Sweet Dreams Series, Updates, and Inconvenient Realities

Hello, it's been awhile...in fact, quite a while. 

I've as usual been meaning to blog for a long time, but finding the time, making the time and all of that has gone by the way. Finally, after a long period of work, writing, editing and madness I have for once decided to make the fucking time.

There is much to anticipate this summer, and so many things have occurred that I have to figure out just how I'm going to do them all. In line with that come the happenings in our world, close to home and otherwise.

I made a joke recently with my old friend Jim on his birthday about not getting old, to which he replied something about his back. It's true, our bodies are turning into old cars: they're gonna break down, make sounds they're not supposed to, and leak things they shouldn't, but they do.

I have had some nagging issues, but they are really nothing to complain about. When I consider how much pain I really felt almost 25 years ago from an accident that should have killed me, this is nothing.

I'm so trying not to complain about things. I find that little things get me nettled, but that's always been the thing. I try to let that pass, and realize you can't change an awful lot of stuff outside you. You can change yourself if you want.

I again find I have to rethink things. The last thing I want to do is chase money, but you need just enough to get things done. Well, whether it rolls in while I'm alive or helps out the later generations, we'll see.

It's an ego thing...but I would like to see how the world reacts to some of what I'm doing.

So what is going on right now? Well, the good news is that a project that I started writing, and have dealt with on and off for 11 years is coming out this summer.

The Sweet Dreams Series is this crazy story of threads that came together and formed a Gordian knot, or perhaps some kind of non-tie able one. 

https://www.behance.net/gallery/11158157/Sweet-Dreams-Searching-for-Roy-Buchanan-(Ch1-proof)

What you think? Now true, this is not the finished product, just a rough cut. But does that get you interested? I hope so...

When I started writing that story in 2007, I did not know what I'd started, but I can imagine really well. The literary, manga and anime world did not break down the doors, and it won't until this gets out there. There's nothing wrong with considering the possibilities; in fact, I feel you have to, so you don't get blindsided.

So that is gonna be my fourth book, and the third on Brown Posey Press. People have asked how long that is going to run. Well, I wrote five, plus a compendium of sorts. But the arc is going to have to change a lot, and there's going to be an insane amount of work for the next one to make sense due to all the changes in the first.

I think we have a fine trilogy here. And when that's done, I'm going to let Aki and the gang grow up a little more.

Now, that leads me to my resumption of a radio role as...a talk show host.

Fuck me. The last thing I ever wanted to do is be that again. 

The toxic, filth-laden wasteland of talk radio, and I mean political as well as sports talk is, quite plainly, shit. Generations have been programmed to let their heads be filled with everything they don't really need. The shopping mall of the radio dial has become one gigantic gape shot that you don't want any part of.

There's little left that I can stomach. But...I was pleasantly surprised to get an opportunity to actually do something that really does appeal to me.

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/bookspeak

Sunbury Press Books, which is our parent company created the BookSpeak Network, and I host the Brown Posey Press show, primarily for fiction.

Pretty cool; while generally I interview fellow authors on the imprint, I can go off the reservation. I've only done four shows so far, and I'm reading a lot more and prepping to do a full show without commercials.

Now we use phone hookups, so it's kind of a strange, almost analog sound. A friend listened to one of the shows and said it was like someone discovering a forgotten radio, and turning it back on. She found it a very comforting thing. How neat.

So I've interviewed some fine people and authors, and there will be more. I'm really enjoying this. This is the kind of show I can do. Authors talking about their books, about writing, what they read, how they've experienced things...it's actually really thought provoking.

I also have found a paying job...imagine that!

I'm working as a mentor for a gentleman who is in broadcasting school. He is a little older than me, and originally from Kenya. His goal is to return to his homeland and work as a talk show host. The power of radio over there is still king. 

He's got most of the tools, but he just needs some technical help, and practice. I've never done this before; I feel I can really help him. This is a nice give-back to an industry that needs people, still.

Now, we gotta hit the realities...our bodies are growing old, but our minds need not. These things I do keep my brain stretched, so I can write again and more, and further along.

I got a great opportunity last weekend to see an old friend. Kelly is a person I met 30 years ago in Northern NH. I was just explaining this experience to a friend, so I'll leave it this way: we were friends, lovers, and a lot of things for four years when it all blew up.

Fault is not one-sided, but we've long since forgiven one another for our doings. She did what I did, jobbed about the radio world, worked like hell, and has found a lot more.

We hadn't seen each other in 26 years, and I'm amazed and impressed by her. We both had things to work through, and we each had to do them. I'm still working on mine, but that's a lifelong deal.

That's the good one.

The passing of Anthony Bourdain is something I have to touch on. There was a recent suicide of a lady that shocked a lot of people, a designer that I am sorry to say I know little about.

I didn't know much about Bourdain; I'd only seen his TV show once, and there's a lot of love/hate flying about the man. He was loud, outspoken, and ruffled feathers. My kinda guy. 

He did a lot of good, though; he took us places, and tried food everywhere. Travel, he counseled us, travel; I need to follow that example.

His suicide shocked everyone. What could have happened? No one can say, but there's been a real re-ignition of the talk about suicide.

As someone who planned his own 30+ years ago, I can tell you a few things, but each person's reasons are different.

I wrote about this in Parasite Girls, my first book; and it looms in A Moment in the Sun, my second. Didn't plan that, but these things come about.

In the first, a character notes that a person is in the dark, so far, that they no longer realize what they are completely doing. The damage, the hurt, the agony, and whatever else influences otherwise rational people to do the irrational.

They may even think they're doing you a favor, by offing themselves. They may think life is no longer worth living; or that they cannot contribute, fit in, or do anything useful any longer, if ever.

The skin they live in must be something they cannot tolerate any longer. Everyone has a reason; the cases are different.

There are no true warning signs, but some say when a person no longer takes joy in the things they should, gives away valued possessions, withdraws, etc., those may be signs.

Hard to say. I never told anyone what was going on inside me, and most had no idea. But I'd also isolated myself enough, that the rare occasion anyone saw something strange, they either didn't get it, or passed it off as something other.

I can't really tell you anything specifics, because each of us are so different. Just this...if someone really reaches out to you, shut up, and listen. And listen critically. It's not about you. It's about them. Let it be them for just a little bit.

That said, I have to note the passing of a dear friend. Dick Huntington left us a couple weeks back. Dick was a lot of things, I can't even begin to document them. 

An author, a poet, a storyteller, a bard (he liked to call himsef), a teacher, so many things. He was in my old band Ahltyrra briefly, and he contributed in a lot of ways to my writing.

He edited and helped me greatly with my skills, way back when Sweet Dreams first went out to the world. He fell in love with the characters, and loved what I was doing with the time travel, the music, the people. Dick also tightened up my horrible writing style, and my awful changes of tense.

Dick served in Vietnam, but never talked about it. Rather, he talked about his time in California, the music scene, his years of living in different places, booking for the Baltimore Blues Society, meeting such incredible musicians. Great moments of his life.

As his health declined, Dick didn't quit. He helped right up to the end, and I feel that he should be seen for all the good he did, and yeah, he did a lot. I'm not going to toss off the difficult side of him, and that yes, he did piss some folks off.

But I ain't perfect, either, and don't I know it.

I'm sorry Dick did not live in his body to see the book make its way out, but wherever he is, I'm sure he'll see it, and have a lot to say about it!

RIP, brother, love you as you did me.

Well...time to move on here. Thanks for reading.

The Other Roads Club, Reconsidered

Well, here's a look at an old manuscript...I began writing "The Other Roads Club" trilogy back in 2008 or '09...after a number of years of edits, and fooling around with it, I realize it's got a long way to go. But I wanted to play around with it again...it stands up pretty well. I can see where my style has changed over the years. I wonder what you think...this is the introduction from Book 1, "Take Another Road." Let's meet a new/old heroine, Aimi, and her interesting friends...

Chapter 1--Letters, and the Golden Pair

Dear Kira-chan: I have only a short time before breakfast, so I must make this note a quick one. I was up late into the night reading The Bonesetter’s Daughter. Amy Tan is a wondrous writer; the story was at times sad, but one that really made you think. I will see if I can find more of her stories in the library.

So yes, I still read a great deal. It helps in these days, but I am well, and I hope you are the same. I miss you very much, yet each day I do my best to move forward.

Kaz will be meeting up with Kaldera today, and I just might get to meet this other boy who has been taking lessons from him. Kaz says he is very different, but someone he’s sure I’d like. He too likes to read and is very much into the western classics.

Mother is calling me; I must go. I love you, Kira-chan, as always…Aimi.

Aimi Okuda set her writing aside and cast a brief glance at the framed photograph that looked down from the top shelf of her desk. Smoothing back her long black hair, she turned and stood before the mirror above the dresser. Aimi clipped two metal barrettes in place, adjusted the collar and matching blue neck ribbon of her school uniform and the waist of the short, pleated skirt; she then made sure the level of her blue legwarmers matched at the knees. Aimi then picked up her book bag and stepped out the sliding door into the narrow hallway.

Moving past her parents’ bedroom, Aimi looked out into the front of her home. To her right was the small, threadbare living room. To her left in the kitchen, a woman had just finished packing lunches for the family.

“Good morning, Mom,” Aimi said as she slid past the breakfast table behind her mother.

“Good morning.” Madoka returned her daughter’s greeting and closed the three wooden bento boxes before setting them on the counter next to the stove. “Aimi,” she asked, “would you shout down the basement to your father? Breakfast is ready, and we’ve got to leave soon.”

“Okay.” Footsteps clumped up the steps now, so Aimi took her place at the low table. Tucking her long pigtail securely inside her red morning robe, Madoka sat beside her daughter, and the two began to serve three plates of rice rolled in seaweed, setting them beside small bowls of soy sauce, along with last night’s leftover baked fish.

“Here I am, no need to yell for me.” Aimi’s father, Goro squeezed himself through the tiny door that led to the cellar and slid it shut behind him. Dressed in blue jeans and a dark blue work shirt, he entered the kitchen and sat down across from his wife. Goro was in his early forties, short but strongly built. He ran his hand through his black hair, which had a few grey streaks in it and picked up his coffee cup. “The new flutes are packed and ready,” he said before taking a sip of the black brew. “They should go over well today.”

The Okuda family owned and operated a small shop in the Ameyoko section of Tokyo. The area was once the source of black market goods following World War II, but had since evolved into a colorful, bustling place of business. Their shop specialized in traditional and modern Japanese artwork. The more popular items were prints of certain scenes the tourists favored, but Goro’s handmade flutes or shakuhachi were popular, as were Madoka’s calligraphy paintings.

As the three began to eat, Aimi told them, “I will be over after school to help.” She related to her parents of the meeting that was scheduled to take place.

“Good.” Goro nodded approvingly and said, “Tell Kaldera if you see him that I may have some money for him. I believe a buyer is coming for that guitar of his.”

“I will.” The family discussed the upcoming day’s work at the shop, and the activities at Aimi’s school. “The class trip to Koga is next weekend,” she commented, “it’s all anyone’s been talking about.”

Madoka looked with sympathy at her daughter. “I’m sorry we couldn’t afford for you to go, Aimi. It would have been good for you.”

Aimi shrugged. “It’s okay,” she replied, her expression and voice sincere. “Kaz and Mei aren’t going, either. Besides,” she went on, “I have a feeling something else is going to happen that will beat going to see the Ninja Museum!”

All three laughed as a knock came on the door, which slid back a moment later. “Morning, all,” a female voice called.

The Okudas welcomed in the new arrivals, a uniformed boy and girl. “Hello, Kaz, Mei,” Aimi returned.            

“Come sit,” Goro told the pair, and the two removed their shoes and took up spaces on either side of Aimi.

“Yes, and help yourselves,” Madoka told them. She motioned to the plates on the table, “there’s plenty.”

“Oh no, thank you,” the one called Kaz returned politely. “I’m well-fed.” Kazuhiro Ogawa was tall and thin; his black hair was worn long, but not so much to become a concern for the school district’s regulations. He lived next door to Aimi, as he had all their lives.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Mei said as she helped herself to a piece of the nori and dipped it into Aimi’s bowl. Meiho Maeda was another neighbor on the street, the most outgoing of the group. Mei was thickset in her build, the product of years of martial arts training. The uniform showed off her musculature, in particular her well-defined thighs and calves.

These, however, weren’t the first things people tended to notice when they saw Mei for the first time. Her face was plain, but bore the bloodlines of Korea as well as Japan. Her hair was black, thick and very long, held in place by several bobby pins and a black plastic hair clip. Her dark eyes were accented by the black eye makeup she wore; this plus her larger than normal girth gave Mei a menacing image. “How is everyone?” She asked, taking care to swallow before speaking.

“Another day,” Goro replied and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, “another day poorer,” which again drew laughter.

“How is your mother doing, Mei?” Madoka asked. “I feel sad I’ve not been over to visit in a while.”

Mei nodded. “Mom’s better today,” she replied, “and she says hello to all of you.” Mei’s mother had been ill for some time and was no longer able to work. As a result, Mei looked after her, especially on her more difficult days.

Aimi looked to Kaz. “How are your mom and dad, by the way?” She asked.

Kaz shrugged, and the look on his face showed right away. “They were both out the door before I was up,” he replied, “the usual.” Kaz’s father was lead mechanic at an automotive repair center in the city, while his mother worked in a downtown department store. The Ogawa’s of late were rarely seen, due to their schedules.

Aimi had known that her first question had struck a nerve, and inside she wished she hadn’t asked it. Changing the subject, Aimi then asked, “How about today? Kaldera’s coming over to school, right?”

At the mention of Kaldera, Kaz became more like himself. “Yes, and Minoru’s coming by, too,” he said. “You guys will love him. He’s quite the musician.” Kaz went on to explain that Minoru went to the exclusive public school near theirs.

Seated between her friends, Aimi detected the barely perceptible growl that came from her left, from Mei. She made no reaction to it, and Aimi continued to listen to Kaz. “He’s very good on the shamisen,” Kaz explained, “and he’s been learning guitar like I have from Kaldera. Oh, and another thing: Kaldera wants to take the boat out next weekend. He wanted to know if you would be interested.”

Madoka smiled. “Well, Aimi,” she said, “you just predicted something different might happen.”

“What does Kaldera have in mind?” Goro asked, equally interested.

“I don’t know,” Kaz replied. “He just mentioned it in passing the other day. He’s also planning to play out this week. I hope he’ll let us know more about that, too.”

Aimi then turned to Mei. “What’s up with your Tae Kwon Do?” She asked. “Did you hear about the testing?”

“Yes.” Mei smiled, probably her first broad one of the day. “Matsunaga-Sensei says I’m all but ready for my test, the big one.”

All voiced congratulations. Now sixteen (the same age as her friends), Mei had risen through the junior ranks to the red belt. The aforementioned final test would come soon, and if all went well, Mei would gain the long-sought black belt. “I’ve been waiting for this a long time,” she said, “and I’m hopeful; but I’m not gonna believe it until Sensei says so.”

“Well,” Kaz said, “we’ll be there to see it.”

The group broke up, and Madoka invited the pair over for dinner that evening. A regular occurrence, as Kaz’s parents tended to work long hours, and it gave Mei a break from home.            

The three watched and waved goodbye to Aimi’s parents as they drove down the narrow street in the old white Suzuki mini truck. With the Okudas on their way, the three teenagers headed in the other direction. In addition to his book bag, Kaz also carried his acoustic guitar in its hard case.

“So we’ll finally get to meet Minoru,” Aimi said. “You’ve spoken so well of him; I am anxious to find out what he’s like.”

Mei nodded, but said nothing. Her gaze appeared fixed ahead, but as Aimi was a little shorter, she could note that her friend’s eyes were downcast. Reaching out, she put her hand into Mei’s, the other into Kaz’s.

Aimi noticed that Mei’s smile returned, and Kaz had one as well. That made hers even larger. It will be a good day. I am glad to make my two oldest friends smile. Then I can smile a little more, too.

* * *

The silver Jaguar pulled up to the curb and stopped without a sound. The rear door opened, and the tall girl alighted. Bending from the waist, she leaned into the window and thanked the driver, then stood to watch him drive away.

She turned to look over the main courtyard of Katsuhashi Academy. The fan-shaped yard which led to the main doors of the impressive brick building was populated by numerous uniformed students. Most talked in small groups; a few were seated on the grass or on benches, studying or socializing before homeroom.

The girl checked her face in a compact mirror before walking in, and noted with some satisfaction that the eyes of many of the male students and older passerby were on her lean, athletic body. She ascertained her white and blue uniform blouse was straight, the red scarf and the seams of her short dark blue skirt in line. Shouldering her book bag, she walked into the courtyard and brushed back her long, flowing black hair with careful casualness.

She looked over the knots of boys, they in the all-black uniform of the spring semester. The girl listened as well, but not to the chatter of her fellow students. She did not hear that other sound which she expected at this time of the morning

“Asuka-san! Ohayo!” The call of two girls’ voices broke Asuka from her search, and she turned to greet her classmates as they rushed up.

“Ohayo.” Homoka and Masami were two of her closest friends; like Asuka, both were in their second year of high school. The former was Asuka’s teammate in field hockey. She was short and had the classic, thin build of a Japanese girl. Her hair was long and black and styled much like that of Asuka’s. Masami was also thin, but she did not play sports. Her own straight hair hung past her shoulders, and she wore expensive eyeglasses, plus a black beret perched at the correct angle on her head.

The girls walked on either side of Asuka as they passed through the courtyard. Over the typical questions of how her friends were doing plus other matters of the school day, Asuka was paying only scant attention. She continued to search ahead of her; then near the main doors, she saw a boy sitting alone on a bench with a curious musical instrument in his hands.

“Minoru-kun,” she called as she moved quickly to his side. As she did, the boy rose, carefully set down his shamisen, bowed and smiled.

Minoru Higa was a teenager that would stand out in any crowd. He was tall, and looked even thinner than he was in the uniform. His hair was thick and naturally wavy, the ends just a little past his collar. This was actually against regulations at Katsuhashi; but then, Minoru seemed to get away with such things.

“Good morning, Asuka-chan.” Minoru accepted Asuka’s police kiss. He also hailed Homoka and Masami and bowed to them, which pleased the girls much more than a simple greeting should.

“How are you today?” Asuka looked into those dark, almost black eyes.

“I am quite well, thank you,” he quietly replied. “I’m glad I got to see you before school, Asuka. I wanted to ask you about something.”

Longtime friends, Minoru dispensed with the honorific, usually after the initial greeting. That to Asuka was just one of Minoru’s “ways,” of which there were many.

“Of course,” Asuka replied.

As on cue, Asuka’s friends made their excuses and stepped away. Minoru chuckled at this. “They are so tactful,” he joked. “You have them well trained.”

The two laughed as they sat on the bench. As Minoru placed his shamisen in a padded leather shoulder bag, Asuka replied, “They are not trained, I can assure you, Minoru. They are merely kind about giving us our space.”

“Yes, and carrying on with the Camelot-like nature of what they, and everyone else thinks our relationship is.” Setting the bag alongside his books, Minoru said, still smiling (though Asuka could tell its meaning had changed), “I gather you have heard what they’re all saying about us.”

“I care not what others say,” Asuka replied. “It is what we both think that matters.”

“Supposedly,” Minoru went on, “we are the Golden Pair. That perfect couple.” He snorted with barely hidden distaste. “I don’t know about you, Asuka, but frankly I am embarrassed by it.”

Asuka gently laid her hand on Minoru’s shoulder. “No one means anything bad by it,” she said. “Yes, I have heard that too, and it is rather juvenile. Let the others talk; it means nothing to me.”

She watched as Minoru turned slightly and looked into her eyes. They seemed sad and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to put down your friends,” he told her. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t think that. You are so decent to everyone,” Asuka said. “Don’t worry about them, or me. We have each other; that is what matters, isn’t that right?”

Minoru smiled. “Right,” he replied. “Oh, if I may now ask you about that certain something?”

Asuka smiled and nodded. “You may.”

“Kaldera is going to be over at Masuyo today,” Minoru explained. “I’m meeting up with my good friend Kaz over there, too. Why don’t you come with me? You know Kaldera already, and I think you’d really get along with Kaz and his friends.”

As he spoke, Minoru examined Asuka’s expression. At the mention of the name of the public school, her eyebrows raised and her face, slimmer in its lines than most Japanese, took on a slight change and the smile fell away. Minoru expected this; it was the logical, almost programmed reaction where Asuka was concerned.

“I…don’t know,” Asuka replied, but she looked away and said no more.

“Oh, do come with me, Asuka.” Minoru took her hand, and quickly added, “It is not like we would be exploring a wild world. Kaz is a fine person, and I’m quite excited to meet these friends of his. A few new friends are always a good thing, wouldn’t you say?”

Asuka turned to face him, and her smile returned. “You can talk me into anything, Minoru,” she replied. “Yes, I’ll gladly go with you. The hockey season is over, and the dinner party is not until later in the evening. By the way, you are coming, aren’t you?”

“Indeed.” The two rose, and Minoru shouldered his shamisen. “Your father has become rather a patron of my music, which I am grateful for.”

As he picked up his books with his free hand, Asuka noted the familiar leather-bound volume atop the stack. “Here I stand amid the roar…” she chided.

“…of a surf-tormented shore,” Minoru returned with a grin.

The outside loudspeakers then emitted the tones for homeroom, and the two entered the building hand in hand, awash in the mass of those wearing the school’s colors.

The Waiting Game, Advice, and Other Musings

Well, here I am once again, sitting in one of my various "offices," and starting to find that the rat race that I spent six years trying to get back in so I could "make a living" is taking its toll on me.

I'm certainly not unhappy to have a job, and to also have the health benefits that go along with it. Right now, no amount of holistic living, nuts and berries dieting and other obsessive ideas would be enough to keep me alive. Not that there's anything wrong with any of that, I lack the time, money and expertise in the field.

Too much travel. I drive too far, too often, etc. in order to make this living, and yet it is what I must do. Moving is not an option. There's not enough to make that work or worth it.

So when do I write? I don't. I do edit, and I do map things out, and consider, but actual writing is something I have to really make time for, and there's little of that.

I do not mean to complain. I know too many people in worse situations. I also refuse to succumb to Grumpy Old Man Syndrome, which I'm sorry to say afflicted certain people at said job. 

People who cannot accept change become an issue. Daily whining, bitching and moaning about the "way things used to be," and "back in my day, we did it like this..."

Change is very difficult. Veteran broadcasters, just as much as new people can have a difficult time learning new systems, new ideas, new procedures. It's not always fun. But when you go into it with a mindset that the new way is WRONG, and the boss is WRONG, and that everything is WRONG WRONG WRONG, you're not gonna get anywhere.

I am going to recall a passage from one of my favorite Douglas Reeman stories, "Pride and the Anguish." In a certain exchange, the first officer tells the navigator what he thinks of the ongoing, rancorous dislike between the latter and their captain. This fellow was disagreeable, stiff, and not always right, but he did have leadership qualities, stuck up for his men, and would never let them be put down by superiors who knew nothing about the war they were involved in.

The Number 1 tells the navigator (paraphrasing), "Your whole problem with the captain is that you have never even tried to get along with him, and never even tried to work with him!"

There's your point. This is not to play company man, either; you have to do what you can, best you can. If you can see changes needed, then you speak out, and you find a way to get them in.

I felt weighed down, sad to say, by certain people who are my friends, but who allowed ego and not getting their way to be their undoing. Someone wouldn't see any need to change; someone forgot who is signing the checks; someone who was out for themselves; someone who did a lot of nothing; someone who got all butthurt because he/she didn't get their way on something.

It gets a little easier as you get older, if you let it.

So I'm not unhappy as I've said. But is this what I really want? I have said I would take less money to have a little better quality of life. And more time to do what I want to do.

Now...about that:

We are at this time waiting for "A Moment in the Sun" to get a release date. I have to look over the copy one final time, I must wait for the cover art to be finished off, and then we can start getting ready for the push.

Have you see it yet? Have I mentioned?

Yes, I'm sure I have. If you see my Facebook posts or anything else, this cover by Mitch Bentley is all over the place. Yes, I'm shamelessly plugging this fucking thing.

I have to consider a book release event, a physical one, somewhere that is central to my location, and one that people would actually show up to. I'd like to do that, and hope we might generate some interest, and yes, sales.

These books to not make themselves. I would rather sell books and make a living like that, but as someone in "A Moment..." says the life of an artist making one's living that way is not practical.

But it would be nice.

Anyway, I am considering ways to get the word out there that my work will be available, and trying to get it into the right hands. 

Now, the good thing about my publisher, Sunbury Press Books, is that they primarily work with indie bookshops. Those odd little places that don't have gigantor space and signage, the one where actual, physical BOOKS can be bought, read, and so forth.

The online world has killed shopping of just about any kind...

[phone call, hang on]

I don't get many of these. But yes, one of my team got in touch, wow.

Okay, I gotta get going, but yes I am soliciting ideas for places, and things I can do to get YOU to buy and read my book...shameless, I am!

Peace, Out.

In a Job/Outta Job, Book Signings, Creativity, Mania, and the Summer I Didn't Remember...

Well, greetings once more...been a while indeed since yours truly found a moment to sit down, think and actually have time to write this blog thing. I have got to tell you, this has been on crazy fucking summer, and as the title notes, I don't remember it.

I should say that I do remember it, but I don't remember having much time to enjoy it. The summer that was 2014 was one of intense work, travel, road-running, creativity and not a fair bit of madness.

I've talked a bit here and there about my new job, reporting with the GeoTraffic Network. It is no secret that there have been some issues, and I am one of the laid-off. The hope is that this is not for more than a short period. I'm still employed, I have some work here and there, and this old radio hound is back to jobbing about for different companies while keeping an ear to the ground.

That is how it goes, folks. Nothing is ever certain in this business, and I'm not here to rant, rave, bitch and moan about it. I've done this 30 years--it merely IS.

I am hopeful things turn around, and if they do, great. If not, life goes on, and we all do.

THAT SAID:

Let's get to the next important, big thing. I had my first-ever book signing last Saturday at Midtown Scholar Bookstore in Harrisburg, PA. "Parasite Girls" was front and center on the main stage. I shared the spot with Robert Walton, author of "Fatal Snow" and my cover artist Mitch Bentley also arrived:

Here we are...Mr. Walton is in the background, and we're doing our best to sell the book to this gentleman at the left.

Nice man, and we met quite a few cool folks. One good friend of mine I'd never met showed up...our dear friend Alice Potteiger came off a long run w/o sleep at the Pullo Center to take these photos and others (love you, Alice!)...had some nice conversations, and a big thanks to the Midtown Scholar for their kindnesses.

Good time all 'round...also made some good networking contacts. "Fatal Snow" is published by Sunbury Publishing, and I recently had an email exchange with its head, Lawrence Knorr. I am encouraged by Mr. Knorr's feeling that I am on the right track, and getting my work out there.

The whole weekend makes this thing worth it. It is going in the direction I wanted.

Now what is next? The potential for recording an audio version of "Parasite Girls" is there. I am looking into that possibility now, as well as planning my work towards getting more promotional time to put out the book.

At the same time, I must get ready for the follow-up. My first foray into the Young Adult Fiction world is "Drifters: Tales of the Southern Cross." You can read rough bits of that here at www.behance.net/torygates along with other things I've done.

I've been trying to figure out what to do with this story, and its potential for sequels. Today, I had a very deep creative urge, and suddenly the past few months of what would I do next with the Drifters Club became clear.

There is a possible sequel, and even a third book, another trilogy. Do you know how many of these I have?

I have two other, unpublished trilogies, "The Other Roads Club" and "The Outcast Society." When I'll get to 'em, no idea.

"Drifters" is next on the agenda, but in the meantime I continue to write, and consider the next steps.

There are so many steps, so many avenues, but I need to choose wisely and figure out the direction for each one. 

I feel very much like the Nowhere Man in "Yellow Submarine." I'm doing all these things, but who is there to read them? Or hear them? Will they ever?

I have assigned myself the task of living long enough to make sure I've gotten a requisite amount of work ready to be published. I aim to live long enough to see this, and all of this come to something, dammit.

The world is flying by me as I do this, but that is my life. I do not see any other option. Being out of work for so long left me time to do this. I could not spend years hiding behind my keyboard and sniping at the universe like a fucking troll, attacking people for the problems I think I have.

I don't have a problem, per se. I really don't. I have a lot of stuff to be thankful for, and I plan to make use of what I've got. My second life began in 2007, when I started writing the "Sweet Dreams Series," another that must be got out. 

I'll do this on my own, until the time comes someone gets what I am doing. Advice people ask for is how I do it...now that's gonna get me into a mini-rant:

Here's the thing: for years, YEARS, people have around me been saying, they have ideas for books, stories, this, that, etc. I'm gonna do this, do that, get this, be that...

...and they never fucking do it.

They don't think they can, don't think anyone will be there, don't have time, and invent a million excuses why and why not.

THERE ARE NO FUCKING EXCUSES THAT WILL WASH. NONE.

My painter friend Sunny said it over 20 years ago...you just have to do it.

That's what I do.

Am I fucking nuts? Probably. Clearly mental, at times...manic at times, depressed more often, but still fairly even keeled enough to know when to stop and when not to.

Okay, I don't always do that, it's true. But I'm working better at it.

So look...as fucked up as I'm sure a lot of people must think I am, this is what I do. I do what I love doing, I do not do things I don't enjoy. If I don't feel right in a situation, I leave. Not because I am paranoid, or whacked out or any of that. I have to do what is right for me, or I don't survive. That's it.

Anyway...I hope for things to improve in different areas, and I do my best to stay healthy,not worry too much and find good shit where I can.

I'm outta here...Peace.

"A Moment in the Sun," and Where Do We Go from Here?

Greetings, one and all...I have returned to the blogosphere after hopefully catching my breath, and figuring out just where the hell I have been the past weeks.

I have never been much for diaries, though I do still have a leather-bound journal full of multi-colored scratchings from about ten years ago. Why I keep it, I have no idea. The things you find when you are digging around in the hoard/closet.

I don't know if this is counts as spring cleaning, but I decided to drag a pair of bookshelves from my closet into my bedroom. And no, I didn't remove the books. That's just how I am.

So anyway, I then spent the better part of the past two late nights re-sorting my books, as sort of a literary "High Fidelity" scene. I don't have enough space in the room to put all my books there. So I have to figure out what I don't need/want at hand, and put those back in the closet. Weird, I know.

Interesting to see a lot of these again...I do realize though, a bunch of these are headed for one of those big metal dumpster/dropoff things. I have to do it, not much choice in the matter.

So yeah...the past few weeks have found me busy here:

http://www.geotraffic.com/

This is my new company...I am back to being a traffic reporter, and we're on a new platform with a different target. This has a future, I feel and we're taking the small steps forward to get us where we need to go. I'm back in broadcasting of a sort, what can I say?

To use a MASH reference: this is "meatball surgery." There is no finesse in this art, it is grunt work, but it is work that requires some smarts, common sense, and an ability to think on your ass...because we're sitting.

I am also back to driving long distances. I've done this before...back in the starving, struggling days of the early 90's, I drove a Dodge Lancer to its death (at least three times) when going from Watertown to Hyannis to do a $5 an hour job, because...I wanted to be broadcaster.

The dream job of 2004-09, XM saw me drive from York, PA to Washington, DC and back, five days a week or more, for all that time. Now I'm driving a similar time frame but a few less miles.

Why?

I like where I live...I know, I swore up and down I was going to get the fuck out of York and never return. Then I realized where the new job was. I didn't like that area the first time I worked there...I still don't like it.

This is better, and so it is.

Now...about this:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1494401975/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1494401975&linkCode=as2&tag=coverscroll-20

I know, I have to shamelessly plug. I am writing this just after making a sale to a friend of mine of "Parasite Girls." Sales are slloooooowwww...how it is. Also, had a long Facebook chat with a dear friend who told me what was "wrong" culturally with the book. And of course, she was right.

I do not think any of these things are terrible errors, but I understand them. I did my best to get it right...it's kind of like this: when I edited and edited, and did everything I thought I could possibly do to get it right, I finally had to say, "Enough!"

You can only do so much. I think it turned out well and I'm happy with it.

Here then, comes my dilemma: what do I do next?

Ihttp://www.wattpad.com/39695970-a-moment-in-the-sun

This is the first chapter (rough cut) of "A Moment in the Sun." Wattpad is a social media/writing site that is new to me, and I'm trying it out as a means to get some new audience in the mix.

You can also read this, and much more at www.behance.net/torygates

Anyway..."A Moment in the Sun" was written at the beginning of this year. It came quickly; this could be the step up I need.

Here's the deal..."Parasite Girls" became the test case for my writing. It is straight fiction; "Moment..." is fiction, but as the main characters are all teenagers, it can be considered a crossover to Young Adult, which is what I mostly write.

Half-step, maybe?

The story is fully set in Japan, and again I touch on a phenomena which is not unique to that part of the world, this time. Here is the story that inspired it:

http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-23182523

Now in this story is referenced a manga, "Welcome to the NHK." I got the first volume, and I was not terribly impressed by it. The storyline was too typical, and did not touch enough on why the main character was hikikomori. Didn't explain it well.

I had a couple of ideas on what to do with this, but then "Moment..." made its way into my brain and would not leave.

A close friend of mine read the first chapter aloud from my Behance site...her husband said that sounded good.

Hmmm...

Not long ago, I described the story aloud to another friend. She was busy clearing her desk and doing that kind of work, but her ears pricked up. She said, "That's the one."

I wonder...it is a specific story, a few more characters than "Parasite Girls," but easy enough to follow. 

I think this is the best step up. Then, following this I can again do a full-blooded YA story, which likely will be "The Drifters."

What is happening here is that I feel in a hurry. I feel like I have got to get these out, but I cannot throw money into the creation of a project, then jump to the next. It just does not work.

I am promoting "Parasite Girls," and once I get off weekends, then I can really do that. Each of these projects is time-consuming. I have talked about how "PG" took a full year to realize. Yes, it did. I'd already written it; but then what followed was every single thing you need to do to make it real.

I am also again trying to find a publisher/agent...it's worth trying now, because I have a book in hand. Here's the next one, and the next one, and the next one...better risk I'd say.

Staying the course, being patient, keeping myself somewhat together. Yeah, I have to do it. There's no time for worrying, I have to just keep on doing all these things.

The shit ain't over yet.