More To Say On Introversion

*gulp* It's getting tight in here. Halp!!!

At the very tail end of 2014, I wrote this blog entry describing why "I am the way I am." Among other things, I took the time in said entry to go on about this idea of introversion. About how it's not the absence of social skill, nor is it the fear of interaction. But in fact, an introvert is someone who feels drained of energy when interacting with large groups of people in a social setting. Particularly if those people are not close loved ones or friends.

I've been thinking about that blog entry a lot because of a recent experience I had over the 3-day holiday weekend. While attending a BBQ/cookout being thrown by my sweetheart's parents at her childhood home this Labor Day, a bunch of us started debating the latest big-issue topics of the day. Stuff like Transgenderism, Black Lives Matter, the Kardashians ... and other very important subjects. Now, I must preface all that I'm about to say by first revealing that these people are all close to me. They're like my second family, and I've known them for going on two decades now.

This Kid Is A'iight!

This month is just flying by, isn't it? I wrote that April Fool's Day post last thing I knew, and then I look up and it's already 3 weeks later! The hell? It's been busy, to say the least.

Living Single

This is just one of those general how-am-I-doing and current events updates rolled into one.


Love Is In The Air:

So, Valentine's Day came and went this past Friday, and the amount of F's I gave remained at an all time high of: zero. That's right, zero F's. I actually went to see the new rebooted Robocop in theaters after work. Oh, young naive me. I remember remarking to a friend earlier that day that V-Day is the perfect time to go to the movies. What with all the young couples feeling all romantic-y and googly-eyed for each other, the theater should be quite empty, right? I mean, not only is Valentine's Day when you should be out at some candle lit dinner gazing into each others' eyes, but it's a Friday to boot! I would have thought you couldn't find an empty seat at a New York City restaurant on such a night.

Bzzzz! Wrong!

Help With A New Story

Sometime earlier this month, I mentioned a new short story I had just recently completed. You can find that post here. I also mentioned needing to trim it down to around the 5,000 word mark or below, even though the rough draft clocked in at around 6,800 words or so. It was a tall order, but I was dismayed when, upon re-reading the draft, I ended up only cutting around 400 words when all was said and done. Dang it! Simply put, there was way too much in the story which I felt was critical to what I, the writer, wanted to have said. Try as I might, I simply could not cut anything more out besides the odd word or three here and there. Baby stuff, really. Not the major cutting I would need to do in order to get the ms under 5k.

To make matters more complicated, a dear and trusted friend of mine who I shall not name but who's opinion I trust more than anything, agreed to do an early reading and was able to hash out some of the finer points with me. We both concluded that, rather than cutting anything from the manuscript, I should in fact add more. Specifically, my friend felt as if the story was missing a key scene. Something that would not only help explain the motivations of my protagonist better, but which would also allow some of the finer plot points I was being coy with make more sense to the reader. And I agreed with this assessment.

So I went back to the drawing board and crafted a whole new scene to insert. The scene turned out really well, and I'm very proud of what it brings to the overall effect now.

See? Collaboration is wonderful!

But here's the thing. The story is now 7,400 words long. Not terrible; it still falls under the 7,500 max for a classic short story. And I'm sure I can pare that down by another 200 words or so. But it might make this a little harder to sell to certain markets.

But that's besides the point of this blog post. What I wanted to ask of you, my friends, is if I could get any volunteers to do a second round reading for me? I trust my regulars here, and all I'm really looking for is someone to do a cold reading and give me their frank opinion on what I wrote. You don't have to get too technical with line edits and pointing out typos and grammos and all those sorts of nitpicks--although, I certainly would not begrudge that level of attention to detail. No, if all you can do is give me a quick assessment on whether or not the whole bloody thing works as a story (e.g.: yes, it does; or, no, it has some issues, dude!) then that will be perfectly fine as well. As will anything which falls in-between these two extremes.

All I'll say about the story itself is that it is dark and mysterious, with vaguely supernatural and religious undertones, although if you really know where to look you will realize that it takes very definite sci-fictional cues. Or, at least, SFnal ones. Speculative Fiction is, after all, a very broad and generous genre. This story in particular deals with the themes of death, love, and fate. With heavy focus on the first two.

So, if anyone is interested and up to the task, please contact me via e-mail (it's up at the top right of this blog, under my profile) or via my Facebook inbox, and I will send you the link and password to access the Word doc. It will be saved as an .rtf (Rich Text Format) file, so it should work on everyone's preferred device of computing. I hope.

And I must stress this: Please do not feel obligated. I will not disown you for not reading my story. I don't even really need a whole lot of readers; just one or two who are dedicated to the task and have the free time. Of course, the more will always be the merrier . . . but don't feel pressed if you really can't be bothered. I of all people understand how real life gets in the way of things, and there will be no hard feelings on my part. I totally understand.

That being said -- those who do undertake this mission, I will love you long time and FOREVER! :) Not that you in any way need to find that a significant motivator.

Book Review: Freak

Jennifer Hillier is a regular visitor here on The Bimillennial Man -- you may have seen her around a few times. I consider her a very good friend in fact, and have been vicariously following her burgeoning writing career for the past several years. Now, true, I don't review books here on the blog anymore. For one, I simply don't have the time these days. And, two, well . . . see point one. The process is even doubly troublesome when reviewing the published work of a friend, because to be honest I lack the ability to be impartial and objective when it comes to my friends' books--HA!

Needless to say the only reason I'm breaking this rule now is because the book in question is FREAKing awesome! Therefore, I have no need to be impartial here. And, also, I don't have to worry about hurting my friend's feelings. So in other words, you know right off the bat that this book is an amazing read simply by the fact that it's even being reviewed here. I'm so giddily excited for my friend, and so happy that she's getting all the praise and love she deserves from the reader community at large. Alas, consider yourselves properly forewarned of some shameless squee'ing taking place in this blog entry. And if you're okay with that, then continue reading below for the skinny.

Diversity In The 'Pocalypse

I swear, lately these days I've been beaming non-stop with pride--and I must admit, just a tad bit of jealousy--at the wonderful success a lot of my writer friends have been receiving this year. It seems everywhere I turn now someone I know is being published, re-published, or about to be published. And I couldn't be happier for them!

But what happens when many of those friends end up in the same sci-fi anthology alongside highly admired established authors in the field, I ask you? An explosion of AWESOMENESS, that's what! Awesomeness that all the squee'ing in the world can't adequately exhaust. Trust me, I've tried. It just doesn't work.

But such is the case with Diverse Energies, a new anthology being released by Tu Books later this Fall. This is a collection of short stories taking place in a future dystopia, written by some of the most diverse writers in the industry not just in terms of background, but writing styles as well. And trust me, these are good writers. Really, really good! For a wannabe like myself who just eats this stuff up, the anthology's TOC is a real who's who of hot talent around today. And believe me, it's even better when I can call some of these names friends. Names such as Cindy Pon, Tempest Bradford, and Rajan Khanna to name just a few.

In addition, there's Paolo Bacigalupi and Ursula K. Le Guin also contributing short stories, among others. Mr. Bacigalupi is perhaps my favorite new writer in SF. His novel, The Windup Girl, had me raving like some fried-out street preacher to any who would hear my glowing recommendations of this amazing near-future tale. While Le Guin's The Left Hand of Darkness is perhaps the most influential, seminal and important piece of fiction I hold near and dear to my heart! Yes sir! It's right up there with A Canticle For Leibowitz and The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress as having the most profound influence on my desire to become a writer.

So, needless to say Diverse Energies is going to be a must-buy for this fan. I swear, short-story collections don't get more full of WIN than this! Oh, and the whole shebang is edited by Tobias Buckell, whom some of you may remember me praising a while back here.

So tell me, what are you waiting for? Pre-order this gem, like, RIGHT NOW!!!

Unless that is, like me, you want to try and snag a free copy of the book before it's even released? Yes, that's right, my good friend Cindy Pon is actually GIVING AWAY a free ARC of the anthology to any who will play by her nefarious rules. And what might those rules entail? Well, hop on over to her wonderful blog for more details by clicking here.

In the meantime, I'm going to get back to writing. Being surrounded by all this insane talent has GOT to rub off, right? I mean, RIIIIGHT???

Saturday At The Bookstore

I love hanging out with fellow writers!

Today my good friend Cindy Pon was in New York participating in the "Diversity Tour," part of a publicity junket to push her second novel, Fury of the Phoenix, which hit shelves back in March. The panel was held at Books of Wonder, a local independent bookseller in the city catering to the child and young adult reader.

This place is awesome! So many pretty, shiny new books. I sooo wish I had such a place to go to growing up. I loved to read as a kid, but never had many books in the house. This might explain why I hoard books to this day.

The Diversity Tour panel included several up-and-coming YA writers, including another friend of mine, Neesha Meminger. She's promoting her second novel as well -- Jazz In Love. I had a wonderful time meeting up with both talented ladies, and all in all it was a fantastic way to spend my early afternoon.

Left to right: Neesha, myself, Cindy.

One of the audience members posited an interesting dilemma to the panel members: "If you were forced to give up one forever, which would you choose--reading or writing?"

Cindy chose writing, whereas everyone else at the table picked reading. Oops. Guess Cindy and I are the fraud writers, because I also chose writing as the one I would give up if I actually had to pick one to lose.

Thing is, as much as writing is a joy and quite the cathartic experience for me . . . I simply cannot imagine a world without reading. It would break my heart to never be able to write again, but reading was what made me want to be a writer in the first place. It is what still inspires me today. So many times I feel like giving up, but then I'll read an amazing book and remember all over again why it is that I dare dream to be a published writer someday. Because I want to touch the imaginations of others, and have them share my dreams, too! This is the gift--and the burden!--of the writer. But without reading, I feel like I would lose that spark to want to succeed.

Maybe. Maybe not. In either case, writing is also hard! Whereas reading? Pssht! Reading is fundamen. . . er, easy. Yeah, easy. Reading is my escape. Well, moreso than writing is for me. Although there's not much separation between the two, I must admit. Not in terms of my affection for both.

Hmmm, tough decision wouldn't you say? So let me ask you writers out there (because you knew I would):

Which one would you give up?

Boozing It Up, Weekend Edition

Well, it happens once in a blue moon . . . but I went out and had a few drinks over the weekend with my best bud, T. It was in celebration of his 35th birthday, and he's big into single malt whiskeys. So we headed over to a cozy establishment on the Lower East Side he's been wanting to take me to for a while now -- The Whiskey Ward.

It's located at 121 Essex Street, close to Delancey but also not very far from Houston St. The Whiskey Ward is one of those old-timey saloon type of bars, the ones where you feel like you've stepped back into the days of Prohibition and need a password in order to enter. It has a mind-boggling and extensive menu of not just whiskeys (including single malts, blendeds, and scotches) but a various assortment of bourbons and ryes as well, along with the requisite pilsners and lagers on tap -- wheeeee!

As you can see, the atmosphere is pretty chill. Dim candle lighting, a jukebox in one corner, and a fairly live billiards table in another corner. I also liked the large oaken cask barrels which served as tables as well, which is where T and I sat. We decided to have one "whiskey flyer" each -- which is a tray with three round slots into which three glasses are placed and you choose the different whiskeys you want to fill them up with. T picked out single malt scotches as our 3 choices-- a 14yr Oban, an 18yr Bowmore, and a 15yr Laphroaig un-chill filtered "signatory" scotch. Wow! That last one was definitely an experience.

The bartender was kind enough to label each one with a marker on the wood. But of course, no serious drinking can be had without a trusty chaser chosen first. As usual, I tend to go pretty heavy with my chasers -- so I fell back on an old favorite that was on tap, Guinness Stout. To me, nothing beats Guinness! I have to get it at least once every time I go out drinking.

When we arrived at the establishment roughly around 8:30 Saturday night, the place was only sparsely filled with regulars. However, by the time 10:00 rolled around it started to pick up HEAVILY. Pretty soon, it was standing room only. But I have to say it was a nice mix of patrons at this pub -- mostly twenty- and thirty-somethings like us. T and I slowly sipped our way through the three scotches in front us, chatting about this and that. They were pricey, the drinks (though not obscenely so), and I wanted to savor the distinct flavors among the different brands. But I have to confess that my chaser didn't last very long:

Here I am looking rather put-off by the sad state of affairs that is an almost-drained Guinness. Poor me!

We got a couple more rounds of excellent single malt scotches after the initial three went the way of the dinosaurs . . . although for the life of me I cannot remember their names. I know one of them was an Aberlour, though. That one was SMOOTH!!!

But alas, eventually the evening got late and we had to bow out just as the joint was really starting to get jumping. We were both starving, though, so we stopped off at a nearby Japanese Ramen shop for some grub. It was really good--exactly what I needed at nearly midnight out in NYC. Yes, it truly never sleeps here; you can always find someplace to go to in the Big Apple regardless of the time. It's one the many reasons why I can never leave here, I think. It annoys me to no end when I go to other places, even major metropolises like Paris or Rome, and discover that everything seems to shut down shortly after sunset. WTF is up with that?

Guess it's just the New Yorker in me. We expect things A CERTAIN DAMN WAY . . . DAMMIT! :)

But, yes, I had a good time. Happy bornday to my bestest friend! We have to do it again sometime, T, for sure. I won't turn 35 myself until September, but perhaps we can find an excuse to go back before then?

Yeah.

Down And Out In TJ

Earlier this week, I promised that I would relay the tale of the time my best friend, Tarrell, and I headed over across the Southern Californian border for a night of wild drinking and debauchery in the *fine* Mexican town of Tijuana. Note that the asterisked word is being emphasized to denote sarcasm.

Well, today I think I'll tell you this story. Fair warning now: this will be an extremely LONG telling, so you might want to pace yourself and perhaps not read this all at once.

It's okay, I won't take it the wrong way.

Newbie Pick: Tombstone vs The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly

Got another vlog up. Discussin Blu-ray Westerns, more warm and fuzzy 80s movies . . . and another Yankees game!

The Ties That Bind . . .

One of my Facebook friends recently posited the following observation:

Why is it that the ones we love hurt us the most?

The interpretation, here, is not love between boyfriend and girlfriend (although, that does apply), but rather more like familial love. As I'm sure most of us can relate to, nothing hurts more than the betrayal from a close family member. If a friend or an acquaintance betrays our trust, we shrug our shoulders, ban them from our lives, and move on. But with family, the situation's not so simple. After all, we can't "un-friend" relatives. We still have to eat Thanksgiving dinner with these folks.

So dealing with betrayal from a brother, or aunt, or cousin usually produces a whole list of attendant complications along with it. Well maybe "betrayal" is too strong of a word here. More like disappointment, I guess.

Either way, you know what I mean. Or, at least, what my friend meant. The responses some of his other friends gave back were the typical knee-jerk phrases we're all conditioned to give. Maxims like: "it only hurts because you love them so much"; and: "because those you love know you best, and how to say or do the things that will pain you the most."

And, yeah, I guess this is all true. But honestly, as with most things in life, I think some of the cause of all this pain lies at the feet of the receiver. In other words, a lot of the disappointment that comes from the misguided actions of those we love the most is really only a reflection of the high standards we apply to our family members.

But family members are human beings, too. We all have our faults and weaknesses, right? Yet somehow we tend to hold our relatives to a higher plane of excellence than we would our own selves. Is this fair?

Of course the degree to which this hurt can manifest depends on the type of familial relationship; the closer the connection, obviously, the greater the potential pain. Naturally there exists a higher level of expectation between a mother and daughter than, say, between cousins twice removed.

I just saw on the news last night a story about a couple who left their 18 yr old son alone back home while they went on vacation to Paris. The couple obviously felt their son was well at the age to be treated like an adult, and gave him the trust and benefit befitting this maturity.

Bad decision.

This fool went and advertised to all his friends that his folks' home was available, and a HUGE party to end all parties thus ensued on the premises. Unfortunately for him, a group of punks crashed the party and completely and utterly DESTROYED the house. I'm talking big, gaping holes in the walls . . . rugs ruined from countless spilled drinks . . . furniture smashed to shambles . . . and even someone urinating into every drawer in the master bedroom. So much damage that the estimate to get it all repaired totals in the $45,000 range!!!

Looking at the mother talk about the ordeal to the reporter, she had this glazed look on her face that can best be described as true "shell shock." And I can only imagine how the father must feel. He probably wasn't on camera because he was too busy looking for something soft and squishy--like his son's fool head!--to smash into the concrete.

What do you do with betrayal this massive? I mean, how does the son ever repair his relationship with his parents? Moreover, were the parents at fault here? Obviously their level of expected maturity from their son far exceeded reality.

So what hurts more: the fact that their house is totaled, and should really be condemned by the city? Or the fact that this 18 yr old high school senior took a big fat shat on his parent's trust in him? As much as the hurt of the first is truly going to take a long time to go away, I'd likely wager that it is the last which leaves these parents crying at night.

But, you know what? I suppose the reverse is also true. That while those who we hold closest to our hearts have the potential to cause us the most heartache, so too are we more likely to forgive out of our deep familial love for them. In the case of this couple, had this been a friend of the family they put in charge of watching their house while away, that friend would now be looking at a lawsuit. Or even criminal charges. And forget about their friendship. That would be irreparably ruined for life.

But because this was their son, I'm willing to bet that all will eventually be forgiven. This idiot probably learned a valuable lesson here, and I doubt he'll ever do something so stupid ever again. And years down the line, when the parents are old and doddering and the son has his own family and bowl-headed children of his own . . . will they all sit around the table on Turkey day and laugh about this incident?

Maybe so. After all, they're family.

America The Beautiful

I was speaking to a good friend the other day . . . about America and the imperfect country that it is. And he told me:

"You know, as a black man, I'll admit that this place has historically treated us like the bastard red-headed stepchild. But you also know what? For all its faults and prejudices even to this day, I'd still wouldn't want to live anywhere else."

(This next part I'm paraphrasing)

"When I walk out the door, I don't think of myself as a black man going to work. I don't read 'black' newspapers. I don't eat 'black' food. I don't talk about myself as a 'person of color,' or as a construction worker who 'happens to be black.' I'm an American, like millions of others who are just American. And I'm damn proud to be one. I wouldn't want to live anywhere else. This is the best country in the world. Not because of our government, or our military, or our black president . . . but because of the ideal that America stands for. Other countries preach it, or pretend to, but America DOES it. We are truly the land of the free."

You said it, man! Or, generally so.

We went on to discuss other things--like kids these days, the police and their often controversial tactics, and even the evil that is health insurance companies--but I kept remembering this one snippet. It's pretty awesome when you really sit down and think about it.

Here's a man who's been shat on by the system, had to deal with enormous bigotry in a work field dominated by Irish and Italian Americans, and has no love at all for higher forms of authority. But yet he strongly believes in this country he calls home, pays his taxes proudly, and would fight to defend her honor.

And I have to stop and admire that. Because, honestly, as much as I can sit here and bitch and moan about all that is wrong with this country, there is no denying that what it stands for is something that is of purest beauty. Something that cannot be sullied or twisted or kicked in the mud. Call it liberty, or democracy, or representation by the people for the people . . . whatever.

All I know is that I'm proud to be here.

It's nice to talk about other countries and the thought of moving there. But, honestly, there really is no place like home. America is home, warts and all. Take it or leave it. Some people tend to fall into the "grass is greener" mentality; this idea that any other place would be so much better than living HERE.

My friend would say: Oh yeah, well why don't you leave then?

I try to be a little more judicious. To these people, I say: travel a bit more. Not all places you think would be nice to move to are as open to you staying there permanently as you might think. I mean, my wife and I would *love* to live in France. But I'm under no delusions that all would be rosy and that we would be welcomed with open arms there.

But, yeah, America works for me. It doesn't have any more monopoly on corruption, bigotry, arrogance, violence, and deception than any other major country where the people are not outnumbered by sheep. So there!

And, before I forget (for my Olympics-minded readers):

USA. USA. USA!!!

Another Blog Added

A good friend of mine from college just joined the blog craze, and I wanted to pimp his site a little to all my friends. Peeps, Rodney Lopez. Rodney Lopez, peeps. You can find a link to his blog in my "Interesting Folks" sidebar on the right-hand side of this page. Or, you know, you can just click right here.

I met Rodney on my very first day at Middlebury College, a little over 15 years ago. We ended up being floormates our Freshmen year, and then dorm mates at another building the year after. Although we debated and argued over a lot of stuff during those 4 years, he's a cool dude and gets much respect from me. He's also heavily into all things speculative like yours truly, and is a gamer too! Yes, it's not hard to see how we became friends.

So welcome to this crazy world of blogging, Rod! Seems tailor-made for you. What kept ya?

You Down With KGB? (Yeah You Know Me!)

I'm heading out to KGB in the village in a little while to sit in on my first ever Fantastic Fiction reading. Fantastic Fiction meets every third Wednesday of the month in the second floor of the famous KGB bar, where professional writers in the SF field come and read from their latest works. It's also a great meeting ground where various professionals in the field get to rub elbows with each other and fans, and maybe even have a pint (or three). The place gets fairly lively and crowded, so I'll be arriving a little early. Luckily it's a quick jaunt one stop over on the 6 train from where I work, so that's nice.

I'll be meeting up with two members of my online crit group, whom I've never met before in RL. Normally meeting people I've only previously known online is a source of nervousness on my part, but I'm looking forward to it this time. Should be fun!

And looks like this will be a week for meeting online friends in the flesh, as I'll also be seeing my longtime blog stalkee, friend, and newbie published writer, Cindy, at a private get-together in the city this weekend. I've followed Cindy for many years now via her blog, then through a limited e-mail friendship, and more recently (of course) through that ubiquitous of online social gathering sites -- Facebook!

Next week I might also be meeting a very old and only recently reunited (again, through FB) classmate of mine from back in the 4th grade! That's 23 years ago -- yikes!

All this is rather a big deal for me, as I'm notorious for being anti-social and tend only to a very small group of friends who I barely see enough of as it is. But I'm excited!

That's all for now. I'll update on the KGB experience when I get back.

The Stork's Been Working Overtime

I'm 31, which means I'm in that prime time of my life where all my friends, co-workers and siblings are starting to get the urge to pass on their genetic code -- i.e., have little ones. Well, luckily none of *my* siblings have done so yet, as I'm the oldest and it's my prerogative -- no, my DUTY -- to be the first to have a kid. :-)

But Lisa's younger brothers and sister have been working big time to beat her to the punch. Her sister already had our cute little niece some time back, but just last year gave birth to an adorable baby boy whom we believe will turn into quite the rambunctious fellow in about T-minus 11 months (he just turned 1 last month). Right now he's at the cute phase where he can walk and pretend to carry on a conversation, but I can only imagine what he'll be like the day he discovers the word "no!"

Her brother's wife had a baby boy roughly three months before this, so for the past year I've been introduced to two new nephews out of the blue. Then her baby brother had a girl just a few months ago (talk about weird -- I first met him when he was still watching Sesame Street, fer crissakes!). So that's three (count em) new little boogers in the wife's family that seemed to have popped up out of nowhere. That's a lot of birthdays to suddenly have to remember. Lucky for them, they're all cute or I'd likely want nothing to do with the brats -- I kid, I kid.

Anyway, a good friend of mine, C, had her baby girl last year, too. And now my oldest friend in the world, B, is the proud father of twin girls as of this past week. Holy hell! What's going on here?

As anyone who's married and in their 30s knows, you very quickly start to feel the pressure from both family and friends to "get with the program" and start being fruitful and multiply and all that biblical goodness. Lisa and I have our own personal reasons for waiting a while before we create the clone(s), and the sometimes not so subtle hint from others doesn't sway us one bit (ha!)

But it makes me feel old, to think of all these friends I knew since I was a teenager suddenly becoming parents and all responsible and stuff. Wow, they are *so* brave! I feel like I barely got my own shit together, that the thought of introducing a baby into our lives now is like begging for chaos. Lisa feels the same, which is why we get along so well. But we have our days where even we discuss when the right time might be. Not now is all that we can agree upon.

Someday, though. Someday . . .

In the meantime, I have a whole gaggle of cute, drooling babies to play with and bribe with candy behind their parents' backs. It's not such a bad thing, being the cool "uncle," eh?