A Valentine's Day Poem

Because -- shock! -- yes, sometimes I deign to write poetry. When the mood strikes.

And it has thusly struck!

Behold, it might not actually suck.

I think?


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The Moonrise Shine in Your Eyes

by David J. Batista

Lower your gaze,

should you need

a reprieve

from the dream,

shared,

of handheld walks

through sunripe’d fields

and sideways glances,

remembrances,

once upon that time

so long ago.

Embraces never shared;

a lingering touch

yearned for,

but never granted.

I saw it in your eyes,

that promise of ours,

when we were young

in the Spring of our lives,

drawn to the flame

of a beating heart

waiting to be heard.

Sweetheart, lift your gaze.

See the dream of me, the

man I might yet be,

in the shape of the shy boy

who saw you from afar,

for who you are,

and loved you

in the waking, sweet soft

whisper of dawn.

See sunset passions

settle like songbird wings

upon waiting boughs,

while we walk hand in hand

into the Twilight rising tall,

like a Hall

of endless discovery.

Exploring fingertips,

brushing,

touching bated lips, the

lingering scent of azure dreams

pressed in my arms

as I cradle

your sweet kiss.

Remember how we swung

from the tree, so full of glee,

the laughter of our friendship

wrapped in a cocoon

of love waiting

on butterfly wings

to burst free

like silken threads

of a past never realized?

Darling, I remember.

Linked hand in hand

in that Twilight gaze, the

moonrise shine in your eyes.

The need for you – oh,

how I needed you!

To drink in your sorrow,

and breathe into your soul,

the hope of what we were to be

when our one day should come.

See it before you, my love,

for the boy you knew,

who loved the girl you were,

is now the man who sees

the light in your eyes;

twin mirrors of the

promise our hearts made

once upon that time.

I Don't Remember Who I Bribed, But -- I'm In Print!!!

Yes so, as I alluded to in my last post, it's now official: My short story "The Collector" is appearing in the most recent issue of the speculative fiction magazine, Space and Time (Spring '18 issue #131).

This is indeed a big milestone. I've had a tough road these past 5 to 7 years ... lots of personal problems to deal with, mostly of the failed marriage variety and trying to piece together my life in the aftermath. I've mostly kept quiet about this aspect of my personal emotional makeup, especially on other social media platforms outside of Blogger, and with good reason. Yet perhaps the most regrettable fallout from all that was my lack of writing output during this time. I've tried to write, and in fact did pen several short stories from start to finish (with "The Collector" being one such result), but to be honest it's been like pulling teeth. I used to look forward to writing each night after returning from work, or on the weekends when I could truly devote most of my day to it. I was content, and gratified by the noticeable progress I was making. I had even sold a few stories to several token and online markets back when I was married. Nothing big, but I was still proud of that progress all the same. And when it all came crashing down around me, and my lost of self confidence -- and all that doubt -- would gnaw and eat away at me?

Yeah, I hate to say that I succumbed and just could not go on writing. And yet, that yearning to be creative and express myself was still there. Hence, why for a time all I wanted to do was get lost in my photography. Making pictures allowed me to get out into the world and walk around, clear my head, and see things around me instead of within me. More importantly, it allowed me to still create.

Does that make sense?

And in all that time in which my photography started to improve greatly, and I was getting more opportunities to shoot, I was still shopping around what stories I had already written. I've received numerous rejections, let me tell you. So many that I could say I've lost count. I haven't, because I actually keep a spreadsheet of all my submissions and when, where, and how they were rejected. But the point is: I still held on to that writing bug in whatever way that I could. And now something good has happened that I cannot let go to waste. After so many years, I've done it. I finally sold another piece. Why is this so important? Well besides the fact that it marks the first time my work will appear in a physical, solid printed medium that you can honest to god hold in your hands ... it reminds me that I haven't lost the ability to write something meaningful. Meaningful to anyone else? I'm not being that pretentious, no. But meaningful to myself? Yes. "The Collector" is a story I'm extremely proud of. I don't think that it represents the best of my talents, but it does illustrate to myself first and foremost that I can indeed write for what speaks to me. I can pull myself out of that doubt and self-pitying misery and write just for the fun of being creative, of expressing a poetry of the soul that hearkens back to the man I've always been. Before, back when I was married; and after, when I was divorced and had to find my own place to live. I'm still both people -- the same person. I shouldn't let external shortcomings affect that joy to be found in doing something fun and special and creative. I shouldn't forget to just write, dammit!

And that's what I intend to do. If I never sell another piece again, that's not really the point. If no one visits this blog anymore or comments on anything I put up here. That's not the point. The point is that I need to simply be me, that I need to shut up and. just. write.

And in the meantime to enjoy, however briefly, this one big moment that I will never forget. It's a small thing to most, but it's a milestone all the same. And I'm happy about it!

For those who have been asking me about where to purchase this issue of Space and Time, Issue 131 should be hitting magazine racks this week. I don't know for sure, but that's what I suspect. I've already received my contributor's copies, but I plan to visit a few Barnes & Nobles in the city over the next several days to see if I can spot any "in the wild." Having purchased the magazine from there before, I know from experience that the publication is often in the "Literary" category of B&N's magazine section. Most often it's grouped with other like-minded mags such as: Asimov's, Analog, and Fantasy & Science Fiction, but also other speculative rags like: Mystery and Romance. If you see these titles, then Space and Time will be somewhere among them. Right now, last winter's issue is still in good supply, so if you happen to see both that and the Spring issue on offer, do yourself a favor and pick 'em both up!

Alternately, you can simply go to the website's subscription page, scroll midway down, and order the current issue to be shipped to you in the mail. That's an option, too!

You're Not Seeing Things

Yes, it's me. That's right . . . I'm back! And I'm still alive as you can see. It's been a very long time since I've posted -- since August 2016, in fact. Almost two years ago! Blame it on whatever you want: life's obstacles, ennui, creative black holes . . . the death of blogging. I don't rightfully know. I guess blogging just didn't hold much appeal to me for a while there.

And you know what? I can't honestly say that the draw is back, or that blogging is really worth my time right now. However, I do want to try at least. Maybe I can get back to my old ways of simply putting out there whatever's going on in my brain at any given moment? I know, right -- ACK!!! But I promise, I'll try to tone it down a bit. Heh, heh, the operative word here is: try. So, yeah, I'll not be back to the old output of 6 or 7 posts per week anytime soon; more like only 1 or 2. If that. We'll see.

But in the meantime, how have things been going for you all? Please reconnect with me in the comments below, if you're so inclined. Health-wise, I'm doing great at least. I've never felt better. Despite getting older (I'll be 42 at the end of the summer. HOLY CRAP!), I definitely feel young in spirit and body. That's always a good thing. And on the career front, I've actually been promoted to manager and am a heck of a lot busier at the office than I used to be. I was also able to get in quite a bit of travel over this time period, with some very exciting international trips to both Panama and Morocco last year. What a time I had visiting both exotic locales! And I'll get to them, separately, in other posts still to come in the near future. Don't worry. On the personal side of things, the divorce from several years back still hangs over my past like a dark cloud . . . but I've mostly moved on now. It's really remarkable how much has changed over these past 5 years since my life hit rock bottom. Thanks, mostly, to my family and my closest friends. And maybe even, yes, to VIEWERS LIKE YOU!!!

Ha ha, sorry 'bout that. I couldn't resist.

As for my creative endeavors, well I've admittedly been very lax on this part of my life on account of the daily 9-to-5 and a few interpersonal issues I won't go into at the moment. Perhaps at a later date. I've tried off and on to get back into writing, but so far I never seem to be able to gather up enough steam to make it through a project anymore. It's something I'm actively working on, however, and in fact part of the reason I wanted to return to blogging was to get back into the groove of things. Flex the old writing muscles, so to speak.

Although, I do have one other bit of good news on that front:

Impostor Syndrome

Over on his blog, Whatever, popular SF author John Scalzi talks about a phenomenon he's been experiencing a lot lately among fellow writers while attending conventions and other social-professional gatherings: Impostor Syndrome. In his own words, here's how he describes the term:

"Impostor Syndrome, briefly put, is the feeling that one’s achievements and status are a fluke, and that sooner or later one will be revealed as a fraud. Anecdotally speaking, it seems, Imposter Syndrome affects a lot of writers, editors and other folks in the publishing life. I think this is in part because the writing life is a precarious one, financially and otherwise, and also in part because people in publishing seem to be a generally neurotic lot anyway. Imposter Syndrome is just another log on that particular fire."

As a struggling writer myself (struggling in that I'm constantly trying to improve my craft and "get better"), I'm certainly no stranger to crippling self-doubt. But I'm not sure I would classify myself under suffering from this particular syndrome. Then again, I have not yet reached the level of professional accomplishment within the field of SF publishing as the folk Scalzi is referring to in his piece. Yet I get the feeling that even when I do reach such a level, I probably will feel as if I worked my ass off to get there, and probably won't have much time to wonder if perhaps I am an impostor.

I mean, like I said before, I have my own level of self critique/doubt that is always in the back of my mind as I write. But I have a peculiar realization when it comes to that nagging voice telling me that I will never amount to anything, ever.

It's there, truthfully, only because I'm strong enough to have that voice there.

In other words, that self doubt does not trouble me. It is not my disability, because I cannot be harmed or hampered in such manner. That voice is more like that of an aggressive high school coach, or perhaps boot camp drill sergeant is more accurate. It berates me, it yells at me, it tells me that I'm no fucking good and that no one will ever love me, maggot! But it does so because deep down that voice just wants me to succeed. See? It wants me to develop a thick skin and to shrug off such negativity and continue pushing myself forward. To be the best me I can be because that's all I can be!

And because I'm actually very well grounded and come from an upbringing of constant positive reinforcement -- from, first, my mother; and then later, my grandmother and aunt -- that the opposite of such positivity really has very little effect on my ego. I hear the voice loud and clear, yes; but I never allow it to truly reach me.

I do, however, know a few people who are the opposite of myself. Who try their best to convince everyone else that they suffer no such voices in their heads. That they've always known they were meant for great things, and that it never once even crossed their minds to ever doubt themselves.

And, great. That's awesome! More power to you, sister. But, honestly? I suspect that most of them are quite delusional. At least one guy I know personally is most definitely full of his own shit. He likes to talk a big game about how good he is at his craft, but yet never really puts in the real work it takes to actually be good at it. How can that be?

Well, as they say: the BS is strong in this one!

This person never likes to hear me talk down about my own work. He gives me a look as if I'm committing artistic suicide. He claims that he never doubts himself. But, really? Never? How is that even possible? For me, self doubt is how an artist perfects himself. Or, at least, motivates himself to keep going and improve. A person who does not possess even a modicum of this self-critique . . . well, how can he ever get better at his craft?

No, what I suspect is that such a person is in fact quite insecure in their abilities. Ironically, he lives in constant, neurotic fear of failure. Moreover, he may even suffer from great personal depression. The type of person who truly *needs* to believe that he is the best thing that has ever happened to his field of practice, or else he has no reason for being. In his mind, that voice is quite crippling indeed! And so, to hide this perceived weakness, he protects himself behind aggrandized claims to greatness and braggadocio. By promoting a persona that is above such things as doubt and uncertainty.

And that to me, my friends, is the true Impostor Syndrome. It is not when one questions one's right to be in a position to receive recognition and accolades for one's artistic achievements. Perhaps, instead, the real impostor is the artist who feels he should be handed such platitudes based simply on the God-given genius he was born with, and to which he never really needed to work at.

Such people are the true enigmas; the doppelgängers, if you will, of artistic merit.

Achievement Unlocked: Story Sold!!!

I'm happy to report that I've sold one of my short stories, "The Collector," to the speculative fiction magazine: Space and Time. Huzzah! Let the rejoicing begin!

I used to read this magazine a lot when I first graduated college. It's been around since just before I was born, but I didn't discover it until I was browsing through the mag racks at a local Barnes & Noble in downtown Manhattan during one of my lunch breaks. I picked it up for the catchy cover, of course. And because it was in the section with all the other big-name Speculative Fiction magazines of the time: Analog; Omni; Asimov's; The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction; etc. Those were good years to be young and possessing so much free time! *sigh*

Anyway, this is very exciting news for me to say the least! Due to personal struggles in recent years--the details of which some of you already know--I've been way behind in my writerly output. Wouldn't you know, but it's very hard to find inspiration when your life's going all topsy-turvy. It's been 5 years since my last sale, believe it or not. Something I would be ashamed of only if, in fact, I had been writing in all that time. Which I was not. Not regularly, anyway.

Still, it's a good feeling to know that things are *finally* starting to return to normal for me on the creative front. And I'm very happy that it was this particular story, "The Collector," to help me clear away the cobwebs as I get back to the grind of fiction writing again. This story is very dear to my heart, and features the first time I've ever written in the 2nd-Person narrative (think those old choose-your-own-adventure books for reference; "you open the door to the hidden room...").

"The Collector" is a tale of what happens when an ancient enemy of Mankind falls in love with a mortal woman, and has to chose between duty and happiness. I wrote it a few years ago, revised it a couple of times, sent it out to various places last year, got it rejected by all those places, sat on it for a few more months, polished it off some more, and then finally found a publication willing to buy it off me.

As they say, perseverance pays off!

Space and Time Magazine marks my first foray into semi-pro payment markets, which typically pay 1 - 5¢/word on short stories. Before now, all my sales have been to so-called "token" markets, which usually don't rate per word, but instead only pay a nominal amount of between $5 - $35 per story. Which ain't bad when you're starting out, and I guess you have to start somewhere. But it had always been my goal to keep advancing my game up the pay scale as I practice my craft, and so I have done just that with this sale. I love progress!

Also, my previous sales have all been to electronic-only markets. Which means: online sites only. This recent sale will mark the first time a story of mine will appear in an honest-to-goodness print publication. And that, my friends, is very nice!

And there you have it. The good news I wanted to share. I've known about this for several months now, but only today did I read through my contract, sign it, and send it off to the publisher. So I guess that makes it official! I had to write a little author's bio as well, which was certainly surreal for me. So much has changed since the last time I had to write one back in 2010. Wow!

As of right now, there has been no specific issue number or date relayed to me for when exactly my story will appear in Space and Time. This has yet to be determined by the publisher. But once that changes, you'll definitely be the first to know about it here on The Bimillennial Man.

And, one last thing: Thank you to all my regulars here, silent or otherwise -- some of whom are part of my crit group -- who have always supported me and suffered through some early drafts of previous stories I've shared. It truly means a lot to me. You all do!

Onward and upward, y'all!

We're Here Again?

Happy May Day, everyone!

It's been a very cold spring here in the NYC area. Which, of course, I just love! I'm so sick of the trend that's been going on here as of late, which is winter, then spring for one month, followed by summer for the next five! This year, I think spring won't really get started until mid-May, and by then we will probably be only 4 weeks away from the brunt of intense summer. Yeah, yeah ... people are saying that all signs point to a rather mild summer, but I'm not fooled. I know better. It's in my bones!

Anyway, as to the title of this post: May is the month I moved out of my old life and apartment, and into a new one (on both accounts). Has it been a year already? Weird how insanely quick time flies, isn't it? But life moves on, and I'm feeling fairly good about things.

So, that short story I completed recently has garnered some positive early reactions. For the most part people seem to like it a lot. I've received in-depth feedback from two readers already, and their notes are very helpful and thought-provoking. I will be trying to implement some (if not most) of their suggestions over the weekend. Then I'll give the draft another once-over and final polishing. After which, I'll leave it alone and go back to an earlier story to make some tweaks and finalize as well. At some point before the month is over I should be ready to send both stories out to different markets. This will be the first time I've had more than one submission out in about 3 years. Wow, has it been that long?

I'm glad to see that there is a noticeable improvement in my writing. The stories I write might not be everyone's cup of tea, and my plotting still needs a lot of practice, but in little steps I can see the mechanics of my writing getting much better. There are people out there whom seem to believe that all the famous writers you hear about somehow got that way out of the blue. Ha, what a laugh!  I wish the average person knew just how long it takes--how many years of practicing the craft over and over and over it requires, and how many hundreds of rejections you receive during that time--to get to that point where your stuff starts to shine and really click with readers. That smooth, almost breezy prose all the best writers are known for? They had to spend sometimes decades perfecting! And that's fine for me. I've always known the rigors involved. But it's funny when non-writers try to tell me what I should be doing, or how I should be much better than I am by now.

Fuck off, you. Try it yourself first before you complain about how I'm not as good as Stephen King or J. K. Rowling yet. It takes time. And who said I wanted to be like them, anyway?

But, yeah, this is the state of my writerly pursuits right now. After a long hiatus, I'm starting to get back into the swing of things. And most importantly, it seems I haven't really lost the skills after all. I will continue to build on them, and continue to collect the rejection slips. These are the dues I will pay, and which I should pay.

In the meantime: I go on living! How 'bout you?

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.

Beware of Writer

Please pardon my absence. I'm in the middle of intense writing on the new short story. I think I'm rusty and in dire need of practice still, but it's coming along. Slowly. My brain's enjoying the storming, though. It's like flexing an old muscle I haven't used in a long time. I'm sure this story sucks, but yet I must continue until the end. Won't really know what I got until it's over and I can look back and see it for the whole.

Until then, I don't know when I'll post again. Or, more importantly, what I'll post about. Any suggestions?

Would anyone be totally upset if I did another Top 10 Crushes entry? I don't know if I'm outwearing my welcome with all these write-ups of beautiful women I fantasize about now that I'm single. But to be honest, it's really about all my brain is capable of outputting these days. Especially as I try to focus on real creative writing.

It's all in good fun, you know?

The Bimillennial Man's Top 10 Posts of 2013

This list is a little late. I had meant to do this around New Year's, naturally, but plumb forgot. Mea culpa.

Some statistics first. In all of 2013, I only managed to write 48 posts. An all time low for The Bimillennial Man. Before that, 2012 was the lowest with around 65 posts. For those of you who know me, and who know what I've been through the past 2 years, you know the reasons for that.

That being said, despite having only 48 posts, 2013 generated a total of 63,227 unique visitors. Making it an average of around 5,269 visits per month. I've had much better numbers in prior years, so I'll attribute this to the low post count again. Still, those numbers are not entirely terrible.

As for the posts themselves ...

Below are the topics I blogged about in 2013 that received the most unique views. Meaning, for one reason or another, they were apparently more popular than all my other posts last year. I'll leave it up to you to decide why that was the case for any particular thread.

The list is in chronological order starting from Jan. '13 onward. The number of views each received come after the title, and you can click on each title to read the article in full.

Got it?


My Top 10 Threads of 2013


1.  Disappearing Act   (155 views)

2.  My 5 Most Influential Books   (121 views)

3.  So . . . Celebrity Wife Swap, Anyone?   (136 views)

4.  Thank Heaven I Was Born A Man   (602 views)

5.  Game of Thrones: "Valar Dohaeris" Review   (281 views)

6.  Can You Hear Me Now?   (279 views)

7.  Miss Crush 2013   (248 views)

8  Tiny Apartment Is Tiny!   (241 views)

9.  Model Spotlight: RIYA RAY   (371 views)

10.  Top 10 TV Crushes Of My Youth   (188 views)


It becomes apparent fairly quick that the articles with the most pics and pretty wimmins in 'em get the most views, so unfortunately I cannot assign most (if any) of the credit to my superb writing skillz. Still, as long as they keep coming!

What do you think? Any surprises up there? Disagreements? Sound off in the comments section below.

State Of The Batista Union

Salute the flag!

In this year of our Lord, two-thousand and fourteen, I hereby declare these United States of Batista ... single and ready to mingle!!!

Haha, I don't know why I just said that. It's not entirely true. I'm not actually ready to start dating just yet. However, I am feeling a whole lot better now that 2013 is over and we're already a few days into 2014. I like the start of a new year. January for me is the perfect month to wind down after the usual busy hubbub that is the holiday season, otherwise known as the triple whammy of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year all occurring roughly within a few weeks' span.

And while I have high hopes for 2014, I just wanted to catch everyone up on how things went at the tail end of 2013 for me.

My Own Path

So 2013 is here and it's time for me to turn over a new leaf. Simply put, I need to get back to writing seriously. Due to those issues with my personal life I keep hinting at, I've slacked off something serious over the past two years. I think I may have written maybe three brand new stories in that time, revised one or two others, and completely re-drafted my novel in progress, which is still only one-third of the way done. That might seem pretty good progress, but it actually isn't for me. Not for two years' time.

But I think I feel my spirits starting to rise a little, despite my ongoing situation. Well, perhaps in spite of it is more accurate. I just feel like ENOUGH IS ENOUGH already! I need to refocus and remember my goals. I  refuse to be beaten down.

And yes, hopefully this means I will write more here on the blog. Can't promise anything, but I will try.

For the foreseeable future, my plan is simply to write. That's it. Write. Oh and read, of course. Can't forget to do that. But actually, this has always been my philosophy. I have a very simple one, dedicated primarily to the bettering of my craft. I don't go in for conferences, or genre cons, or constantly discussing agents, synopses, and other assorted mundania of the business side of writing. I will get to that some day for sure, but right now all I care about is becoming a better writer. Finding my voice and perfecting my story-telling techniques. For the short term I'm in it all for the love of the pure art of writing. Since a child I wanted to write so that my dreams could be realized on paper. This is all I should be focusing on right now, to bring this realization to fruition. To that end, there is no better formula than planting butt in chair and to write, write, WRITE!

Right?

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.

Aftermath, Plus More

So, as you all know by now, that bitch Sandy did quite a bit more damage to the Northeast than even I had anticipated. New York City is one hell of a mess right now, but even worse are the surrounding seaside communities in New Jersey. Jeez, Louise! My heart goes out to all those people who have lost their loved ones, their homes, and their security.

My area came through unscathed, though, and so I suppose there are some blessings to be thankful for. All my family and friends are fine, too. Even better! It's going to be a while before subways are running again and power is restored to most of the city. So in the meantime I'm stuck at home working via my company's VPN and managing my people who are in varying stages of okay to living in the pre-Industrial Age. But we'll persevere. Thanks for all the concern, comments, and e-mails everybody. I truly appreciate it, I really do.

I did mention a short story of mine I recently finished. It's been a while since I've written one to completion, due to all the personal issues I've been going through this year (and which shall remain vague here on this blog). But I'm proud of it. As I said before, it requires some editing and a lot of polish, so I'm going to be busy with that for the next two weeks or so before I send it out to my first line of readers and then eventually to the markets. God I hope that particular line bites.

And just for fun, I've decided to paste a little passage from the new tale to whet your appetites. At least, I hope it whets it . . . and not whatever the hell the opposite of whetting is. Dulling? Yeah, I hope it doesn't dull your appetites, folks. Oh hell, let me stop typing and just paste the damn thing already.

Here you go:

". . .But the words get caught on his tongue when he notices your other eye. The one that’s definitely not human, but something out of every boy’s darkest nightmare. The inky black eye of the monster under the bed, that gremlin in the closet. The demon crawling out of that TV screen. Whatever they call it, you’re all that and more wrapped neatly into a slim five-foot-ten frame chosen to put your prey at ease. But the poor boy looks ready to wet himself. You’ve dropped your guard and he’s spied what no mortal has ever seen or lived to tell. It’s his lucky day, though. It’s not his time to die, and you have other fish to fry besides."

What in god's name could I possibly be writing, you're wondering after that? Well, you're just going to have to wait. I had a lot of fun writing that paragraph and many more like it, though. Usually that's a good sign for the story as a whole, but I will have to wait and reserve any real judgment until after the 3rd draft is complete.

Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Where I Write

It's no secret that writers are strange people. And even stranger still are some of the odd habits they keep while engaging in their craft. I for one cannot write with a pencil. I absolutely abhor pencils, have ever since I was in the first grade. I have a peculiar aversion to the feel of graphite rubbing on paper, you see. It sets my teeth on edge! But when it comes to writing, I seem to have lost the ability to write with pen and paper as well. Everything I've written since the age of about 16 has been on some sort of electronic medium--a word processor in high school, or some variation of the personal computer ever since. Writing stuff longhand is simply far too slow for my needs. I need a keyboard of some sort.

Jane Austen's desk. (Photo credit:
Eamonn McCabe.)

Then we come to where a writer writes. I'm amazed sometimes by all the spoils and riches some aspiring writers need to get themselves going. Some need to be out in nature with a yellow pad in order to get some inspiration, while others can go for long sessions at the local coffee shop. Some writers have big, elaborate home offices with pretty tapestries hanging on the wall and large bay windows overlooking some picturesque landscape, where everything is situated just right to conduct proper writerly affairs. And still others need only a small corner of the bedroom to ply their trade. Worst, however, is the writer that seems to crave more the knowledge that other people can see him writing big important writerly things in public rather than the actual task of creating something worthwhile. This is the pretentious writer type, whom I loathe with a passion.

Then there's where I fit in. And here I take a page from Stephen King, who must write with absolutely no distractions. His preferred writing spot when he was an up and comer was either the attic space when he was younger, or in the basement seated next to the heater when he was older. This is so me. I'm not very particular in the decor of where I write, but it must share some basic characteristics. For one, I need to face the wall. Preferably a bare wall with little to no hanging art. Second, no windows. I get easily distracted and the last thing I need is to be able to see the whole wide world outside when trying to focus on my own created worlds. And lastly, my space needs a door. Because, see, whenever I sit down to write creatively, I mentally shut the world out around me. And a door is that one physical link to the actual world that can correlate with the symbolic action of shutting all the nonsense out. Keeping it behind the barrier, as it were.

My desk, no fuss no muss. Okay, a whole lot of muss!

My space is cozy, bland, and best of all--easily cut off from the rest of the house around me. Once that door closes, everyone knows to leave me the hell alone until I emerge, hours later, bleary-eyed and drained of color. This is how I roll. Over the years I've been unable to write well any other way. On a laptop on the Amtrak to Philly? Nope! Won't work, too many bumps and station stops. In a cubicle at the local library? Nope, still too many noises and people walking by. I've never tried a coffee shop before, simply because I don't drink coffee and can't tell you the last time I've ever walked into one. But I'm pretty sure that wouldn't work for me, either. I mean, I can write low-energy stuff in such situations: work related docs, e-mail . . . this blog. But to write creatively I crave silence and solitude.

To me it all makes sense. I don't know about you. So tell me, what is your process? Better yet, where do you write?

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???

The Path To Becoming A Writer

Found this pic posted up on Facebook this morning by several writer friends of mine, and I just had to share here because of how remarkably apt it is--especially for me. I mean, wow! You wouldn't know it, but I'm amazed that I meet 7 of the 9 prerequisites here, and have come close to or will eventually meet the remaining two requirements.

Holy hell! Of course, I won't be giving away the details of just which 7 I meet. But I can admit that, sadly, all of the negative ones have already happened to me. And that's all I'm going to say on that front.

Still, this comic strip reminds me of something one of my writing instructors once told me; a poignant lesson I've never forgotten. It was after I had taken a huge break of some 8 years from writing after graduating from college. I asked this instructor why, after so many years of almost no writing, did I suddenly have so much to say and write about? And her response was that sometimes we have nothing worthwhile to write about until we've gone out into the world and lived real life for a couple of years. In other words, our every day experiences shape us--for better or for worse--in ways that can directly correlate to our writing. The more of life's harsh lessons you live through, the more your writing takes on a nuance and discipline you might never have enjoyed before as a novice student.

Now, this is not to say that you had to have personally lived through a Shakespearean tragedy in order to become a good writer, no. However, I will say that age and experience has certainly changed the way that I write my stories now. The stories I wrote in my teen years were whimsical and full of cliches. And while the stuff I write today is still on the far-fetched and tropish side of things to some extent, I have noticed that my writing is oftentimes morally ambiguous now. My protagonists are not always these white-bread paragons of truth and justice, nor are my villains so simply evil for evil's sake. Or at least, I try not to make them so. I still get burned every now and then by my critique group (especially for my thinly constructed antagonists at times), but for the most part my writing reflects the increasingly complex moral world I find myself co-inhabiting with roughly 4.4 billion other hairless apes on this planet. Do any of us really know what we're doing in life? Do we???

Anyway, enough navel gazing for now. In other news . . . expect my weekly Game of Thrones recap to be a little late. I simply haven't had a chance to watch last Sunday's episode yet. But when I do, you'll be the first to hear about it.

In the meantime: how about you? Does this comic strip reflect your own path to becoming a writer? I mean, is your cat really that loyal? Really?

Think about it.

A Stab At The Sevens

The lovely Kim Kasch over at The Writer's Blog tagged me with this meme. And while I usually avoid these things like the plague, I decided not to be such a grouch this *ONE* time and actually play along.

Anyway, here's how the meme goes:

1. Go to page 77 of your current manuscript.
2. Go to line 7.
3. Copy the next 7 sentences exactly how they're written. No cheating!
4. Tag 7 other writers to pass this meme on to.

Now my current novel WIP doesn't yet have an official title, but it's based on the 1990 Nintendo game from Konami, Castlevania III: Dracula's Curse. Some of you may recall this project from a while back here. While I haven't been able to work on it lately as much as I would like, I do at least have more than enough pages written to fulfill these requirements. So here goes. This is taken from the middle of Chapter 5, where my demon hunter and his erstwhile companion find themselves in dire straits:

"Even as his mind panicked he registered another flash of lightning, this time striking the very ground behind the creature’s feet. Before he could make sense of the peculiar nature of the approaching storm, however, the Cyclops shook him mightily as if to dislodge every bone within his body. 

"Trevor groaned and struggled against the stone grip around his throat. His vision swam as he fought for air, all the while staring into that solitary unblinking eye looming so large above him. Grant screamed at him as if from far away, but a rising din in his ears drowned out the mariner's words. Whatever they were, it seemed terribly important. 

"With the last measure of strength left to him, Trevor brought both fists to bear against that huge orb."

Hmmm, it's been a while since I've visited this scene. I don't even remember how long ago I wrote this. I'm currently writing chapter 12, just for reference. And, no, I did NOT cheat! This is exactly how the 7th line of the 77th page begins. But it's amazing how it begins on a new paragraph, isn't it? I lucked out! And the scene actually still makes sense within the constrictions of this meme. Kewl!

Now tell me, does this make you want to read more? Does it?

I don't have 7 writing friends to rub together. At least, not 7 who are blogging and also in the midst of writing a novel. So I'm going to skip that part. However, if you are one of those friends and you are reading this, please assume I tagged you and, well -- hop to it, buster! And don't forget to inform us of your efforts below in the comments section.

And again, thanks Kim for the tag. You're the best!

Channeling Crazy Dreams Into Creative Projects

About a month ago I posted this update here about one of my short stories that had been based on a strange, Vicodin-fueled dream of mine. And although I never did sell the damn thing, I still consider it one of my better tales.

Well, looks like I've been inspired by Mr. Sandman all over again. Just, this time, minus the drugs.

Last night I had a pretty wicked dream, one that unfolded like a Stephen King story. It wasn't as wild and deranged as you might expect though, but I thought it to be quite interesting nonetheless. I woke up from it in the early morning hours before the sun had even risen. It was such a great idea for a story that I jumped out of bed and rushed into our den to dictate the dream into my iPhone.

But something told me to sit down and power up the PC, which I did. And instead of reciting the bare bones of a cool sci-fi/horror blend short story, I ended up cranking out a full-fledged outline in quick hand without pause. When I was done, I sat back and blinked, surprised that the sun had risen in the meantime. Whoa, that was intense! Somehow I had managed to perfectly capture the main essence of the dream, while at the same time roughing out the skeleton of a compelling 3-part narrative in the process.

I felt shocked. I felt proud. I felt . . . AMAZING! I went back to my pillow with a smile, but was too excited thinking about plot points to resume sleep.

Has this ever happened to you writers out there? Isn't it the most incredible feeling, like, EVAR?

When eventually I did get up for the day and finished eating breakfast, I immediately locked myself away in the den and proceeded to pound out 1,000 words of the initial draft. I get the feeling this will be one of my shorter tales, so it's possible I'm already 1/4th of the way through. It certainly feels like I'm moving along nicely. After I finish the first draft and maybe a second, I'll return to that ever progressing novel of mine. Don't worry, that's still moving along nicely. I'm not neglecting it.

I love writing!

Anyway, switching to different gears . . . if you notice my "Now Playing" sidebar on the right of the page, I've started up that game I mentioned a few months back:

I've been heavily invested in this title pretty much since the very moment I slid the disc into my Playstation 3 last week. I didn't think I would get drawn in so completely by it, but I did. The story just sucked me in LIKE THAT! This is why I love the end of the year. I get to choose from among all the great titles I didn't have time to try out during the year, and pick the one that looks like it will be the most fun. This Christmas season, as it was back in 2009, that game turned out to be an Uncharted title. And in this adventure, Nathan Drake and his compatriots travel from the London underground (literally), to a run-down medieval estate in France, to a Crusades-era castle in Syria, and now to the Arabian desert. All in search of a forgotten city of treasure lost beneath the sands.

This, for me, is the type of stuff that fuels my dreams. Which in turn fuels my writing. It's a neat "circle of life" approach to creativity, don't you agree? And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Now if I can only discipline myself to write when I need to write, and play when I need a break. But that's every writer's dilemma, I know. :)

Tomorrow I return to work since being gone for two weeks. I'm actually looking forward to a return to my normal schedule. Funny how that happens, huh?

Have a great week, guys!

That Time I Dreamed Of Talking Flowers . . .

©2010-2011 Karin Charlotte

Over at the Economic Disconnect, my good buddy GYSC waxes nostalgic about the joys of taking prescribed painkillers, and cautions why it's perhaps not the best time to perform even basic automotive maintenance while under their, er, spell. In the comments section, I mentioned I have my own cautionary tale to tell--which coincidentally also came about from being prescribed painkillers after surviving a sometimes harrowing, though rudimentary, dental procedure.

It was late January, 2007. I was 30 years old and going in for my first major surgical procedure of my life. Fortunately, it was a routine wisdom tooth extraction. Unfortunately, I had opted to get all 4 removed at once! Pretty much since the age of 12 onward I would experience periodic and quite painful gum swelling at the rear of my mouth, just behind the last molars. One time, even, a small space opened up and got infected back there. I needed penicillin that time, and oh how my pee smelled terrible for the next 2 weeks or so!

There was a brief time during and just after college when I had no medical or dental insurance, so I went a few years longer than I should have without regular checkups. But finally, just as I was starting to take all facets of my health more seriously as I entered my 30s, all this negligence caught up to me right quick! In 2006, I learned that some of my wisdom teeth had not come through the gumline completely, and that in fact one of them was actually impacted. A visit to the oral surgeon confirmed that I would need to have all my wisdom teeth removed at some point, and preferably sooner rather than later.

I agreed to the sooner option, and all at once. I hate when jobs are left incomplete, don't you? It's a pet peeve of mine. So I insisted on this. I also insisted that I not be put under, since this is a rule I live by until it becomes absolutely impossible to maintain. If there is an option, in other words, I will never agree to be put under. I simply cannot abide the thought of losing that kind of control even for a mere second, if I can help it.

For some reason, the surgeon didn't seem to think this would be a problem. I know some of you might be thinking I'm crazy right about now. But I actually have a VERY high pain threshold. And I figured that, plus the novacaine, would be enough for me.

And you know what? I was right! No shit.

Yes, I know you were expecting a different outcome. One filled with blood, curses, and prodigious amounts of screaming, right? Well, sorry to disappoint. The entire procedure, once the surgeon rolled up his sleeves and got to work, only lasted 25 minutes. It would have been faster, in fact, if not for the very last tooth getting caught around a nerve ending. The surgeon had to be more delicate with that situation, obviously, and ended up busting the tooth up into little pieces with a drill first, before gingerly removing each chunk by hand.

The entire time I barely felt a thing. I could feel the tug at my jaw as he wrenched each tooth out with those huge pliers, and the crunching sound that ensued was pretty awesome to my ears as well. But, honestly, I felt not even one moment of piecing pain. To this day, I have no idea what people go on about when they talk about the horror of getting wisdom teeth removed. Especially since so many opt to be put under and wouldn't remember the pain anyway. Go figure on that one.

Anyway, after all was said and done, I was given the drill (not literally) on how to keep rinsing out my mouth at home with slightly salted water, flushing the empty sockets out with this water pic type device, and taking my percocet pills on a regular schedule.

At first I didn't think I would even need the pills. The local hadn't worn off yet and, except for the huge wad of gauze inside my mouth, I felt perfectly fine.

And then I came home, and the anesthetic wore off!

Yeah, I felt true pain then. Enough for me to run for the pills. And oh how it hit me, that blasted percocet! At first I felt nothing. Then gradually over the course of a few minutes the pain began to subside. Pretty soon I was feeling fine. A little too fine, perhaps. Then I got sleepy, so I took a nap.

What happened next is too graphic and surreal for me to adequately describe here. My head was spinning, first off. And somehow that had me spiraling down, Alice In Wonderland-style, through the looking glass of a demented Tim Burton-esque experience. I was floating high, I was floating low. Angry colors assaulted me as if they were real, breathing people, and then the happy colors came and chased them away. I heard voices far and near, echoing as if through canyons.

And then the talking flowers showed up. They had a lot to tell me, the petaled folk. I can't say I remember exactly how the conversation went, but I know it was fairly deep. I was being told secrets of the universe I really should have tried harder to retain.

Anyway, next thing I knew I was waking up three hours later from what was supposed to only be a thirty-minute nap. The fuck?

But the last vestiges of that crazy dream was still there, floating around on a euphoric, rainbow-hued cloud in the back of my head. Quickly, before it all vanished, I ran to my PC and started cranking out the hasty outlines of a brand new short story. The concept was bizarre and unlike anything I had conceived up to that point, but already the effects of the drug-fueled dream were fading fast. I managed to get all the important bits down, and then I took another nap.

It wasn't long after that I switched from percocet to maximum strength Tylenol instead. Yes, it meant that I would have to deal with a little more pain . . . but at least my head stayed clear and free of talking plant matter. Honestly, the freaky dreams were cool in that they provided me with great writing material. But the vertigo and spinning rooms I could do without. I really don't know how people get addicted to this stuff, because it quite frankly scared the shit out me.

Anyway, once I could think clearly I sat down and started to type out the story proper. It turned into a pretty long story, in fact, and was very bizarre. Several critiques and revisions later, I had a final draft that I tried to shop around. It got rejected to hell and back again, and eventually I trunked the behemoth.

But this is what blogs are for: to dredge up old ghosts of stories past. If you would like to read the story that resulted from my brief brush with Rock 'n' Roll fun, click here to get to it. Alternatively, you can also find the story, titled "Ascending the Sending Road," by checking out my Unpublished Short Stories sidebar on the upper right-side portion of this blog.

Give it a read if you feel like it, and then come back here and leave comments. But don't feel obligated to. It's a lengthy read at over 30 pages long, so I'll understand if you take a pass.

And also, remember . . . DON'T DO DRUGS!!!