In the Temple of the Dog-Faced Boy

I just got back from my first Kung Fu class, and uuuuhhhhhrrrr, my legs. Lots of horse stance. Lots and lots of horse stance. When the upper belts were sparring, we beginners were instructed to guard the fountain. In horse stance. Either I'm going to develop thighs of steel or my leg muscles are going to snap like overstretched rubber bands.

But I think I'm going to like this school. Everybody was really nice, and there's a strong geek presence that was completely absent at my old school. Probably has something to do with this one being so close to the university.

No school is everything, of course. It's probably too early to judge, but I think I'm going to miss my old school's straight-forward, practical approach to sparring. We would try to hit each other and kick each other. Here, sparring is more of an opportunity to try out cool and exotic techniques. Not that one approach is inherently better than the other.

I was taught a lot of techniques tonight -- ten combinations and ten Chin Na (grab defense) techniques. Much to review. Including my very first monkey technique!!! Yay for monkey techniques!!! :-D

And we did a lot of push-ups of various kinds. Boo for push-ups!

So, I sweat buckets, and I'm quite tired, and I can tell I'm going to be hideously sore for the next couple of days, but I am very happy to be at the school of the dog-faced boy. Arf!

Dogs, hounds, and barking

I think I have to go to a new martial arts school. My current one has informed me that I need to pay my annual registration fee of $250, even though I didn't pay such a registration fee last year. So, it's like a new annual registration fee. I find it off-putting. And there are some other reasons why I've grown a bit disenchanted with my school, such as the fact that I'm too often the only adult student in class, etc. So, I'm planning to swing by the Kung Fu school between the tattoo studio and the pita place tomorrow. They're only $50 a month with a $30 registration fee. They trace their shaolin lineage to a dog-faced boy. Plus, more weapons.

***

Last week I got my first ever legitimate Hollywood nibble from someone who had read and liked "Osteomancer's Son," but it doesn't seem as if they're going to bite. Still, it's nice when people show interest in my stuff and want to know what other stuff I've got.

And I've been invited to a con as an actual guest for the very first time, so if that proceeds, I'll have to face the idea of being on panels. And I've also been invited to be interviewed on the Dragon Page Cover to Cover podcast, which I believe will earn me the distinction of being the most obscure writer they've interviewed.

I hope I'll be asked questions about Geddy Lee.

***

The zombie siege goes more slowly than I'd hoped. I might need to bring the hell hound in early.

Ten things

Ten things that I know ten things about:

1. Breakfast cereal
2. The Superfriends
3. Geddy Lee
4. Dinosaurs
5. Client relations in academic project management
6. Beer
7. Things not to do or say at weddings and funerals, all learned from hard experience
8. What bookstore customers really want
9. Gross shit people do on the bus
10. Vikings

Crack of dawn, snap of metal, buzz of clippers

Oh, looooong day.

I had to wake up at 4:20 AM to get to work offsite before 5:30. Maybe some of you do that routinely, but I struggle to be awake before 7:00, and that extra 2 hours and 40 minutes were sorely missed. Wasn't helped by having my glasses break as I was getting ready. One of the arms just snapped right off due to metal fatigue or something, but I'm pretty proud of myself for managing to get my contacts in at 4:30 without putting out one or both of my eyes.

The Day Job had me down at the Arizona Biltmore. This was one of the first resorts in Arizona, a playground for the rich where people like Clark Gable and the Kennedys played chess with human pieces. Irving Berlin composed "White Christmas" while sunning himself by the pool. I had a bit of time to wander around and enjoy the Frank Lloyd Wright influences (he was the consulting architect), and it's really a beautiful building set on beautiful grounds.

By 2:00 I'd worked more than a full day, so I didn't feel bad about heading home once the job was finished. Found a place to repair my glasses (cuz, I discovered that there are places that repair glasses, which saved me a couple hundred bucks), got a haircut while waiting, and visited a library where I read A Contract with God by Will Eisner. Had dinner at Four Peaks, and now, finally, I feel like I'm about to hit the wall and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Just something I've noticed

Is it just me, or are there a lot more Empire Strikes Back characters out in public than there used to be?

Monday night martial arts report

Last night I was back in martial arts class for the first time in three weeks. I missed a week because of a bad cold (it's simply bad manners to show up to class when there's a strong chance of flinging your phlegm on people), and two weeks due to a combination of ass-kicking writing (by which I mean writing kicked my ass, as opposed to me having produced kick-ass writing) and Day Job stuff.

Anyway. It was almost the perfect class to come back to. We reviewed 8-point blocking, which is Day One white belt stuff. I absolutely love doing white belt stuff, not because it's easy, but because it becomes clear very quickly that even the most basic moves defy perfection. No matter how often I practice 8-point blocking, I can always try to block with more power, with more snap, with more precise positioning, and in a deeper and stronger horse stance. I don't think I'll ever get bored of practicing my blocks. And then, for about ten minutes, I also got to practice my crane kenpos, which are intermediate techniques. And those keep me on my toes, because it was doing a crane kenpo that broke my little toe many months ago.

The only kinda bummer was finding out there's a test Friday, and having skipped so much, I won't be ready for it, so I probably won't get a test invite. Dumb time for my school to get back to a regular test schedule, I think.

I also had a moment of fear last night, when a 6-year-old with a dead, flat, predatory glare in his eye started advancing upon me while swinging nunchuks. Fortunately, my proportionally long legs facilitated a quick escape.

Crazy hair and other things

We had a very nice weekend. Los Angeles was beautiful, freshly scrubbed by recent rains. Whenever you can see Catalina Island and the Hollywood sign just by turning around, it's a lovely, lovely day. Saw Aaron in his first ever play (Equus, in which he played a very credible Dalton), ate good food (particularly brunch at Border Grill, with huevos rancheros and a good mimosa), was surprisingly impressed by V for Vendetta at the Arclight (which is just a terrific movie theater, though the Mann Village in Westwood remains my sentimental favorite, only partially for the coldness of the water that comes from the drinking fountain, and I really did like the movie a lot), bounced Amy's and Brian's babies (and got to enjoy not only the babies's company, but Amy's as well, though not Brian's, alas, as he was off making movie magic) and enjoyed a fun and relaxed breakfast with the parents Sunday morning. Sleep-deprived, and hardly any writing done, but there's more to life than sleep and writing, yeah?

Yeah.

***

Meghan has an awesome and lovely new story up at Strange Horizons. When I was her age, I was just writing gross stories about zombie sieges. And now that I'm older ... hey. Hrm.

***

I am in such desperate need of a haircut.

Shouting from the car window

On the road, and I can see snow on the mountains.

I love snow on mountains.

Items and stuff

Started reading stuff for the workshop.

What is it when you think everything you read is really about you? Not in a Helter Skelter, the Beatles told me to start a race riot and kill rich Hollywood pigs sort of way. More of a I see a piece of myself in every character's thoughts and actions, I share this character's sins, that character's faults, this character's strengths, I have been this character, I could be that character, etc.

Is that narcissism? Solipsism? Or is that just what happens when one reads really perceptive writing?

In any case, it slows down reading, but the pay-off is, it promotes thinking.


***

A couple of days ago at the coffee joint, First-person Shooter laughed at something amusing. It wasn't a maniacal laugh, but I'm still keeping my eye on him.

***

Lois Tilton gave "Osteomancer's Son" a nice review in the Internet Review of Science Fiction:

Van Eekhout has created a wonderful, original concept, and uses it to conjure up a fine tale. The details of the osteomancy are fascinating, and the plot is full of peril and tension, with a persuasive atmosphere of modern sorcery.

***

My friend Aaron is in a play. It opens tonight. It's his first time acting in a play, because his creative energies normally run to directing films. Break a leg, dude, but don't go for the compound fracture. Bones belong inside the skin. See you in a couple.

***

Only one page written today. Zombie siege coming up.

***

If I get to the brew pub by 6 AM tomorrow I can get a free St. Patrick's Day t-shirt.

Not quite sure it's worth it.

***

I mean zombie siege coming up in the book.

In real life, one seldom knows when the zombie siege is coming.

Big to-do done did

Awright, I made my workshop deadline, plus submitted a story to Flytrap, and now I'm at the coffee joint, slacking.

Could the stuff I turned in for the workshop be better? Oh, my gourd, yes. Like, if I'd used different words and put them in a different order, it could be SO much better. But it's not quite as brutally fragrant as I thought it would be, so that's a victory right there. And I wrote 200 pages in something like six weeks, with illness (okay, just sniffles, but still), and migraines, and Day Job, and emotional turmoil, and plagues of giant robots. So pardon me for squeezing my own rooster, but cocka-doodle-doo. Now the trick will be to keep cracking, because at 200 pages, I think it's only somewhere between 1/3 and 1/2 finished, and nobody's going to send me riches and sparklies for a fraction of a novel.

But tonight? Guilt-free slackitude. Already had beer and wings, and now I'm having a fru-fru coffee beverage, and later I might cap this heatlh food extravaganza with chips and salsa.

The chips are probably stale, but that's what salt is for.

Shield muffins

Doing a spell check on my Norse novel, I just accidently changed all instances of the word "valkyries" to "bakeries."

I dunno. I might leave it that way.

Second wind

Finished off an unusual weekend of Day Job stuff with a five or six hour stint with co-workers at my favorite pub, which was very pleasant, but resulted in a bit of a hangover this morning. Tylenol and lots of water and a big, greasy breakfast have me feeling a bit more like myself, though, and I've got the day off, so it's 9.5 pages today, and then a mad, desperate attempt to make the first 200 pages of the book readable, if not actually good. Good will have to wait for later.

The reading period for the fine zine Flytrap opens tomorrow, and I took a few minutes this morning to read over the story I'll be sending them, and I also want to revive my efforts to sell my YA Kung Fu/Cryptozoology science fiction book, which has been sitting dormant on my hard drive for too long. Next week, back to regular martial arts attendance, and continued push on the novel, and maybe sneak in a short story if I'm able, plus lots of reading for the workshop. Trips to Los Angeles and Vegas coming up this month, too.

Busy, but it's a kind of busy I enjoy, so it's all good.

No sleep till 200!

Two-hundred is the number of novel pages I have to have written for the Blue Heaven workshop by Wednesday. It's what I've been busting my ass on for the last several weeks, and what I'll be busting my ass on for the next few days. I had to work Saturday and Sunday at the Day Job, and they were pretty long days, too, so that ate into my writing time, but I still managed to get a few pages done, and I'm confident I'll make the deadline. Many of the pages won't be so good, but they'll be written. I might have some thoughts to post later regarding writing quickly versus slowly, balancing quality against getting-the-damn-thing-done, and whether I'm an architect, a cabinet maker, or something other.

I hurt my neck, also. I hurt it by donning a hard hat and running into my cubicle. The metal part. Twice, because I liked the clanging sound it made. I don't anticipate this negatively impacting my writing.

Nice things are said about my story "The Osteomancer's Son" here. Also nice things about stories by my future BH cohorts Paul Melko and Bill Shunn. Nice things also said in Locus, but I'm at the coffee joint and don't have my copy handy, so all I can tell you is that they were nice.

Much work to get done between now and Wednesday. Hence the title of this entry.

Show & Tell on Escape Pod

Hey, my story "Show & Tell" is being podcast on Escape Pod. It's longer than a story grenade but still quite short, and Anna Eley's voice and reading style on this one are a real hoot. And if you wish, you could read it in its original prose form at Strange Horizons. Still no offers from Hollywood to turn it into an ABC Afterschool Special, but I'll keep you posted.

Kicky

The downside to making this push to write what I need to write before the workshop deadline is that I've been skipping martial arts class these last couple of weeks. Class usually doesn't get me home till 8:30 pm, and I really need that time between work and sleep to write. Things should level off next week, and I'll get back to the punching and kicking, but right now, I'm feeling very kicky. Kicky is what one feels when one wishes to kick but isn't getting enough kicking opportunities.

I don't know where all my officemates were this morning, but I pretty much had the place to myself for my first hour here, and I used the privacy to practice some reverse crescent kicks. Considering I was doing it in jeans, without stretching or warm-up, I was pretty pleased with the height I was getting, if not the speed.

It's hard to find balance. If martial arts is Peter and writing is Paul, then Peter's stomach is rumbling. Not to mention poor neglected Mark and Luke and Thomas and Doug.

The Book of Doug. It's very controversial. Jesus works at a Kinko's.

Creep

Maybe it's due to a bit of mental fatigue, but the coffee joint experience has creeped me out a bit tonight. First, there was the guy I encountered on the walk over who was parked in a pick-up out in front of Doc & Eddy's and offered me a half-price cab ride.

"Yeah, thanks," I told him, "I'm good."

Then he drove off.

Not sure what that was about, but maybe telling him that I'm "good" wasn't the best idea.

And, of course, Mr. First Person Shooter is sitting in the same spot at 9pm as he was this morning at 9am. I'm here again, too, but I went to work and did stuff other than contemplate the violent deaths of all who fall beneath my wrathful gaze.

I mean, I did contemplate that as well, but I worked at the Day Job, too.

I've got slightly fewer than 33 pages to write by next Wednesday so I can turn stuff in for the novel workshop I'll be going to in May. I won't have the weekend to write because of the Day Job, but I'm pretty sure I'll make the deadline. And then I'll be about a third done with the book. The page count creeps up.

Is it wrong to view 200 pages of novel as ten short stories I didn't write?

Trying

Wrote about 18 pages, plus added another ten from a previous draft that need work. Drank too much caffeine. Not enough beer. Consumed chicken.

This weekend was a mix of pleasant and trying. My plan: Keep trying to achieve more pleasant and less trying. I suppose, though, if you're not ever being tried, you're not trying hard enough. And thus ends the philosophy portion of today's journal entry. Thank you.

Hailing Cousin Ellen?

Cousin Ellen? Could you email me your phone number? My dad wants it, and I lost a bunch of older email when my hard drive crashed, so I don't currently have yours. Thanks!

Codpiece, codpiece!

This LA Times story about painterpreneur Thomas Kinkade was on BoingBoing, so no doubt you've seen it, but I had to post this description of what happens when Kinkade goes to see Siegfried and Roy in Las Vegas:

Dandois, who left the company to become chief executive of a group of galleries owned by Kinkade's brother, Patrick, recounted that about six years ago the artist was so intoxicated during a performance by Siegfried & Roy in Las Vegas that people seated nearby moved away from him.

"I think it was Roy or Siegfried or whatever had a codpiece in his leotards," Dandois testified. "And so when the show started, Thom just started yelling, 'Codpiece, codpiece,' and had to be quieted by his mother and [wife] Nanette."

Bad

I am in the middle of writing a very long chapter, and it is very bad, in all respects.

It's bad. It's bad, it's bad it's baaaaad. So very, very, bad, it's bad. Oh, it's bad, I tell you, it's bad, baaaaaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaaaad, it's bad.

Yes, it's bad, bad, bad, bad, bad. Bad, this chapter, it's bad.

BAD, BAD, BAD, BAD, BAAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAD, so very, very, awfully, very baaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!!!!

BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD BAAAAAD! It's bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's bad.

And not very good, either.

Spelled correctly and everything!

The bad news is that my neighborhood Starbucks told me they're out of pumpkin spice, which means no more pumpkin spice lattes for me till Thanksgiving.

The good news is that subscribers are receiving the April/May issue of Asimov's, and it should hit the stands next week, and my name is on the freakin' cover and how freakin' cool is that????.

(I also note with pleasure the names of my soon-to-be workshop fellows, Messrs. Melko and Shunn.)

This is only my third time in the magazine, and only my second fiction appearance in Asimov's, and it's the first time my name's been on the cover, so I hope you'll forgive me if I jump up and down a bunch more times about this.

Just imagine how insufferable I'll be if I ever sell a novel!



Oh, also, Bob Eggleton squid monster! Jump! Jump!

Keep eye out for nearest exit

I finally saw what the creepy looking guy who's always at the coffee joint -- sitting in the same place, in the same position, apparently from opening to closing, sometimes dressed in camouflage -- is doing on his laptop.

First-person shooter.

Shiver.