I’m mentioned in this SCI FI Wire article about MechMuse [dead link]. I also see that the first issue of MechMuse will include a story by Edmund Schubert, who’s a buddy of mine from Orson Scott Card’s Writer’s Bootcamp. Fun stuff. All kneel before The Slush God, who penned this fine piece of journalism.
More Mech Muse
Apparently some corrections needed to be made to the recording of “The Second Rat,” so MechMuse decided to go with the David Farland preview clip instead. I guess I’ll have to wait until the Feb 15 launch to hear what “The Second Rat” sounds like. C’est la vie.
Wallet Part 2
I got my wallet back and everything’s still there except the cash. The cops told me the suspects only had $1 on them, so I guess that’s how much was in my wallet. That’ll teach ’em to steal the wallet of a grad student.
Wallet
I just got an email saying that my wallet was turned in to lost & found on campus. The office closed at 5:00, so I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to pick up the wallet and see what’s still in it. The thing I really need is my driver’s license. And my health insurance card (which I only received about three days ago, after waiting for it for weeks). It’d be nice to get my student ID back too, though that’s not so hard to replace. I already cancelled my credit card. I figure at least one of those things must be in there in order for them to have identified the wallet as mine.
Mech Muse
The Mechanized Muse teaser site is up. I don’t currently see any sample clip for “The Second Rat,” but there’s a recording of a David Farland story, and the production quality is quite impressive.
I Was Mugged in Broad Daylight Right Outside My Apartment
I got mugged yesterday. I’m okay.
As I was walking back to my apartment from campus early yesterday afternoon, as I do every day, I noticed a pair of latino teenagers loitering on a stoop and glaring wolfishly at passersby. My first thought was, “Wow, they’re really acting like hooligans looking for targets to rob.” I guess I should pay more attention to my instincts. The problem is, my instincts tell me same thing about a sizeable fraction of this neighborhood. And I thought that if they were actually planning anything, they wouldn’t be so obvious about it. I also never expected anything would happen in the early afternoon on a sunny day on a bustling street that’s patrolled constantly by armed security officers.
I didn’t notice that they were following me. As I crossed Portland Street, the street I live on, one of them rushed me from behind. I turned and he circled in front me, almost touching me, and got in my face saying, “Give me money. Give me money, man.” He held a knife at his side, a nasty-looking foldout job that looked kind of like this. He was easily close enough to stab me. The other one was behind me, on a bike. I backed away from them and said, “Here,” and tossed my iPod and wallet out on the street. The one with the knife scooped them both up, and the two of them fled, laughing.
A student in front of a nearby frat house shouted, “What just happened?” I shouted back, “They took my iPod and my wallet!” He got in his car and took off after them. I followed on foot until I lost him, while trying to call 911 on my cell phone, but I kept getting an answering machine. I had never gotten around to programming the USC emergency number into my new phone. I went back to my dorm, where the number is posted in the entrance, and called it. I described the assailants, though I didn’t expect it would do much good. USC kept me on the line for another ten or fifteen minutes, then sent a security vehicle over.
I got in, and the driver asked me to repeat my description. I did. He nodded and said that security had detained some suspects, and that I’d have to I.D. them. He admonished me to make sure it was really them, and not to jump to conclusions based on the fact that they’d been detained. I told him I understood. He drove me a few blocks. The two suspects were handcuffed and standing on the sidewalk, surrounded by security officers. It was definitely the same guys. All the information I’d given the dispatcher over the phone was completely correct, down to the colors of the shirt, pants, and bike of the second suspect.
LAPD showed up, and I answered a lot of questions from different officers. I got my iPod back, but the assailants had already ditched my wallet somewhere, and I doubt I’ll ever see it again. I’ll probably have to go to court to testify against them at some point in the future.
I’m still kind of shaken up. It was a lot scarier than I expected. I always sort of imagined that when people were robbed at knifepoint, some guy stepped out from behind a bush, kept a safe distance away, showed that he had a weapon, and said, “Give me your wallet.” At which point you would hand it over or throw it at his feet, and he’d grab it and take off. It’s a lot different to just turn around and see some guy right next to you coming at you like he’s going to stab you.
Not done yet
Okay, you remember that new story I said I finished? Turns out not so much with the whole “finished” thing. Basically I’ve spent 12-16 hours a day every day this past week editing it. And those are hours actually spent at the laptop punching keys. And geez, the story’s only 9 single-spaced pages long. I think it’s just about finished, though. I hope so. My other (neglected) responsibilities are starting to loom ominously.
Zelazny Remembrance
George R. R. Martin has posted a really inspiring remembrance of Roger Zelazny. I never got to meet Zelazny, which is a big regret of mine, but I’ve spent so much of my life (since I was 12 or so) reading his books that it feels like he’s a friend. I’m always fascinated to read accounts by people who knew him.
Mechanized Muse
One of my most popular stories, “The Second Rat,” is slated to appear in February as an audio production, in connection with the new web project The Mechanized Muse (www.mechmuse.com). From their website: “The Mechanized Muse collaborators include experienced authors, technologists, artists, columnists, animators and performers, all working with the common goal of creating viable publication venues for short fiction writers. The publication is intended to significantly extend the audience of short fiction though the skillful use of technology in storytelling … February’s issue will feature a serialised novel and short story by New York Time Best Seller David Farland.” And me. I haven’t heard the audio yet for “The Second Rat,” but the site’s editor tells me, “The performance is stunning. I think you’ll be very happy with it.” A 15-minute preview clip is supposed to be posted to the site at the end of this week.
Crystal Rain
My friend Toby has started posting a chapter a day from his first book, Crystal Rain, a unique science fiction novel about an alien world that was settled by colonists from the Caribbean. |
New Story
I’m still around. Been busy. Too much stuff has happened recently to even summarize, so I’m just going to give up and move on. Maybe I’ll get back to it later.
I finished a new story that I’m delighted with. A lot of the time, writing a story consists of just sitting your ass in the chair and struggling to add something significant to what you’ve already done, at which point you call it a day and go out for a walk and wonder what the hell you’re going to add to it tomorrow. But then occasionally you get a story that just comes alive and sweeps you away, where everything falls into place, where every scene is a joy to write, where there’s nothing you’d rather be doing, and where every interruption takes on apocalyptic proportions. The last story that really happened with for me was “Seeds-for-Brains” (way back in 2002, geez). This one was another. It was going so well I seriously considered skipping class to work on it, and I did skip bar night. I was also quite prepared to skip both parties I was invited to last night to work on it, but I finished it in the afternoon, so I did make it to one of the parties. (Once I found out the first party had a hot tub I couldn’t drag myself away to go to the second party.)
Note that there’s not necessarily any connection between how powerfully a story seizes the writer and how good it is. Some stories I really struggled with, like “Veil of Ignorance,” are among my best. Others that I loved writing have never seen the light of day. I certainly hope this new story is good, but even if it’s not, just the experience of writing it was awesome.
Back in L.A.
Back in L.A. now. Very tired. More later.
Drow on the Train
Well, you know I now have a whole raft of drunk-people-on-Metro-North stories. Here’s another. As I was riding home late at night recently, there was a drunk high school girl wailing hysterically. Her friends were trying in vain to console her. Nearby was a different crowd of high school seniors and college freshman, all guys, almost certainly lacrosse players. (I played lacrosse in high school and I know the type.) They were also drunk, and laughing uproariously at this girl’s misery. The girl’s friends tried various tacts to get them to shut up, ranging from reasoned (“Come on, guys. She’s had a hard night. Take it easy on her.”) to superior (“You guys are being so immature.”) to confrontational (“Shut the fuck up or you’re going to get smacked by a girl!”). Regardless of what they said, the guys just laughed louder, mimicked them, or dared them to go ahead and start swinging. Finally, the train stopped and the girls got up to leave. As the girls dragged their drunk friend off the train, they had to hold her back from lunging at the guys. The wailing girl shrieked at the guys and tried to claw at them and pounded the glass as she was led away. Of course this just made them laugh even louder.
As I watched these guys laugh, I thought very clearly, These guys are not human in the same way that I’m human. Since earliest childhood, I’ve never been able to understand why people derive pleasure and entertainment from making other people miserable. That instinct just isn’t in me. The sad thing is, they seem to be the normal ones. I was talking recently with someone about why I had included R.A. Salvatore’s Homeland on my list of favorite books. Since it’s a Dungeons & Dragons media tie-in novel, it’s automatically suspect among literary sf snobs. My answer is that when I read it as a teenager it perfectly captured my feelings. The book is about the drow, evil elves who live in cities underground and are totally amoral. The protagonist, Drizzt, is an aberration — a drow who actually has a conscience. For this he suffers, and will never fit in with his people, and eventually leaves them. That’s basically how I’ve felt for most of my life.
Directions
Last night I stopped by the Rite Aid in Grand Central to buy some pens. While I was standing at the counter, a crazy person started haranguing the checkers. He was under the impression that someone had told him there was a public restroom in Rite Aid, and he refused to believe that there wasn’t. I made a hasty departure, but, as crazy people seem wont to do, he started following me, trying to strike up a conversation. I kept reversing directions but he stayed on my tail, mumbling stuff like, “This is an outrage! Where are the public facilities! I’m calling the mayor! Maybe I’ll piss in this garbage can, that seems to be the best place!” He kept looking to me for confirmation, as if I was supposed to say, “Sir, I heartily concur. The appalling dearth of public facilities leaves a concerned citizen no recourse but to empty one’s bowel into a trash receptacle.” If he hadn’t been acting so obviously crazy, I would have been glad to point out where the restrooms in Grand Central are (not far from Rite Aid). Anyway, I finally shook him.
I have this problem. I get asked for directions. A lot. I get asked for directions more than anyone I’ve ever met. About once per fifteen blocks, on average. I guess my urban casual dress makes me look like someone who knows where he’s going, and my amiable demeanor makes me look helpful and non-threatening. My ability to get asked for directions is matched only by my total inability to remember street names, which way is north, or where I am. My usual response when someone asks me for directions is to look around and wonder aloud, “Um, I don’t know, what street are we on?” which hardly inspires confidence. Even after consulting a map (which I carry around for exactly this purpose), I’m more likely than not to send people off in the wrong direction.
Take last night. An older couple, probably from abroad, stopped me at the corner of 1st and Bowery to ask me where Eldrige is. Of course I had no idea, so I consulted my map, and told them to head a few blocks west. I walked down to Houston and turned west myself, and passed Eldrige, at which point I realized that it starts below Houston and therefore they wouldn’t find it if they headed west along 1st street like I’d told them. I felt really bad, but I actually managed to find them again and give them correct directions. It’s nice to be so helpful.
On my way back from Derek’s show, which was awesome by the way, a girl from Japan asked me if we were on 1st Avenue. I contemplated this thorny problem for a minute or so, but she and her friends figured it out before I did, so I went on my way. As I approached Grand Central, lost in thought, I suddenly realized that my way was being blocked by a stunningly attractive and fairly intoxicated young woman who smiled and tossed her hair and swayed seductively about an inch from my nose and asked in a flirty way, “Hi. We’re looking for a fun bar to go to around here.” An equally attractive friend of hers stood nearby. I’m sure there’s some parallel universe in which I’m the sort of guy who said, “Sure. There’s this great place just around the corner. The bartender Eddie is a friend of mine. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” But, being me, I just said, “Um…” and spent about a minute trying to remember what street I was on. The young woman added, “Preferably on this street, because we’ve already walked like 15 blocks.” (Obviously tourists. 15 blocks? I mean come on, I had just walked 50 blocks, and I don’t even consider that far.) I determined that I was on Park Avenue at about 39th street, and realized with mounting panic that I didn’t know any bars, fun or otherwise, anywhere near there, and couldn’t even fake it. I said helplessly, “Um, I don’t know fun bars around here, sorry.” Perplexed, she said, “Well, that doesn’t sound very promising.” I said, “Good luck,” and beat a hasty retreat, so that I could go wallow in my own lameness, and wonder why I never get stopped by attractive young women who ask, “Hi. Can you give us a hand? My friend and I were just trying to figure out what some of the major literary influences in Roger Zelazny’s Chronicles of Amber are.” And of course, a few blocks later I remember that I’m carrying my Time Out Nightlife guide, which lists every bar and club in Manhattan. Duh.
Show Tonight
My friend Derek will be performing tonight at 8:30 p.m. at Pianos, 158 Ludlow, at Stanton, lower east side, Manhattan (http://pianosnyc.com). I’ll probably be going. If anyone wants to come, or meet up before or after, email me.
KGB Photos
Here are some photos from the last KGB. I’m sort of in the background in two of the photos. In one my eyes are closed and in the other I appear to be a pupil-less pod person (which I’m not). Aside from that, they’re pretty good pictures.
Notes on Prose
Two years ago I put together a page of “Notes on Prose” to use as lecture notes. Since then I’ve expanded it a bit, whenever I learn something new or get particularly irritated by some writer’s stylistic tic. I’m contemplating linking to it from my official site, though the page is still a little rough around the edges and could probably use more by way of explanation/introduction. Anyway, if anyone’s curious to see what I’ve got at the moment, it’s here.
Holy Frack
Holy frack! I just watched the Battlestar Galactica Season Two mid-season cliffhanger. And I thought the show was dark and suspenseful before. If you’ve seen it, you know what I’m talking about. Oh man. Can’t wait for Season 2.5.
Update: Entry edited to conform to esoteric SCI-FI Channel numerical practices.
Dance Dance Revolution
Congregated with other Kirtleys in Connecticut for the holidays yesterday. They had Dance Dance Revolution Extreme Remix 3 set up, and I was instantly addicted, as it combines two of my favorite activities — video games and really, really bad dancing. I know DDR has been around for a long time, and I’d sort of heard of it, but I’d never really seen it or played it until yesterday, as I mostly swore off videogames a few years back in the name of ever actually accomplishing something. Anyway, I grooved for about five straight hours to songs like “Come With Me” and “Imperfection.”
This morning my leg muscles were so sore I could barely walk up stairs, but I couldn’t stop playing until sharp pains in my shins finally drove me off the dance floor (well, pad). Actually, Public Service Announcement: Eating several pounds of shrimp and then playing five straight hours of Dance Dance Revolution is not the best preparation for Christmas dinner.
KGB
Made it into Manhattan last night for KGB. I wasn’t sure exactly how bad things would be in the city with the transit strike in effect. It wasn’t exactly the pandemonium that some had feared, but it was an awful mess. I usually take the 6 train down to Astor Place, but with the subways out of commission I simply walked. It was cold, but not freezing, and the sidewalks were clogged, but not as badly as the streets. The creepiest thing was seeing lots of gridlocked ambulances with their sirens wailing. At one intersection, an elderly couple were screaming at eastbound cars to turn uptown instead and clear the street so that an ambulance could get past. Not surprisingly, KGB was pretty sparsely attended, but I was glad to see everyone who managed to make it out, including my amazingly wonderful friend Andrea, who gave me seasons one and two of Battlestar Galactica for my birthday. On the walk back to Grand Central, I passed a double column of uniformed cops carrying bags with batons. There must’ve been 100 or more. It was like a parade. I wonder where they were headed. (Union rally?)
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