But What I Know is Boring

 

But what I know is boring.

That was my response the first three or four hundred times I heard the universal advice to creative writers, “Write what you know.”  The first time I heard it, I was crushed.  I thought the advice was a death sentence to any dreams I had of writing.  I was a 14 year old freshman who didn’t even know who he was, so how could anything I knew be worth telling? 

I refused to believe this to be good advice for a long time.  I found myself pointing out how some big names in writing seemed to do just fine without adhering to this advice. 

Stephen King didn’t, couldn’t “know” vampires, possessed cars, undead pets and children, or girls that started fires or destroyed proms just with their thoughts, but he sure seemed to be successfully writing those things. 

Tolkien didn’t know any elves, dwarfs, faceless eyes, wizards, dragons, goblins, orcs, or hobbits. 

Ray Bradbury didn’t know any electronic grandmothers.

I just figured since all these established writers were writing about things beyond the realm of what one can possibly know and it was only teachers and textbooks telling giving me this repeated advice, “Write what you know” translated into “I’m not a writer, so I don’t really know what to tell you about how to write well.” 

I went on thinking this for probably somewhere around four more years, writing some of the crap I described in my bad story ideas.  I thought I was being creative and escaping that dreaded, limiting advice of writing what I know.  And then Ray Bradbury had to really throw me off. 

It was my first year or two of college and I was at a bookstore, probably while I was supposed to be in class, looking through the usually disappointing “how –to” section of writing books.  Most of these books of how to get published or how to write a best-selling novel are by authors I’d never heard of and the couple of times I took the time to look up what level of success the author has had, the only books they’ve had published are the how to write books.  Look up a handful of the unrecognizable names in this section and you’ll see what I’m talking about.  This day, however, I saw that my favorite author at the time had put one together.  I remember thinking How did I not already know about this? as I snatched it up. 

I knew I’d not only learn a ton from this book, but I was certain Bradbury’s teaching would tell me how I was tapping into this resource of imagination and  pushing beyond the mere limits of human knowledge.  Guess what the first chapter said.

Write what you know. 

Maybe not in those exact words, but that was the message.  He was preaching to tap into your zest or gusto, if I am remembering the words correctly.  When I read that, I thought I was on the right track.  When he started saying that I writer that didn’t know himself couldn’t possibly tap into the zest in him, that’s when things got a little shaky.  I tried my best to pretend I didn’t know where this was headed, but when he pointed out that the only way for your writing to seem real is addressing your real fears and your real dreams and your real desires and your real loves and your real passions… I couldn’t duck the message any longer. 

I still didn’t get it though.  It was just seen as Bradbury turning his back on me, joining the ever-growing list of people telling me that I had nothing to offer the literary world.  The message was spelled out so well by Bradbury, but I still was not getting it.  And I still didn’t for maybe another six or seven years.   Not completely anyway. 

My story Nick was my first real experience of following this much feared and hated advice.  It wasn’t a conscious effort.  I didn’t decide Alright, I’ll give this writing what I know thing a try.  I just got into the idea deeply enough that I wasn’t trying for anything other than telling the story.  No gimmicks or attempts to write in a similar style to whatever writer I’d most recently been interested in.  No molding a voice or forcing the story to be some cutting edge eye-opener. 

The story started off in what has become my favorite way a new idea becomes a story.  I just found myself wondering What would happen if…In finding the answer to what would happen if, the story just kind of unfolded.  By the time it was done, this story about a man and a dog reflected the futility I felt in taking a loved one to rehab only to have them check themselves out days later, my views on materialistic people, and probably some of the subconscious reasons I’ve taken a career path that is not exactly the norm.  I didn’t plan any of that, but the subjects came up, so I had to include what I knew about those parts of life.

And you know what?  I STILL didn’t get it.  Not until a couple of people I knew read it and made comments like “This line is so you,” or “I can totally hear you ranting just like that.”  I reread the story and thought that they were right.  I would say things like that.  It was one of those moments were several past events all click together and make you embarrassed for not getting it sooner. 

Sure, King doesn’t know all these monsters But King does know what scares him.  It just so happened to be vampires and monsters with clown faces and getting lost in the woods and rabid dogs and S&M gone wrong and cell phones and… man, the guy has issues.  Anyway, he takes these characters and gives them his fears.  He doesn’t have to know these events first hand, just how he would react to them.

It took all that time to learn that all writers have to know is what scares them.  Or thrills them.  Or interests them.  Or appalls them.  Or… just the stuff life has taught them.  It doesn’t limit a writer to telling only what has happened in his life.  It just means that in order to ring true, to talk the reader into suspending disbelief and really buying into the fiction, it has to reflect something of the writer.  Something he knows. 

Things G.I. Joe could have prepared me for more pressing then downed power lines and the dangers of hiding in old refrigerators

(Scene opens with two kids unwrapping the coating off batteries, crushing some red pills, and donning gas masks)

 

Mike – “Gee, Donnie, I never realized how easy it is to cook meth.  I mean, we found all this stuff around the house…except the anhydrous.”

 

Donnie – “Yeah, we’re gonna make a killing!”

 

Voice from unseen speaker – “A killing is right!”

 

Donnie and mike – “QUICK KICK!!!”

 

Quick Kick – “That’s right.  And I’ll be the first one to kick that crazy idea out of your head of becoming methamphetamine distributors.  Didn’t you know that congress as well as local authorities have been cracking down on meth related crimes and handing out the stiffest possible sentences?  You might even be tried as adults.”

 

Mike – “That would send us to prison.  I don’t want to be someone’s girlfriend before I’ve even had my own first girlfriend!”

 

Quick Kick – “I haven’t even told you the statistics regarding meth lab related fatalities and the likelihood of you becoming hooked on your own product.”

 

Donnie –  “Wow, we had no idea the treacherous road we were about to embark down!”

 

Quick Kick – “And now you know…”

 

All three together – “AND KNOWING IS HALF THE BATTLE!”

 

 

-

 

 

 

(Scene opens with two college kids signing up for credit cards at an on-campus kiosk)

 

Ralph  – Turtle, check it out… free t-shirts and Frisbees!

 

Turtle – Just for filling out a credit card app?  I’m in, dude.

 

(Off screen voice) – You’ll be in for more than your counting on.

 

Ralph & Turtle – GUNG HO!!!

 

Gung Ho – That might be me, but I’m sure not gung ho for the idea of a high interest rate credit card.

 

Ralph – “But…. free stuff.”

 

Gung Ho – “Heck, son, you’re only going to cut the sleeves off that t-shirt and the only time you’ll ever wear it is in your intramural basketball games.  The real issue here is these cards have an adjustable interest rate and that rate starts out at just over 20 percent.”

 

Turtle – “I’ve never had a credit card before, but that seems like a lot.”

 

Gung Ho – “Sweet Custer’s Ghost, it IS a lot!  And I know what you’re thinking…’I’ll only use it for emergencies.’  Well, you get the munchies after a little partying and all of sudden, Taco Bell suddenly falls into that emergency category.  And you’re gonna look me in the eye and tell me the next kegger party wouldn’t go on your credit card if cash was short?”

 

Ralph & Turtle – (Sheepishly) “No, sir.”

 

Gung Ho – “Let’s do a little math here… let’s say your new credit card funds just one  weekend binge.  Between kegs, cups, pizza, a Denny’s hangover breakfast, some new CD’s you just had to have, and the set of collectors edition Highlander swords you and your retarded drunken buddies thought would be ‘kick ass’ to have hanging in your apartment,  you drop $600 bucks, playing it conservatively.  Well, with interest, that weekend becomes $720 by the time the bill comes around.  Minimum payment is the interest alone.  Could you two Sallies afford more than the minimum payment while in college? (Before the two can respond) Of course you can’t!  So that’s three more years of paying $120 bucks, or more if the interest rate adjusts, and then you still owe the $600 principle.  And that’s only if you never use the card again!”

Ralph – “I had no idea the kind of mess we’d get ourselves into!”

 

Gung Ho – “Well, now you know…”

 

All three – “AND KNOWING IS HALF THE BATTLE”

 

-

 

 

(Scene opens with a guy at a video rental store holding two DVD display cases)

 

Tom – “I just can’t decide.  I’ve been wanting to see Children of Men, but everyone says Borat is hilarious…”

 

(Tom notices a dark figure standing next to him silently)

 

Tom – “Whoa, Snake Eyes, you scared me.”

 

Snake Eyes – (Stands motionless for a moment, then points to the Borat case)

 

Tom – “This one is good, huh?”

 

Snakes Eyes – (Nods head)

 

Tom – “I didn’t know… but, now I do, right?”

 

Snake Eyes – (Nods head)

 

Tom – “And knowing is half the battle?”

 

Snake Eyes – (gives a thumbs up)

 

A Plea to the True Leaders of Our Culture

  

Dear Editors of Checkout Lane Magazines and Producers of Tabloid Television,

It is quite clear at this point you all have your fingers on the pulse of
America.  On the cover of any one of your magazines or within the 30 second promo ad for any one of your TV programs, you directly address the five or six really important issues that are eating at every one of us. 

When I heard that there were finally wedding bells in the future for Tom and Katie, my mind was overwhelmed with questions.  Where will the wedding be?  Where’s the honeymoon?  What will they wear?  Who will be on the guest list?  Then, one stroll through the checkout aisle and bam! I’ve got all the answers. In
France.  Fiji.  A dress and a tux.  Not Oprah.   Mere seconds between my pondering and your delivery of answers.  Impressive. 

We are no longer bombarded with useless headlines about which country has nuclear weapons or how much the national deficit is up to.  It’s been so long since the deficit has been mentioned that I am not sure it even exists anymore and that’s just so much more comfortable to be oblivious to its existence.  Who wants news that makes you fear for the future?   

I feel you not only have your collective fingers on the pulse of America, but I would even go so far as to say you’ve keyed in to the future of our country, that you’ve recognized where all our time, attention, and money is headed. You have directed us to the only true subject that matters.  Why not just take over all the other subjects that attempt to steal focus from the great celebrities we have to worship? 

I notice that when not discussing Jennifer Aniston’s dating status or the hidden privater lives of former American Idol contestants, people still talk about time.  Days, weeks, months, hours…where’s the excitement in that?  You need to put real meaning to these concepts and jazz them up the only way America needs to jazz anything up, by adding celebrities and television to the mix.  Wouldn’t it much more accurately express what one suffered at the hands of someone running late to be able to say, “I’ve been waiting here for a CSI:Miami AND a Three and a Half Men!” than it would to simply say it’s been an hour and a half?  The former complaint truly expresses this is what I missed and will never get back because of you. I mean, sure there are reruns, but who stands around the water cooler talking about reruns?  Even though I was a child at the time, I clearly recall numerous parents and teachers discussing at great length the shock they felt when the great mystery of who shot J.R. was finally revealed.  I do not recall a single person expressing that they couldn’t believe it will still Kristin that shot him when this same episode was rerun. 

Instead of the meaningless concept of “years,” attach that same time frame to something we all can put meaning to.  I feel it would really take the sting out of some sentencing trials for the judge to be able to say “I sentence you to prison for the term no less than the marriage of
Brittany and K-fed and not to exceed that of Hillary Swank and Chad Lowe.”  I know I’d be impressed with someone’s tenure if they stated “I’ve worked here since the Simpsons were just a short on The Tracy Ulman Show.”  If you simply said 20 years or two decades, I’d have to stop and do some math to figure out what point of my life that was.  You hit me with the Simpsons shorts reference and immediately, I’m like Damn, I was only a freshman in high school then!  I can attach some meaning to that statement. 

The days of the week have lost all meaning as well.  What exactly does Thursday mean anyway?  I’ll tell you what it means…Must Watch TV!  So, it should therefore be called Must Watch Day.  I’ll spell out the rest of the week as well.  Monday is Idol Day, Tuesday is Lawday (with two flavors of Law and Order), Wednesday is still going to be hump Day….come on,  the innuendo jokes are gold.  Friday is CSI Day.  Saturday is Tivo Day to catch up on the great stuff missed through the week.  Sunday is Sopranos Day.  It’s how we most refer to these days anyway. 

Our monetary system could be totally revamped as well.  The average child today probably has little clue who Ben Franklin is and probably more readily equates the nickname of a hundred dollar bill to rap songs about the Benjamins than to the face on the actual bill.  Give them the faces they know.  Rank the money the same way you rank your headline size; the bigger the star, the bigger the bill.  Except, may I beg that you make the quarter feature Paris Hilton, for the sake of all the “two-bit ho” jokes that could fuel the careers of stand up comics for months, possibly years?    Outside of this deviation, I would propose the following ranking of photos featured on the dominations:

The Penny – K-Fed.  It makes sense…he’s really not worth anything on his own.

The Nickle – That Bat Boy from the tabloids.  He’s been on there so much, he’s gotta be worth something.

The Dime – Kid Rock.  Easily worth 10 K-feds, still not worth much on his own.

Fifty Cent Piece – Do I even have to point it out?  Heads would be “Fiddy” and tails would be a depiction of nine bullets…or whatever the count is up to nowadays.

$1 coin – Emilio Estevez.  Because whenever either of the two pop up, I find myself thinking “Oh, this is still around, huh?  I wonder if it’s worth anything anymore.”

$1 bill – Brittany Spears.  Still worth something when it comes down to it, but the value has plummeted.  Possibly the crotch shot picture should be used because it’s the only thing keeping her in circulation today. 

$3 bill – The guy claiming to have killed Jon Benet.  (This is assuming that “Queer,” as in queer as a three dollar bill, means “odd.”   Well, it probably works the other way, too)

$5 bill – Comparative photos of the walking skeletons of Nicole Richie, Lindsay Lohan, and whichever one of the Olsen Twins it is that’s scary thin. 

$10 bill – a picture of Tom and Katie together with Katie sporting a suspicious “bump” suggesting a possible second spawn or offspring. 

$20 bill – Brad

$50 bill – Angelina

$100 bill – Brad and Angelina feeding African babies

$1,000,000 bill – Brad and Angelina comforting the Crocodile Hunter’s daughter as they watch the stolen death footage of her father.

Of course these would all have to change frequently, as popularity (and therefore value) would fluctuate constantly.

Really, the possibilities are endless.  Presently, I’m working on renaming all car makes and models after celebrities.  I will forward my suggestions to you upon completion. Religions are on the back burner for now. 

Thank you for your attention to this matter and I trust you will be contacting your lobbyists and representatives to put these concepts into law. 

Sincerely,

Sean Hewlett 

A Letter Home after all the claims of My Spam Emails Actually Panned Out

Dear Dad,

Sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve written, but you wouldn’t believe the series of events I’ve been through.  They don’t seem to be slowing down either. 

I hope all is well.  How is the eczema?  I know a great PhAra-Macy, so I can get you some prescription skin cream direct from Canada.  That’s where they make the good drugs, apparently.  If they don’t have what you need,  I also know a couple of really good PHAhoRMACYs.  

Life has definitely been fast paced, but incredibly easy, too.  I have plenty of free time ever since I quit my job.  Yep, that’s right, finally free of the rat race!  But don’t worry, Pop.  It wasn’t some rash, irresponsible decision.  I simply don’t need a job anymore.  It’s pretty complicated, but essentially, the distant relatives of South African royalty needed my help transferring their wealth to American dollars.  All I had to do is cover some legal fees and give them my bank account info and PRESTO, instant millionaire! Even without the millions of dollars I raked in off of this transaction, I’m not sure I’d even need a job.  I’ve completely cleared up my credit.  It’s spotless and I didn’t have to pay off a single thing.  Also, I just keep winning free gas for a year.  So far, my fuel costs are covered until 2026.  According to this book I’m reading, we’ll already be out of oil by then anyway, so I hope these funds will transfer to whatever fuel source we’ll be using by then.   Still with all this financial security, it’s still good to have my 17 degrees to fall back on, just in case.  

My sex life is incredible, with all the vIa-GGraA I have at my disposal.  It doesn’t come in too handy with the Christian Singles I’ve been meeting in my area, but all those bored and lonely housewives that love to cheat on their husbands sure put it to good use.  Also, ever since I got sexy lips in just 10 minutes, re-grew all my thinning hair, got fit and toned in just 2 minutes a day, reduced my wrinkles in less than 28 days, and boosted my metabolism to burn fat at an unbelievable rate, the girls are all over me.  As a matter of fact, later on tonight I’m hooking up with some girl who contacted me to get together for a se-xUalENcounter.  Can you believe how forward women are today?  I’ve have most assuredly become the man that women desire.

But, Dad, this is just between you and me, now, I really don’t know what to do since the size of my manhood has so dramatically increased.  It’s really become quite cumbersome and finding pants that fit is almost impossible.  I’ve taken to wearing kilts.  Long kilts.  Also, I’m kind of worried about the increased risk of pregnancy since I’ve double the volume of my ejaculation.  Speaking of which, I found this really great Stain Remover.  I’ve got some extra free samples if you’d like to try it.  

 We really should get together soon.  Better yet, we should get away and spend some vacation time together.  I still have 13 free Disneyland all expenses paid vacations left.  The last 9 times were great.  There’s always Vegas, though.  I still have roughly 27 free weekend getaways.  Your choice.   

How’s that little brother of mine doing?  Last I heard he was just starting his third year in college.  I love the kid to death, Dad, and I hate to be negative, but three years and still not a single degree?  I really have to question his direction in life.  There is no reason anyone should take three years and still not have what they could earn in three weeks.  Have him call me, Dad.  If college isn’t for him, tell him I’ll get him started in Real estate.  Nothing major, but I’d give him a few dozen of the houses I’ve picked up for pennies on foreclosures.  I’ll teach him all about refinancing, too.  The 12 times I refinanced last week saved me a bundle.   

 Well, I need to get going.  I have a big meeting with my lawyer about my inheritance and I’ve got to get to the bank beforehand.  I guess Great Uncle Herbert Hewlett passed away.  I always thought Grandpa’s brother’s names were Ralph and Perry.  That Family Bible you passed down to me must have some mistakes in it because I can’t find Herbert anywhere on the family tree in the front of it.  Weird that he’d skip over you and your brother and I’d be his heir.  I never even met him.  I suppose after I give them the cashier’s check to cover some sort of escrow fee or something, I’ll find out the whole story.    

 Give Mom my love and tell her to set aside some time.  I want to take her on a ShOpping SprEE.   

 Love, Sean 

 P.S. Wish me luck in the
UK lottery.  I’m a finalist!

Two More Rejections

They came like machine gun fire today…okay, that’s a little over-the-top.  There were two right in a row, so i guess that doesn’t qualify as machine gun-like.  It was rapid fire, though.  47 seconds apart, according to email time stamps. 

It’s not a big surprise that the rejections were close together because they were both from the same magazine.  One Story told me, “unfortunately,  we feel your story doesn’t fit with One Story.”  And then told me the same thing 47 seconds later. 

 You can’t even open two emails and their attachments that quickly, nonetheless read a story and respond to it.  So I see two possibilities.  I’m not sure which I dislike more…

The first possibility is that there was a list of stories to review, so the editors got together, made their final selection, as One Story is precisely that…One story at a time makes up the whole issue, and then emailed everyone else that didn’t make that final cut all in one sitting. 

 The second possibility is that they saw my submission, didn’t recognize the name as anyone noteworthy in the literary world and sent me the cut and paste or autoresponse.

I don’t like the first possibility becuase it means I didn’t make the grade. 

I don’t like the second possibility because I didn’t even get a chance.

 My first response is to think the second possibility is better, not having been rejected on my actual work, but solely because my name is not yet marketable, but the more I think about that, the more I tend to think the second possibility is much worse. 

No, I am positive the second possibility is worse. 

It would be worlds better to have an editor write back, telling me how he really didn’t like what I wrote, why it sucked, what needs his magazine has that I failed to meet, all the problems he saw with what I wrote than to just have my stuff thrown out. 

This initial response, thinking it might be better not to have been rejected based on my work, is almost the exact cowardice that kept me from sending any stories out to publishers for years.  I could come up with a million reasons back then why it wasn’t time yet.  Didn’t have enough stories.  Didn’t have a plan.  Didn’t have my “voice” yet.  Didn’t know how it all worked yet.  Didn’t think this story or that story was polished enough….

And I believed every one of them. 

I can’t speak for everyone who writes, but I know for me, it’s a real roller coaster of confidence.  I’ll finish a story, read it through and think it’s a good strong piece that I am proud to have my name attached to.  I’ll read it and know it has a real shot at being published.

Then, my confidence will roll over the top of that hill and start its way down.  I’ll try to explain a story to someone and hear my own verbal explanation of the story and think, Wow, that really sounds awful when I explain it like that.  I’ll start to think of the sheer volume of people trying to get published out there and start to wonder what exactly makes me think my stuff should stand out or what keeps my stuff from just being run of the mill.  I’ll read a fantastic short story and think Now that’s how it’s done.

But then i’ll pick up some literary magazine or even a book and run across something I feel really is run of the mill. That’s when I start up the next hill.  At the risk of sounding cocky, I have to admit, I’ve read published material and thought If this got published I know my stuff is good enough.  Sometimes all it takes is just to re-read one of my stories to boost my confidence again.

As time goes by, despite the rejections, I have more ups than downs in my confidence level.  More and more, the downs are just becoming moments of doubt that are fleeting.  I think i’ll need to find a new analogy to replace my roller coaster one.  it’s a pretty boring roller coaster that spends most of its time going uphill.

My Interview with the Magic Eight Ball

I am often overwhelmed when I turn to the evening news or a daily newspaper.  It seems like there are so many issues and problems in our society and in the world as a whole and so few people with any answers.  I cannot recall the last time I heard a politician pitch an idea that seemed like a reasonable answer to any of our social problems.  In my search for some answers, I turned to the one source of reliable information from my childhood.  The Magic Eight Ball. 

Sean Hewlett: “Magic Eight Ball, what do you feel is the biggest issue that we, as Americans must overcome over all else?”

 

Magic Eight Ball: “DON’T COUNT ON IT.”

 

SH: “Hmm, I am not sure I follow you.  Maybe I should ask it this way; is terrorism the biggest threat to our daily lives and existence as a culture today?”

 

MEB: “SIGNS POINT TO YES.”

 

SH: “Interesting.  So do you feel we are winning the War on Terror?”

 

MEB: “CONCENTRATE AND ASK AGAIN.”

 

SH: “umm, okay… do you feel we are winning the War on Terror?”

 

MEB: “MOST LIKELY.”

 

SH: “It sounds like you have your doubts.”

 

MEB: “BETTER NOT TELL YOU NOW.”

 

SH: “I hardly think this is the time to avoid the question, Mr. Ball, what with your identifying terrorism as the biggest issue in our lives and then expressing some doubt over the effectiveness of the War on Terror.  Wouldn’t you agree that American deserves a response?”

 

MEB: “MY SOURCES SAY NO.”

 

SH: “Your sources, huh.  I am glad you mentioned that. For years, you have referred to these sources with no clarity as to whom they may be.  Let’s get to the bottom of this.  Are these sources in any way connected to the government?”

 

MEB: “REPLY HAZY, ASK AGAIN LATER.”

 

SH: “Oh, no, you’re not out of the hot seat that easily.  I will ask again.  Are these sources connected to the government?”

 

MEB: “YES.”

 

SH: “Thank you for that straight-forward answer, but let’s get specific.  CIA?”

 

MEB: “YES, DEFINITELY.”

 

SH: “Wow, startlingly candid! Don’t you fear the repercussions of revealing this involvement with the CIA?”

 

(Interviewer’s note:  At this point in the interview, the Magic Eight Ball obviously became uncomfortable, replying first “CONCENTRATE AND ASK AGAIN,” then “REPLY HAZY, ASK AGAIN LATER” before finally honestly answering the question.)

 

MEB: “WITHOUT A DOUBT”

 

SH: “This revelation brings up a point…I received reliable information from you several years ago that I now find disturbing, knowing where this information came from.  How exactly did your sources, which we now know as CIA operatives, know anything about whether or not Erica Cox liked me when I was in the second grade?

 

MEB: “WITHOUT A DOUBT”

 

SH: “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

MEB: “AS I SEE IT, YES.”

 

SH: “This is getting us nowhere.  Let’s get back to the matter of national security.  Once again, you presented terrorism as the most pressing issue in
America today.  Did the CIA provide you with information that suggests evidence of future attacks?”

 

MEB: “CONCENTRATE AND ASK AGAIN”

 

SH; “I’m growing tired of these games, Eight Ball.  Would having me “concentrate” really help you answer that question straight-up?”

 

MEB: “IT IS DECIDEDLY SO”

 

SH: “Fine, but I really feel like you’re just having me jump through hoops…Did the CIA provide you with information that suggests evidence of future attacks?”

 

MEB; “OUTLOOK NOT SO GOOD”

 

SH: “Now, does that mean outlook not so good as in the outlook for the safety of American citizens?”

 

MEB: “OUTLOOK GOOD”

 

SH: “So, then…man, let me try to keep up here.  The outlook for terrorists is not so good, but the outlook for American citizens and their safety is good?”

 

MEB: “MY REPLY IS NO”

 

SH: “You’re a real prick sometimes, you know?”

 

MEB: “MY SOURCES SAY NO”

 

SH: “Well, my sources say you’re a tool, but whatever…anyway back to the question at hand.  I’ll go slow here and please, remember, we are talking about the lives of Americans here.  Your information could help save lives, so I implore you to be direct.  IS the “outlook” good for the safety of Americans?”

 

MEB: “CONCENTRATE AND ASK AGAIN”

 

SH: “Are you shitting me?!”

 

MEB: “ASK AGAIN LATER”

 

SH: “Listen…you are not going to frustrate me to the point that I give up on these questions.  Now tell me if the outlook for
America’s safety is good or so help me, I’ll shake you so hard you won’t get rid of the little bubbles inside of you for a month.”

 

MEB: “AS I SEE IT YES”

 

SH: “Thank you! Was it really that hard to just answer the question?”

 

MEB: “VERY DOUBTFUL”

 

SH: “I whole-heartedly agree, you freakin’…never mind.  So with that being said, are we close to shutting down the terrorist threat?”

 

MEB: “VERY DOUBTFUL”

 

SH: “So, while there is no real threat to
America’s safety, at the same time, we are unlikely to stop terrorism.  Nice fence-straddling.  Have you ever thought of running for office?”

 

MEB: “ASK AGAIN LATER”

 

SH: “Well, that sounds like a yes to me.  And you should.  You sound like every other D.C. windbag, avoiding ever really saying anything and avoiding shutting up at the same time.  That’s a real skill.”

 

MEB: “SIGNS POINT TO YES”

 

SH: “I really don’t have the patience for this interview to continue, so let me wrap up with one last pressing question.  Will I get want I asked for on my birthday?”

 

MEB: “OUTLOOK NOT SO GOOD”

 

SH:  “Damn it.”

Commencement Speech I Would Give If Asked to Speak at a Fifth Grade Graduation Ceremony

Children, this may be hard to understand and a difficult truth to face, but that cool reputation you’ve been able to build up over the past 5 years as you climbed the ranks of (Fill in name of School) Elementary will soon work very much against you in three short months as you enter the brattiest, most obnoxious phase of your life and walk the halls of middle school.  The things you’ve learned to display to the world and even brag against are about to become dreadful secrets.  Please, heed these warnings.

You’re G.I. Joe’s are no longer cool.  The same goes for Yu-Gi-Uh, Bratz, Transformers, you get the picture.  You who were known as The One, the one with the most impressive collection of whatever specific toy, you are in particular danger.  It may be too late to keep others from knowing about your collection.  You are about to learn your first lesson in karma for all those times you mocked the lesser collections of others. 

The rest of you, here is how you salvage the situation.  If you are caught with or accused of having any collection of toys, you respond thusly;

First, make a flippant comeback that matches the superior middle school intellect.  Something like, “Yeah, you wish!” or “Whatever.” 

Next, you repeat this with as much contempt as you can put into your voice, “I ganked (or Debo’ed) them from my little brother (or sister) to blow them up with fireworks I stole.” If there is no younger sibling to blame, you name a cousin. 

From there you will do your best to get your hands on fireworks (No, Sparklers and Snakes are not fireworks) and you will invite the accuser over to witness the demolition of the toys. 

Comic books are not going to be cool in middle school either, but do not destroy those.  Doing so will haunt you every time you hear a story about someone being able to retire young from the fortune they made off their old comic book collection.  You just tuck these away in the attic and do not mention them until you are 24 or so.

And for those of you that are known for that really great skill you’ve developed over the years, such as farting the loudest, burping the longest, eating gross things for money, flipping your eyelids inside out, or similar gross-out feats, you are in a complicated situation.  First of all, you need to hold onto these skills. You still need them.  However, the public displays of the skills must halt.  These are boys-only techniques, meaning that for the next several years, possibly the rest of your life, it will not only be okay to do these things in the company of other boys, but it will even be praised, but girls will no longer be impressed by who can create the longest string of spit and still be able to suck it back into his mouth.  Think of these gross-out abilities as your superpowers.  Girls are your kryptonite.  When they are present, your powers disappear. 

And girls, I say boys-only techniques because no matter how hard the boys laugh when you display one of these abilities and seem to approve, this is not the type of approval you will be seeking.  This will make you “one of the boys.”  Boys don’t want to kiss “one of the boys.”  Well, some might, but that gets complicated. 

Here are the things you need to like or just pretend to like to work towards avoiding being a complete social outcast: Popular music, the opposite sex, hanging out, R-rated movies even if you haven’t seen any, basically, whatever MTV tells you to like.  Everything else bores you beyond description, calling for sarcastic remarks and serious rolling of the eyes. 

You’ll need to know what is and is not funny to you anymore.

The following words can no longer cause you to giggle: Fanny, Rump, Doodie, Booger, Crap, Poot, Toot, Wee Wee, Pee Pee, Poopie, Tinkle, or Wiener.  And you must never laugh at a teacher’s joke.  It’s okay to laugh at a teacher when it is done at his or her expense, but you never laugh with a teacher. 

Here is a list of what is funny; All cusswords and obscene gestures.  That’s about it.

It is now time to stop raising your hand to answer questions in class.  Even more important, avoid the sharing of personal anecdotes in classroom participation.  You definitely don’t want to be That Guy. 

Boys, when school shopping comes around this year, make sure your supplies include a large trapper keeper.  All I’ll say is there are times you are going to need it for cover.  You’ll understand later.  And that reminds me, at school dances, keep a little daylight between you and the girl you are slow dancing with. 

All these things being said, it is important to know these are methods to minimize the level of shunning you are about to experience.  There is nothing you can do to make yourself be cool next school year.  You can only be a little less uncool. Why?  One phrase: Low man on the totem pole.  Think about it, would you, as lofty ultra-cool fifth graders revere even the hippest of kindergarteners as cool and spend your free time hanging out with them?  I think not. 

But have hope.  In two short years, you’ll be ready to take over as 8^th graders, top of the heap again.  Of course, there’s the next year where you will take an even bigger leap from cool to social outcast than you are about to embark on, but worry about that when you get there.  You are really not ready for the advice you’ll need for that jump.

Famous Names That Are Less Impressive When Attached to Alternative Job Titles

Conan the Career Advisor

The Great and Terrible Fluffer of Oz

Bret “The Informant” Hart

Assistant Manager Hogg

John Henry the Tax Filin’ Man

Dr. Doom, DDS

How do you shake a bad story idea?

I can’t get rid of this really crappy story idea.  I keep thinking up new plot twists and character details and I don’t want to.  It’s not even a genre I’ve written in before or ever planned on.  It’s science fiction.   I am not a science fiction fan at all.  I loved the Star Wars movies as a kid and occasionally, i’ll still like a science fiction movie, like Pitch Black, Fifth Element, or 12 Monkeys, but most of the time, it’s horrible.  Especially the books.  Bradbury is a wonderful author and at one time, I thought he was the best, but I don’t think his stuff was really science fiction.  There just isn’t a genre for what he writes, so they stuck that label on. 

To play word association, science fiction makes me think of words like redundant, played out, unoriginal, virgin…okay, just kidding about the last one.  After shamefully going to the Star Wars convention (which made me never refer to myself as a Star Wars fan again), I am well aware that there are plenty of space nerds that are female and are likely to be aroused by the size of a man’s lightsaber…no, literally a lightsaber, so science fiction fans are much more likely to lose their virginity than the stereotypes give them credit for.  Though I’d be willing to bet they’d call it “docking my starship” or “connecting to her USB port” or “engaging in the mating ritual”…something like that. 

Anyway, the few pieces of science fiction that I like do away with the cliches and formulas of science fiction, which most of the time have to do with intentionally going for weirdness, like “Oh, look how different these aliens are…the MEN have the babies!” type of stuff.  The big cliche is the rouge badboy starfighter that has a heart of gold under his sarcasm and rough exterior…and my story idea has that cliche.

It’s awful.  I have these played out plot details about the hunting down and exterminating of a predatory alien race that was discovered after a settlement of humans was already established on their planet.  Okay, I guess that makes them native, not alien, but you get the gist.  There is a special squad that patrols for these creatures,  of which my cliched character is the most effective yet problematic member.  You know the guy.  You’ve seen him in a thousand other movies.  The guy no one understands yet respects because of what he has been through.  The guy that just won’t conform.

And it just keeps growing in my head without an original detail to the story.  I have thought about it being a fish-out of-water story, having my rogue antihero awakened from suspended animation several years into the future, as he was top pilot of his time and trained on the prototypes of ships that it took years to actually put into the field.  Something horrible like that.  You know, the old being part of a military experiment that he comes to regret and resent plot line. 

I wrote a story…well, okay, I started a story that I never finished about these awful story ideas and how they invade what I consider decent story ideas.  It was about two college sophomores both majoring in creative writing who, after they both experienced awful freshman roommates, decided it would be best to room with each other.  Both agreed that it would be the only way to guarantee having a roommate that would respect writing and create an atmoshpere that supported the needs of a writer.  How it turned out though, was that their definition of that atmosphere was very different and there were two really horrible qualities in the roommate that kept the main character from being the productive writer he wanted to be.  It was really about the two problems with my own writing and how I get in my way of being the productive writer I want to be.

 The first quality the roommate and I share is the tendency to not see a story through.  The roommate, who was named Sam, would be all fired up about his story, talking about it and focusing on it and only it for several days, then never managing to put it on paper.  It drove the main character crazy, as Sam would share all the details with him and then, after invading the thoughts of his roommate, Sam would just leave him hanging, never finding out how the story ended up.  It was like watching 45 minutes of an hour long TV show time after time.   

I think I have at least 20 stories that I have started that are left in my unfinished short stories folder on my computer.  I think all of them are strong enough ideas to follow through with, some of them I already have mentally written the entire story.  I just get sidetracked and start a new story or revisit an old one, putting whatever i’m working on in limbo.  Some of these have been in that folder for four or five years. 

 The other one is the bad story idea.  While his roommate was working on serious ideas or trying to concrentrate on other things, good old Sammo would bombard him with these really awful story ideas, full of gimmicks and cliches.  I do this same thing to myself. 

My brain just won’t cooperate when I want to stop entertaining a story idea.  I want to move on, work on something I feel is worthwhile, I just can’t let the crappy one die.

What’s really awful, is this science fiction story is not a short story type of idea.  It just keeps getting longer and longer. 

So please, someone convince me to let this garbage die.  Laugh at me.  Make fun of me.  Something.  Let’s somehow put this turd to rest right here.

 Actually, that might be a good idea.  Maybe the humility it would take to put the garbage story ideas out there would be what it took to never go down that path again.

So, let’s try to put to rest some of the really horrible, completely shit ideas i’ve had, put to rest right here.  I’ll just lay them all out on the table and see if maybe the shame of letting them out allows me to leave them behind forever.  Some of them are single scenes of a story, some are just general concepts, some are dialogue, and some are plot aspects.  Some are bad because they are cliches.  Some are bad because they are so far-fetched.  Some are bad because they are just so damn stupid.  Some are from years ago, some are pretty fresh.  Some I put on paper, some I just let fester in my head.  So, in no particular order, the bad ideas are…

- People being trapped at a diner that somehow has become this place where nothing electrical will work anymore (where the hell did I think this Twilight Zone reject was going?).

 - A futuristic story about a guy figuring out that the computer system that connected and ran everything was fatally flawed committing suicide after being framed for creating that fatal flaw ( I promise I wrote this beauty before I’d ever heard of the internet…and yeah, I did actually write this one.  i’ll blame it on being 14 years old at the time…even though I was 18.  14 just sounds, I don’t know…less humiliating?).

- A Caucasian man discovering his grandfather wasn’t really his grandfather after being diagnosed with Sickle Cell Anemia.

 - A homicide detective and full-blooded Seminole tracks down a childhood friend, chocked full of Seminole traditions pulled from an encyclopedia and forced into the plot

- A story that started with the sentence I had died.  I have no clue where that idea could go, but I’m sure it wouldn’t go anywhere near “interesting.”

- A story about a guy selling his soul to the devil, which the devil keeps in a jar…yeah, a jar…in his room full of soul-jars in hell.  In return, the devil gives the guy all kinds of powers to help hunt down all the escaped souls from hell.  the guy, instead, uses his powers to free his own soul from hell and then spends eternity running from the devil and fighting off other super-powered minions.  Probably would be a pretty long book, it going on through eternity and all.  Man, was that one embarrassing to share.

- Another soul stealing story idea, inspired by the steaming turd of a story I just described, in which a man is approached by the devil and informed that the man’s father sold his son’s soul and the devil was going to collect in three days, taking the man to hell.  The story was all about how he would handle those three days.  Petty revenge and life regrets faced and dealt with.  Maybe I should have never read Legion, or Son of Rosemary.  Yeah, I’ll blame it on that.

- A story about bounty hunters.  The only thing I came up with was the detail of how the leader had a sawed-off shotgun chained to his belt so it was always ready for a quick draw.  I have no clue what to blame this little nugget on.

- A story about someone leaving an unsolvable math problem on the chalkboard and one night, the janitor…oh, wait.  That wasn’t my bad story idea.  Never mind.

- A football story about a guy who is always stuck with the dirty work assignments on plays finally getting his chance at glory. The bad thing about this story, other than it being another huge cliche, was the fact I wrote this as a teenager who didn’t know much about football.  The final play of the game would have been whistled for illegal man down field.  It was a pretty embarrassing moment when I let my free safety friend read it before anyone else and as soon as he finished, he pretended to blow a whistle, yelled out the call of illegal man down field, and started laughing.

 - A story for which, somehow…my money is on pity…I got an A on in my 9th grade journalism and writing class.  It was this really awful Vietnam war story called…oh, man, I can’t believe I’m admitting this…Scared Little Boys.  Mr. Grieve, if you’re reading this, please contact me and explain how you refrained from laughing in my face when I turned this in.  The incredibly awful climax of the story was our main character trying to steal a helicopter to get to somewhere he could make a clean break from the army and go off to live his life in hiding rather than to continue to face the horrors of war.  You know, something subtle like that would be sure to work.  Ehh, I killed him in the getaway anyway.

- Another war story written later that same year…a really long one…about a family in which someone from each generation had fought in every American war.  I guess you can imagine how hard I laughed years later when I saw Forrest Gump and Forrest explained about Lt. Dan’s family history.  That 30 second scene totally summed up my craptastic war epic.  I still laugh when I see that scene. 

 - A story, actually a novel, about a guy who worked in a psych facility discovering that some of the patients were in the middle of this battle between good and evil, but he can never sort out what is truth and what is delusion when the patients share the details of their struggles.  Yeah, thank goodness for that tendency to not follow through with some stories, huh?  I let this one peter out after 50 or 60 pages.  Wow, that’s a lot of wasted time. 

I’m sure there have been plenty more, but for now, that’s all I can remember, mercifully.  It really is ugly to see them spelled out there in front of me. I hope the humiliation of sharing this is incentive enough to steer me away from entertaining those bad story ideas.  I’m sure more will pop up.  I don’t really have a problem with that.  I just really want to stop feeding them and helping them grow. 

The First Rejection

I knew as soon as I picked up the envelope. Too thin, too light. No way it contained anything like a letter explaining the next step of the process and when to expect to see the published story or, oh, I don’t know, a check? I could see there was only a little rectangle of yellow paper inside, about 2 inches by 3 inches. I was pretty sure all that could fit on such a small piece of paper was “NO.”

I was close. It was from the Georgia Review. It wasn’t even a letter, just a photocopied note that thank me for considering them but my work didn’t fit their needs. Good luck, unspecified writer!

I still have that piece of paper, along with all the other rejection notices. I don’t know the total count off the top of my head, but it’s a long way from that awful “First 100 submissions” I keep hearing about.

I keep them all just to remind me that I still have a lot of work to do and I can’t let “No thanks” be the last thing I hear about my writing. Also, it helps me keep track of who to send junk to when I get to that phase of my career that Vonnegut went through when he knew he was so well received he could write trash and it would be widely accepted and praised. I mean, that’s likely, right?

That first one stands out to me because I wasn’t as ready as I thought I was to hear no. I’d imagined a lot of different responses from the Georgia Review, some good, some bad, but none of them were as complete of a blow off as what I’d received. I’d done what everyone does with the unknown, filled it in what assumptions and guesses. I’d assumed that I’d get some comments about my story and guessed there might be a critique of my work. Now that I know how extremely rare it is to get any personal response, it’s not quite the shock it was to get some generic rejection that doesn’t even conform that anyone had even lifted the coverpage.

The story was called Sideshow. It’s a story I wrote all in one sitting in one of those rare times the words just seem to keep stringing themselves together without any effort from me. If writing was always like that, I’d be a complete junkie. I’d be like I was with video games when I was in middle school, pretending to have thrown up so I could get a little bit closer to rescuing Zelda and running on two or three hours of sleep because I was just so close to figuring out how to beat Super Machoman and finally get that bout with Tyson.

As great as that “zone” as I’ve heard other writers refer to it is, it incredibly rare and completely unpredictable. It’s such a rare thing that the few times it’s happened, I’ve thought it just might be the last time I was fortunate enough to experience it. 

Alright, so that first one is out of the way.  It was a good experience, looking back.  No, seriously.  I’m not just trying to convince myself that getting shot down on the first try was wonderful.  That part of it still sucks.  I mean it was a good experience in that I now know what to expect and I don’t have to rely just on my imagination to conjure up the reaction of editors.  There’s not the anxiety that comes with the complete unknown.