On Twittering

Who twitters? I thought teenagers twittered. My students appear to have every pocket sized piece of technology known to man and they’re engaged in fiddling with one electronic gizmo or another the majority of their waking hours – and some of their sleeping hours, but they don’t twitter, at least they’re not twittering in my neck of the woods. The subject came up in a classroom discussion and I actually had to explain the concept. This may be a first, me explaining a technology related concept to my students. I’m curious, which demographic groups are twittering; furthermore, how come kids don’t twitter?

I’ve got one last question. Would Steve McQueen twitter?

4:30 A.M.

ON WAKING UP AT 4:30

What’s it like to wake up a 4:30 in the morning? It sucks like a Chinese Algae Eater; that’s what it feels like to wake up at 4:30 in the morning! The alarm goes off and I immediately sit up. I do this out of necessity, knowing darned good and well I’ll fall back to sleep if I don't. Convincing myself to stand up at 4:30 in the morning is the hardest thing I do each day. I guess the bright side of this situation is the hardest task of the day is over with before I’ve had my first sip of coffee. Last year I told the principal I’d rather cut off my toes than teach zero hour again. Looking back, that was a creepy thing to say. Who says they’d rather cut off their toes? In Terms of Endearment, Jack Nicholson said, “I’d rather stick pins in my eye balls”. Where am I going with this? I don’t know. Jack Nicholson is a quite an actor. Of course he’s no Steve McQueen, but he’s a good actor. I wonder if McQueen or Nicholson ever had to get up at 4:30.

WRITING REPORT

The agent search is on hold. 300 query emails is enough.

For now, the focus is on the new book. The two week writing push resulted in 114 pages, most of which is exposition. At this point I’m working out several plot lines. This new book is far and away more intricate than anything I’ve attempted to write. I’ve been thinking of changing the working title from The Really Weird Science Guys to Time Specter. Since returning to the classroom, I’ve been putting about an hour a day into the book. I’ll be ecstatic if I can keep up this pace.

It might not be a bad idea to start approaching some magazines with one of my stories from The Eight Fingered Criminal’s Son. I’m also posting a story on the blog every six weeks.

SAY WHAT?

Quick, who is the least funny actor in world?

The answer is, of course, Sean Penn. Some might say Penn was funny as Jeff Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgmont High. That was, what, thirty ago. I suppose Charles Manson might have been a cute baby thirty years became he became a world class psychopathic killer. Maybe the analogy is a tad bit extreme; the point is Sean Penn appears to have no sense of humor. Where am I going with this? I’ll cut to the quick. Sean Penn is going to portray Larry Fine in the upcoming Three Stooges Movie. Benecio Del Toro will be playing the part of Moe Howard and Jimmy Carrey is in the process of gaining forty pounds in order to play Curley. I’m too shocked over the inclusion of Sean Penn to question the selection of Del Toro. We can all, I think, accept Jim Carry as Curly.

The Farley Brothers are behind this production. Who knows? Perhaps these people know what they are doing. I guess Penn does look and sound a bit like Larry, but I can’t see this thing working out. By the way, this is not a biography of the Three Stooges, it’s a comedy feature film. The Farley’s do have a bit more success in the film business than me, so I’ll have to withhold judgment.

No! No, I don’t. Who in their right mind would hire the unfunniest actor, maybe the unfunniest man on the planet to play the role of one of the funniest men in history? Come on Farley Brothers, producing the Three Stooges movie carries with it monumental comedic responsibility! The world could use a Three Stooges revival, and you guys are giving us Sean Penn???

The King of Cool

Like untold millions of movie fans across the globe, I appreciate the work of Steve McQueen. But my connection with the king of cool runs deeper than that of your average Joe matinee fan. This isn’t something I go around telling people; I guess I’m not much of a namedropper. Maybe I’m feeling a bit whimsical today. Back in ’84, I was a delivery man for Sparkletts Water. Believe it or not, I delivered bottled water to Steve McQueen’s son, Chad. I’m not kidding. I’ll never forget what Steve McQueen’s son said to me that day. He looked me square in the eye and said, “How’s it goin’, man.” And I looked right back at him and said, get this, “Pretty good.” It was profound. Please don’t let your knowledge of this relationship change the way you consider me or my blog. I still put my pants on one leg at a time.

Emily Dickinson, Gilligan's Island and Steve McQueen

Emily Dickinson’s Much Madness is divinest Sense can, without much effort, can be sung to the tune of Gilligan’s Island. Really. I know this stuff. I'm an eleventh grade English teacher. Give it a try. Oh, as far as I know, Steve McQueen has absolutely nothing to do with Emily Dickinson or her poem.

Much Madness is divinest Sense

by Emily Dickinson

Much Madness is divinest Sense -
To a discerning Eye -
Much Sense - the starkest Madness -
'Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail -
Assent - and you are sane -
Demur - you're straightway dangerous -
And handled with a Chain -

Twilight, Mujournlumns, and Steve McQueen

The Twilight Phenomenon

What is the deal with Twilight? I just kicked my kids out of the house. Three of my daughters and two of the neighborhood girls, aged five to ten, sat in my living room watching Twilight six times in a row. I told them it was time to do something productive, to go play in the street.

I watched Twilight, even read the book, just to see what the hubbub was all about. It was a good book. I thought the movie was better.

The girls and I picked up the Twilight CD at Target yesterday. The girl at the register said they had to restock the shelves four times in six hours, that she’d never seen a movie move like this one.

When I asked my daughters if they thought it was a little creepy for a hundred year old vampire to date a sixteen year-old girl, they looked at me like I was out of my mind. What do I know? I don’t get it, but I’m thinking the next story I write should have something to do with teenaged vampires.

Why Blog?
The question continues to cross my mind. Why am I blogging? First of all, I tell myself, at least I’m not twittering?

I’m thinking of going to the kitchen to get some pretzels.
I’m eating pretzels.
A glass of milk might go well with the pretzels.

Why am I blogging? It’s a legitimate question.Is it worthy use of my time? After giving it some thought, I came up with three good reasons to blog:

1. Audience Development. I have received almost 1,500 hits in a little less than three months. I’m not exactly Stephen King, but I do have an audience.

2. Networking. I am communicating with other writers; writers like Bluesfrau in Germany, Bulshee in India, Guely in Sweeden, Bryan Frank, Curtis Kessinger, and Keith Boyd in L.A. , Rick Rivers in Northern California, David C. in Indiana, Wenbren in New Mexico, and James West a couple of miles down the road here in Arizona.

3. Mujournlumns . I’m still not sure how to define my blog. A collection of musings? A journal? A column? Maybe it’s a mujournlum. Whatever my blog is, it compels me to write. I’m a writer in the process of becoming a better writer and this blog of mujourlumns seems to facilitate that process.

Steve McQueen

Once again, today's blog has absolutely nothing to do with Steve McQeen.

Writing Report

Today marks the end of my spring writing push. It was a successful two weeks. My third book, The Really Weird Science Guys is off to a solid start at 22,489 words and114 pages.

Steve McQueen

I’m beat. I laid some sod down in the back yard and it was murder on the hamstrings. Somehow I'll get through the pain. It was good to work the land.

The highlight of the day took the form of a bowling excursion with my five year-old, Sophia and my eight year-old, Barit. Barit threw the ball backwards, just missing the knee cap of the bowler in the next lane over. It was funny. The guy in the next lane might have thought it was funny too, if he had a sense of humor. Yeah, I think Barit has a tendency toward bowling accidents. When she
was five, she forgot to let go of the ball and slid halfway down the lane. Kids are cool.


Writing Report

Today I didn’t hit my 2,000 words. 1,600 will have to do for today. I did write a sixteen year-old version of Richard Nixon into the (time travel) story. The prospect of researching Tricky Dick's formative years is compelling.

Steve McQueen

The truth is, other than the fact that he was a cool cat, I don't really have anything to say about Steve McQueen. Sue me.

That's Going to Leave a Mark

Ouch!

Here’s a picture my daughter took at a California Angeles spring training game last month. The batter is in the process of getting nailed in the shoulder with a 96 mile an hour fast ball. Bet that hurts. It’s a good picture, don’t you think?

Writing report

I cranked out another 2,000 palabras today. The Really Weird Science Guys stands at 18,841 and 94 pages. At this point, I’m in writing mode and it’s a bitter sweet place to be. The four or five hours I spend writing each day flies by. When I finish for the day, it feels like I lost time, like the four or five hours never happened, if that makes any sense. When I’m not writing, I’m thinking about writing. When I sleep, I dream about writing. Next week it will be time to turn into a pumpkin when I shift back to teaching mode.

Lost, Life on Mars, and The Really Weird Science Guys

I’m looking forward to a night of TV time travel. I’ll start with an episode of Lost and follow up with an episode of Life on Mars. I’ve been following Lost much better since they established the scrolling cheat notes on the bottom of the screen. Am I the only one who realizes that he writers of Lost are completely stoned?

Writer #1: Dude, let’s put a polar bear on the island.

Writer #2: OK, but only if we can have a VW bus with a case of beer in the back.

Writer #1: Cool. Let’s make Hurley a schizophrenic.

Writer #2: Righteous, dude. Pass the bong.

Last week I discovered a show called, Life on Mars. A modern day cop sustains a head injury and finds himself thirty years back in time or perhaps, in an alternate reality. What a cool show. The music and look really catches the feel of the 1970’s. The production is an American version of the British Life on Mars. I’ll see if I can’t hunt down a version of the original.

Writing Report

Chalk up another solid day of writing. I knocked out 2,100 words. The working title is The Really Weird Science Guys. I know, it doesn’t exactly roll off of the tongue. I was going to change the name to Time Ghost, but somebody already wrote a book called Time Ghost. I’ve played around with Time Spook, Time Spirit, and Time Apparition, but for now I suppose I’ll stick with The Really Weird Science Guys.

My first two books were written in first person and were autobiographical in nature. The Really Weird Science Guys it written from an omniscient point of view, but I couldn’t keep myself out of the story. One of the major characters is obviously based on me. All of the characters seem to be based on people I have known. There is an awful lot of action in the story, more than I anticipated. This is a good thing. I’m looking forward to pounding out another 2,000 tomorrow.

Erin go Braugh

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!

Thanks to my grandmother, whose maiden name was Margret McCormick, I can proudly claim twenty-five percent Irish blood. My wife and daughters are in the kitchen whipping up a shepherd’s pie and a crock pot of corned beef and cabbage. A few neighbors are coming over we’ll have a couple of green beers and a maybe even a nip or two of Jameson’s Irish whisky before all is said and done. So here’s to the Emerald Island, Saint Patrick, Lucky Charms, four leaf clovers, Murphy’s Irish Stout, The Quiet Man, Monsignor Patrick J. Redehan, Bing Crosby, Maureen O’Hara, Van Morrison, Bill Murray, the Shamrock Pub, Danny Boy, the Boston Celtics and Darby O’Gill and the Little People.

Writing Report

The story is moving along well at 14,600 words. I pumped out 2,600 words yesterday and another 2,600 today. As it stands, I appear to have created a sort of time travel/ghost/schizophrenia story. If nothing else, it’s unique.

A Short Story from The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son

“Dave Cruz (1979)”

by W.Z Snyder

© 2006 William Snyder

It is 1979. I am nineteen and I am dating Cathy MacMurphy. Without doubt, I feel attraction toward her, but I am dating this girl out of vengeance more than anything else. She is a friend of Allison Bullock. Allison had the audacity to break up with me a few months ago, virtually ripping my thumping red heart from the chest cavity. O.K., maybe she didn't rip my heart from my chest cavity, but she did embarrass me. Cathy is good looking, one of those full figured girls. My mother does not care for this girl. She is loud and exceedingly forward, making all of the first moves in the situation. Come to think of it, I can’t even begin to keep up with Cathy MacMurphy.

It is a warm summer night. We are at the Hawthorne Community Fair with Ricardo Mora and his latest playmate. Ricardo is my roommate and he is remarkably adept at the playboy lifestyle. He is the only guy I know who actually has one of those little black books, filled with dozens of phone numbers. His sister, Lilly dumped me for a guy with a silver Corvette last year, inspiring me to make a statement by joining the United States Air Force, where I spent just a few months before being discharged due to my unsuitability to military life.

Ricardo and I rent his oldest sister’s rambling beach house, just a block from the ocean in Hermosa Beach – with six other guys, none of whom have the inclination to clean up after themselves – ever. When we go to the beach, Ricardo makes it a point to discreetly tell the girls we meet that we live just a block away. Ricardo is always ready with a line. Once he asked a couple of sunbathing beauties to watch our metal folding chairs while we walked up to the house to make some ice cold lemonade. They agreed and we sprinted up to the house.

“Don’t worry about a thing Billy boy, the old lemonade trick works every time. These girls will melt in our hands like butter when we get back.”

Making the lemonade took a little longer than it should have because we had to find the dirty pitcher and glasses and then break them away from a calcified mountain of filthy dishes in the sink. Then we had to chisel away the life forms that set up housekeeping inside the glassware.

After much hard work, we returned to our prospects on the beach. Unfortunately a couple of mammoth body builders had taken our chairs and were talking to our girls. It was pretty tough to sound suave and sophisticated when Ricardo asked, “Hey fellas, can we have our chairs back, please?”

 

YOU CAN READ THIS STORY IN IT'S COMPLETE FORM IN THE EIGHT-FINGERED CRIIANL'S SON...

“Dave Cruz (1979)” is from my collection of short stories, The Eight Fingered Criminal’s Son.

Ten Thousand Words, Snapping Ostiches and Slow Ride

The last five days are a fog. The book is up and running at 10,000 words and 51 pages. I’m still fighting back the rotten cold. I tried to go to the gym yesterday – to sweat the boogieman out of me. No dice; the gym is closed due to the Chandler Ostrich Festival. That’s right, my town has a yearly Ostrich Festival. They even have ostrich races. I went to the festival once, maybe 15 years ago. An ostrich bit me in the ear. I’m not kidding. Ostriches make look sweet and dopey, but they’re not; they are vicious creatures. Kind of makes it hard to feel sorry for them when they get made into ostrich burgers. Foghat is playing the festival tonight. It would be cool to hear Foghat pump out Slow Ride, not so cool, mind you,that I’d want to leave my house, brave a crowd and risk being attacked by vicious ostriches. Yeah, I think I’ll lay low, basking in the glory of my 10,000 words in five days. I might even have a Polish beer and watch a little college basketball. Come to think of it, I think there’s an old Foghat album around here somewhere.

Slow ride, take it easy - Slow ride, take it easy,

Slow ride, take it easy - Slow ride, take it easy.

Epic Stuggle and Writer's High

I’m En Fuego.

I knocked another two thousand words today. I finished with a solid rush of writer’s high. The euphoria was still with me an hour after I stopped at 6,341 words and 31 pages. The story is coming along better than I had hoped. Twists continue to develop within the plot and a couple more new characters emerged today.

I’ve been sick since I started writing new book. The first couple of days entailed an awful lot of hacking and sneezing. Yesterday I broke into a fever after I finished writing. Now that I’m feeling better, the dramatist in me is looking back the last couple of days as some kind of epic struggle.

In the interest of documenting drama and conflict, I kept a record of the interruptions during today’s writing session. For full effect, hum the theme to The Ten Commandments as you read. Hold on, I just tried it and I can’t hum the theme to The Ten Commandments and read at the same time.

9:44 – Sat down to go over the plot and character notes

9:48 – Goggled 1960’s surfer jargon (for one of the characters)

9:54 - My ten year-old asked to use the computer. I said no. Then my eight year-old asked me to look at her blood blister. I looked at the blister. It was indeed pretty darned icky…

9:59 – My wife asked me to sigh income tax paperwork.

10:06 – My five year-old asked for a band aid. She scraped her heel.

10:07 – My eight year-old asked to see one of the books at my desk. I took a break, refilled my coffee and grabbed a banana.

10:09 – Back to writing…

10:19 – My eight year-old asked if she could get new shoes, shoes like Bella in Twilight wears. I said maybe…

10:24 – My five year old asked me to tie her shoes. I did. My wife asked what I needed from Cost Co. I asked her to remember coffee. I got up to blow my nose and walked downstairs to grab a granola bar. My wife gave me a hug and left with the girls for Cost Co.

10:27 - Back to writing…

10:36 – The phone rang. I didn’t answer.

11:16 – I took a break, watered the back lawn and made a protein shake.

11:30 – Back to writing…

12:07 – Restroom break…Called wife. I forgot to tell her to pick up frozen berries.

1:08 – Walked downstairs for a glass of water.

1:14 – Phone rang. I didn’t answer.

1:39 – Family returned. I shut the door and kept writing.

1:57 – A friend called on the cell phone. I told him I would call back in five minutes.

2:00 – Quitting Time: 6431 words and 31 pages.

3:00 – Began to come down from severe case of writer’s high. Ahhhhhh…

Another Two Thousand Words and a Serindipidous Brush with Moonlight Graham

TWO THOUSAND MORE WORDS

I banged out my two thousand words this morning. A new major character appeared in the story. I sure didn’t see him coming. That’s the magic of writing. I have a basic plot in my head, but it could change if that’s what the story wants…

A SERINDIPIDOUS EVENT

Yesterday I posted the following Burt Lancaster quote from Field of Dreams.

Well, you know I... I never got to bat in the major leagues. I would have liked to have had that chance. Just once. To stare down a big league pitcher. To stare him down, and just as he goes into his windup, wink. Make him think you know something he doesn't. That's what I wish for. A chance to squint at a sky so blue that it hurts your eyes just to look at it. To feel the tingling in your arm as you connect with the ball. To run the bases - stretch a double into a triple, and flop face-first into third, wrap your arms around the bag. That's my wish, Ray Kinsella. That's my wish. And is there enough magic out there in the moonlight to make this dream come true?

This morning I was channel surfing and came upon Field of Dreams just in time for Burt Lancaster to deliver the same lines I posted yesterday. Is the universe trying to tell me something? My back yard is definitely too small to build a baseball diamond. And I never really dreamt of pursuing a career in the major leagues. Archie “Moonlight” Graham, played by Burt Lancaster, is a minor league ball player who gave up his baseball dream to become a doctor. He realizes that he made the right choice, that saving lives is more important than playing a game. As a teacher who always dreamt of doing something more exciting, I can relate Archie “Moonlight” Graham. Or not…

If nothing else, I finally found the occasion to use the word “serendipitous” – three times.

James Patterson's Advice on Writing and the Significance of Two Thousand Words

James Patterson’s Advice on Writing

I don’t think there are a lot of readable books out there. There are less than people think there are. I don’t think it’s that easy. And it’s not a question of somebody who writes good sentences. It’s a question of being able to tell stories in a way that captivates readers.

My advice to most people, in terms of, what should you do after you write your book? Should you invest in some marketing? Should you stand outside a bookstore with flyers? Go write another book. Go write another book! You learned things writing this book. Make use of them in the next book, and keep your passion going, and get that habit.

I came across the comments in the March/April issue of Writer’s Digest. I haven’t read much of Patterson’s stuff, but I did enjoy his books about the flying bird-kids - The Maximum Ride series. The movie will be coming out in November. Patterson has had 42 New York Times bestsellers and 100 million readers have read at least one James Patterson book. This is a guy with some serious juice.

Two Thousand Words

I did it! Today I knocked out two thousand words for book number three and I did it in spite of ceaseless coughing, wheezing and sneezing attacks. Surging forward, I banged away at the keyboard until I hit my goal. I feel like Rocky Balboa after standing toe to toe with the champ, bloodied, battered, and barely cognizant - I’m still standing…