was the face of police brutality -- specifically against Black men-- in the early 90's.  The full story is that he was drunk, driving, and in violation of parole.  But when police caught him, they unleashed a massive beatdown, hitting him 50 times with batons and fists, and all of this was caught on a camcorder.  The four officers involved were acquitted of wrongdoing in a jury trial, and the result was Los Angeles burning in a three day-long riot, in which 55 people were killed.  As a result, Mr. King was asked by various media outlets for an interview, and he responded with his famous question, "Can't we all get along?"

I find it ironic, looking back, that the victim in all this was asked to be the healing agent, to call off the dogs so to speak.

It's a shame in any day and age that a question of whether or not individual members of a "civilized" society could get along without killing each other even comes up.  And it's an even greater shame when 20 years later, the answer to that question is still up in the air.  Can we all just get along?  I mean, in general, we all want the same things -- a place to call home, people with whom we can relate, a measure of comfort.  Can't we all work together to achieve our individual dreams?  Can we not cannibalize each other?  Can the color of our skin -- or differences therein -- not be a barrier to accomplishing these shared goals?

The disturbing thing behind this question is that although the answer should be - and in a perfect world, would be - a resounding yes, it's not.  It's not a resounding "no" either, which does instill some hope, but not nearly enough.  Rodney King's death underscores the failed realization of a dream, that while not quite as ambitious or moving or unifying as that other King Dream, is tragically unfulfilled.  Rodney King died in a world that was not entirely dissimilar to the world he lived in.  True, the President is Black, and there are more mixed children running around now than in anyone's memory.  However, the attitudes, the stereotypes, the training hasn't changed much.  I get cross-eyed looks from the police in this little tiny town I now reside in.

So what do we do about it? Can we all just... you know... get along?

Permission (short post)

I recently had a conversation with someone who asked me why I'm going to self-publish again, as opposed to going the traditional route.  After all, if I believe in it enough to sell it out of my trunk if need be, why not sell it to a publisher?  My answer to that is simple; why should I ask permission?

By hawking my project to a traditional publisher, I am asking them to believe in my project enough to sell it for me.  In short, I'm asking their permission for authorship, handing creative control and marketing control to them.  If they deem my project worthy, they will offer me a small percentage of its profits.  There most definitely is an Oliver twist reference in there somewhere.  Think about it this way: Dan Brown's The DaVinci Code made him, let's say, a million dollars.  It made his publisher $30 million.

Through most forms of business and employment, we, the employee are asking the employer for permission to have a better life.  We ask for raises, for time off, promotions, more office space, new co-workers.  And those requests are subject to the whim of whomever we're asking; they evaluate our worth, consider our request, and approve or deny at their will.  I do that enough at my regular job.  I refuse to do it for my passion.

By no means is this a rant against the basic fabric of American culture, or against the evils of work as a whole.  It's simply me saying that this writing thing is mine, and I do it on my terms.  Anyone who works, works in customer service, no matter what your occupation.  And everyone has a boss, be it a manager, regional director, COO, CFO, CEO, the government, or the ultimate boss, John Q. Public, the consumer.   Whether you are a self-employed writer, or a 40 hour a week cubicle inhabitant, we are all beholden to the consumer.  In my model, I want to remove as much middleman between me and the consumer as I can.

I ask permission to work a regular job, earn a regular wage, take a regular vacation, have a regular sick day.  Writing is not regular, and I feel the rules shouldn't have to apply.  Why will I self-publish?  Because I'm sick of asking.

Ball Above All

I love NBA playoff time.

This time of year in 1991 started a real love affair with the game.  I've often said baseball is my sports wife, but basketball is most definitely my mistress.  In three short years I was fully invested in the game, and watching my hometown team in the NBA Finals.

I admit to, when I was a teenager, thinking I was a better ballplayer than I actually was.  But there was one constant.  After every game on a Saturday or Sunday, and with that very catchy NBA on NBC theme song freshly in our heads, my friends and I would head to Strickland Park on Mill Avenue, or Marine Park just off Flatbush, and we would take on all comers.  We would go and play for five or six hours, until we could no longer see the ball, and trek home.  In the summertime we would play every day, whenever we could, relying on our parents for bus fare.  The hot summer days spent on the blacktop in Brooklyn really solidified the bonds between me and my closest friends.  And hell, I was in the best shape of my life.

We had dreams in those days of being pro ballplayers.  We were hopelessly deluded.

Time Trippin to Music

We all have that one song that we immediately associate with the favorite times of our lives.  Or two songs.  Or better yet, that one year where we remember all the music we heard.

It was 1995 for me.  My family had FINALLY gotten cable six months before, and the wonders of MTV were finally made available to me.  I developed a weird habit of watching music videos on this channel.  All you young kids out there, that's what MTV used to be for.  And as much as it was about Biggie and Tupac, Wu-Tang, Nice -n- Smooth, Smif -n- Wessun, and L.O.N.S. , I developed a love for rock acts at the time: Hootie and the Blowfish, Blues Traveler, Green Day, Seven Mary Three, REM.

This week I got nostalgic and youtubed some older music. The videos are quite dated, and we look at some of it in the "I can't believe people wore that stuff on purpose" way, but I can't help but be brought back to my senior year of high school -- Edward R. Murrow in Brooklyn, where grunge, alternative and hip-hop kids somehow all got along.  I remember the clothes, the friends, the smells, even the bagel shop on Avenue M, right outside the train station.  I remember the security guards, the hangouts, and the countless hours lost to spades and dominoes.

And as the memories wash over me I realize one inescapable fact: I'm not 16 anymore.  Sigh.