So I couldn't pass on a direct challenge from Todd to finish the previous post, James Lipton edition. Todd, this means you're on. I fear Blogger will eat my post. It has eaten every comment reponse I've attempted in the past week, like shark-infested waters around Thriller Island. And oh, my comments to your comments were the well-thought-out, inspired kind of retorts. Mostly, I'll just say thanks for the comments and keep them coming.
Before I go all Inside-the-Actor's-Studio on you, I could give you a half dozen reasons why I can't seem to get more than one post up a week during this crazy month, but I'd rather share some amazing news. Through creative budgeting, I will not be working in the classroom next year. What will I fill my days with, you ask? Why, sitting around in my pajama bottoms writing fiction. I'm pretty sure if there's a heaven on earth, that just might be it. Okay, add a plate of dark chocolate and that would be it. Oh, and a cabana boy to rub my stiff neck. That would really be it. I'm done now. Seriously. Fasten your seat belts. This is the year the Vortex hits hyperspeed.
Now, for James Lipton, the Parisan pimp.
What is your favorite word? antidisestablishmentarianism. Oh, and bestseller.
What is your least favorite word? rejection
What turns you on (creatively, spiritually or emotionally)? time alone
What turns you off? negativity
What sound or noise do you love? snow falling
What sound or noise do you hate? the Cartman ringtone I've assigned a certain individual
What is your favorite curse word? to write: son-of-a-bitch to say: shit
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? professional organizer
What profession would you not like to do? exterminator
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
"I couldn't have written a better life story, myself."
Monday, May 16, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
The Unfinished
Blogger saves every bundle of virtual trash in the form of drafts. Why have I not purged them, you ask? Not sure. Will this post be the equivalent of false starts and missteps tattooed on my writerly reputation? Quite possible. For most of them, I have no idea what road I was headed down. But dead-ends can be fun, too. Whee! Ready?
12.01.10 It's entirely possible I may have to go to confession after this post, but we'll try to keep the subject of Father-What-A-Wastes on the high-end of classy. Girls who grew up Catholic know to whom I refer. That priest that moved from a different diocese who sparked your sudden interest in attending mass-frequently and with aplomb enough to fill a convent. The one you'd never let hear your confession for fear you'd leave out the one thing you should confess. The one that was so rare, so angelic of face, you finally understood the whole in-God's-image schtick. I always imagined it quite a burden to someone who wished to be acknowledged for more spiritual things.
Lest you believe I am making this up, Hollywood has capitalized on this unattainable fantasy born in the hearts of pubescent girls all over the world.
8.30.09 Of late, I admit to being the fickle conductor in my own symphony. I don't like being this way. It's a rare state for me. I'm not sure why this mind spasm has dominated the past two weeks, but it feels rather like chasing my own tail right back to the spot I began. I've assembled before me an orchestra of writers and readers, all of varying instruments and tastes, each well-meaning and genuine. I adore them all for what they have brought to symphonies past. I would have nothing of value guiding my wand were it not for each one of them. But today, I wave my arms (in dramatic diva fashion) and declare "Silence!"
Today, it can no longer be their notes or the attitude with which they attack the strings. It can only be the music in my head. Even me, of little faith in my own instincts...
3/27/08 I actually have four longer posts backing up in my mind I'll get to eventually, bu...
2/20/08 Remember when you were younger and calling "Time and Temperature" amounted to a daily ritual of self-importance? Maybe in your limited pre-teen social demographic, the act of dialing the phone thrust you into a simulated state of popularity. Maybe you became the gatekeeper to your family's day's coiture--a pint-sized forecaster. Maybe this is all just me and I've laid out for you some semi-neurotic starting point for the whole time thing. But, admit it. Knowing you've calibrated your life to some kind of official standard does synchronize you to the world in a deep breath kind of way, right?
10.03.07 I'm amazed at the number of shows on TV right now that deal with the supernatural. Maybe I'm more tuned into them because it's Halloween, but it seems almost every channel has something about spirit guides, psychic rescuers and ghost hunters. So, in the spirit of the season, I offer you my own ghost story.
Our house is new construction, built on land that, no doubt, has been part of the state's cattle industry back to the city's inception. Before that, frontier land.
When we moved in five years ago, I'd never seen anything I'd categorize as a strange phenomenon. I'd had the experiences of deja-vu and even a sixth sense, especially when it came to family, but nothing like the flashes I began to experience here. First, the image of an adult--someone at my height--turning the corner in our pitch-black hallway. Of course, I dismissed it as my mind playing tricks on me. I'd been up writing long after everyone else had gone to sleep and the faint blue glow could have been some kind of monitor after-burn on my eyes.
6.25.07 James Lipton will never ask me these questions, but my writer friend, Shannon, has tagged me to answer these infamous questions from Inside the Actor's Studio. Here goes:
What is your favorite word?
What is your least favorite word? Denied
What turns you on (creatively, spiritually or emotionally)?
What turns you off?
What sound or noise do you love?
What sound or noise do you hate?
What is your favorite curse word? Son-of-a-bitch
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
What profession would you not like to do?
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Click through if you're on feed and vote for the draft you'd most like to see finished and posted.
Oh, and have a raining-awesome kind of weekend.
12.01.10 It's entirely possible I may have to go to confession after this post, but we'll try to keep the subject of Father-What-A-Wastes on the high-end of classy. Girls who grew up Catholic know to whom I refer. That priest that moved from a different diocese who sparked your sudden interest in attending mass-frequently and with aplomb enough to fill a convent. The one you'd never let hear your confession for fear you'd leave out the one thing you should confess. The one that was so rare, so angelic of face, you finally understood the whole in-God's-image schtick. I always imagined it quite a burden to someone who wished to be acknowledged for more spiritual things.
Lest you believe I am making this up, Hollywood has capitalized on this unattainable fantasy born in the hearts of pubescent girls all over the world.
8.30.09 Of late, I admit to being the fickle conductor in my own symphony. I don't like being this way. It's a rare state for me. I'm not sure why this mind spasm has dominated the past two weeks, but it feels rather like chasing my own tail right back to the spot I began. I've assembled before me an orchestra of writers and readers, all of varying instruments and tastes, each well-meaning and genuine. I adore them all for what they have brought to symphonies past. I would have nothing of value guiding my wand were it not for each one of them. But today, I wave my arms (in dramatic diva fashion) and declare "Silence!"
Today, it can no longer be their notes or the attitude with which they attack the strings. It can only be the music in my head. Even me, of little faith in my own instincts...
3/27/08 I actually have four longer posts backing up in my mind I'll get to eventually, bu...
2/20/08 Remember when you were younger and calling "Time and Temperature" amounted to a daily ritual of self-importance? Maybe in your limited pre-teen social demographic, the act of dialing the phone thrust you into a simulated state of popularity. Maybe you became the gatekeeper to your family's day's coiture--a pint-sized forecaster. Maybe this is all just me and I've laid out for you some semi-neurotic starting point for the whole time thing. But, admit it. Knowing you've calibrated your life to some kind of official standard does synchronize you to the world in a deep breath kind of way, right?
10.03.07 I'm amazed at the number of shows on TV right now that deal with the supernatural. Maybe I'm more tuned into them because it's Halloween, but it seems almost every channel has something about spirit guides, psychic rescuers and ghost hunters. So, in the spirit of the season, I offer you my own ghost story.
Our house is new construction, built on land that, no doubt, has been part of the state's cattle industry back to the city's inception. Before that, frontier land.
When we moved in five years ago, I'd never seen anything I'd categorize as a strange phenomenon. I'd had the experiences of deja-vu and even a sixth sense, especially when it came to family, but nothing like the flashes I began to experience here. First, the image of an adult--someone at my height--turning the corner in our pitch-black hallway. Of course, I dismissed it as my mind playing tricks on me. I'd been up writing long after everyone else had gone to sleep and the faint blue glow could have been some kind of monitor after-burn on my eyes.
6.25.07 James Lipton will never ask me these questions, but my writer friend, Shannon, has tagged me to answer these infamous questions from Inside the Actor's Studio. Here goes:
What is your favorite word?
What is your least favorite word? Denied
What turns you on (creatively, spiritually or emotionally)?
What turns you off?
What sound or noise do you love?
What sound or noise do you hate?
What is your favorite curse word? Son-of-a-bitch
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
What profession would you not like to do?
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Click through if you're on feed and vote for the draft you'd most like to see finished and posted.
Oh, and have a raining-awesome kind of weekend.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Men Would Be Nice. But No. It's Raining Time Travel Awesome.
Raise your hand if you loved Ken Grimwood's novel, Replay.
While we're on the topic of films that rain awesome, let's talk about Looper. Hate the title, but it really says it all, doesn't it? Starring Joseph Gordon Levitt of Inception fame, Looper is a sci-fi time thriller about a group of hitmen who go back in time to kill criminals before they perpetrated their crimes. Levitt calls Looper, which also stars Bruce Willis and Emily Blunt and is set to release later this year, the most important film of his career.
Oooh, oooh. Me.
Replay was published thirteen years ago, so it might have been off your radar, but it's about a man who dies (on page!) in the opening scene and gets the opportunity to return to his life as a teenager with full knowledge of the lessons and choices he made the first time around. I guess it took awhile for Hollywood to come around, too, because Warner Brothers is just now ferreting out a director for the project. And who should be at the forefront of consideration but Romert Zemeckis of Back to the Future fame. This time: less camp. Let's hope.
While we're on the topic of films that rain awesome, let's talk about Looper. Hate the title, but it really says it all, doesn't it? Starring Joseph Gordon Levitt of Inception fame, Looper is a sci-fi time thriller about a group of hitmen who go back in time to kill criminals before they perpetrated their crimes. Levitt calls Looper, which also stars Bruce Willis and Emily Blunt and is set to release later this year, the most important film of his career.One more film tidbit: Remember the "Safety Not Guaranteed" movie? They're looking for extras to fill a football stadium in Burien, Washington on May 7th. From this announcement alone, I was able to mine a MacGyver-eque YouTube video and a link to a forum where the ad's author claims it as a joke written for Backwoods Home Magazine.
But movies are not where the storm of awesome ends, dear Vortexers. More time travel, you say? I aim to please.
TweetyPop is a new app for the I-pad that lets you "time travel through Twitter space." Watch this demo if you're all up into returning to a specific time in Twitter history and zapping read tweets like the sci-fi nerd we all are here.
Is there any wonder that the most entries for the L. Ron Hubbard's speculative fiction Writers of the Future contest for the past few cycles have been time travel oriented? Um. No. Coordinating Judge K.D. Wentworth blames Hollywood, but we were on that bus miles ago, weren't we?
Finally, Michael A. Burstein speculates on reasons the Chinese government banned time travel stories from their cultural radar early last month.
Happy Monday, everyone!
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