Author: Don

Readercon, Day the First

It’s taken me a week to fully process my Readercon experience, partly because I think part of me would rather just sit back for the rest of my vacation and just live inside my memories. But as the saying goes, “After the ecstacy, the laundry.” Time to move this stuff out of my head, so I can move on with the rest of my life. So, here’s a rough synopsis of my first day:

1
A week ago today, I was flying from my little patch of upstate New York, thru LaGuardia, then to Boston’s Logan International Airport. It was the first time I’d flown in fifteen years. Not a bad experience. My horrible visions of being cavity searched, despite how careful I tried to be meeting all the TSA requirements, didn’t come true.

I spent most of the trip stressing over my MBTA route. The process was fairly painless, except for being long. Excluding layover time, I spent more time riding on public transit than I did in the air.

2
Once I got to the hotel itself, I checked in, and the first person I saw when I stepped out of the 6th floor elevator was legendary editor Kathryn Cramer. She was talking while walking with someone, providing me with a convenient excuse not to say hi.

I’d tried to check in with emails and tweets during my trip. But there was no free WiFi at LaGuardia where I had my longest layovers. So, I had no choice that first night except to pay for the hotel’s WiFi at the ridiculous price of twelve ninety-fucking-five a day.

3
I managed to blow one-third of my food budget on dinner at the hotel bar. This did not make me feel good, considering the money I’d just paid on WiFi.

4
I finally meet one of many folks on my Twitter friends list I intended to stalk find. Rather, it’s more accurate to say that Nancy Brauer, along with MCM, found me. Of course, we lost track of each other temporarily, going in our own directions, but we would have time to connect later.

4
The first panel I went to that night was “I Read This Book, So I Started a Band,” with F. Brett Cox, Leah Bobet, David G. Shaw, Paul Di Filippo, & Glenn Grant.

I had my notebook open and didn’t take a lot of notes. I was too busy looking at all the folks, on stage and around the room, who I recognized from their work and/or their blogs. 

5
Afterward, I went to the “Speculative Poetry Workshop” with Mike Allen. Recall that I went to a Sci-Fi Poetry panel at Astronomicon 11, which was mostly readings and a discussion, and a workshop on (non-genre) poetry a few months later. This workshop was right in between, which I enjoyed even if I didn’t read anything aloud. The piece I generated, much like the rest of my Vogon poetry, is safely stored away in a Pandorica-like box where it won’t hurt anybody.

6
After that, I was still hungry and pondering my next move. Luckily, I was found by another one of my tweeps, Jaym Gates who, along with Eric Rosenfield, had just arrived and wanted to go on a food run. After navigating our way from Burlington to Cambridge (Well, they were navigating. I was pretty much useless.), we find an IHOP, where we established what would be an ongoing pattern of abject silliness and innuendo.

I ended the day around 1:45 AM, jazzed and clueless that the best parts were still to come.

Next time*: Cool panels, meeting one of my bestest Tweeps, meeting the Pros(e), and more.

*I’m off on a camping trip this weekend, so I’m not exactly sure if “next time” will be a timed post set for tomrrow, or if it’ll be on Sunday when I get back.

Chapter XXXVII

Today, Chapter XXXVII of my life begins.

“I’m 37. I’m not old.”
-Dennis, Monty Python and the Holy Grail

I’m starting this chapter off right with a two-and-a-half week vacation from my dayjob, a trip next week to Readercon, a camping trip with friends the following weekend, and after that, my next NSO gig at the next home derby bout.

Role ModelsFor the past couple years, I’ve tried to obtain writing-related birthday gifts. This year, though, I dusted off my Audible account, and treated myself to Role Models by John Waters.  I quoted it a lot recently, having read snippets from it and heard various podcast interviews and readings.

I’m listening to the first few chapters now, and thinking about my own role models.  I’ll blog about them some other time.  But this book is making me give some thought to who’s influenced, not just my art, but my life as an artist.  In Waters, I think I’ve found a new one.  Just look out the quotes I’ve used recently as well as the links below.  If you’ve been paying any attention to how I feel about writing and how I pursue it, I’m sure you’ll understand why. 

“What’s my name, fool?”

I should apologize for the ratio of roller derby posts to writing posts lately, but you’ll probably see that ratio continue to skew just a little bit more in the coming days.

Last night at a scrimmage, I had a crash course in the art of penalty-box timekeeping, making me a Non-Skating Official (NSO) in my local derby league. My first bout will be in two weeks.  Unfortunately, I’m out most of July, what with Readercon and the “annual camping trip”* with friends.  But I’ll be around for their bouts in August and beyond.

The only thing missing, they tell me, is my roller derby name.  So, I’m taking suggestions.  Tell me something good in the comments.  Or if you’re one of my tweeps, you know where to find me.

My wrojo seems to have bounced back.  Toldja these ladies were an inspiration.  But while I’ve reconnected with my Inner Drill Sergeant, my Inner Gordon Lish is still MIA. I’m 700 words into the puke draft for a flash anthology with a 1,000-word limit, and I haven’t gotten to the point of the story quite yet.  I have time to play with, though–about two weeks.

I’m not quite fully recovered by whatever Andromeda Strain put me out for two days.  Between the writing, a bout of insomnia, and last night’s scrimmage, I’m using up energy as fast as I get it back.  It’s like I’m treating my body like a video game character with slowly regenerating life levels, where you’d take some hits to give some until you’re near zero, back off to get 2 or 3 tics of life back, and then go into it again. It’s not ideal, but if I’m going to allow derby further into my life, I can’t let the writing slack because of it.

So, yes–berate me for not taking it easy, just as long as you leave a roller derby name suggestion for me. 🙂

*Yes, this is code. If I say more, ninjas with the dim mak death touch will kill me before I finish typing.

“Come to see victory/ In the land called Fantasy”

Apparently, I just can’t seem to get enough of the Ithaca League of Women Rollers and watching home bouts. I drove to an away bout last night to watch the Sufferjets play the Utica Roller Girls.


I’ve been engrossed in my share of sporting events, but I just don’t know what it is about roller derby.  Yeah, yeah, I know–it all has to do with prurient fantasies brought on by watching women play rough with each other, right?  Sure, being a straight male, I’m certainly not above anything like that.  I’m comfortable admitting the possibility that I’m just a slimeball.  But that’s not it.

After all, the point of having a fantasy is sitting back and imagining yourself being engaged with the object(s) of your fantasy, right?  But do I have slimeball thoughts about these ladies?  Despite basic biological tendencies, not really.  Between being taken, being of advanced age, and knowing that my deteriorating eskrima skills would be of little use against a roller-girl beatdown–those are enough to keep those types of fantasies in check.

I hear you scoffing, “You are so full of shit!” like Jack Lemon to Kevin Spacey in Glengarry Glen Ross.  But hear me out.

I’m thinking back to the John Waters quote on discipline from his “10 Best Pieces of Advice for Functional Freaks.”  Especially the bit about how…

Discipline is not anal compulsion; it’s a lifestyle that breeds power.

I think that’s the real object of my fantasy where roller derby folks are concerned.  Any derby organization consists of folks busting their asses to do something out of pure love.  I’m not just talking about the skaters putting in hours-upon-hours into training, either.  They and the whole gaggle of folks behind them–volunteers who officiate, run the merch tables, run the scoreboard, &c.–put in a crapton of work to put a season of bouts together, to say nothing about the service projects they do.

I’ve watched these bouts over the past couple of years and I realized that their power isn’t in the fact that they skate and whoop ass at the same time.  Their power is in their willingness to do whatever they have to do in order to get to skate and whoop ass, and do it for the love.  That’s a little difficult for me to get my head around.

Sure, I love to write.  But while I may not have any expectations about making enough money off it to quit my dayjob, I also love the fact that the one piece I got into the McSweeney’s website still gives me some juice with other writers five years later.  And that folks seem to like my writing enough to publish it and sometimes, pay me for it. I am not one of those writers who go, “Oh, I’d do this even if I never got published.” 

The point is, it’s inspiring to watch a group of people can put in so much work into something other than their own self-aggrandizement.  The least I can do with that inspiration is to get back on my horse and keep putting in my time in the ‘shed, despite the writing troubles I’ve been bitching about lately.  I’ve got upcoming story deadlines, stories that need revision, and rejected pieces to resubmit. Not to mention, a conference to prepare for.

And I’m getting to all that right now. Well, after I look at the pics I took one last time…

“Let her go, let her go, God bless her/ Wherever she may be”

One D.O.A., One on the Way One D.O.A., One on the Way by Mary Robison

My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Mary Robison’s prose is as dense, sparse, and evocative as ever. You might call the snippets of text disjointed, or gripe about a lack of obvious plotline, but there’s still a narrative to be followed.

The main character is certainly the sort who might reveal a lot of the facts of her life to you, but still keep you at arm’s length. Indeed, Robison’s prose seems to purposely keep me at a distance. I know a lot of people who would complain about that too, but it was a curious experience for me. It’s almost as if I had a front-row seat in the theater of the main character’s life, but with a splatter-shield in front of me.

And believe me, with everything she goes through, that’s a good thing.

View all my reviews >>

Functional Freakiness

I made a small effort toward getting back in the writing saddle after my weekend adventures. I confess, I haven’t had much luck. This is how I’ve been feeling for nigh on two weeks…

Reading between the lines of those blog entries, you can probably detect a tinge of guilt.  It was fed, in part, by this quote I’d read (and posted to my tumblr) from filmmaker John Waters in his “10 Best Pieces of Advice for Functional Freaks.”

I’m a fascist about my work habits and I expect you to be, too. Never have a spontaneous moment in your life again. If you’re going to have a hangover, it should be scheduled on your calendar months in advance. Rigid enjoyment of planning can get you high. Militant time-management will enable you to ignore how maladjusted you would be if you had the time to notice it in the first place. Discipline is not anal compulsion; it’s a lifestyle that breeds power.


I may have reasons for my lack of discipline and productivity since the end of the academic year, but no real excuses. At least none that my Inner Drill Sergeant would accept, especially with the amount of rejections I’ve received lately.

I think it’s time for Gunny to come back out and square me away.

Now, between that John Waters quote and Gunny up there, a lot of you are probably fearing for my sanity. But if you’re not familiar with the flims of John Waters, here’s a sample of his mindset. This is a little something he did for some indie movie theaters that I remember seeing in high school.

There may not be much difference between Waters’ and Gunny’s attitude toward work, but if someone who works as hard as Gunny can produce the stuff what Waters does, then you know what? I want to be a functional freak.

“Everybody needs a little time away…” Part III

I took one final day yesterday to relax from the stresses of life, the dayjob, and my writing. I know what most writers say about needing to write every single day and the thing is, I agree 100%. It’s just that I’ve come to the realization that I can’t do it.  I should, and I should keep working toward that.  But if I treat writing like another job, then like any other job, I need a break.

Yesterday was the third and final day of the annual summer festival. Whereas Saturday was sunny and hot, almost to the point where I was worried about heat stroke, Sunday was gray, drizzling at times, and about 20 degrees cooler. I thought all I needed was a thicker polo shirt, but I was wrong. Still, some hot chocolate warmed me up enough to enjoy what I saw: People dancing to a circle of drummers, folks doing Yoga in the cold, and a local group of bagpipers which includes a sci-fi writer who is a frequent contributor to Analog as well as Asimov’s Science Fiction and other places.

If nothing else, I’ve got a third day’s worth of potential character sketches, here. 

Now, I’m getting slowly back on the wagon. I’m finally getting the first draft of my story for Rigor Amortis together, building it around the skeleton of an unrelated flash fiction I wrote about 6 or 8 months ago. I figure if Carol Emshwiller can include “Acceptance Speech” and “Report to the Men’s Club” in the same collection, then I can make a story “the same, but different” than one I’ve previously written (not that I’m 1/10th of the writer she is, but still).

“Everybody needs a little time away…” Part II

It’s actually taken a lot for me to realize just how much I needed a break from this year of hell at the dayjob, even after an extra-long long holiday weekend.  My writing suffered.  I’m not talking about how much I haven’t been writing lately, but the fact that I was convinced that somehow I could get it done if I’d just whipped myself a little harder.  But I think I was, literally, beating a dead horse.

So, I went for another day of frolicking in the sun at the annual summer festival, the one time and place in the year when I don’t mind running into coworkers.

And again, the best part is that this batch of photos is ripe with character ideas!  I’ve already begged off critique group tomorrow to go to the festival’s last day.

“Everybody needs a little time away…”

As if my “wrojo” (i.e. “writing mojo” — brought to you by Regan) wasn’t low enough, there’s been so much more to distract me this past week. There’s been an upsurge in work in my dayjob capacity as the Special Projects Bitch. To unwind, I’ve been taking advantage of the nice weather conciding with my town’s annual summer festival. But hey, sometimes you need some time off from writing and to recharge. And it’s only recently that loafing is only a small part of recharging. The other part, at least for me, is being charged with something–in this case, the energy that drew me to live here in the first place.

Traditionally, the festival starts off with a Thursday night parade.

My favorite part of the parade was the Ithaca League of Women Rollers and their Chia Skate float!

The best part is, there’s at least a half-dozen character ideas in just these photographs.

More to come, as I’ve just spent most of my Saturday. And I plan to spend some of my Sunday, as well.