Bitter Soap

I’m not bitter, I swear. A little jealous maybe. But what’s new?

The StorySouth Million Writers Award notable stories were announced today and I’m not on the list. This is the second year I’ve submitted stories I thought were worthy and the second year I’ve been passed over. Sure I’m happy for crime friends like Daniel Hatadi, Neil Smith and Scott Wolven among others, but not as happy as I’d be if I was among them. That hasn’t dampened my enthusiasm for the short story I’m working on currently though. I always get a sense of joy and accomplishment with short stories that I never get with novels.

Becky and I feuded last night over laundry. Despite what people might think about men and laundry, I actually enjoy doing laundry. Well, I enjoy doing MY laundry. Women’s clothes frighten me. They take so much more work and thought in the laundry than men’s clothes. It doesn’t help that our washer and dryer are ancient and require more care and planning than a shuttle launch and are in the dankest, nastiest part of the basement.

So I usually get ambitious and start laundry, but it ends up sitting in the washer or the dryer for a while and doesn’t ever quite make it upstairs. This annoys her and she wanted to just do the laundry herself. But a pregnant woman shouldn’t be going up and down stairs carrying heavy baskets so I did it anyway. Well, I got it started. She still brought it up when it was done because I forgot.

I can’t wait for our new house. We’ll have a brand new washer and dryer on the first floor right next to our bedroom. I’ll be better about laundry I’m sure. Really.

Weekend Update

I had a decent weekend. Slept in on Sunday and felt rested for the first time in a long time. Saturday was a birthday party for my dad who is very, very old (60) and very, very cool. Friday night Becky and I went to see the new Harold and Kumar movie with her 21-year-old sister and her boyfriend. That was fun and I liked the second movie better than the first. Sunday I spent some time sanding down the walls in our new house where there are all sorts of weird lumps and splotches on the dry wall. At night Becky and I went to see FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL. Great movie and Kristen Bell is hot.

Becky is always an interesting case to me when we go to see movies. You know me, my emotions are all over the place. I LOVE movies or I DESPISE movies and I’m eager to tell people why either way. Becky never likes anything. She’ll laugh through the whole movie and when I ask her if she liked it she’ll say “not really” or something like that. I know I shouldn’t tie my enjoyment of a movie to hers but it still bugs me sometimes. On the other hand, when there is a movie she really likes, like JUNO, it seems more special.

And I don’t care who thinks I’m a dork, I can’t WAIT to see WALL-E the new Pixar movie.

I also made some minor headway with a short story I’m working on. I have this wonderful ambitious idea and until recently no freaking clue how to pull it off. Now I have a clue…sort of.

Mini Me and Such

Today is Take Your Little Monster to Work Day and I’ve been thinking about my kid on the way. I know it may sound selfish, but I want him to be a writer. It’s probably mean to wish this sort of staggering insanity on anyone, but I look at Stephen King and the Kellermans and think that’s sooo cool. Even when Duane or Greg posts about the stories their kids write I get a little excited thinking I might be able to experience that one day.

But I’ll probably end up with a baseball player or wrestler or something and that would be cool too I guess…

The kid already has more clothes than most people I know including his first Detroit Lions jersey (I REALLY hope they don’t trade Roy Williams making at least 2 jerseys in our house useless) and his first U of M outfit. His room at the new house is coming along nicely and will soon have carpet and dinosaur decorations. Raaaaarrrrr. I also think we narrowed the name down to Matthew. You’ve got your Scudder PI reference and your Biblical reference. What more could you ask for?

Nice weekend, hun

I had a great weekend. It was refreshing, inspiring, and encouraging. I’d love to just give a point-by-point rundown of everything that happened but I suspect that would get boring pretty quickly so here are the basics:

Love Baltimore. If I wasn’t married I’d probably drop everything and move there at the first opportunity.

Got to see Laura read at the Pratt Free Library. She was good, but in general I hate it when authors read a lot from their work. The panel picked up and was very entertaining when they started answering questions from the moderator and the audience.

Ate at Hooters and Hard Rock Café. Inner Harbor not as cheesy and touristy as I would have imagined.

Got to hang with Dave White. He like Becky. Becky likes him. But not in that way. Yay.

Got a little bit of writing done.

Camden Yards is cool but I have no business wearing baseball hats anymore. Dave got a seat in a different section but we were able to sit together easily enough. It didn’t rain until the seventh inning Yay.

Laura Lippman and her family are the coolest people ever.

A cautious revival

The last few days have been pretty good writing-wise. I’ve written a few new paragraphs as I’ve restructered what I thought was salvagable and felt good about what I had. And then last night I wrote the first new chapter in many months and upon rereading it this morning I don’t hate it. That’s about all I can ask for these days. And more importantly, I have a clear idea of where I need to go with this book. Yay me.

I’ll get a nice creative boost this weekend as well. Becky and I will be dropping in for a quick trip to Baltimore to see Laura Lippman at the CityLit Festival. I wanted Becky to have a chance to meet Laura and believe it or not, it’s cheaper to fly to Baltimore from Detroit than to Chicago or Minneapolis (the closest to Michigan Laura got this year). We’ll also be hooking up with Dave White for some fun and the town and an Oriole’s baseball game on Sunday.

Dave has an interesting nickname around our house: Master Dave. When Becky and I were addressing all of our wedding invitations we were watching some Beavis and Butthead episodes on DVD. One of the episodes was the one with David Spade as a manners expert who keeps referring to Beavis and Master Beavis. Well, the next invitation up after hearing that was Dave’s so we addressed it to Master Dave White. Since then, every time I mention Dave Becky calls him Master Dave.

It’s kind of fuzzy

I can’t focus on anything these days to save my life. Not that I was ever particularly adept at maintaining balance and focus in my life. But when I had a small life with little responsibility it was easy to compensate. These days my life includes so many people and so many activities and my brain is exhausted. I don’t as well as I should. I don’t exercise as well as I should. And I don’t shower my wife with affection and attention like I should. I think this also might be one of the root problems I’m having with my writing lately. And then there are the neglected friends, the neglegcted family, and the pile of unaddressed wedding thank you notes that still need to go out.

So what to do about it all? Normally I find writing lists and keeping notes helps, but then I lose the lists and notes. Part of me feels like that guy in MEMENTO who needs to keep pictures and sticky notes on everything. If I could narrow it down to one major reason I think I would pick a lack of energy as the source of my troubles. It would be so much easier if I was all peppy and zip full of energy all day but that ain’t ever going to happen. And it’s going to all go to hell once the baby comes along, so I need to get it under control now.

Exercise and diet seem obvious choices to help this, but its’ not as easy to fix as you might think. Every minute I’m out jogging or walking with the dog is time I’m not at home with my wife, or writing. And cooking takes time and energy, and then on the weekends we’re working at the house or running around town and good nutrition suffers.

So I’m opening this up for suggestions. How do I get my head screwed on straight these days?

With an S like the poet

I’ll have pictures up later, but Becky and I found out the sex of the baby yesterday. It has 11 fingers, if you know what I mean. That either means we’re having a boy or one of those babies that will be on DATELINE ten years from now.

But now the real adventure begins. I want to name the baby Spenser. I always have, even when I didn’t really think about having kids. But Becky isn’t really sold on it. She thinks it’s better than Holden, which was my other choice, but that’s like saying gassing is a better way to die than firing squad. So how do I get her to go for it?

Help here.

Another Brick in the Wall

It’s been a while since I’ve REALLY vented here, what with my love life going so well (I love you Becky) but today is just downright ridiculous. I am frustrated to the point of tears and violence at my inability to get anything going novel-wise. Having this short story accepted only serves to make things work. The problem has never been that I’m not a good writer. I’ve had biased friends and family along with unbiased professionals tell me I have something special. The compliment my “breezy style” my “excellent dialogue” my “ear for dialogue” and my “knack for sympathetic characters.” But what good does that do me though if I can’t find the right story to tell with those skills?

I could go the rest of my life and do nothing but write short crime stories. I’d be almost guaranteed of getting most of them published, I might even crack a national market or anthology. But I want more. I want a writing career and the only way to do that is to write novels. A while ago I thought all I would write would be novels. My first few attempts at short stories had failed miserably and I finished my first novel long before I finished my first good short story. But mostly it’s the challenge. I don’t want to shy away from something just because it’s hard.

And damn is it hard. There’s so much to balance. Part of me always tells myself that other writers have made careers writing great dialogue with crappy plots. But I don’t want to write Crap Plus One. After four novels now, I know where my weaknesses are. I’ve tried to fix them and in some places compensate for the things I can’t fix, but it’s still not working. People I trust have read the current manuscript and say there’s something there. They say it’s good. I think parts of it are good but I don’t know if it can support a whole novel.

Maybe all of this is just a case of me being too hard on myself, holding myself to ridiculous standards. I’ve never been involved with critique groups or reading groups or anything like that because I always felt I had a good sense of my own writing, when it was working and when it wasn’t. I don’t think its good enough, but maybe I’m wrong. I’ve said it here before and I’ll say it again, the number of times an agent will give me a look is finite, and I think I’m rapidly closing in on the end of those chances. It’s very important that the next book I send out be the perfect book for me right now. I just wonder if I’m capable of writing that book yet.

Just once I would like to finish a novel and be happy with it. So far, every time I finish a book, I’m immediately thinking of all of the places it needs work and how I’m going to fix it. I no longer crave just the feeling of accomplishment that comes with completing the book. I’ve felt that, I need something new.

I’m in love with writing novels, and so far it’s a love that’s unrequited. What do I need to do to make novels love me?

Pieces of Me

Don’t have the brain power for full blog post, but thoughts must be exorcized…

Took Stewie for a walk last night, beautiful night, I like dog harnesses more than collars…

Saw 21 at the theater, liked it, don;t understand the bad reviews…

Read Pinter’s THE GULTY, good stuff, tried to read Spiegleman’s BLACK MAPS, too dense, dialogue too chunky, Lippman’s ANOTHER THING TO FALL rocks…

Bought a Steve Hamilton novel I didn’t realize I hadn’t read at Aunt Agatha’s…

I can’t believe CBS shows are already in reruns…

I wish I could make a living only writing short stories…

Or novels without plots…

Acceptence with Guns

On January 30, 2002 I sent a story called ANGEL EYES to PLOTS WITH GUNS. It wasn’t a very good story and a month letter I received a rejection note from Neil Smith. Three years later I had finally written another story and thought it was better than the first. PLOTS WITH GUNS was no longer in existence but I sent it to Neil who was editing a noir edition of the MISSISSIPPI REVIEW. He rejected that one too.

Six days ago I submitted a story to the new PLOTS WITH GUNS. I think it’s one of my best stories. Today I just found out the THE HEMINGWAY STRIPPER will appear in Issue #2 of PLOTS WITH GUNS. This day rules!