Batman and the Lion are friends

Imagination is a wonderful thing. My son was playing in the next room and telling his giant stuffed penguin that Batman (three inch posable Batman figure) and the Lion (one inch plastic lion that growls convincingly) were friends.

All three of them then destroyed a sprawling train town populated by Buzz and Woody figures.

Come to think of it, why am I in here blogging?

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Privy to the new stuff

It took three months but today I started what is definitively a new novel. “Moneymaker”, while not dead, is going to a convalescent home. “Breach of Peace”, or possibly just “Breach”, is my new baby. I don’t want to spill too much information as of yet, but it is a bit more upbeat and fun than “Moneymaker”. It may also have a flying guitar–I’m not yet sure.

Why three months? Honestly–VP. Don’t get me wrong. I have all the same newbie-writer VP love all the other grads have. But (we all have a big but, Jeff–let’s talk about yours) VP dumped so much in the way of writing fundamentals, I eventually froze. The occasional short story was no problem (writing–selling is another matter), but long-form stuff was just this Everest for me. Building fundamentals takes time, I suppose.

In essence, I grok all and will soon be a famous writer and live on the French Riveria. Alienate me at your own peril.

I kid. I’d never live in France.

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I have decided

that Tom Waits is awesome. I reached this conclusion well after anyone of consequence, but still.

Specifically “Nighthawks at the Diner”

That is all.

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Message from the future

Past tense Jeff,

Please do not lift refrigerators and old tires with your back. Lift with your legs. Or lift with your friends. Better yet, let the friends lift while you drink their beer. Otherwise, in about ten years, your back will be jacked. You will walk like an eighty year old man. An eighty year old man who has been hit with a crowbar. People will point. And laugh.

Thank you,
Future Jeff
(it really freaking hurts, dude. Seriously. Try sneezing with a bad back. You’ll fall over.)

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Why not just hit me with a rock

I mean a story rejection? On my birthday? Come freaking on!

Universe: 1
Me: Less than 1

Seriously–not that big a deal. Rejection feels no better or worse today than any other day.

As a side note, this is not a plea for birthday wishes. Most of you who read this blog have already heaped on the good wishes, for which I thank you.

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