nothing finer

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Than to be in a v… wait. No.

There’s nothing finer than a cup of coffee, a mix of David Bowie/Rise Against/Nine Inch Nails in your ears, as you finalize the edits on the fourth draft of your novella.

Thirteen scenes I hope to combine to six.

I know you can’t sell a novella. I’m hoping to package it as The Mungk & Other Bullshit, which I realize will be a tough sell on bookstore shelves, but it’s also an eyecatcher. It was suggested to me to call the book The Little House In The Country, but that sounds fucking boring and generic.

The Mungk is a weird name. And people love swearing.

You see the word Mungk and ask, what the fuck is that (although you might be one of those people who don’t swear like longshoremen, so you might say, “what a strange looking word, perhaps I should inquire as to its meaning” and then drink some tea with your pinky out and adjust your monocle, you fucking weirdo), and then pick it up.

Pick it up and maybe buy it. And then maybe that money goes through the various systems of skimming off the top from the store, the distributor, the publisher, agents, managers and probably some grifting professional organization that claims to advocate for authors, but actually keeps them poor and begging, like the RIAA and MPAA do to movies and music, and then finally, that pittance will arrive in my bank account, where it’s probably already been paid out in an advance and I’ll actually get nothing extra for it at all.

But if enough of you do it…

Well, shit.

Break out the fucking tea.

Target: 700 words
Written: 302 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter
Comics: Saga 21-24
Music: Out In L.A., Red Hot Chili Peppers

so out of it

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I think I might be sick.

Like really sick. Like liver failure or cancer sick.

The onset of diabetes or some aneurysm or stroke waiting to happen.

I don’t like it. I don’t know if it’s true.

I just want to be cold.

I want to sleep forever.

Target: 700 words
Written: 1136 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter
Comics: Saga 17-20
Music: Our Love To Admire, Interpol

storms and sofi

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The poor girl, she’s so nervous.

The first crack of thunder in the far distance and she’s losing her shit and I have to go sit downstairs on the couch with her until she settles enough to get one of her calming treats in her, and then, maybe, we can go back to bed, where she’ll shiver like a leaf in my arms until the drugs kick in and the lightning stops flashing and the thunder fades and she falls gently asleep, allowing me to do the same.

How’s that for a run-on?

What can I say?

I’m tired of not sleeping, but I love the little girl.

Target: 700 words
Written: 702 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: Saga 13-16
Music: Our Lady Peace Essentials, Our Lady Peace

return to work

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Ugh.

I feel mostly like I need another three or four days (or forever – can someone just pay me to sit and write, or do nothing at all, drifting through life like some kind of modern age guru or witless Dude-like bum?)

Anyway, body sore, brain dead, somehow making this all function. Part of me is praying for heart failure.

Part of me is always praying for sudden death.

Target: 700 words
Written: 628 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: Saga 9-12
Music: Otherside, Red Hot Chili Peppers

escape from new york

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Such a long, delayed flight, we didn’t get back and to bed until after 2AM. I am dying.

Too much walking. Too much heat.

Too many people for my introvert heart.

I am turning inside and finding only discomfort, tightness and pain.

Would that I could stand sensory deprivation, but claustrophobia’s a real bitch.

Target: 700 words
Written: 854 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Through The Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll
Comics: Saga 5-8
Music: Other Worlds, Screaming Trees

flatiron to times square

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We did that walk. Down Broadway. In ninety degree heat.

On the plus side, I got a good deal on good shirts and shorts from an Aeropostale outlet.

Also, of fashion in New York. I’m not sure who convinced women that the new trend should skin-tight, see-through and bra-less, but hell, good job, Illuminati or Obama or whoever we have to thank for that.

I know, I know.

Dirty old man, it’s horrible. I’m horrible.

I should be spayed and neutered already, and I would be, if it wasn’t for this damn sex drive. I’ll get you next time, meddling sex drive.

I think it’s official; I’ve got heat delusion. Goodbye, Central Park Zoo. I love your red panda and your penguins, but you should really let them all go home.

Target: 700 words
Written: 456 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Assholes Finish First, Tucker Max (this shit is colouring my views, thank heaven it's done)
Comics: Saga 1-4 (HOLY SHIT)
Music: I Don't Give A Fuck About You, Pearl Jam

of long walks

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I’ve walked probably about fifty New York City blocks of varying lengths and my dogs are barking.

Still. I appreciate what the city has to offer and all, but damn.

I am peopled the fuck out.

There are too many people on this planet. I’m not calling for a plague or anything, but like, people, stop breeding.

Republicans claim to be pro-life, but man, abortion is one of the many ways we can help this planet by not contributing to overpopulation, unhappiness, children and parents in poverty or abuse, because they weren’t ready and didn’t want kids… you’re contributing to fucking misery and death, the death of us all, with your anti-environmental, anti-woman, anti-life stances.

Like fucking vegans, you’ve taken a high-minded principle (don’t abort fetuses or eat animals), and missed the actual real world impact of such a stance, both from a moral, and historical standpoint.

The most “noble” of intentions based on completely flawed premises (of course, I’d also argue that vegans may actually have noble intentions, but Republicans, given their pro-gun, pro-capital punishment and pro-who-gives-a-fuck-what-happens-to-the-kid-after-they’re-born stance, are entirely disin-fucking-genuous).

Anyway, people. Keep fucking, but stop breeding, for Pete’s sake, whoever Pete is.

Target: 700 words
Written: 962 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Assholes Finish First, Tucker Max
Comics: Danger Girl: Renegade 3-4
Music: Other Pirate Material, The Streets

merrily we roll along

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I usually hate musicals (and parts of this I didn’t care for), but this was still pretty good.

I guess maybe I’m okay with musical comedies?

If they star Daniel Radcliffe and Jonathan Groff?

Yeah?

Maybe?

Target: 700 words
Written: 1382 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: It Devours!, Joseph Fink, Jeffrey Cranor
Comics: Danger Girl: Mayday 3-4, Danger Girl: Renegade 1-2
Music: The Original Cowboy, Against Me! (EVERYTHING EXCLAMATION MARKS!!!)

chelsea morning

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I think if I lived in New York, it’d be in Chelsea. Something about the vibe.

Of course, I hate people and I could never afford it, but you know, the vibe.

Still, space and quiet are more important to me. And besides, I’ve never bought into this idea that because something is from a big city, it’s automatically “better”. Street food in New York is no better than street food anywhere else (and I’ll die on the hill that Chicago dogs are the absolute fucking pinnacle of that kind of street food – New York’s is generic shit).

I might even say Chicago deep dish is better than New York pizza, that, in fact, having had pizza in many different parts of the world, I would actually rank New York pizza lower than most.

Toronto is the same fucking way. This attitude that bigger is better is idiotic. That might be true of Broadway shows, but let’s face it, a small indie flick usually has infinitely more depth and quality than a big budget action thriller or a star-driven rom-com.

Sometimes, the actual jungle is cooler is than the concrete one.

Target: 700 words
Written: 497 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: It Devours!, Night Valians
Comics: Danger Girl: The Chase 3-4, Danger Girl: Mayday 1-2
Music: The Original Broadway Cast Recording Of American Idiot (hey, when in Rome, right?)

fifteen years

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Here we are, at Tony DiNapoli’s in New York City, my lovely wife and I (and our daughter), enjoying family style fettucine alfredo and baked ziti over a glass of Chianti, because we can.

Because we’ve been married for fifteen lovely years, together for seventeen. I don’t necessarily believe in the reality of monogamy (and I think the insistence causes a lot of unhappiness in the world), but I wouldn’t choose anyone else to share these years with.

I can, without any doubt, say that I am a better man today for her, and for me.

Happy anniversary, darling.

Target: 700 words
Written: 293 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: It Devours!, The Night Vale Guys
Comics: Danger Girl: Trinity 3-4, Danger Girl: The Chase 1-2
Music: Origin Of Symmetry, Muse