Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Today’s song comes to me via my wife. I’d forgotten this song but she mentioned it as a great energetic walking song. Here, from 2003, is Outkast with ‘Hey Ya!’. Whenever it plays on the radio and we’re driving, she orders, “Turn it up!” Which I do. This version, of the Peanuts gang dancing to the music, cracks me up.
If you’re ever been off to do something and then get distracted and forget what you were on about, you’ve experienced catention. Essentially, your attention span is reduced to that of a cat distracted by everything going on around them.
Don’t let it get to you. Just remember to be cool, look good and not care about what anyone else might think of you.
Preparations are underway for The Big Day. Yes, tomorrow is Oscar Day.
My tux has been cleaned and is laid out, and my wife has an evening gown ready. It’s a beautiful Gucci knockoff of the gown Charlize Theron wear when she won for ‘Monster’ in 2004. We’ve decorated the house front with floodlights that sweep back and forth, and put up an Oscar in the living room, by the fireplace. Six feet tall, it’s an old wooden one coated with gold leaf. The gold leaf is flaking so it looks a little shabby, but I prefer wood over the plastic or aluminum Oscars that you can buy nowadays. They just seem cheap.
Being traditionalists, we made our presents for one another, as established by our forebears when they celebrated the first Academy Awards, and we’ll wait for them to announce the Best Actress before opening them. Some families open their presents on Oscar Day Eve but we like waiting until the excitement of the show has begun. I know that some traditionalists frown on opening presents even that early, insisting on waiting until the Best Picture winner is announced, like our ancestors did, but we like getting it out of the way.
Living has mostly changed for Americans since the first Oscars. Back then, communities shared one fifteen inch black and white portable television among several households. Coat hangers cloaked with tin foil and bent at odd angles aided reception, but snow and static on the screen were constant threats to joyful viewing. We’ll be watching on a digital flat screen so big and clear this year that people’s noses are larger than our bodies, which can be a little frightening, especially after a few drinks. Back in the first years, the television owners would invite less fortunate neighbors in to watch the presentation. Refreshments and nibbles were provided for a small ‘hostess’ fee. We still abide by those rules.
Refreshments were typically the stuff of Hollywood, like white wine, champagne or martinis, while nibbles were classically Ritz crackers with Kraft Velveeta American cheese and Vienna sausages, with gherkins pickles and green olives stuffed with pimento on the side. Cheez Whiz later replaced the American cheese for some households. When children were permitted to watch in the early years, they were served lemonade. Later years found children drinking Kool-Aid instead of lemonade. Now, most households serve carbonated beverages to children and teetotalers.
Ho-hos and Twinkles were circulated as deserts in those early days but Oreos later made big inroads as an offering. Then Martha Stewart introduced Americans to Twinkles in Jello topped with Cool Whip, which became the new standard. That’s what we’ll be having. My sister always says that she hopes that Peep will makeOscar Peeps someday. I used to laugh at that, but they’ve really stretched their offerings. Peeps aren’t just chicks and bunnies on Easter these days.
Although betting on the Academy Awards is frowned upon, naturally I’ve set up a pool, just like my father and grandfather did. It’s not a big pot, but you can take twenty-five dollars if you call a major category, like Best Director or Actor. One hundred twenty-five clams are yours if you have the most correct predictions. That’s a lot of nickels.
Naturally we have drinking games to help keep the evening lively. Everyone drinks whenever someone makes a political joke or statement, cries, flubs their lines or trips on their way to or from the stage. Of course, we drink if music cuts off their acceptance speech or if a previous Oscar winner or highlights from another year are shown. We’re pretty drunk by the end, another reason to open the presents early in the ceremony.
Hope you all have a great Oscar Day. Remember, if Meryl Streep wins another Oscar, we’ll have three more months of winter.
That’s a fact, jack.
You’ve probably experienced catpetite once in a while during your lifetime. Catpetite happens whenever someone else brings food into a room. Although you’re not hungry or have already eaten, you want to know what they’re eating, just in case you’re suddenly hungry or the food they’re eating will satisfy a craving that you didn’t know you have.
Cats, of course, are always ready to eat, hungry or not. Their catpetites are huuuuggge.
Man, I’ll tell you what, the music emerging during the 1960s and 1970s was part of an amazing scene. Listening to those old songs give me a lift. This particular group, song and album were polarizing. When Mom heard me listening to this, she asked, “What is that you’re listening to?”
“Black Sabbath.”
Two words which probably did little to calm her. “Black Sabbath?”
“Yes. This is ‘Paranoid’.”
This woman who enjoyed Barbra Streisand, Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, the Ink Spots, Platters, Nat King Cole, and on and on, studied me for seconds with mild distaste. Announcing, “It sounds paranoid,” she returned to her housekeeping routine and then called back, “Turn it down.”
Turn it down was something I’d hear a lot in those days.
Here we have it, a little gem called ‘Paranoid’, with Ozzy Osbourne on vocals, Tony Iommi on lead guitar, Geezer on bass and Bill Ward playing the drums, from 1970.
Get out your air guitar and turn it up.
Charles French had a post on Arrowhead Publishing a few weeks ago. Its subject was creating business plans for books. I’d come to a similar conclusion to his ideas on my own a few years ago as part of my quest for greater organization, but his ideas had greater depth than mine. It’s always good to find something like that and learn more.
But after reading his post, I continued along thinking I’d begun weeks ago about the need for larger involvement in the business side of my self-publishing efforts. And after reading French’s post, I realized that I’d conceived many of the needs and ideas required but had failed to execute.
I had the dream. I had an action plan. I wasn’t acting.
After considering that realization with irritation and annoyance with myself that ended with a stern lecture, I answered myself, with some plaintiveness, as the business persona of my being, I’m not given much time or energy for taking care of business. The writer gets the most attention and indulgence. That’s followed by the husband, friend and son. Then the human gets attention (for things like time off, socializing, partying and exercising beyond the daily ritual of decompressing), and the editor, leaving crumbs to the business person.
I agree, I answered. Part of this is because I don’t to do the business side. But accept it: it must be done.
Okay. What can we do about it?
Well, like writing in the beginning and everything else, it’s about allocating time. I’d planned to give these matters attention – that’s why I was annoyed – but permitted my resources to be diverted into other things, important things like killing time by playing computer games, reading books, or playing with cats. Just as I do for everything else, I need to structure recurring time in my life for the business side of publishing.
And it is a recurring need. Publishing and selling books is as dynamic as any marketplace. As an unknown with no name recognition trying to learn the business, I need to work harder, as hard as an athlete trying to make a team, or a writer writing a book. As I wrote in a post when I began thinking about this, I Will Do Better, my efforts are meager and weak. It’s shocking to realize that I wrote that in the middle of January.
Once again, I remind myself, intentions aren’t sufficient. Just as writing in the first place, exercising, or acquiring and degrees, focus and application are needed. I can’t accept that, oh, I did this, and now I’m done. No, this is very much trail and error. It should all be considered as a first draft. Sometimes the blurb written and used isn’t working. New venues for publishing, distributing, advertising and selling are always springing up. If I want to expand my sales, I need to expand my efforts.
Okay, but I already knew all of this. I wasn’t acting on them. This was a case of out of sight, out of mind. Just as I need structure to pursue writing my fiction, I need structure for selling it. Moving the business guy up in the order of priorities isn’t necessarily needed, either. Rather, I realized that I needed to remind myself that the business side needs to be attended.
So I jumped into my Google calendar and set up reminders. Do this, do that. Check this, check that. And I set aside time via reminders to research and read about the business aspect of publishing and selling my own work.
Writing, publishing and selling isn’t a destination. Just like life and living, it’s a journey to be embraced and taken every day. Recognize what must be done but recognize it doesn’t need to all be done at once.
But recognize, it must be done and keep going.
Little Quinn weighs a shockingly light seven pounds, six ounces. He’s mostly fur. Yet, he manages to grow larger as we sleep. In this process, called catflation, cats begin gaining physical size and mass as they sleep beside you or on you. The longer they sleep, the more they grow. Quinn ends up exploding like a popcorn kernel in size. I think he gains fifty percent more weight. I’ve tried weighing him but once a cat awakens, they revert to normal size.
As for big Boo the Bagheera, or mighty Tucker the Enigma, they become enormous. Boo awake comes in about sixteen pounds. Tucker, at fifteen pounds, is the lightweight of the two. But both easily weigh fifty pounds or more and are as big as me once they’re asleep on me or beside me for a while.
At least it seems that way when I try to move them.
I think sometimes I experience a day or two of writer’s fatigue. I know what to write but I my writing reserves are low. As they say, even someone who loves eating steak could still become weary of all steak, all the time. I still do all these things that Kyle Massa suggest. My most recent go-to project to ameliorate writer’s fatigue.
by Kyle Massa
Writing’s always fun when you have something to write. But when the well runs dry, you might find that you’ve got writer’s block.
But what is writer’s block? Is it even a real phenomenon? And if it is, what can we do about it?
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The same Hospitality esteem’d among them as a principal Virtue, is practic’d by private Persons, of which Conrad Weiser, our Interpreter gave me the following Instance. He had been naturaliz’d among the Six Nations, & spoke well the Mohock Language. In going thro’ the Indian Country to carry a Message from our Governor to the Council at Onondaga, he call’d at the Habitation of Canasetego an old Acquaintance, who embrac’d him, spread Furs for him to sit on, plaid before him some boil’d Beans & Venison, and mix’d some Rum & Water for his Drink. When he was well refresh’d, and had lit his Pipe, Canassetego began to converse with him, ask’d how he had fard the many Years since they had seen each other, whence he then came, what occasion’d the Journey, &c. &c. Conrad answer’d all his Questions, & when the Discourse began to flag, the Indian to continue it, said, Conrad, you have lived long among the white People and know something of their Customs. I have been sometimes at Albany, and have observed that once in Seven Days they shut up their Shops, and assemble all in the great House; tell me, what is it for? what do they do there?—They meet there, says Conrad, to hear and learn good Things. I do not doubt says the Indian, that they tell you so: They have told me the same; But I doubt the Truth of what they say, and I will tell you my Reasons. I was lately to Albany to sell my Skins, & buy Blankets, Knives, Powder &c Rum &c You know I us’d generally to deal with Hans Hanson, but I was a little inclin’d this time to try some other Merchant; however, I call’d first upon Hans, & ask’d him what he would give for Beaver. He said he could not give more than four Shillings a Pound; but says he I cannot talk on Business now; this is the Day when we meet together to learn good Things, and I am going to the Meeting. So I thought to my self, since we cannot do any Business to day, I may as well go to the Meeting too; and I went with him. There stood up a Man in Black, and began to talk to the People very angrily. I did not understand what he said; but perceiving that he look’d much at me, and at Hanson, I imagin’d he was angry at seeing me there, so I went out, sat down near the House, struck Fire and lit my Pipe, waiting till the Meeting should break up. I thought too that the Man had mention’d something of Beaver, & I suspected it might be the Subject of their Making. so when they came out, I accosted my Merchant, Well, Hans, says I, I hope you have agreed to give more than four Shillings a Pound. No, says he, I cannot give so much; I cannot give more than three shillings & sixpence. I then spoke to several other Dealers, but they all sung the same Song. Three & sixpence, Three & sixpence. This made it clear to me that my Suspicion was right; and that whatever they pretended of meeting to learn Good Things, the real purpose was to consult how to cheat Indians on the Price of Beaver. Consider but a little, Conrad, and you must be of my Opinion. If they met so often to learn Good Things, they would certainly have learnt some before this time. But they are still ignorant. You know our Practice. If a white Man in travelling thro’ our Country, enters one of our Cabins, we all treat him as I treat you; we dry him if he is wet, we warm him if he is cold, we give him Meat & Drinks that he may allay his Thirst and Hunger, and spread soft Furs for him to rest & sleep on: We demand nothing in return. But if I go into a white Man’s House at Albany, and ask for Victuals & Drink, they say, where is your Money? and if I have none; they say, Get out you Indian Dog. You see they have not yet learnt those little Good Things, that we need no Meetings to be instructed in, because our Mothers taught them to us when we were Children: And therefore, it is impossible their Meeting, Should be as they say, for any such purpose, or have any such Effect. They are only to contrive the Cheating of Indians in the Price of Beaver.
From Benjamin Franklin’s remarks concerning the Savages of North America, 1782-1783. h/t to The Tribal Way. As we see hundreds of years later, many white men are still not learning Good Things but continue to learn and work upon on how to cheat others.
I dreamed I was in 2025. I’ll tell you, I looked good for 2025.
With some friends, we were discussing something that had happened in 1985 involving them. Their news amused and astonished me while it depressed and frustrated them, as a clerical error from the beginning of their military career in 1985 had just been found in 2025 and needed to be fixed.
Meanwhile, we were getting ready to party. Guests were already arriving. I don’t recall hearing any particular music in the dream. Awakening, I remembered this old hit, from 1969, ‘In the Year 2525’. Although I remember all the words and the melody, I realized that I didn’t know who performed the song or anything else about it. For this, I trusted Wikipedia.org.
Zager and Evans are the performers. This was their only hit. Rick Evans wrote the lyrics. His words, about what’s going to happen to Humans, are fascinating to contemplate. At least they were for a thirteen-year-old reading science fiction in 1969. This was the number one song in the U.S. when Neil Armstrong became the first man to walk on the moon.
Michael Seidel, writer 