Bill Gauthier's Gauthic Nights

I'm a week into the summer vacation and things are good.  I've been working on the novel, have been doing some organizing, and getting prepared for the wedding on Sunday.  Friday night was my "bachelor dinner", which included Pamela, just as I wanted it to.  It was a pretty good time and great to have my friends in one place.

I've been as unhappy as the rest of you with the happenings in Iran, scared shitless about the happenings in North Korea, and generally just wary of everything else. 

But none of that is what I feel like talking about today.  Today, I just want to ramble about the latest Pixar film, Up.  

Some have said that Wall-E could be Pixar's masterpiece.  I liked the movie, but after watching Up yesterday, my feeling is that this may be.  Up is a story that had me totally involved from the first frame.  I cried several times during the movie.  I laughed several times.  I was swept up in the adventure of it.  The writing is smart and funny.  The animation is perfect.  The voice acting was dead on.  And the themes...my word!

Up is a film about hero worship, and the fact that heroes don't always live up to your feelings about them.  The bottom line is be your own hero.  It's also a story about love and relationships and life.  I haven't walked away from a movie feeling this wrung out in a long time.  If you haven't seen it yet, do yourself the favor of doing so.

(That said, I realize that my views on movies don't always add up to many flisters' reading this.  I mean, I love the Star Wars movies and liked Cloverfield and a whole other slew of missteps, but I have faith in my opinion on this one).

That's it for now.  Later.

Yeah, I admit it, I've been feeling a little grumpy lately.  Maybe it's the stress of the end of the school year and the upcoming wedding, along with the normal Our Economy Sucks money issues, or maybe it's just me, I don't know, but lots of things seem to be pissing me off lately.  And since I feel bad that I haven't been chatting with you enough lately, I figured I'd fill you in.

First off, this whole John and Kate Plus 8 thing is getting on my nerves.  First off, they shouldn't be in the news, period.  Not for anything.  Keep in mind that they have done nothing except have a litter, like the OctoMom.  But they get on TV.  Now they may/may not be having problems and there's John on the cover of People (I've been in CVS several times over the past few days) whining about how the media is intruding in their lives.  Has anyone pointed out to him that they brought the media into their own lives?  

This isn't an actor who loves to act, happened to get a part in a major movie that became a blockbuster, and just wants to lead a normal life while doing what he loves (acting).  This is a guy who, with his wife, went on talk shows and then allowed cameras into his home to record "their life."  And now when there may be trouble (which is common) he's crying about it.

I watched Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines last night.  Wish I hadn't.  I wasted two hours of my life on that shit.  Next time, I'll listen better.

Hm...how to say this?  I'm hard on myself.  I expect myself to perform at a certain level, both as a writer and as a teacher (and as a normal human being), and I'm never completely happy.  I think this is a good thing.  It means that I'm striving for something.  It means that, in the end, I'm better at whatever it is I'm trying to achieve.  And I know this:  I'm a good writer and I'm a good teacher.  Do I have further to go for both?  Hell, yes!  But I'm good.  I know I'm good because, as Harlan Ellison said, "You're a writer when a writer says you're a writer."  Several professional writers have told me this.  I know I'm good because good teachers have called me a good teacher.  I'm not bragging, I'm just saying.  So when people fuck with the way I do things, or treat me as less than what I am, I'm a little upset.  I'm not a team player by nature, I'm just not, but I do my best.  Not to say that anyone has disputed this, but I'm grumpy and, well, I want to let it be known that I know I'm good, but I know I have to be better.  Oh, and I also know that I'm better than many.  But I won't get too caught up in that, it's unbecoming.

Why do so many people try to make me feel shitty about liking Bruce Springsteen's music?  As though being a fan of Star Wars and horror hasn't been difficult enough, I now enjoy (immensely) the music of a great artist but I'm made to feel silly for doing so.

I voted for Obama, and I know he has a big job to do, but (to the best of my knowledge) he's done nothing to revoke the Patriot Act.  This troubles me.  I know the economy needs fixing, and this thing and that thing, I mean, look at the mess he was left with, but still...the Constitution and all that.

It still irks me when I go to a small restaurant and I can't order French fries, but have to order Freedom fries.  I feel like asking for "Fuckyou fries."

California still won't allow gay marriage, but the guy who signed on for Terminator 3 is voted to govern.  Hmm....

People buy stupidly huge trucks.  Gas prices go up, way up.  People freak out, stop buying big trucks.  Gas prices go down, way down.  People are happy.  What do they do?  Buy big trucks again.  Gas goes up again.  People are upset.  I laugh at them as I pass them in my Yaris.  Fuckers.

I caught a bit of a George Carlin show the other night on HBO.  Goddamn, but I miss him.

And that, folks, is all.

From April through November 2008, I worked on a novel with the working title Night Daughters.  I got to page 329 (around 67,000 words) and stopped.  I was feeling the situations and characters, but not the book itself.  In December 2008, I began from scratch.  Well...from a certain point of view.  I began on page 1 again, but some of what came next was stolen from the previous draft, and some was brand spankin' new writing.  As I went along, more and more was brand spankin' new, the story was evolving better.  The characters were coming to life.  New characters showed up.  Things have been going splendidly.  And today, I reached page 329 on the new version of Night Daughters (a title that will be changed on the next draft to-- Well...I think I'll keep that to myself for now).  I just finished today's session on page 334.  I'm guessing I have another 40,000 words to go.  Maybe more, maybe less.  Either way, the novel is coming together and I'm psyched.

Tomorrow is the last full day of school where I work.  Next week is all finals, which means the kids are dismissed at 11 AM and we have to stay until almost normal time.  That's fine with me right now, because I have a ton to do.  The 15th is my last day of school, and then starts my summer writing schedule.  The intention is to try to finish Night Daughters by the wedding (the end of June), and then rewrite it along with a novella, and begin another novella.  But the book looks as though it's alive and well and I can't wait to focus on it.  

I've been busy.  Work.  Life.  Writing.  I'm constantly on Facebook with my little status updates and recently joined Twitter, though I use that far less.  

I'm hoping to redesign my website this summer, since I think it needs it.  If I do that, I may move my online journal there.  I need to look into it.  That's not to say I'll be closing the LiveJournal account, it just means I may be moving any blogs back to the main site.  We'll see.

It's the end of the school year, which means that I'm in a frantic mode trying to get everything together for that.  The wedding is exactly one month away and there's a lot to do for that.  And the writing....

Well, I've been very busy.  I'm working on the novel (the same one since last year, the new version) and am nearly 60,000 words in.  It's going very well.  I've given myself a personal deadline to submit the novel to an editor at a major publishing house of late-August.  This is not just me daydreaming, there's an editor at a major publishing house who is interested in my work.  Once the novel is done (it's currently called Night Daughters, a title I hate), I have several other projects lined up, including rewriting two novellas and a few short stories, writing a new novella, and beginning the next book (which is called Seasons of Torment in my mind, another title I'm not so fond of).

Novellas aren't easy to publish.  I've decided that I don't care.  It's a form I'm interested in and one that I think could pay off in the long run.  That said, I do have a few good novel ideas.  The short story well seems to be dry at the moment, but it is what it is.  

What else is going on?  I saw X-Men Origins: Wolverine and thought it was a piece of shit.  I saw Star Trek and loved it (this was my first Trek theater experience; the only episode of the original series I ever saw was [and this won't surprise a few flisters] "City on the Edge of Forever"] and I saw all the movies from the fourth one until the last one with Picard and crew).  I'm hoping to catch Up and Drag Me To Hell soon.  I read Donna Tartt's The Secret History, which I enjoyed; Beyond by Theodore Sturgeon, which I loved; Bruce Springsteen's America: The People Listening, a Poet Singing by Robert Coles, which I thought was boring and not very good; Runaway American Dream: Listening to Bruce Springsteen by Jimmy Guterman, which I found more fun, despite the jabs at Billy Joel; and I reread 'Salem's Lot by King (it's annoying how a kid had so much damn talent!), which had deleted scenes and such at the back of the book.  Right now I'm re-reading Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men.  Oh!  I'm also reading Hunt at the Well of Eternity by Gabriel Hunt, as told to James Reasoner.

The Gabriel Hunt book is the latest venture by Charles Ardai, editor/publisher of the Hard Case Crime line of modern pulp crime novels.  The Hunt books are classic pulp adventure novels about Gabriel Hunt.  It seems fun so I figured I'd take the plunge.

I've begun watching Lost.  Pamela and I are hooked.  We just began season 2 last night, so I ask flisters to hide all spoilers behind cuts (which I think should go without saying).

Dark Discoveries, which publishes my column American Gauthic, has a new issue out and has a new look.  If you haven't subscribed, I strongly urge you to now.  There's some pretty impressive stuff coming up.

That's all for now.  Hopefully you'll hear from me sooner than later.  Be cool.

Maybe I can blame it on moving, this sense of mortality, this sense that things are fleeting and, in the end, there's little to hold onto.  I'm writing this in the new apartment.  A lot of my stuff is still in boxes.  Books, mainly, but I still don't have my office area organized, put together, or in any semblance of order.  I probably shouldn't be writing this, but the feeling that I want to be heard by more than just those in the immediate vicinity is overwhelming.

I've moved like clockwork almost every two years for the past decade.  In December of 1997, my ex-wife and I moved in together in an apartment downstairs from my parents'.  In 1999, her, Courtney, and I moved to a different apartment.  In October 2001, we made another move.  We separated in March 2004 when I moved out.  I moved twice in 2005.  And then in 2007, I moved to Boston to live with Pamela.  And now, in 2009, her and I have moved to a new apartment.  I should add that Pamela hadn't moved in thirteen years.  Not all of us are nomads.

Make no mistake, I hate moving.  I never seem to completely unpack.  I never seem to be in shape enough to be much help.  And, generally, I hate having to set up everything once again.  But what can you do?  Sometimes one just doesn't have a choice.

During the move this time, though, I realized that I see things that are often forgotten about.  Pictures and other doodads and bric-a-brac.  As I walked away from one of many trips to the dumpster outside the old place (which still felt so new to me), leaving behind some stuff I hadn't wanted to leave behind, and a whole bunch of stuff Pamela didn't want to leave behind, I was reminded once again how life is fleeting.  The things that we hold onto are often things that inevitably get thrown away.  Permanence in humanity is a mug's game.  Even nature changes.  Mountains move and change shape.  Coastlines disappear and new coastlines form.  Forests disappear from natural fires.  Planets die.  Nothing lasts.

So the thing to do, I guess, is try our damndest to make a small mark.  To enjoy what time we have in any given spot and not to take for granted that we're there.  Because in the end, all we can hope for is to be a marker along the way.

I am: Frank Herbert His style is often stilted, but he created what some consider the greatest SF novel of all time.

Which science fiction writer are you?

***
Strangely, I haven't read him.  But I have a few of his books on my shelf.

What else is new, right?

With the move over, I've decided to become a superhero.



Try if for yourself here.

(Thanks to Pam and Jay for hipping me to this.)

( I'll work behind the cut for those of you who aren't interested in Springsteen's work.... )

When did I last post?  During a sick day or something, wasn't it?  I don't remember.  A quick check confirms that.  Nice.  Well, that cold I last posted about lasted about a week and a half.  Nasty little fucker.

It's official: I'm moving.  Again.  Or rather, we're moving.  Pamela is coming with me because, well, we're gonna be married and all, and wherever I go, she's gonna go (my buddy and meeeeee!).  Unfortunately, the move isn't to New York or Los Angeles or San Francisco, but rather back to the area I escaped from.  New town, but same area.  No biggy, really.  The place is nice, the town is nice, it's closer to my daughter and my job, etc., but it's still a little bit of a bummer.

Beyond that, I finished the first draft of another story, which I intend to rewrite any day now and sooner than later submit to a pretty cool sounding antho.  My fingers are crossed.

I've been feeling a little down lately.  I keep thinking about my "heroes," those people whose creative work I admire and who have managed to have careers and lives that they made for themselves.  Writers, music artists, movie directors, etc.  How do you go from where I am to where they are?  I sit and work on my stories and submit, but...y'know?

I'm whining, I don't mean to be, it's just that stress does this to me. 

Anyway, I saw Coraline a couple weeks ago and loved it.  I enjoyed Neil Gaiman's book and the movie is just as good.  The visuals were great, the screenplay was great...I recommend it.

Umm...I guess that's all for now.  I feel as though there were more to write, but I don't remember what it was.  So...later.

When I posted last night, this had been the plan:

• Post on the journal.
• Get my clothes out and ready for today.
• Take more Airborne.
• Go to bed.
• Get agood night sleep so I can go to work and educate America's Youth, as well as be an active member of society.

That was the plan, dig?  But, as Mr. Lennon once said, "Life is what happens when you're busy making plans."  Or something like that.  I posted on the journal (but you knew that).  I got my clothes out and ready for today.  I drank down a glass of Airborne, the miracle cure.  I went to bed.  That's where life happened.

I lied there, eyes open, feeling tired, coughing, body aching -- sick -- but unable to sleep.  When I did sleep, I'd wake up coughing.  I hardly ever get chest colds or whathaveyou and I felt like my lungs had become thick, wet towels.  I went to bed a little after ten.  I remember seeing 11:30, and then 12:30, and then I'd wake up so often, that I barely slept.  So five o'clock comes and I force myself out of bed, body still aching, coughing, real friggin' blah.  And I realize that there's an hour drive south, then a full day of teaching, then afterschool tutoring, and then an hour drive north, which would bring me to between 5 and 5:30 PM, and based on the amount I'd slept, I'd be done by 10/11 AM.  And I'd probably infect many students, several teachers, and basically anyone I'd come into contact with.

This post is the most I've done this morning and even this is taxing my mind.

I still feel guilty for calling in.  I don't like to do that, but I think it was best for today.  I already feel better than I did yesterday, though not well.  Tomorrow I'll be able to tough it out.  Tomorrow I will tough it out.

But for today, I'll wimp it out.  Read some of the book I'm reading (Harlan Ellison's first novel, Web of the City).  Maybe watch a DVD or seven.  And basically, just get myself to better.  

Now you go and take care of yourself.  I don't want any of you to get what I have right now.

Later.

It's been awhile since I posted -- almost a month -- because a lot has been happening around here.  It's not my place to talk about a lot of it because a lot of it concerns Pamela, but suffice it to say that there's been some good and some bad.  One of the things I can talk about, which doesn't fall into either good or bad category, is that we're looking to move.  Rents in Boston have gotten too high and we need to restart, so we're heading back to my hometown area, for the time being, and will hopefully get a place that we just applied for. 

Stress has been high and now I feel as though I'm getting a cold.  At least, that's all I hope it is since there seems to be a flu outbreak in our general area.  Hopefully it isn't Captain Trips.  I took some Airborne yesterday and this morning, and I'm planning on taking some before bed.  I went from not being out much at all to having been out more than I'm comfortable with, and next week is vacation, so I have to go in tomorrow, etc.

Let's see, what else....

I submitted the story I'd talked about to the anthology I'd also mentioned in passing, so the jury is deliberating.  Now I'm working on another story for another anthology, which I need to get done quickly.

The latest issue of Dark Discoveries is out.  It's a William F. Nolan issue with an interview with the legendary writer, as well as some new fiction by him, Gerard Houarner, and others, interviews with Rick Hautala, Joe R. Lansdale, and Steve Vernon.  Oh, and of course there's my column American Gauthic, this one is titled "More Bugfuck Than I Thought."  The title that was printed in the actual magazine is the previous column's title, but it's no big deal, because it's the essay that counts.

So that's about it for now.  I'm off to do mindless stuff before bed.  Later.

Third one this year.  I think it was last night's supper fucking with my Crohn's Disease.  I don't think I've mentioned it here, but I've had a Crohn's flare-up for about a year now and last night's dinner just kicked me in the gut.  We went to Borders to run an errand and we were hoping to get me a new phone because the one I have now is dying.  The phone place was closed but we went to Borders and then went to have dinner.  I had this turkey sandwich with spinach, bacon, and a cheese sauce.  Oh, and a side of fries.  Totally unhealthy but very good.  Unfortunately, it kicked me. 

But that's not why I'm posting.  I found out over the weekend that Catalysts was mentioned in The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror 2008, mentioned in Ellen Datlow's review of horror fiction in 2007.  In the "collections" section, it's there.  Unfortunately, it was announced this week that there will be no more Year's Best, after twenty-one years.  Fortunately, Datlow was able to sell the idea to Night Shade books for a best of the year horror anthology.  So my dreams of making a Year's Best isn't shattered completely.  I also found two positive customer reviews at Horror-Mall.com.

So the ego is feeling well even though I am not.

That's all for now.  I'm going to rest.  Or something.

After two different posts from two flist friends, I did some research and saw that LiveJournal is in trouble.  I was thinking about getting all my posts and saving them to the computer, I just don't know if it's worth it.

Ah, well....

I've seen a lot of retrospective shows on this past year, between VH1 Classic, the History Channel's documentary The '70s, and even this morning as Pamela and I were sipping our coffees before she had to get ready for work, CBS This Morning's look back from 1950-2000.  Besides that, I'm reading a collection of Charles Beaumont's, Harlan Ellison's work is something that is always close-at-hand and his newsletter, The Rabbit Hole, just ran a new essay along with some copies of rejections he'd received when he was beginning his career, and I love old movies, pulp fiction & heroes, etc.  The more I see these things, the more research I do into these things, I feel more and more convinced that I was born at the wrong time, I should have been born in the 1930's or earlier. 

I know that I say something like that and sound as though I'm miserable in the present, being a thirty-one-year-old in 2009, which I'm not.  The fact that I'm sitting here, writing these words, and will soon hit a button that will allow you (whoever you are) to read this, is pretty cool.  So is the whole contraption I'm writing on.  My typewriter allows me to go to the library, watch a movie, listen to music, and chat with friends all without getting up.  I love my iPod and my Sirius radio.  Cell phones allow you to make emergency calls right away.  Medicine keeps us alive longer.  You know the deal, so I won't go further.  But I have to say that those earlier times, while they were very challenging, while there was a lot wrong with them including wars, no rights for anyone not adult white males, and other such things, there was a lot right with those eras.

My father, born in 1941, is at the beginning of the Baby Boomer generation while my mother, born in 1950, is definitely in the middle of it.  I was born toward the end of the following generation (1977).  Stephen King (b. 1947) has said that his is the last generation to probably have learned to read before learning to watch TV, and that's sad to me.  Just as my generation is the last to remember a time before cable or satellite TV, and even the internet.  I see fourteen-year-olds with cell phones that are way too overpriced for their needs.  They Google when they need an answer.

I'm beginning to sound like an old man and I don't mean to.  I look at what I like to do, read, write, watch movies...and I think that back then, it was easier.  Back then, it was better.  I don't know if that's true, but it seems it.  It just seems it.

So, welcome, 2009.  This year my daughter turns eleven.  I'll turn thirty-two.  I'll get married (again).  We're probably moving (again).  Those are the things I know.  My hopes?  I hope that this year, I'll have a good year with my writing career.  I feel like I'm truly poised for that to happen.  I hope that in this year, some of the fighting we see on the news stops and that the economy begins to level-out.  I hope that this year it'll stop feeling like we're on the road to the End Times.

I hope...it's the best that I can do.

Borrowed from dr_p_venkman :

1. Post the names of 10 of your favorite musicians.
2. See who can guess which is your favorite song by each.
3. As they are answered, I'll post it.


1.  Bruce Springsteen
2.  The Beatles
3.  Billy Joel
4.  Elton John
5.  Sheryl Crow
6.  Eminem
7.  John Williams
8.  Sarah McLachlan
9.  Poe
10.  Paul McCartney/John Lennon (this is two, when they weren't with The Beatles)

Because I now you were sitting there wondering, Just what, pray tell, has Bill Gauthier read this entire year?, I have provided you a list from my records, along with some commentary when I deem it appropriate.

1.  Born in the U.S.A. (33 1/3) by Geoffrey Himes.  January.  Part of the 33 1/3 book series that focuses on one album by a particular artist/group, this was read in, oh, maybe four days?  It was insightful and fun, though I disagreed with some of Himes's criticisms of some of Springsteen's later works.

2.  The Best American Short Stories 2007, edited by Stephen King and Heidi Pitlor.  December 2007-January 2008.  I admit, I got the book because King edited it.  I actually got it free when I bought tickets to his appearance at Harvard in October 2007.  The stories were good, but none left too much of a mark on me.

3.  Duma Key by Stephen King. January-February.  I enjoy King so I enjoyed this book.  Not his best, but not his worst.  Very entertaining and well written.

4.  The Making of Star Wars by J.W. Rinzler.  August '07-February '08.  Yes, it took a long time to read because I kept putting it down for other reading.  But it was interesting and in-depth.  Great to see how 1977's Star Wars took shape, and almost didn't.

5.  Grifter's Game by Lawrence Block.  February.  The first novel published by Hard Case Crime and the second one I read.  Everything you want in a quick, noirish crime book.  I enjoyed it.

6.  Black Fire by James Kidman.  March.  Kidman is a pseudonym for writer Brian Freeman, who appeared alongside me in Borderlands 5.  He works at Cemetery Dance Publications and is a great guy.  I'd been meaning to read this novel for a while, since it came out in 2004/2005, but hadn't gotten around to it.  This March I finally did.  It was a good first novel and shows lots of promise.

7.  Coraline by Neil Gaiman.  March.  I'd been meaning to read this since it came out and finally got around to it.  Fun little book.  I'm looking forward to the movie.

8.  20th Century Ghosts by Joe Hill.  March-April.  I must've written about this collection on this journal.  I loved the stories in it.  Joe Hill is a force to be reckoned with and I can't wait to read more from him, including his comic book Locke & Key.

9.  Bruce Springsteen: Two Hearts, The Definitive Biography, 1972-2003 by Dave Marsh.  April-May.  This was a geekfest book for me.  It's comprised of two separate bios Marsh wrote, Born to Run and Glory Days.  The main narrative, which is very in-depth between 1972-1988-ish sort of glosses over everything after Tunnel of Love through The Rising.  Two books were dedicated to Springsteen's first decade as a professional musician while his the later two decades were followed in one or two chapters.  It was interesting, but I'm interested to read about the point where he left the E Street Band until now, when they're rocking better than ever.  Star Wars and now Springsteen.  How much more geeky can I get?

10.  The Hour of the Oxrun Dead by Charles L. Grant.  May-June.  It breaks down like this, in a phone conversation about two years ago, I'd shamefully admitted to James Beach that I'd never read a novel by Grant.  James, being the great guy that he is, sent me this book.  It went to my TBR pile (along with many of the books listed above) until May.  I'd finally caught up on some magazine reading and read two tributes to Grant in two different magazines (Dark Discoveries and Cemetery Dance).  So I finally read this book.  I believe, if my research (and memory) are correct, this was Grant's first book.  It was good.  It didn't knock me out or anything, but it made me interested enough to want to read his later, from what I hear better, work.  So I will.

11.  Lord of the Flies.  William Golding.  June.  I'd never read it.  I know it was a major influence on Stephen King.  I had many students talking about it last year.  I've wanted to read it since I was in seventh grade.  I read it.  It's great.  What more can I say?

12.  Geek Love by Katherine Dunn.  July.  There are some books that many people have recommended to me over the course of time.  Same with movies.  They get this impression from me that I'd like it because it's dark, it's quirky, it's weird, etc.  Geek Love was one of those novels.  Pamela was the latest person.  I read it.  Dunn's prose haunted me.  Her characters, none of them very likeable, pulled me in.  I wasn't bowled over by the book, but I liked it enough to see what else she's written since then.  From what I gathered, not much.

13.  Stephen King's Dark Tower: The Long Road Home by Robin Furth and Peter David, Jae Lee and Richard Isanove.  June-August.  I read this newest DT story in their monthly installments.  It was an okay story, but it wasn't as good as I'd hoped.  However, Furth and David found their own niche with this story and it shows.  I'm currently reading Treachery (I bought issues 3 and 4 today) and this one is better.

14.  The Dark Knight Returns by Frank Miller.  July.  Look at the date.  Right around the time The Dark Knight came out.  I originally read this graphic novel when I was around twelve.  This time around, I got a lot more out of the subtext.  Miller did great work.

15.  Mr. Fox & Other Feral Tales by Norman Partridge.  August.  A gift from Mr. Partridge himself, I read the book eagerly.  It not only contained the text of his first collection, published sometime in the early-to-mid-1990s, but also had lots of new material, mostly focused on writing and making a career for yourself in writing.  The stories are good, the essays and thoughts on writing are right up there with King's On Writing and another great small press book I read a while ago, Tom Piccirrili's Welcome to Hell.  

16.  Captain America: The Chosen by David Morrell.  August.  I apologize for not including the artist's name.  The book is way over there and I'm too lazy, but with the wonders of the internet and Google, you can look it up!  I've never read a Captain America story before.  This was pretty good.  The art was great and Morrell's writing was sound.  I recommend it.

17.  The Complete Making of Indiana Jones by J.W. Rinzler.  August-September.  Didn't I ask how geeky I could get?  Here you go.  Interesting book.

18.  Mama's Boy and Other Dark Tales by Fran Friel.  August-September.  I've already said I liked it.  I'll go more in-depth soon.

19.  Watchmen.  Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons.  September-October.  Like The Dark Knight Returns, it's a classic.  I really don't need to add my feelings.

20.  Fright by Cornell Woolrich.  October.  Another Hard Case Crime novel.  I loved it.  Good writing, good story.  The book should have been called Paranoia, but Fright works.  There were two quotes I pulled from the book, here's one that I just know will inspire a story or something from me:
 

"He knew a little braveness, then, for one of the few times in his life.  Some men know a lot, and some men know very little; but when it comes to those who knew it very seldom, perhaps it's even braver braveness than when it comes to those who know it often."

Perfectly said.

21.  Miranda by John R. Little.  October-November.  I've mentioned here before how much I enjoy John Little's work.  He's not only a great human being but a great writer.  I know there are Harlan Ellison readers who read this little journal.  To them I say: Find John's work.  Placeholders.  Miranda.  The Memory Tree.  Go.  Now.  For the rest of you, go now, too.  This guy deserves to be in the big-leagues.

22.  The Wordy Shipmates by Sarah Vowell.  November.  I loved Vowell's The Partly Cloudy Patriot.  I enjoyed Assassination Vacation.  This one was good, but not my favorite.  I think her essays are probably better.

23.  Too Fat to Fish by Artie Lange. November.  All right, besides it being from one of Howard Stern's sidekicks, I got this book because it's signed by Lange and I'm hoping to put it up on eBay at some point.  He came to Boston to do a signing and the following day I went to the Borders to get King's new book.  I saw that they had this one signed so bought it.  It's a quick read and made me laugh and almost made me cry.  Great for fans of the show.

24.  Just After Sunset by Stephen King.  November-December.  King's most recent book, a short story collection.  I enjoyed the book a lot.  Still, I'm looking forward to his next book, which is supposed to be an epic-length tome.  I can recommend this book, though.

The year's not over yet, and I'm currently reading Night Ride and Other Journeys by Charles Beaumont, a collection published in 1960 of Beaumont's dark tales.  I also have the current issue of Cemetery Dance that I've read a few things from (beginning with Tom Monteleone's MAFIA, that's how everyone starts CD, right?).  And now I have the third issue of the comic adaptation of King's The Stand, and the third and fourth issues of the latest Dark Tower story.

In between these books, I've read a lot of magazine articles, single short stories, and The Week, too.

And now, I'll be moving away from my computer, stop wasting time, and go do some reading.  Later.

I had one of those holidays that you see in comedies.  Really.  Here it is, for your reading pleasure....

We went down to my parents' place for Christmas Eve.  We being me, Pamela, and Courtney.  We partook in festivities there and then had to bring Courtney to her mother.  I got the directions messed up a little and were lost for about five minutes, maybe less.  We finally found the place, I reluctantly said my goodbyes to Courtney, and then Pamela and I were off.

A little over an hour later, we pull into our parking lot to find that my space had been taken by another car.  This enrages me, you have no idea.  So we find an alternative spot and come into the house to thumping Latin music.  Okay, fine, it's Christmas Eve, whatever.  Well, you know from reading two posts down that the party did not stop for a while.  At around 2:30 AM, after changing a CD, the music came back even louder, as though Pamela were in the next room playing music.  I lost it.  Banner became Hulk, Jekyll became Hyde, and I climbed onto the arms of my loveseat and couch and punched the ceiling -- Wham! (not the group with George Michael) -- and the music goes very low.  However, the part still didn't stop until around 3 AM when two vehicles, an SUV and a minivan, pull up in front of the apartment building and around thirty people come out, fill them up, and drive away.

Stunned, I go to bed.  Finally.

We get up about five hours later.  Pamela wraps some gifts for her family as I try to get my stuff together, both metaphorically and physically.  When it's time, I decide that I'll bring the car to the front of the building so it'll be easier to load up.  So I grab four bags, two shopping bags that are made of thick paper and have plastic handles from Pamela's work, two gift bags.  I go to the car and realize I need my hands and all four bags together would be too heavy and cumbersome to hold.  The blacktop behind my car had been in the sun most of the morning and was nice and dry.  The blacktop on the driver's side, where I stood, was wet and slushy.  I go to put the gift bags down on the pavement and stop.  I didn't want them to get ruined so, instead, I put the two shopping bags down.  I open the back door and I'm about to place the gift bags into the back seat when I hear sshhwoomp! and my right hand isn't holding as much weight.  One of the gift bags' bottom let go, dumping the gifts, which were for Pamela's mother.  Oh, and the stuff fell into the slushy wetness.  So I quickly grab it all up and get it in the car.

After telling Pamela and packing up the rest of the car, we're off.  We get to the Mass Turnpike and are at the tolls, waiting to get our ticket.  It's windy and I notice the little door next to the ticket dispenser open a little as the car in front of me gets his ticket.  He drives away and I pull up.  I grab my ticket and am pulling away when a gust of wind blows and the small door whips open, smashing into the side of my car.  Wham!  Wham!  Wha-wham! as I pull away.  The car behind goes away unscathed.

So now Pamela and I are worried.  This has not been good.  In 12 hours our holiday had been turned to mush and we'd barely even begun the trip.  Not only are we worried, but we're hungry.  In all the rushing to get things together and go, neither of us had breakfast.  I decide we'll stop at the first rest stop we come to.  Which comes alon fairly quickly.  It had a Honey Dew Donuts, which we're not that fond of, and a McDonald's.  So we pull into the parking lot and fear grips me.  I'm certain that our car will be broken into, or stolen, and crashed into.  That or we'll enter the place and there'll be a guy dressed as Santa Claus with guns and flamethrowers or that will be one of several restops around the country that terrorists will have sited for their next heinous act against Americans on a Christian holidy or something.

We order.  Pamela orders McNuggets, fries, drink.  I oder two snack wraps, one barbecue, one honey mustard; small fried, small drink.  They give us the cups and bag.  Pamela quickly looks into the bag.  There's a lot of people as sick of the holiday as we are so we rush through.  We get our drinks and leave.  The car is still there.  Everything is still in the car.  Tires are all good.  No leaks.  It starts up.  I pull out.  We begin driving toward the highway.  Maybe we're finally leaving this bad luck behi--

"Didn't you order two wraps?" Pamela asks as she's removing her McNuggets.

"Ummm...yeah...."

The sigh of frustration.  They gave me only one, the barbecue.  I was a little surprised it wasn't the one I didn't order, the ranch.

So we're driving along and I'm pretty sure a meteor will fall from space, or the truck from Duel will decide to choose me as its next victim, or the machines will finally decide to take over or something.  Nothing happens.  We arrive in the Western Mass town we were heading to without any more problems.  As a matter of fact, we arrived at Pamela's parents' place at the same time her brother arrived.  So we all go in, greet each other, have Christmas.

Everything was pretty much fine after that.  Except that I think was bitten by a spider while I slept.  We were in a spare room in the basement and I sometimes sleep with my hand above my head, over the mattress.  I woke up yesterday morning with what I thought was a rash on my left hand's middle knuckle.  It's still itching.  It wasn't a radioactive spider, though.  I'm not able to climb walls or do anything cool.  That's just my luck.

Anyway, we came home last night and everything was how it should have been.  Our main gift was a Keurig brewer, which I'm loving, so it's good.  For now.

And that was Christmas for your entertainment. 

Later.

Okay, we're home and I'm back online, so things are well again.

I'll make a more in-depth post soon, suffice it to say that Christmas started off horribly (you know about the party that lasted all night), but that was the beginning.

More later.  Now, I'm glad most of you on the flist had a great Christmas and I hope other, quieter readers also did.  Later.

The tag at the top will show you it's roughly 1:24 AM as I write this.  When Pamela and I returned from my parents' tonight, not only was my parking place in the lot taken, but the people upstairs (who actually committed long-distance fraud with our line in the early fall, but that's another story) were having a very loud Christmas party.  And maybe birthday party, too.

It's still going on. 

Did I mention at some point we have to drive a couple of hours to Western Mass tomorro--er...later today?  Yeah.  I thought I did.

Fuckers.

I sincerely hope your Christmas is better.

We had a small Christmas celebration last night with Courtney since Pamela has to work today and afterward, we'll be heading down to my parents', after that, we'll be taking Courtney home.  So this morning, Pamela was already at hell -- er, I mean work -- and Courtney was playing one of the new Nintendo DS* games Pamela and I got her, and I was working on the book.  And I realized something: I may be without Internet for a couple of days.

We're heading to Western Massachusetts tomorrow to visit with Pamela's family for at least two days, and though I intend on bringing my computer, I don't think I'll have much Internet access.  This would be fine except that I have a lot of stuff going on.  Oh, yeah, and I'm an Internet addict.  I mean, what if I miss the lists of goodies you got?  What if I miss whatever important thing happened?  What if someone changes their MySpace profile picture, or posts something really cool on my Facebook wall?  Or what if someone Twitters something great?  Waitasec...I don't belong to Twitter.  I'm not even sure what the fuck a Twitter is.  Still, I might miss it!

Those of you reading this and think I'm making fun, you're right.  But I'm not making fun of you, rest assured, I'm making fun of me!  I'm serious (or Sirius, we all know how I've been spouting the word o' Sirius since last Christmas like a Born Againer spouting the Word o' Gawd!).  Pamela sometimes thinks I'm nuts for the way I come in, put my keys down, turn on my computer, and then take off my coat.  When the End Days cometh and electricity goes the way of the dinosaurs, the Pet Rock, and Arsenio Hall, I'm fucked.  I'll be one of those people out on the streets looking lost, aimlessly wandering to the Apple Store, Best Buy, or wherever in the hopes of maybe, just maybe being able to hook-up.

If TV was once the best drug known to man, according to Harlan Ellison (it just wouldn't be a post without me mentioning him, right?), then I say that the Internet has now become the heroin to TV's coke.  Stronger, faster, and even more addictive.  Or is it crystal meth now?  I'm so square, I don't know shit about any of them.  It doesn't matter, what matters is that I'm a fuckin' junkie when it comes to the Internet. 

I'm trying not to be, and I'm not as bad as I once was.  I don't really instant message anymore.  I'm known to spend a lot less time on the 'net and more time living, even if it's only to read.  But still...a couple days without my Internet?  Well...I guess I can do it.

Yeah.  Of course I can.

I can quit whenever I want to.

(i hope)
____________________________________________
* I'm not a videogame player, haven't been for a long time.  I wrote on one of my journals somewhere about the last time I really tried one of the newfangled games my sister had, I think it was for Christmas 2002, but it may have been 2001, one of the Grand Theft Auto games, I believe, and how it left me dizzy and feeling weird for hours afterward.  That said, I love Courtney's DS.  I'm a hypocrite.  Pamela and I have been thinking about maybe getting one for those times when we just want to waste time.  I mean, MyLiveFaceSpaceJournalbook and the message boards and various websites I visit on a daily (sometimes more) basis just aren't enough!