It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Yesterday, while a little cold, was beautiful. All sunshiny and bright. Lovely.

Today will be cloudy, but it's Sunday, and I get to work on what I want, not what I have to, so it's still a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

But tomorrow it's back to the grind. And I do mean the grind.

Feedle-dee-dee, said Scarlett. I shall think about that tomorrow.

Check it out!

Hey, check it out! I got a comment (from the illustrious christineeldin). See below.

I've had John Cougar Mellencamp's song "Jack and Diane" running through my head for the past three days. But it's just the bridge, running as a loop:

Gonna let it rock, let it ro-oll
Let the bible belt come and save my sou-u-ol
Hold on to sixteen, as long as you ca-an
Changes come around real soon, make us women and men

Only I thought the lyrics were:

Slowly rock, let it ro-oll
Let the bottle bounce, come and save my sou-u-ol
Hold on to sixteen, as long as you ca-an
blah blah blah blah real soon, make us livin' and then

Oh.

I guess my version doesn't make much sense. "Let the bible belt come and save my soul" does work a lot better. Damn clever line, too. My respect for JCM just went up. Now if he would just politely get out of my head.

Hmmm.

I think I may not have been displaying my blog, having had my profile set to "private." That means I've been doing the blogging equivalent of talking to myself. Oops.

Oh well. Now I can stop calling this blog Freddie's Cafe, and call it what it really is - Freddie the Attention Whore's Blog.

Okay, Okay

Ignored by health insurance company.

Ignored by attorney (who is working pro bono, but still).

Ignored by disorganized director who was possibly lying when he told me he was a director when he sold me a computer.

Ignored by client head honcho, who, thankfully, was not at work when I realized I had forgotten to e-mail him my timesheet. I e-mailed it to his lateral head honcho who promptly signed it.

Can't remember who else is not returning my calls or e-mails, but I'm sure I can think of a few million more.

Perhaps it's all payback for the coworker I've ignored for two weeks because she wouldn't stop talking to me on the train for four days straight. But you know, she kept poking me.

Murphy's Law

ATTENTION. The following has been decided by the Powers That Be: When you are getting into a groove writing your story and get to a part that you like and are really on a high, your cursor will freak out and start running backwards, abandoning you and a moment which will never return again.

The Management apologizes for this inconvenience. We are working to rectify the problem and hope to have it fixed by 2010.

On Writing

My job is two hours and fifteen minutes from where I live. It used to be three. No, I didn't move closer, and the job site sure as hell didn't move closer to me. I just found a better route home, is all. (The way the trains and buses meet up, getting home used to take three hours.)

So during the week I'm little more than a zombie who works, sleeps, and eats. I don't do anything interesting during the week. And I pretty much hate it.

Weekends I write. I do try to write on the train, but in the mornings, I'm too exhausted (I leave by 6 a.m.). At night, I just want to read on the way home.

I just read through a story I recently wrote. I thought I would wince—I usually find reading my first drafts painful—but I found myself pleasantly surprised. My story-telling skills leave something to be desired, but I liked much of the word content.

I have a whole philosophy on writing, you see. I believe there are good storytellers, and then there are good writers. Dostoevsky, for example, was an excellent writer, but a horrible storyteller. JK Rowling is a frocking great storyteller, but her writing is so-so.

There are very few writers who can do both. Stephen King is one, although his writing can be uneven. Neil Gaiman is another. I think he's both a great writer and a great storyteller. Gene Wolfe, a writer who makes the rest of us want to impale ourselves on our pens, is both a great writer and a great storyteller. You remember the words and the story.

For me, right now, I think I'm a pretty good writer and a beginning storyteller. Which means I'm a rather lousy storyteller. I think I need to analyze more when I read, instead of letting things just soak in. Osmosis is fine. Photosynthesis is fine. But I think I've been avoiding analysis. No, I have been avoiding analysis.

So. Gotta go do some analysis. Also, my computer is getting wanky—a sign I need to shut down for the night.

Good night, and good luck.

The Electric Church - Jeff Somers

In Somer's novel, The Electric Church, the world is a bad, bad place. Avery Cates is a Gunner—a professional hit man. He lives in a future world, one has been unified into one government—a government that apparently leaves no rights to its citizens. In fact, most of the world lives in gut-wrenching poverty while the richest few buy their way into jobs and healthcare.

Kind of like it is now.

He's killed 26 people, and is desperately, while not very successfully, trying to escape the attention of both the SSF (the cops) and the Monks, who head The Electric Church. The Church is full of Monks, cyborgs who have human brains and electric everything else. The Monks have the fastest-growing religion in the world, due to their extremely aggressive recruitment methods—methods that make one long for those innocuous Jehovah's Witnesses roaming your neighborhood on Sunday mornings.

He winds up mixed up with both the SSF and the Monks and puts together a team to help him beat both the cops and the Monks, all against impossible numbers and impossible odds.

I looked forward to reading The Electric Church for months. It starts off very strong, but eventually Somers gives way to hyperbole and repetition.

Two and a half shots.

Blogger. Bugger.

Keeping a blog is harder than I thought it would be.

Not much time to write lately, sadly. Working a job in the 'burbs, while I live in the city. Lots of travel time. Ugh.

I don't like that.

I'm torn between wanting it to last, so I can pay my rent, and wanting it to end, so I can stop traveling so much.

Freelancing is hard work. But I shall persevere.