Alright, not exactly, but a post is in order before I head to work. I found a song by Dave Matthews yesterday, then found a Willie Nelson cover of it on Youtube. The result after a couple listens was a decent piece of imagery that led to an all day writing session after mowing my lawn.
So now, adding to my works I have:
"Ain't Gonna Dig No More" - 3,535 words - Submitted to Potters Field.
Not scary, but I like it. I guess the best way to put it would be "Supernatural literature".
And below...find the video that got me writing on it in the first place.
Showing posts with label writer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writer. Show all posts
Monday, August 25, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
A non-writing post (yeah right)
Hello ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to another edition of my Weekend Update. This is comign on the heels of my previous post, an announcement of acceptance. To warn you, this post has nothing to do with writing in the beginning, and only a little at the end.
Today we hit the floor. Yes, I have joined the rank of Corporate Cubicle Cretins, assisting the elderly with their insurance policies. It's official. I have my own desk, a window view of the river, and easy access to the printer/coffee machine. Can life get better?
No, but it CAN get worse. This morning my wife told me she thought her water had broken. Thankfully, it seemed to be a reaction to some food she an my daughter had the night before. I escaped only by my refusal to eat bagged veggies, I believe. Considering she is 8 months along, though, she agreed to call her doctor. The doc had her go to the hospital, and my father was gracious enough to postpone his weekend trip with my mother to Michigan to get her there. This led, as my team and I were strolling down main street for our 2-hour celebration luncheon, to him calling me.
He then erroneously informed me her water had, indeed, broken. What he meant is the octor said that MIGHT be the case. We still have two weeks to go at the least, according to the doc, and that relaxed me. After two hours of sitting at work thinking my wife was in labor.
From that to Sunday when...I found out I need glasses. I'd been getting horrible headaches after squinting all day, trying to read the computer screen at work. My eyes were tired an bloodshot every night. So, while getting my daughter her checkup for school, I got my eyes checked as well. I now wear glasses, and am not happy about it.
Now for the writing mention:
Tomorrow, after mwoing the lawn, I'll be starting on another story for the Dark Jesters anthology.
See, told you it wasn't much.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Today we hit the floor. Yes, I have joined the rank of Corporate Cubicle Cretins, assisting the elderly with their insurance policies. It's official. I have my own desk, a window view of the river, and easy access to the printer/coffee machine. Can life get better?
No, but it CAN get worse. This morning my wife told me she thought her water had broken. Thankfully, it seemed to be a reaction to some food she an my daughter had the night before. I escaped only by my refusal to eat bagged veggies, I believe. Considering she is 8 months along, though, she agreed to call her doctor. The doc had her go to the hospital, and my father was gracious enough to postpone his weekend trip with my mother to Michigan to get her there. This led, as my team and I were strolling down main street for our 2-hour celebration luncheon, to him calling me.
He then erroneously informed me her water had, indeed, broken. What he meant is the octor said that MIGHT be the case. We still have two weeks to go at the least, according to the doc, and that relaxed me. After two hours of sitting at work thinking my wife was in labor.
From that to Sunday when...I found out I need glasses. I'd been getting horrible headaches after squinting all day, trying to read the computer screen at work. My eyes were tired an bloodshot every night. So, while getting my daughter her checkup for school, I got my eyes checked as well. I now wear glasses, and am not happy about it.
Now for the writing mention:
Tomorrow, after mwoing the lawn, I'll be starting on another story for the Dark Jesters anthology.
See, told you it wasn't much.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Northern Haunts
Well, got a letter from Tim Deal, editor of Shroud's Northern Haunts anthology the other day. It was a request for a rewrite on my story "It Wonder Me". I rewrote, sent it back to him with the changes noted in an e-mail. Today, I heard back.
"Many Comforting Words", a ghost story set in Eastern Connecticut (formerly "It Wonder Me", a ghost story set in Pennsylvania Dutch country) will be published in the Northern Haunts anthology. Considering that, almost two years ago, my grandmother (who was the glue in my family and the namesake of my unborn youngest daughter) died of cancer, I'm very happy to be involved with this anthology.
Alright!
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
"Many Comforting Words", a ghost story set in Eastern Connecticut (formerly "It Wonder Me", a ghost story set in Pennsylvania Dutch country) will be published in the Northern Haunts anthology. Considering that, almost two years ago, my grandmother (who was the glue in my family and the namesake of my unborn youngest daughter) died of cancer, I'm very happy to be involved with this anthology.
Alright!
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Productive Day
Went to the doctor yesterday to make sure my wife isn't going to fall apart. She's healthy, babies are healthy, however I stepped on the scale and was amazed at how much those little numbers kept going up. I'm going to act like an overly-dramatic southern belle instead of the stubble-strewn, bourbon drinking man that I am and refuse to say my exact weight. What it is suffice to say, though, is that I am closer to 300 lbs than 200 lbs, and am now in shock that I let myself go to that extent. Gym membership here I come, and I might even actually use it.
As for other things, I still haven't heard back about the Contract Load job. I have another phone interview (man I hate those things) today for a "Customer Service" slot that I don't especially think will have me jumping for joy, but it'd be a job. I sat down after getting home yesterday and started typing on a niggle of an idea on what that previously posted picture could be. I'm now roughly 5,000 words into the rough draft, and am still working towards a conclusion. Sure, it'll get trimmed in revision, but c'mon, 5,000 words in one day with only an hour's break to watch Jerry Springer in between? That ain't too bad.
Still waiting to hear from Voices on whether my triumph ends on the short list. Like I said, I'm happy just to be nominated.
Back to work,
J.C. Tabler
As for other things, I still haven't heard back about the Contract Load job. I have another phone interview (man I hate those things) today for a "Customer Service" slot that I don't especially think will have me jumping for joy, but it'd be a job. I sat down after getting home yesterday and started typing on a niggle of an idea on what that previously posted picture could be. I'm now roughly 5,000 words into the rough draft, and am still working towards a conclusion. Sure, it'll get trimmed in revision, but c'mon, 5,000 words in one day with only an hour's break to watch Jerry Springer in between? That ain't too bad.
Still waiting to hear from Voices on whether my triumph ends on the short list. Like I said, I'm happy just to be nominated.
Back to work,
J.C. Tabler
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Run for the Roses
So it's almost Derby here in Louisville, Kentucky, and while the horses dance in their stalls the jackasses wander the streets clad in garish suits of expensive cut, fueled by bourbon and boorish manners. My reaction has been to write, again, though I'm not making much headway.
Still waiting on rejections. In the meantime, I pounded out a short rough of another story that needs some expanding, but not too much. I'll most likely work on that for the next couple days, fleshing it a little more and smoothing out some rough spots. There's no excuse for me rushing through the first draft, other than I was on a roll when I started writing it, and wanted to get at least the major plot points down while the idea was fresh. A few extra paragraphs, some trimming of the fat and some rewording, and that'll be all she wrote on it. We'll see if it turns out as well as I think it will.
Job interview on the phone went well yesterday. They're passing my resume on up the ladder to see if they want to call me in for a face-to-face interview concerning the job. AFL-CIO accepted me for their second round of interview/training in June if I want to go. However, none of it is happening fast enough. Last week's illness has caused a major hit to the pocketbook, and rent is due tomorrow, so we're scraping and crying as that $1500.00 may be a few more days (or weeks. I hate office politics) in getting to my bank account. So we've got to come up with the rent, then another $200.00 to keep the power on. We'll live, we have so far. It's just tight around the house while I'm looking for work. But I'm not complaining. I've got neighbors, friends, and family willing to lend us a little cash if we need to, but I hate taking money even if I need it. I've placed a moratorium on Ebay, to the point that it is no longer accessible on our computer. I'm trying...just trying...to keep my head afloat for another week or two here.
Alright, complaints done. I'll be writing tonight, then starting in on a little bit of planning for anohter short story, another horror piece, that sorta leaped into my mind the other day. Needs some serious developing, but I know there's a story behind that image. Peace, J.C. Tabler
Edit 13:19 05/01/08
Going through a website or two of abandoned hotel photos, I found this picture. I don't know why, but there's something inherently creepy about this image. Especially that chair. Hence the reason that it has kicked the horror portion of my mind open again, and started sprinkling story dust. Yes, although I mainly enjoy listening to music while writing, today I think a story idea has started with this one picture.
Steal it, and I swear I'll kill you. It's just too bad this sucker is too late for Voices.
Still waiting on rejections. In the meantime, I pounded out a short rough of another story that needs some expanding, but not too much. I'll most likely work on that for the next couple days, fleshing it a little more and smoothing out some rough spots. There's no excuse for me rushing through the first draft, other than I was on a roll when I started writing it, and wanted to get at least the major plot points down while the idea was fresh. A few extra paragraphs, some trimming of the fat and some rewording, and that'll be all she wrote on it. We'll see if it turns out as well as I think it will.
Job interview on the phone went well yesterday. They're passing my resume on up the ladder to see if they want to call me in for a face-to-face interview concerning the job. AFL-CIO accepted me for their second round of interview/training in June if I want to go. However, none of it is happening fast enough. Last week's illness has caused a major hit to the pocketbook, and rent is due tomorrow, so we're scraping and crying as that $1500.00 may be a few more days (or weeks. I hate office politics) in getting to my bank account. So we've got to come up with the rent, then another $200.00 to keep the power on. We'll live, we have so far. It's just tight around the house while I'm looking for work. But I'm not complaining. I've got neighbors, friends, and family willing to lend us a little cash if we need to, but I hate taking money even if I need it. I've placed a moratorium on Ebay, to the point that it is no longer accessible on our computer. I'm trying...just trying...to keep my head afloat for another week or two here.
Alright, complaints done. I'll be writing tonight, then starting in on a little bit of planning for anohter short story, another horror piece, that sorta leaped into my mind the other day. Needs some serious developing, but I know there's a story behind that image. Peace, J.C. Tabler
Edit 13:19 05/01/08
Going through a website or two of abandoned hotel photos, I found this picture. I don't know why, but there's something inherently creepy about this image. Especially that chair. Hence the reason that it has kicked the horror portion of my mind open again, and started sprinkling story dust. Yes, although I mainly enjoy listening to music while writing, today I think a story idea has started with this one picture.
Steal it, and I swear I'll kill you. It's just too bad this sucker is too late for Voices.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Another Doldrum Day
You have to love Kentucky. One week it gets cold, then chilly, then you walk outside and it's 80 degrees in the bright sunshine, humidity has started to come into play, and you sweat like a stuck pig. I think when we eventually move I'll go somewhere with a more tolerable climate. Like Hell.
Started on another bit of work last night, actually on three different stories. Starting on one about an old lady who refuses to leave her land, a bit about a liar who traps himself, and a strange bit that features Papa Ghede, the Voodoo spirit/god of the dead. I don't know which one will take precedence, but they've all started to develop pretty well so we'll just have to see. Rewrote "The Tribe of Harry" after getting a pleasant rejection letter back from 94Creations for it that insisted it was "just not what they're looking for". Put it in the second person, made it a bit more...oh...blunt on some things, removed a little of the subtlety that both helps and hinders the work. Already resubmitted it, both to a "pie in the sky" market and a down to earth choice that is much more likely.
Waiting on rejections from the following:
"Linguistic Prescription" - ASIM
"Demon Whiskey" - Harvest Hill
"Fragile Obsession" - Ghost in the Machine
"Dead Air" - Aberrant Dreams
"Weekend Trip" - Unspeakable Horrors
"Colburn Men" - McSweeney's Quarterly
"No Tell Motel" - Voices
"Tribe of Harry" - The New Yorker (I just couldn't help myself. I want a rejection from the New Yorker to frame, damn it!)
Soon as those rejections come in, I'll be hopping ready to get started on finding homes for these wayward pieces, or tossing them in the kindling pile, as is appropriate when I read back through them. Hoping to finish three-five stories in the month of May, and get some more work done on "The Long One". I'm not exactly prolific, mainly because I have a habit of getting distracted by other things for a day or two, and falling off track. In June I'm going back through my Disk of Beginnings, where stories that only made it two to three pages before another idea knocked them out of the running. I'll spend most of June figuring out which ones, if any, I can get back to work on.
It's a hard knock life, that's for sure, but hey. I chose it, right?
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Started on another bit of work last night, actually on three different stories. Starting on one about an old lady who refuses to leave her land, a bit about a liar who traps himself, and a strange bit that features Papa Ghede, the Voodoo spirit/god of the dead. I don't know which one will take precedence, but they've all started to develop pretty well so we'll just have to see. Rewrote "The Tribe of Harry" after getting a pleasant rejection letter back from 94Creations for it that insisted it was "just not what they're looking for". Put it in the second person, made it a bit more...oh...blunt on some things, removed a little of the subtlety that both helps and hinders the work. Already resubmitted it, both to a "pie in the sky" market and a down to earth choice that is much more likely.
Waiting on rejections from the following:
"Linguistic Prescription" - ASIM
"Demon Whiskey" - Harvest Hill
"Fragile Obsession" - Ghost in the Machine
"Dead Air" - Aberrant Dreams
"Weekend Trip" - Unspeakable Horrors
"Colburn Men" - McSweeney's Quarterly
"No Tell Motel" - Voices
"Tribe of Harry" - The New Yorker (I just couldn't help myself. I want a rejection from the New Yorker to frame, damn it!)
Soon as those rejections come in, I'll be hopping ready to get started on finding homes for these wayward pieces, or tossing them in the kindling pile, as is appropriate when I read back through them. Hoping to finish three-five stories in the month of May, and get some more work done on "The Long One". I'm not exactly prolific, mainly because I have a habit of getting distracted by other things for a day or two, and falling off track. In June I'm going back through my Disk of Beginnings, where stories that only made it two to three pages before another idea knocked them out of the running. I'll spend most of June figuring out which ones, if any, I can get back to work on.
It's a hard knock life, that's for sure, but hey. I chose it, right?
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Monday, April 14, 2008
I've Scared Myself
So I'm working on the "Creepy Doll" story, hoping to get it finished in time to edit, revise, and send it in to the Ghosts in the Machine anthology. My problem is, that as a Stepdad and a Parent-to-Be, I'm starting to bother myself with this story. It took a very, very dark turn last night that I wasn't planning on, touching on a taboo subject, and I sort of frightened myself a little not just at the subject matter but at how easy it was to write.
I originally had a couple different ways to get from point A to point B, as I knew where it was going but was uncertain on a couple scenes. Typing them, they went from disturbing to just...plain...well, I'm a little shaken by it myself. Not that I'm an amazingly good writer, just the subject matter it hits on is unsettling.
Luckily, there're only two-three more scenes left in the story, then it'll be a wrap on the first draft and edits/revisions left.
I need some warm milk and a cigarette.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
I originally had a couple different ways to get from point A to point B, as I knew where it was going but was uncertain on a couple scenes. Typing them, they went from disturbing to just...plain...well, I'm a little shaken by it myself. Not that I'm an amazingly good writer, just the subject matter it hits on is unsettling.
Luckily, there're only two-three more scenes left in the story, then it'll be a wrap on the first draft and edits/revisions left.
I need some warm milk and a cigarette.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Great Big Gobs of Greasy, Grimey..
You know the rest. Been a hectic couple of days. There's some infighting going on in the family, but that' not unusual. We're all a little off our rockers over here.
This weekend is Thunder Over Louisville, the first one that I've lived downtown for. It is a little disconcerting, to be truthful. I'm already searching for things to do this weekend that will get me out of downtown and away from the traffic. I could always just pack up the wife and laptop and head out to Ray and Angie's on Saturday, as they plan on having some sort of get together. I think it's a spectacular idea, as long as I have no plans to return home until around two in the morning due to all the road closures that'll be happening.
Got a rejection back for my "cheeky" zombie dialogue today, the same one that got sent back from Bits of the Dead. I had resubmitted it to The Town Drunk, and got another "well-written, but not quite right for us" rejection. Not bad, though. I rarely get the "this is horrible" rejection letter, and most of the time get very polite, nice, and personal ones. I see it as a point of pride that I get more personal rejections than form, though it would be nice to occassionally get a personal acceptance, you know what I mean Vern?
Rewrote the "cheeky" piece, added about 500 words or so to lengthen it a bit and put some meat on the characters. It was originally a big bit of dialogue with a few speech tags, written to pump a nice and funny lil story into 500 words or less. Adding a little bit more, I wouldn't call it a story as much as just a nice little scene, and a decent enough chuckle from everyone. After pumping in those extra words, I did a couple revisions with my Blue Pen of Death, then sent it off to Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine to get the next in a series of rejections for it. Hey, if nothing else there's always The Rejected Quarterly after two more, right? Right.
Alright, at work, finishing up soon, then grabbing chow with my folks while the little lady is at work. Then, if it's not time to pick her up, I'll head home and get some story work done on the "Creepy Doll" story, which started going a different direction the other day and may turn out to be speculative fiction after all.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
This weekend is Thunder Over Louisville, the first one that I've lived downtown for. It is a little disconcerting, to be truthful. I'm already searching for things to do this weekend that will get me out of downtown and away from the traffic. I could always just pack up the wife and laptop and head out to Ray and Angie's on Saturday, as they plan on having some sort of get together. I think it's a spectacular idea, as long as I have no plans to return home until around two in the morning due to all the road closures that'll be happening.
Got a rejection back for my "cheeky" zombie dialogue today, the same one that got sent back from Bits of the Dead. I had resubmitted it to The Town Drunk, and got another "well-written, but not quite right for us" rejection. Not bad, though. I rarely get the "this is horrible" rejection letter, and most of the time get very polite, nice, and personal ones. I see it as a point of pride that I get more personal rejections than form, though it would be nice to occassionally get a personal acceptance, you know what I mean Vern?
Rewrote the "cheeky" piece, added about 500 words or so to lengthen it a bit and put some meat on the characters. It was originally a big bit of dialogue with a few speech tags, written to pump a nice and funny lil story into 500 words or less. Adding a little bit more, I wouldn't call it a story as much as just a nice little scene, and a decent enough chuckle from everyone. After pumping in those extra words, I did a couple revisions with my Blue Pen of Death, then sent it off to Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine to get the next in a series of rejections for it. Hey, if nothing else there's always The Rejected Quarterly after two more, right? Right.
Alright, at work, finishing up soon, then grabbing chow with my folks while the little lady is at work. Then, if it's not time to pick her up, I'll head home and get some story work done on the "Creepy Doll" story, which started going a different direction the other day and may turn out to be speculative fiction after all.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Booga Booga Booga
Sitting at home watching From Hell after having dinner last night with a couple we know. Desi is at work, and I'm trying to figure out if I should go ahead and start on a story idea I have niggling around or hold off a while longer to let it develop or disappear.
Did the revisions on my submission for the Unspeakable Horrors anthology and sent that off the other day. Now we play the waiting game. Still toying around with a few other ideas for stories, mainly non-horror stuff, though there are a couple creepy images burned into my head that I can't manage to get rid of. Decided I'm going to have to do more time for revisions and rewrites from now on, since things have started calming down a bit at home and I can concentrate a little better on my work.
Job search is still going. Seems like all there is out there are commission-based sales jobs, things I don't need right now.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Did the revisions on my submission for the Unspeakable Horrors anthology and sent that off the other day. Now we play the waiting game. Still toying around with a few other ideas for stories, mainly non-horror stuff, though there are a couple creepy images burned into my head that I can't manage to get rid of. Decided I'm going to have to do more time for revisions and rewrites from now on, since things have started calming down a bit at home and I can concentrate a little better on my work.
Job search is still going. Seems like all there is out there are commission-based sales jobs, things I don't need right now.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Marathon
Years and years ago, a Greek runner made a mad dash to tell the outcome of a battle. He ran an ungodly distance in a short time, never pausing, and upon reaching his destination yelled a single word "Victory" before collapsing dead. The battle was that of Marathon, to which the race gained its name, and has been used since to signify any long distance goal achieved in a single session.
Tonight I sat down with a little under 2,000 words on paper already and muscled my way through the first draft of my story for the Unspeakable Horrors anthology. It needs work, but the first draft turned out well. Tomorrow I'll be sending it out to get an edit from some friends of mine, then I'll be sitting down to do the rewrite, another edit, and get it packaged up and sent out.
So there we go.
I feel tired, worn, and accomplished at this exact moment in time.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Tonight I sat down with a little under 2,000 words on paper already and muscled my way through the first draft of my story for the Unspeakable Horrors anthology. It needs work, but the first draft turned out well. Tomorrow I'll be sending it out to get an edit from some friends of mine, then I'll be sitting down to do the rewrite, another edit, and get it packaged up and sent out.
So there we go.
I feel tired, worn, and accomplished at this exact moment in time.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Ouch
Every time we "go out" I end up drinking more than I should, then coming home and passing out, feeling like crap in the morning. This is probably I sign I should just quit drinking altogether. I think, seriously, that I'll give that a shot.
I've got a few story ideas niggling around in my head, but with the ones I still have to finish (Sci Fi Molly, Paying the Rent, The Long One, etc.) I don't want to start anything new until I have at least one of those done. Today was going to be a writing day, but I think it may be better just to lay back down with my wife and watch TV for most of the day instead.
Still looking for a full time job, and becoming a cop is starting to look better and better. Ran into a fellow last night whose wife is on the Civilian Review Board during the Chief's Staff interviews. He more or less assured me that as long as I can make a mile in under 18 minutes, the physical standards won't be a big deal. Had a couple more drinks with him, then came home to hear "Where's your shirt?". I...well...sorta took it off on the car ride home. It was nice and cool out, not too cold, and I wanted to feel the air on me for once.
We've got names picked out, at least if it's a boy and a girl. Henry Billingsley Tabler, after her grandfather and my maternal grandfather, and Violet Margaret Tabler, because she likes the name and Margaret was my grandmother who passed a year and a half ago and pretty much raised us. I wanted Margaret as a firs name, but Des is insisting that her father would go crazy. Apparently it was the name of his first wife.
not much else is going on. I've been productive over the past week or so, writing, rewriting, and editing two stories and getting them off for submission. Both are good, and I made certain that if they get rejected (as they were pretty much tailor made for a couple anthologies) I can make some medium-sized changes and make them much less anthology-specific. I like both of them, even if they are horror stories.
Got a cat. Named him Faulkner. We now have a dog named Hemingway and a cat named Faulkner. They already hate each other. Now if i can just talk her into renaming the sugar glider Steinbeck, I can spend my time drinking with my favorite authors at home.
By the way, I've been playing Ikariam. Someone has decided it was a good idea to attack my tiny colony, apparently without realizing I have a massive capital with a big army. This, ladies and gents, is going to be fun.
Go ahead, play Ikariam at Ikariam.org. It's free, easy to learn, and if you're on World Eta we can whup on folks together.
Till later,
J.C. Tabler
I've got a few story ideas niggling around in my head, but with the ones I still have to finish (Sci Fi Molly, Paying the Rent, The Long One, etc.) I don't want to start anything new until I have at least one of those done. Today was going to be a writing day, but I think it may be better just to lay back down with my wife and watch TV for most of the day instead.
Still looking for a full time job, and becoming a cop is starting to look better and better. Ran into a fellow last night whose wife is on the Civilian Review Board during the Chief's Staff interviews. He more or less assured me that as long as I can make a mile in under 18 minutes, the physical standards won't be a big deal. Had a couple more drinks with him, then came home to hear "Where's your shirt?". I...well...sorta took it off on the car ride home. It was nice and cool out, not too cold, and I wanted to feel the air on me for once.
We've got names picked out, at least if it's a boy and a girl. Henry Billingsley Tabler, after her grandfather and my maternal grandfather, and Violet Margaret Tabler, because she likes the name and Margaret was my grandmother who passed a year and a half ago and pretty much raised us. I wanted Margaret as a firs name, but Des is insisting that her father would go crazy. Apparently it was the name of his first wife.
not much else is going on. I've been productive over the past week or so, writing, rewriting, and editing two stories and getting them off for submission. Both are good, and I made certain that if they get rejected (as they were pretty much tailor made for a couple anthologies) I can make some medium-sized changes and make them much less anthology-specific. I like both of them, even if they are horror stories.
Got a cat. Named him Faulkner. We now have a dog named Hemingway and a cat named Faulkner. They already hate each other. Now if i can just talk her into renaming the sugar glider Steinbeck, I can spend my time drinking with my favorite authors at home.
By the way, I've been playing Ikariam. Someone has decided it was a good idea to attack my tiny colony, apparently without realizing I have a massive capital with a big army. This, ladies and gents, is going to be fun.
Go ahead, play Ikariam at Ikariam.org. It's free, easy to learn, and if you're on World Eta we can whup on folks together.
Till later,
J.C. Tabler
Saturday, March 8, 2008
It's been a bit
Let's see, we got ourselves snowed in today. That's the big news. I'm also about to brave the winter cold to run for cigarettes. I am out of smokes.
Now, on to the other stuff. Started a story the other week about a Prohibition agent in 1924 who has, at the end of the story, a supernatural encounter that changes everything for him. This was written in a week, finished today, and edited a couple hours later. I then turned around and submitted it to Harvest Hill Anthology by Graveside Tales. So we start waiting on the rejections.
Speaking of rejections, I got another one for "A Dream of England" from the second volume of the Eclipse Anthology. Not a big deal, they take extremely good work, and this story just isn't it. I'm going to shelf it for a bit, then do another major rewrite on the story to see if I can fix whatever problems there are with it.
Got a rejection for a short piece submitted to Lone Star Stories, though the rejection letter was extremely nice and personal.
Still haven't heard back from Aberrant Dreams for "Dead Air", McSweeneys for a story whose name stays under my hat for the moment until the rejection comes back, Allegory for that short (very short) ghost story I was working on, or Modern Drunkard for "The Tribe of Harry". Among those four, the only one I never expect to hear from is the last, as their staff, for some reason, refuses to send out rejection letters.
I've got another story I'm working on, which I'm referring to as "Sci Fi Molly" for the moment until I finish it, edit it, and stick a title on it.
Till next time,
J.C. Tabler
Now, on to the other stuff. Started a story the other week about a Prohibition agent in 1924 who has, at the end of the story, a supernatural encounter that changes everything for him. This was written in a week, finished today, and edited a couple hours later. I then turned around and submitted it to Harvest Hill Anthology by Graveside Tales. So we start waiting on the rejections.
Speaking of rejections, I got another one for "A Dream of England" from the second volume of the Eclipse Anthology. Not a big deal, they take extremely good work, and this story just isn't it. I'm going to shelf it for a bit, then do another major rewrite on the story to see if I can fix whatever problems there are with it.
Got a rejection for a short piece submitted to Lone Star Stories, though the rejection letter was extremely nice and personal.
Still haven't heard back from Aberrant Dreams for "Dead Air", McSweeneys for a story whose name stays under my hat for the moment until the rejection comes back, Allegory for that short (very short) ghost story I was working on, or Modern Drunkard for "The Tribe of Harry". Among those four, the only one I never expect to hear from is the last, as their staff, for some reason, refuses to send out rejection letters.
I've got another story I'm working on, which I'm referring to as "Sci Fi Molly" for the moment until I finish it, edit it, and stick a title on it.
Till next time,
J.C. Tabler
Monday, February 18, 2008
Marraige is...boring
I got married Friday. What's new in your world?
With twins on the way we decided that marital bliss in June wouldn't be a good idea, so Friday we gathered our things and got hitched on short notice. This makes certain that I can lie to my children about one mroe thing, namely whether or not we were married when they were conceived. I'll be more than happy to tell them that they were just born early. As I plan on fibbing to my children about many, many things over the years, it shouldn't matter too much. At least not as much as when I tell them Abraham Lincoln was the man who invented the penny.
Today I've puttered around since getting up at 5:30 in the morning, eating a bowl of cereal and catching up on all of the news I've missed in the past week. Did you know there was a shooting in Illinois? No lie, I had no clue until this morning. I've been understandably distracted by other things over the past week, so now that we've started to fall into line it makes more sense.
The "novel" got stuck on the backburner when I started a freewrite the other day, then had an idea for a short story I want to finish well before Derby this year.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
With twins on the way we decided that marital bliss in June wouldn't be a good idea, so Friday we gathered our things and got hitched on short notice. This makes certain that I can lie to my children about one mroe thing, namely whether or not we were married when they were conceived. I'll be more than happy to tell them that they were just born early. As I plan on fibbing to my children about many, many things over the years, it shouldn't matter too much. At least not as much as when I tell them Abraham Lincoln was the man who invented the penny.
Today I've puttered around since getting up at 5:30 in the morning, eating a bowl of cereal and catching up on all of the news I've missed in the past week. Did you know there was a shooting in Illinois? No lie, I had no clue until this morning. I've been understandably distracted by other things over the past week, so now that we've started to fall into line it makes more sense.
The "novel" got stuck on the backburner when I started a freewrite the other day, then had an idea for a short story I want to finish well before Derby this year.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Just Got Done Tonight
So I just hit the word limit for today. Finished up the third chapter, started on the fourth. Four chapters in, and I'm just now getting into the real meat of the story. Although I have a desire to keep writing tonight, I'm going to need a day to figure out how to get this chapter really up and running. My goal, now, will be to get a chapter done on each weekend day, maybe more, as well as hitting the 1,600 words I want to do every weekday. The sooner I get this done, revise it, and see if it has merit, the sooner I can get on to some of the other projects that have started niggling around in the back of my head.
Still no word from any of the other markets, although I learned something today. I learned my aunt has begun to read my journal. Personally, this freaks me out a little more than the whole preggers thing. See, I have no problem talking to the whole world when it may stumble across my doorstep like a drunken bum on a Saturday night, but family? That's a different matter. I never know what to say around my family.
Not to mention it means I can't relate any of the really funny stories about my genetic background.
My mother may also be reading this now. Expect the curses to virtually cease from this point on. No more potty mouth from me, oh no no no. I have to be a good boy now.
Well, that's that for the night. Work tomorrow, then home again to continue writing. I'll let you all know when I hear back from any of the story markets I've submitted to, if I hear back from them. And, of course, another post tomorrow about workign on the Long One, as I've named this project.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Still no word from any of the other markets, although I learned something today. I learned my aunt has begun to read my journal. Personally, this freaks me out a little more than the whole preggers thing. See, I have no problem talking to the whole world when it may stumble across my doorstep like a drunken bum on a Saturday night, but family? That's a different matter. I never know what to say around my family.
Not to mention it means I can't relate any of the really funny stories about my genetic background.
My mother may also be reading this now. Expect the curses to virtually cease from this point on. No more potty mouth from me, oh no no no. I have to be a good boy now.
Well, that's that for the night. Work tomorrow, then home again to continue writing. I'll let you all know when I hear back from any of the story markets I've submitted to, if I hear back from them. And, of course, another post tomorrow about workign on the Long One, as I've named this project.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Being Constructive
So the weekend has been a lot of tears in our household. To lose a cat, especially one like Zed-Head, after only a year...it seems too soon for us. Desi is slowly coming to terms with it, though this is a big blow. Zetti's brother died in the summer of 2007 in a farm accident, when one of the vehicles hit the poor Kitty. She was torn up about that. She's heartbroken about this.
We buried him yesterday morning on a piece of lan at my parent's place, under a nice old tree. I couldn't help but crack a joke, one of my ways of dealing with grief. I looked at her and said "I know what yer thinkin', but dun do it. What ya put in the ground up thar ain't always what comes out." She laughed, I laughed, and then we both cried and buried our cat.
Today I took advantage of the quiet house (Des is at work) to finish "The Tribe of Harry", a short fiction piece I started work on last week. First person perspective with a lot of dialogue, easy on the narrative descriptions. It's a new form for me, as I tend to overload the descriptions and let the dialogue tell the character's past instead of the current story. Coming in at just over 11 pages, typed, non-SMF, it seemed like a fun enough first draft to me. I've sent it off to my regular gang of proofreaders and my upstairs editor to lambast. Once they're done, I'll rewrite it.
I'll keep this pretty short, as I have to go pick up Des in a moment. I'll be rewriting and submitting "The Tribe of Harry" this week after I get back the comments for it. That's just about all I have today.
To anyone reading this, bet on the Pats.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
We buried him yesterday morning on a piece of lan at my parent's place, under a nice old tree. I couldn't help but crack a joke, one of my ways of dealing with grief. I looked at her and said "I know what yer thinkin', but dun do it. What ya put in the ground up thar ain't always what comes out." She laughed, I laughed, and then we both cried and buried our cat.
Today I took advantage of the quiet house (Des is at work) to finish "The Tribe of Harry", a short fiction piece I started work on last week. First person perspective with a lot of dialogue, easy on the narrative descriptions. It's a new form for me, as I tend to overload the descriptions and let the dialogue tell the character's past instead of the current story. Coming in at just over 11 pages, typed, non-SMF, it seemed like a fun enough first draft to me. I've sent it off to my regular gang of proofreaders and my upstairs editor to lambast. Once they're done, I'll rewrite it.
I'll keep this pretty short, as I have to go pick up Des in a moment. I'll be rewriting and submitting "The Tribe of Harry" this week after I get back the comments for it. That's just about all I have today.
To anyone reading this, bet on the Pats.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Thursday, January 31, 2008
I Eat Pancakes
Did the workshop on "Colburn Men" yesterday. Luckily I had re-read it before going in and knew what I was in for. It was a first draft of an idea that didn't read all that well through the majority. I was aware of as much, so I expected to get thrown to the lions, and thrown I was.
Although there were some helpful comments, the majority of the people in there seemed to think that a workshop is a place for them to just pepper the air with negative comments. The session consisted of 20-30 minutes of nothing but the same complaints over again, contradicting each other, and very little of anything constructive said. I pity the writer that attempts to use something like this as a place to get suggestions on how to improve their work. The air in the room was quite literally "I am a better writer than you, and I know this because my mother/teacher/brother/girlfriend/imaginary friend tells me so every night. Therefore, it is my solemn duty to tear at you for as a long as possible and as much as possible."
This would have bothered me a lot more had I not known that, as much as I enjoyed working on it, "Colburn Men" was a schlock piece that was very flat and linear, and was written on a tight deadline. There was no defense for the truly horrendous parts of the tale (overly wordy description, linear plot, cliched devices), but I was aware of that and ready to nod in agreement with that criticism. I was even vaguely aware that the distance of the narrator shifted a lot and was pretty disconcerting. I was open to comments and suggestions. What I got instead were the true gems of these workshops.
For example, the guy who prefaced everything with "I had a writing class last semester where we talked about..." This guy has never said a single positive thing about any piece that has been critiqued in the workshop. I don't like him mainly for that. I personally think the point of these things is to help others become better writers, not to tout your own brilliance. This isn't to say negative comments have no place, but they should have some reason other than to show off your own 'knowledge' of English. It is from guys like this that future critics are born.
Or my other favorite, "It was too long". It was 25 pages of double-spaced text. You can read 25-pages of double-spaced text. My 8 year old nephew can read 25 pages of double-spaced text. Stop complaining, you're in college.
The other ones that got my goat were the completely positive ones. The people who did nohting but give me a literary handjob in an attempt to be the nicest person ever. I appreciate the stroking of my ego, but I didn't want to hear how great you think the story is. I've already admitted its schlock. PLEASE give me something constructive on how I can better my work, or don't bother speaking up.
There were others, and I wish I could say they were in the majority, who gave me honest criticism with suggestions. I was windy in the descriptions, and several people brought it up, then turned around to offer a thought on how they thought it could be bettered. Others commented that the dialogue could stand on its own to an extent and be used to fill those descriptions. Some thought the ending was abrupt and unnatural (I agree. I thought that when I wrote it two days before handing the manuscript over). Others thought the story itself was way too linear (once again, no argument here), or that the narrator was telling the reader how they should feel (Common problem with my first drafts, so I was glad someone picked up on it who wasn't me). The narrator's distance from the main character is problematic for me with this piece, as it had a bit of personal experience in there. Something, once again, to be looked at in the rewrites.
Overall, I wasn't offended or disappointed. It was a first draft of an extremely quickly written piece. I normally do two or three rewrites before handing something over to anyone else to read, so this was a new experience for me. When I read it myself, I commented "Man, that kinda sucks" before heading into the workshop. I don't want to give the impression that the workshop was completely negative. Several people, including Griner, commented on the writing style and the strength of the writer, just not on the strengths of this particular piece. Others commented on the strength of certain scenes. And, of course, some of them offered genuinely helpful suggestions.
Still, I went home and divided the critiques I received into three piles. One was "Useless", consisting of the literary handjobs of nothing but positive stuff and the intellectual septic tank that was nothing but negatives, neither one with any true criticism to help. The second pile was "Out There", consisting of people who either a) expressed an opinion contradictory to the majority opinion in what they did not like/liked/would change OR b) simply parroted, with less skill or clarity, the suggestions/criticisms of others. The final pile is known as "Help With Rewrite", and consists of the well thought out critiques, both positive and negative, that offer suggestions or point out problems in a way that will be useful to me during the rewrite of "Colburn Men" next month. There are only about four of these.
"Colburn Men" is going to be a long time in the rewrite bin. I like the idea, but the arc is horrible as it doesn't truly exist. As one critique, a helpful one, put it "it's like being set on train tracks when you already know the destination". The plot will remain the same, but David's character needs some tweaks, descriptions need to be toned down, and a little more conflict needs to be brought up. I would start on it now, but last night I set aside the Doll story to start work on something else centered on minimal narration and a lot of dialogue...as well as being the first truly first-person piece I've ever worked on.
Anyhow, my suggestion is that writing workshops are a wonderful thing that can help a person improve their craft. I don't even think this particular workshop is bad. I just think it's early enough in the semester that a lot of people haven't come under the gun themselves, yet. As such, they tend to write their opinions, not their critiques or suggestions, about pieces. Plus, it can be hard to be positive or helpful when you're reviewing someone else's work. But, the fact is, I'm done now with my critique and can go back to my regular set of reviewers for opinions on my work. They may not like it anymore than anyone else, but hey, at least they'll buy me a drink when they tell me it sucks.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Although there were some helpful comments, the majority of the people in there seemed to think that a workshop is a place for them to just pepper the air with negative comments. The session consisted of 20-30 minutes of nothing but the same complaints over again, contradicting each other, and very little of anything constructive said. I pity the writer that attempts to use something like this as a place to get suggestions on how to improve their work. The air in the room was quite literally "I am a better writer than you, and I know this because my mother/teacher/brother/girlfriend/imaginary friend tells me so every night. Therefore, it is my solemn duty to tear at you for as a long as possible and as much as possible."
This would have bothered me a lot more had I not known that, as much as I enjoyed working on it, "Colburn Men" was a schlock piece that was very flat and linear, and was written on a tight deadline. There was no defense for the truly horrendous parts of the tale (overly wordy description, linear plot, cliched devices), but I was aware of that and ready to nod in agreement with that criticism. I was even vaguely aware that the distance of the narrator shifted a lot and was pretty disconcerting. I was open to comments and suggestions. What I got instead were the true gems of these workshops.
For example, the guy who prefaced everything with "I had a writing class last semester where we talked about..." This guy has never said a single positive thing about any piece that has been critiqued in the workshop. I don't like him mainly for that. I personally think the point of these things is to help others become better writers, not to tout your own brilliance. This isn't to say negative comments have no place, but they should have some reason other than to show off your own 'knowledge' of English. It is from guys like this that future critics are born.
Or my other favorite, "It was too long". It was 25 pages of double-spaced text. You can read 25-pages of double-spaced text. My 8 year old nephew can read 25 pages of double-spaced text. Stop complaining, you're in college.
The other ones that got my goat were the completely positive ones. The people who did nohting but give me a literary handjob in an attempt to be the nicest person ever. I appreciate the stroking of my ego, but I didn't want to hear how great you think the story is. I've already admitted its schlock. PLEASE give me something constructive on how I can better my work, or don't bother speaking up.
There were others, and I wish I could say they were in the majority, who gave me honest criticism with suggestions. I was windy in the descriptions, and several people brought it up, then turned around to offer a thought on how they thought it could be bettered. Others commented that the dialogue could stand on its own to an extent and be used to fill those descriptions. Some thought the ending was abrupt and unnatural (I agree. I thought that when I wrote it two days before handing the manuscript over). Others thought the story itself was way too linear (once again, no argument here), or that the narrator was telling the reader how they should feel (Common problem with my first drafts, so I was glad someone picked up on it who wasn't me). The narrator's distance from the main character is problematic for me with this piece, as it had a bit of personal experience in there. Something, once again, to be looked at in the rewrites.
Overall, I wasn't offended or disappointed. It was a first draft of an extremely quickly written piece. I normally do two or three rewrites before handing something over to anyone else to read, so this was a new experience for me. When I read it myself, I commented "Man, that kinda sucks" before heading into the workshop. I don't want to give the impression that the workshop was completely negative. Several people, including Griner, commented on the writing style and the strength of the writer, just not on the strengths of this particular piece. Others commented on the strength of certain scenes. And, of course, some of them offered genuinely helpful suggestions.
Still, I went home and divided the critiques I received into three piles. One was "Useless", consisting of the literary handjobs of nothing but positive stuff and the intellectual septic tank that was nothing but negatives, neither one with any true criticism to help. The second pile was "Out There", consisting of people who either a) expressed an opinion contradictory to the majority opinion in what they did not like/liked/would change OR b) simply parroted, with less skill or clarity, the suggestions/criticisms of others. The final pile is known as "Help With Rewrite", and consists of the well thought out critiques, both positive and negative, that offer suggestions or point out problems in a way that will be useful to me during the rewrite of "Colburn Men" next month. There are only about four of these.
"Colburn Men" is going to be a long time in the rewrite bin. I like the idea, but the arc is horrible as it doesn't truly exist. As one critique, a helpful one, put it "it's like being set on train tracks when you already know the destination". The plot will remain the same, but David's character needs some tweaks, descriptions need to be toned down, and a little more conflict needs to be brought up. I would start on it now, but last night I set aside the Doll story to start work on something else centered on minimal narration and a lot of dialogue...as well as being the first truly first-person piece I've ever worked on.
Anyhow, my suggestion is that writing workshops are a wonderful thing that can help a person improve their craft. I don't even think this particular workshop is bad. I just think it's early enough in the semester that a lot of people haven't come under the gun themselves, yet. As such, they tend to write their opinions, not their critiques or suggestions, about pieces. Plus, it can be hard to be positive or helpful when you're reviewing someone else's work. But, the fact is, I'm done now with my critique and can go back to my regular set of reviewers for opinions on my work. They may not like it anymore than anyone else, but hey, at least they'll buy me a drink when they tell me it sucks.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Waiting on my dinner
Well, here I am sitting in my parent's basement waiting for my mother to finish cooking dinner. Desi had to work tonight, and I'm basically helpless when left to provide food for myself. So I decided to come over and prevent starvation by mumping a meal or two off of my parents.
For the record, that is my new word. "Mumping". I like it.
I finished up the first rewrite of "Colburn Men" the other night and printed up the copies needed for the necessary workshopping. In addition, I sent it off to the first "big game" market so I can get my rejection in hand before I start round two of rewrites on it. I figure it never hurts to hand things out and get the rejection back.
I've also started work on a story whose working title is "Creepy Doll". That will definitely change. More literary fiction, though after I finish the first draft of it I plan on going back to Speculative Fiction. I've got the basics of the ghost story tumbling around, so I want to get to it soon before it wears off. The Doll Story will be wrapped up by mid-February most likely, as I find more time to work on it.
Everything on the home front is still great. Desi and I had friends over last night for whine and pizza, then drank a bit of cheap whiskey before going to bed.
I am, of course, still waiting on the rejections for the King Arthur Story and "Dead Air" to come in. This will be the second rejection for Dead Air when I finally get it, though I may not get it for several months according to this market's turnaround time.
That's about the long and short of it for today. I've got to reread a couple stories I'm supposed to be critiqueing, then I need to watch all of season one of Dexter in two days.
Peace, my folks.
-J.C. Tabler
For the record, that is my new word. "Mumping". I like it.
I finished up the first rewrite of "Colburn Men" the other night and printed up the copies needed for the necessary workshopping. In addition, I sent it off to the first "big game" market so I can get my rejection in hand before I start round two of rewrites on it. I figure it never hurts to hand things out and get the rejection back.
I've also started work on a story whose working title is "Creepy Doll". That will definitely change. More literary fiction, though after I finish the first draft of it I plan on going back to Speculative Fiction. I've got the basics of the ghost story tumbling around, so I want to get to it soon before it wears off. The Doll Story will be wrapped up by mid-February most likely, as I find more time to work on it.
Everything on the home front is still great. Desi and I had friends over last night for whine and pizza, then drank a bit of cheap whiskey before going to bed.
I am, of course, still waiting on the rejections for the King Arthur Story and "Dead Air" to come in. This will be the second rejection for Dead Air when I finally get it, though I may not get it for several months according to this market's turnaround time.
That's about the long and short of it for today. I've got to reread a couple stories I'm supposed to be critiqueing, then I need to watch all of season one of Dexter in two days.
Peace, my folks.
-J.C. Tabler
Monday, January 21, 2008
Another Story Finished
I should mention that I don't really proof blog entries, especially after writing half the night or while sitting on the couch with a cigarette and a nice big glass of bourbon.
Alright, the Colburn story is done. I gave it the title "Colburn Men" just cause it seemed to fit, plus, as stated before, I suck at coming up with titles at all. The title, like most of it, will change with the first rewrite. Before the rewrite, though, I'm going to hand it over to my father. He remains the best editor I've ever had when I write a story that is appropriate for him to read.
The reason is if my father actually finishes the story, it has merit. Dad doesn't read for fun. He reads for work. Even when he does read for leisure, it's normally a historical novel concerning the Civil War. For him to actually read through an entire fiction piece requires a story he enjoys. He's my sounding board.
On top of that, years of careful proofing of his legal briefs has resulted in an amazing eye for grammar and "clunky" sentences. Where I might miss a grammar error on my own simply because I'm tired, bored, disinterested, or being set upon on all sides by animals, he doesn't.
Finally, if he shows it to his business partner, I've got something worth sending off.
Still, even if this story never sees the light of day, I personally enjoyed writing it. I found it to be a little emotional and a little funny, as well as being more than a tad moral. The last one I could do without, but the other two...let's say that this started as being something I was writing to sell, and ended up being something I wrote for myself.
Take'er Easy,
J.C. Tabler
Alright, the Colburn story is done. I gave it the title "Colburn Men" just cause it seemed to fit, plus, as stated before, I suck at coming up with titles at all. The title, like most of it, will change with the first rewrite. Before the rewrite, though, I'm going to hand it over to my father. He remains the best editor I've ever had when I write a story that is appropriate for him to read.
The reason is if my father actually finishes the story, it has merit. Dad doesn't read for fun. He reads for work. Even when he does read for leisure, it's normally a historical novel concerning the Civil War. For him to actually read through an entire fiction piece requires a story he enjoys. He's my sounding board.
On top of that, years of careful proofing of his legal briefs has resulted in an amazing eye for grammar and "clunky" sentences. Where I might miss a grammar error on my own simply because I'm tired, bored, disinterested, or being set upon on all sides by animals, he doesn't.
Finally, if he shows it to his business partner, I've got something worth sending off.
Still, even if this story never sees the light of day, I personally enjoyed writing it. I found it to be a little emotional and a little funny, as well as being more than a tad moral. The last one I could do without, but the other two...let's say that this started as being something I was writing to sell, and ended up being something I wrote for myself.
Take'er Easy,
J.C. Tabler
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Ah, the sweetness of rejection
When you look like me, you get used to rejection pretty quick. Plus, it helps when the rejection is so nicely formatted. "The Ignoble Birth of Tucker Talbott", which I discussed in a previous post, lived up to my every expectation for it, garnering a rejection from The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. Luckily, I was well aware of the fact that it was a poorly written piece with very little actual merit to it, so the rejection was expected.
Now, if I can just go ahead and get rejections for my two pieces out there that I actually liked so I can begin another rewrite to make them as perfect as I can, I'll be grateful. I really want to start shooting those suckers at the small-time markets.
Other than that, nothing new. Still working on the Colburn story.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Now, if I can just go ahead and get rejections for my two pieces out there that I actually liked so I can begin another rewrite to make them as perfect as I can, I'll be grateful. I really want to start shooting those suckers at the small-time markets.
Other than that, nothing new. Still working on the Colburn story.
Peace,
J.C. Tabler
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Burned Hand Blues
Remember a bit back when I was discussing that freewriting exercise I had gotten myself into by signing up for a class? Well, this is the product of it. Nothing big, nothing amazingly good, but it helped to prime the pump, so they say, for the father/son story (hereafter known as the Colburn Story) that I'm working on now. So, in lieu of an actual post detailing anything, here's some crap I wrote for that class. Enjoy.
BURNED HAND BLUES
BY
J.C. TABLER
I wove a tapestry of profanity so intense and colorful that it hung in the air and mingled with the scent of dead fish and machine oil. Holding a singed hand that added the smell of slightly roasted pork to the olfactory convention that swirled throughout the vessel, my portly form was staggering towards the engine room then reaching for the tube of cream kept on the striker’s bench there. The thick white goop, applied directly to the red and blistering meat at the base of my thumb, sent the dull, fiery throb of pain into a full retreat and replaced it with a slightly uncomfortable, and yet strangely comforting, mint tingling reminiscent of toothpaste. The most surprising aspect of the tableau to the curious eyes that peered back was that, even while displaying my profane mastery of words and swinging my weight around as subtly as a bull elephant, I had kept my cigar clenched firmly in my mouth without any apparent thought or effort.
The steamboat’s captain, a white-haired gentleman who smoked light cigarettes quickly and with a definite air of nervousness, launched himself from the commandeered office chair that he had been lounging in to stand instantly by the side of his injured crewman. Concern was painted over the tanned face of the old man as he glanced quickly at the tender, burned skin, already beginning to crinkle and turn brown at the edges of the burn cream. I, while my quick and short breaths filled the air with acrid smoke from a two dollar cigar, winced as my good hand cradled the burned one at the wrist. The captain nodded and drew another light cigarette from the inside of his uniform shirt, lighting it before inclining his head towards the obvious injury.
“Burn yourself?” he asked, purely in order to demonstrate his amazing grasp on events.
“Yer gawd-da…” I started in a low growl before quickly catching myself, “Just a small burn. Nothin’ ta worry yourself ‘bout, Cap.”
The captain nodded, turning to glance back at the remainder of the crew who stood at the railing to the engine room. The small smattering of filth-covered deckhands, clad in coveralls and ringed with grease and sawdust, were making a point to be extremely disinterested in the proceedings a scant twenty feet away from them. The meaning, of course, was that they were paying attention in such a way that each one could later deny that they were doing so.
“How’d it happen?” the captain asked, placing his elbow on the striker’s bench while remaining careful to keep the sleeve of his uniform out of the random puddles of various liquids and solutions that formed on that surface.
“Welp,” I replied through clenched teeth, “We were all on the work flat back there repairing the wheel like you ordered us to, and I had the torch in my hand to cut through the u-bolts on that big rotted wheel arm that was givin’ us so many problems. The torch was kickin’ up one powerful roar in my ears, so I didn’t hear when the boys started yellin’ at me. Finally, I heard someone yell ‘fire’ and turned ‘round. T’was ‘bout then that I noticed the fittin’ at the bottom of the torch was loose. Seemed that some of the gas in the line was comin’ out through that loose fitting, and a spark from cuttin’ them bolts had lit it on up.”
“Wait,” the captain said, holding up one hand, “Weren’t you wearing the welding gloves for protection?”
“Yep, Cap,” I replied, “That was the problem. See, that flame comin’ out at the torch fittin’ had set the leather one of them gloves on fire. I threw that one off and started bashin’ at it with my foot.”
“How, exactly, did you burn your hand, John?”
“Welp,” I said reluctantly, twitching the cigar from one side of my mouth to the other, “see, I had shifted that torch to my other hand while I was beating at the glove, and that loose fittin’ was still there, and none of those jackasses on the flat turned off the gas tanks like they shoulda…”
The men at the railing suddenly began to inspect the overhead of the main deck in as innocent a fashion as was possible, commenting how dusty and dirty the white paint there had gotten. The captain sighed, no longer amused or concerned but simply impatient as a cloud of cigarette smoke mixed with the cigar smoke and engaged in a battle over which odor was stronger.
“John,” he muttered as he leaned in so only the two of us could hear, “cut to the chase.”
“The torch caught that other glove on fire, too,” I explained, “so I threw down the torch this time and…well…I started to bat at that glove with my other hand. You know…the one that I’d already threw the glove off of. In the process I burned my hand a bit.”
The captain mulled this over as he puffed on his cigarette, and I could feel the eyes of the crew boring into me from behind as their attention shifted once again away from the ceiling. His gaze rolled up, then cut over to the unabashed smile of the chief engineer, who had paused in tending to his machinery in order to listen. Finally, Cap nodded as he plucked the butt of his cigarette from his mouth and snuffed it on the striker’s bench.
“Seems to me,” he said slowly as he drew another cigarette from his shirt pocket, “that you ruined two perfectly good welding gloves out there. That’s going to come out of your pay.”
The cigar fell from my mouth as my jaw dropped in surprise, momentarily forgetting about the throbbing in my hand that had begun again as the cream’s initial relief wore off. The crew at the railing immediately burst into a bout of laughter as the captain, unconcerned by either my disbelief or their amusement, wandered from the engine room and mounted the steps to the pilothouse. My eyes followed him until his feet disappeared from the top of the steps. I then proceeded, once again, to begin weaving a tapestry.
Till next time,
J.C. Tabler
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