Author: admin

the worst ever

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I mean, there’s room for improvement, but seventeen words?

Can’t do much less than that.

Target: 700 words
Written: 17 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Living Dead In Dallas, Charlaine Harris
Comics: Think Tank: Military Dossier 1, Think Tank 5-7
Music: One Particular Harbour, Jimmy Buffett (and sorry about the Chester crack yesterday, it was uncalled for, especially from a guy who followed it up with Jimmy Buffett and suffers from depression. I should know better. In Chester's defense, the best two songs on this otherwise generic pop album were the ones written by him. They tried something different and it didn't work out. One evolves, sometimes. Sometimes, one just gets off track. Everybody fucks up sometimes.)

it’s the 4th of july

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And it’s truly terrifying. I don’t know what scares me more – fascist plans unfolding around the world or the absolutely ineffectualness of the opposition.

I mean, we can all vote, but there’s so much more they could do and have done on the other side, but this fucking “honour” is hamstringing them, and has us on the verge of just handing the fascists everything because we’ve rendered ourselves impotent by insisting on taking the higher road.

A little dishonour now might just save the whole goddamn world from a great deal of bloodshed and misery later.

I fear for this planet; I fear for my family. I fear.

It’s the Fourth of July, and we’re all going to hell.

Target: 700 words
Written: 98 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Living Dead In Dallas, Charlaine Harris
Comics: Think Tank 1-4
Music: One More Light, Linkin Park (listen, I don't know why Chester killed himself, but I wouldn't doubt this album played a part - what bullshit this was, just a straight pop album, not even subversive or elevated- I can't imagine he was happy with the direction things were going at this point)

pop

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I usually hold pop music in disdain, but especially this morning. What makes modern pop different than shitty 80s pop?

Slight better production? More revealing clothes?

Is there anything more tedious than some rapper bragging about how great a rapper he is? Would you even watch a ball player or a concert pianist if all they did was brag about how many homers they hit or how well they tickled the ivories? Or would it get old super fast, and no matter the quality of the production, get lost in the pathetic and annoying ego of its progenitor?

I don’t actually have anything against love songs or sexy little ditties, but man, do it fucking right. Add some depth and emotion to it.

At least we seem to be moving past the phase where some producer takes a pithy inspirational phrase and creates a song around it, where there’s nothing but the same goddamn phrase repeated endlessly.

If your song has more writers than the road crew contains members, you’re not a fucking artist; you’re a commodity.

And for shit’s sake, The Weeknd, try not to sound like you’re completely bored with your own music.

Of course, it is boring garbage, and it bores me when it comes on, so why wouldn’t the man who played it a million times not feel the same?

Target: 700 words
Written: 127 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Gregor And The Prophecy Of Bane, Suzanne Collins
Comics: Saga 65-66 (depending on how it ends, this may be the best comic series ever written)
Music: One Love, The Prodigy

the neighbours

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After yesterday’s insane Supreme Court ruling demonstrated the absolute corruption of the Republican party (not to mention the rise of the fascist right wing in various European countries and my own country), I am heartsick.

Terrified of our neighbours.

Terrified of what might become of us.

Of what a psychotic sociopath, in conjunction with the fascist neighbour, should they re-elect that lying orange shitstain, would do to our country.

This world is terrifying; all the lessons of rebellious youth, our forebearers’ sacrifice, for naught.

Fuck you, America, and the authoritarian horse you ride, as you slowly beat it to death.

Target: 700 words
Written: 110 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Gregor And The Prophecy Of Bane, Suzanne Collins
Comics: Saga 61-64
Music: One In A Million, Sublime

canada day

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On this day, I fear for our country. Poilevre is nothing more than a Trump in waiting, a Christo-fascist wannabe poised to become our new Prime Minister because Justin Trudeau can’t see the writing on the wall.

All that needs to be done is to have him step down, merge with the NDP and put up a solid candidate as a united left wing, without all the baggage of the prior parties.

Poilevre is going to fuck us all, and I don’t want to live in a fascist state with regressive, hateful policies.

I can only pray people come to their senses before this happens, but given the apparent stubbornness of the parties on the left and their unwillingness to sacrifice their own power in order to save the country, I think we’re all on a straight road to hell.

Target: 700 words
Written: 67 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Gregor And The Prophecy Of Bane, Suzanne Collins
Comics: Saga 57-60
Music: One Hot Minute, Red Hot Chili Peppers

how do i sell myself to you

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It’s a question I’ve wrestled with since the day I decided I wanted to be a writer.

I want to be authentic. Open. There should be nothing between you and my thoughts but the desire to keep other people’s secrets secret, because they’re not mine to expose.

Of course, we all present ourselves through a filter, either by intentional omission or unconscious deceit (or vice versa – intentional deceit and unconscious omission.)

I don’t like to do either, but at the same time, I don’t want to be a martyr anymore than I want to be a charlatan. I’d like to write for a living, but there are two non-negotiables:

First, what I write is what I want to write. I hate the idea of being tied to a particular genre, and I don’t want anyone else to dictate the content of my stories. No Hollywood motherfuckers who think they know better or need to “sex it up” (although I am heavily fixated on sex, so that seems like it might not be an issue), or publishers/editors who want a happier ending or something more “clever”.

Save me from clever art, as Palahniuk would say, while being weirdly over clever, yet somehow, managing to hold that instinctual, emotional raw nerve. (It is a brazen and wondrous talent, those who can do this, and I am in awe of it.)

Secondly, I don’t want to be someone I’m not. I’m not perfect; if anything, I’m terribly broken, complex and boring, typical and atypical simultaneously; unique, in the worst and most generic way.

I am a work in progress. I’m an ugly piece of granite, in the process of seeing what’s underneath.

It might be a toad.

It might be Psyche.

I don’t know, but I know what I’m trying for.

How on track I remain will determine whether I’ve the smooth and incredible detail of a Cellini or the clumsy stack of a inukchuk (although, given the spiritual connection to the land and to honouring what is, in nature and spirit, that is totally cool). Maybe shattered gravel would be a better metaphor.

Or a pile of crumbling mud.

Anyway, how to tell the world of what I’ve written, while not compromising my self into something I don’t want to be?

I want to be honest, in work and in life.

Anything else isn’t worth it, and bullshit.

Target: 700 words
Written: 98 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The $100 Startup, Chris Guillebeau
Comics: Saga 49-52
Music: One Fierce Beer Coaster, Bloodhound Gang

lost in space

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My wife was a big fan of the original series; I was more of a Star Trek/Doctor Who guy growing up. My dad always looked down on Lost In Space. If we watched something from that era, it was Captain Kirk or Adam West.

That said, I adore the new one from Netflix and wish it went on much longer. Molly Parker and Parker Posey are two of my favourite actresses and they are terrific in this. I also have a visceral attraction to Molly Parker; I don’t know what it is, but man, she just does it for me.

Anyways, the point is that I recently started watching the original series, as a nod to my wife (sorry about the Molly Parker thing, honey), and I have to admit, I’m in. They do a good job of creating tension and doing that writerly thing of “keep them in danger”, even if it’s outlandish in the actual science part (as, admittedly, was Star Trek).

And Jonathan Harris, what can I say? Every time he shows up on screen, all I can think is “this motherfucker“, so I guess he’s doing what he’s supposed to do, in creating a perpetually evil villain. I suspect there’s a redemption arc for him, but I’m not that far into the series. Certainly, there was for Parker Posey’s Smith, who was also terrific, as she always is.

Anyway, out, bitches (and please picture that said in Parker Posey’s Dazed and Confused character), maybe followed by a stumbling “fuck all of you”, with some middle fingers and shit.

Target: 700 words
Written: 84 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The $100 Startup, Chris Guillebeau
Comics: Saga 45-48
Music: One Chord To Another, Sloan

slight improvements

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Well, I mean, it’s eight more words, so good, right?

How many hours is it to mastery?

Ten thousand?

So, roughly, at the rate I’m writing, about 15 million words.

I’ve written just under a hundred thousand this year thus far.

I may need to speed up, if I want to be a master before I’m dead.

Then again, I could die any second, so what’s the use?

Life is a series of bludgeons, slowly reducing us to mush.

Target: 700 words
Written: 26 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Just A Geek, Wil Wheaton
Comics: Saga 41-44
Music: One By One, Foo Fighters (the last great rock band - unless you count Jack White, which I don't after the White Stripes ended)

new low

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Man, I thought I couldn’t get much worse than yesterday, but somehow, I did it.

Slow clap for me.

Target: 700 words
Written: 18 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Just A Geek, Wil Wheaton
Comics: Saga 37-40
Music: The One, Foo Fighters