Archive for February, 2010

Same Old, Same Old

As I lamented a little bit ago, I’ve really got to stop writing poetry about my girlfriend. At least this one isn’t sad or lovey, it’s more of a ‘let’s go do cool stuff’ poem. It’s named The Happiest Days of Our Lives after the Pink Floyd song best known as the bit before Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2.

Much of the material came from a ‘quiz’ in which we’d get a line of poetry from Actual Air by David Berman such as what’s more radical, the snow or the tires,/ and what does the Bible say about metal fatigue/and why do mothers carry big scratched-up sunglasses/ in their purses? followed by something like “Ask three more questions that go along with these:” Truth be told, I think I came up with a bunch of good lines this way, and some of them are reflected in the poem.

The other contribution is another poem, one that when I wrote it, I was terrified of showing anyone. However, Courtney likes it, and my professor (who I turned it in to because he doesn’t know me) liked it, and I’m such a compliment whore that I may submit it to the Edgewood Review. So what the hell, I’ll throw it up here. It’s tentatively titled Home and anyone that knows me IRL and doesn’t want uncomfortably personal thoughts revealed probably shouldn’t read it. Especially if you are or live with my dad. Some people need Not-Safe-For-Work warnings, I need Non-Fiction ones.

That’s all for now. I’ma get some sleep.

More Bad Poetry

Since there’s another poem due today, I’m throwing it up here. It’s not very good. I like about three of the lines and they’re rather strung together. Maybe I should keep to the humorous, ironic stuff.

In any case, it’s called Love is an Inside Joke, which is one of the aforementioned lines I like. I’d love to write something better with that title someday. Take a look if you like.

About Time

After putting it off for far, far, far too long, I’ve finally finished Unbroken, the second half of the story of Lanuria’s scar. The first half, Broken, can be found here. My conclusion can be found here.

That’s all at the moment. Lan, never let me put something off that long again.

Either Cowardly or Polite, I Can’t Tell

I’m active once again this year on the Edgewood Review Editorial Board, the group of people that read things submitted for the literary magazine and critique them. I like this job, but when I’m also submitting pieces for consideration, it can gum up the works.

Today was the day we reviewed my story, which was distributed without a name at the top. One of the participants in the meeting said as an aside before the meeting began that she hated the story. However, once it came to light that I had written it, she didn’t say anything of the sort. I hate when this happens. I’m a grownup, I can handle criticism. Never mind the fact that I have my own misgivings about the story that I submitted, Always Happy to Serve You. After all, while I do feel it’s one of my funnier pieces, I know that it’s not about anything significant other than itself, and that I don’t go into much depth with the characters, et cetera. I’m okay with this, though, because I can still take solace in the fact that I’ve written something entertaining. The great literature part can come later.

So. Well-read people don’t like my stuff. On the other hand, some of the other well-read people in the room seemed to, the editor going so far as to call it “an example of good writing,” which is really all the praise I can hope for. What I take solace in, though, is that the people that aren’t English majors that read my things tend to really enjoy them, or at least do a convincing job of lying about it. I value accessibility and try not to be elitist about my literature choice, so I’m gonna mark that one down in the plus column.

On the other hand, now I really wanna rewrite Golden into the real world and submit that. Goddamn that one’s good.

Patch Notes, 2-13-09

  • Removed the Portal references from The King of Pecatonica County. It was funny back when I was a frosh and no one in my creative writing class would get it, but I’m a grown up writer now and I have to be more professional than that. It’s just been bugging me for a while. Even when my writing’s crap now, it’s my crap. EDIT: I’m keeping the World of Warcraft reference in YGTFIJF. I like that one.

Insomnia Theatre

I’ve been making a habit out of reading some Howard Phillips Lovecraft every night before bed, which is probably the worst possible time to be reading Howard Phillips Lovecraft. Normally it’s not a problem, as the endings get predictable at a certain point – At the Mountains of Madness avoids this to an extent, as does The Shadow Over Innsmouth, but I won’t get into that here, because tonight I was finishing up The Shadow Out of Time. Its ending was more predictable, which should have meant a good night’s sleep. However, I still wasn’t tired, so I decided to pop on some Futurama to fall asleep to, picking at random – or so I thought – A Bicyclops Built for Two.

Bicyclops is a solid episode, poking fun at one of my favorite shows, Married… With Children and just generally being full of laughs. Sleep soon began to fill my mind. However, as I neared the end of the episode, something occured.

The Shadow Out of Time is the story of the Yith, a time-travelling alien race. In the story, they’re described thusly:

They seemed to be enormous, iridescent cones, about ten feet high and ten feet wide at the base, and made up of some ridgy, scaly, semi-elastic matter. From their apexes projected four flexible, cylindrical members, each a foot thick, and of a ridgy substance like that of the cones themselves.
These members were sometimes contracted almost to nothing, and sometimes extended to any distance up to about ten feet. Terminating two of them were enormous claws or nippers. At the end of a third were four red, trumpetlike appendages. The fourth terminated in an irregular yellowish globe some two feet in diameter and having three great dark eyes ranged along its central circumference.

And here I am, laying in bed, having absorbed this information less than an hour before, when I see this.

Sweet literary allusions aren’t nearly as cool when it’s nearly three in the morning and you’ve been up too late reading Lovecraft. Your mind is primed for insanity. I’m lucky I didn’t have to change my pants.

So. We’ll see if I get to sleep tonight.

Straight Outta Wilson

From Skype. Click for full size.

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