Stone Tower

Sent Me Off to Kill the Yellow Man

Why has no one in the political realm ever sat down and actually listened to Born in the USA?  Seriously, just try to catch one verse before you burn the CD and hand it to the guy running the PA.  It's worth the extra effort, trust me.  At the very least do a wiki search or something! 

Watching patriotic supporters wearing glee-filled smiles and waving little flags as they sort of sing along with Bruce in a crowded auditorium has been one of my pet peeves for years.  It's bad enough when it's some old guy up there (Bobby Dole, looking in your direction), but last night, watching the relatively young, hip Obama crew was a new low.

I mean some songs are supposed to be on the subversive side.  There is a fun vibe when the 'rents--do we still use that term, kids?--just completely miss the point (Dancing with Myself, nodding in your direction with my eyes closed).  And there is also sometimes an artistic vibe when the real point of the song is sort of muddled beneath the lyrics unless you listen very, very closely (Sublime's Wrong Way, <cough> <cough>).  And sometimes an intentionally nonsensical song is grafted onto some imagined meaning the likes of which only Snopes.com can save us from (I Think I am Turning Japanese, anyone?).

While many songs fit into these categories, Bruce Springsteen's Born in the USA is not one of them.  There is nothing subtle, hidden, or metaphorical about the unfortunate draftee in the song.  His repeated cry of having been "born in the USA" is not an enthusiastic cheer.  It's a bitter, enraged curse filled with regret, pain, and anger that denigrates into unintelligible, anguished wailing by the outro.

But keep on singing along, blond thirty something delegate from Vermont, with your blinking, red white and blue LED necklace and little flags waving in the air.  Obama was born in the USA too!  Woo!  No way, no how, no McCain!

I should point out--just in case you were worried that I was turning the Tower into some bitter political blog--that aside from those three minutes, I really enjoyed watching the DNC this week.  I don't think I've ever been honestly excited about a candidate before, so it's been kind of cool to get caught up in the pep rally of the DNC.  While there were plenty of minor cringe inducing moments during the speeches that reminded me that I am not quite a democrat, there were enough other moments to outweigh them--and to remind me that <EDDIEVEDDER>I sure as hell ain't no republican neither</EDDIEVEDDER>.

My complaints in this post are not really political, but simply coming from my standpoint as a writer and as a music fan.  Although, I guess it could have been worse.  One of the staffers could have decided to get the crowd dancing by blasting Brown Sugar instead.

A First Time for Everything: Trading Pizza for Quarters

It's 1980...or somewhere there about.  Five year old little me is sitting happily in a pizza shop booth waiting for delicious, cheesy goodness to come out of the oven and onto his plate.  The rest of my family--seemingly less concerned with dinner--is huddled around some big machine next to the chip rack.  My mom holds my younger sister up to watch as my dad fiddles with the controls.  She is excitedly offering advice as she shifts the squirming two year old from arm to arm.

"Wait...wait...wait...jump!"

My dad's feet stay firmly planted on the ground, yet for some reason they all cheer wildly.

Unimpressed, my eyes wander back to the pizza counter, almost willing my dinner to be ready.  Five year old little me loves pizza possibly more than anything else in the world.  He and 32 year old me are a lot alike in that respect.

As I take a sip of my soda--this was the point in my life where adults began insisting I stop drinking half a gallon of milk a day and start drinking soda...those who know me well can appreciate the irony--my family lets out a collective groan.

"Let's give Jase a guy," my mom says, "I bet he can do it."  My mom called me "Jase" well into my twenties, which I guess was slightly endearing if increasingly annoying.  By contrast, my boss at my last job called me "Jase" around the office, often in staff meetings in front of other grown men.  That was significantly less endearing...and downright creepy, to be honest.

As they all turn to me expectantly, I slowly slide out of the booth.  I'm not quite sure what they are talking about--and in fact, I am quite sure that if my dad couldn't do "it" then neither could I--but I just shrug my shoulders and head over to join them.  Anything to help speed up the hellish purgatory that is the time between ordering pizza and actually eating it.

My dad drags over a plastic chair from one of the empty tables and lifts me up to stand on it.  As I come to eye level with the machine's screen I lock eyes with a cartoon monkey tossing barrels down a cartoon construction site.

"Uh, what do I do?"  I foolishly turn away from the screen as I ask the question.

"Move your guy, get him up the ladder!" my dad says, pointing emphatically at the screen.

Amid a chorus of excited instruction from both my parents, I take hold of the little black control stick and send the chubby little man running to the right, towards the first ladder.  In that moment, as my actions begin to control something that is happening on a TV screen, I feel a joyful buzz rush over my body which momentarily replaces all thoughts of warm, delicious pizza.

"Get ready...get ready...jump now!" my mom calls out.

"How do I jump?"

Even before I can get the question out, a now familiar chorus of disappointed groans fills the air behind me.  As I watch, my poor little man is demolished by one of the rolling barrels just steps away from the ladder.

"The red button," my dad tells me.  "You'll know next time."

"Twenty-six?"  A voice calls from behind us.

I turn to the counter to see our pizza--the up until thirty seconds ago number one obsession of my life--steaming on the counter.

"Come on, let's eat," my dad says, helping me down off the chair.  "We'll try that again sometime."

Strangely intrigued in a way I don't quite understand, I move back to my seat, my thoughts slowly--if less enthusiastically--moving back to pizza.

"Can we try that again after we eat?" I ask as my mom puts a way-too-hot-for-the-likes-of-impatient-me slice onto my plate.

"Well, we don't really have time today," my dad says, "but we can go to an arcade sometime if you want."

"What's an arcade?" I ask, carefully testing the different areas of my slice with my finger.

"A place with a bunch of games like that one," my mom says. 

My head swirls trying to grasp this new bit of information.

"You mean there are more games like that?"

My mom simply nods as she begins cutting up a slice of pizza for my sister.  She has no idea what has just happened; how this quiet night out for dinner has completely changed the world for me.  How the next decade of my childhood will be counted by high scores, extra lives, and levels beaten.

"Eat up, Sport," my dad says, pulling me out of my happy daydream.

My dad called me "Sport" for most of my childhood.  Unlike my old boss, however, he had the good sense to start calling me "Jason" after my twelfth birthday.

"You know," I tell them with my mouth full of now sufficiently cooled off pizza, "I think I like video games."

Oh, five year old little me, you have no idea...

Vacation Complete

All right, so "live blogging" the Backspace Writer's Conference did not go as well as I had hoped. It's kind of hard to blog when your laptop (not to mention your internet connection) is four blocks away (and 23 stories in the air). Next year I'll try to do better (read: I'll actually book my hotel on time so I don't have to stay four blocks away from the conference).

As I said in my last post, the Backspace Writer's Conference was just amazing. Tons of really great and talented people and some really well thought out panels and workshops. The one real regret I have is not being prepared as I could have been. I had some amazing networking opportunities these past couple days, but I just didn't have my new manuscript ready to pitch. I am hoping that I turn that disappointment into something positive and use it to motivate myself as I tackle the rewrites over the next few months. Hopefully next year, I'll be talking the ear off of every agent and publisher I can get within fifteen feet of!

Also, today sadly marks the last day of my vacation. Tomorrow morning the alarm clock will go off at 5:00 AM for the first time in over a week, and it will be back to real life. Back to traffic, reasonable bedtimes, and spending most of the day writing patents instead of fiction. Still, I think I am taking something with me back into the real world after my trip. And even though I know I have a pile of working waiting for me on my desk tomorrow morning, something tells me I won't have as much trouble finding a few hours to get some editing in before the day ends.

Backspace Writer's Conference -- Day 1

Well, here I am sitting in the world famous Tick Tock Diner waiting for my delicious BBQ Ranch Burger to arrive.

(Side note to Kim: the waitstaff is as friendly as ever.)

I've just finished my first day of seminars at the Backspace Writer's Conference, and I am just drained--but drained in a good way. With all apologies to the good folks at Context, I have to say this is the best writing conference I've ever been to. I can't decide if I am just in a better place as a writer now or whether things are just being explained in a different way, but so many times today I just felt myself "getting it" as the speakers of the different panels made different points. I have a feeling it is mostly my mindset (being in a much more confident place now with my writing) but the caliber of speakers probably has a bit to do with it too.

(For those keeping score at home, my mozzarella sticks just arrived. What, I didn't have time for lunch today! Our 11:00 seminar ran way long.)

I won't go on about all the things I've learned today. To be honest, there really aren't too many things I could quantize into a list. It's more like a fluid bursts of understanding about the different aspects about what I am trying to do and what I need to do to write the way I know that I can. Really it's all information I've heard before...but for some reason I was just able to truly understand it this time instead of just write it down in my notebook.

As as example, let me give you this anecdote from my last workshop today (which I left all of 53 minutes ago):

The workshop was basically about forming your "elevator pitch." For you non-writers, an "elevator pitch" is you uber-eloquent, no-more-than-three-sentences, pre-prepared sales pitch for your book. The idea is if you ever find yourself alone in an elevator with a big time literary agent or editor--as might happen at a writing conference--you can do something besides mumbling incoherently when she turns to you and asks, "So, what are you working on?"

Anyway one of the workshop attendees was an established writer (her fourth book is due out next spring) who had led one of the morning workshops. As things got going, she volunteered to stand up and give her pitch--which we would then all critique.

Now keep in mind that this woman is an established writer, pitching her fourth book--a book, again, which she already sold to a major NY publisher.

As she stood up to give her little speech she shuffled around nervously for a few seconds, gave what I have come to call the slightly embarrassed yes-this-book-is-fantasy-but-stay-with-me-because-it-is-actually-not-lame shrug, and then started to quickly tell us about her book--looking to her feet quickly as she briefly described the "super powers" each of the characters had. Most of my friends can probably recall me striking a similar pose as I described my own book to them.

I was just amazed. I mean this woman is published--four times!--and if her talk that morning is any indication has written some very creative and very awesome books. And here she is, still slightly nervous to talk about her work in a room full of "pre-published" guys like me.

I wanted to grab her and say, "Hey, you don't need to be nervous! You're a successfully published fantasy author. Everyone in this room is looking up to you right now. You are our hero!"

(Side note for anyone planning to blog at the Tick Tock Diner: soda refills are not free)

I guess in a way, it settled my own nerves a bit to see her slightly rattled in the same way I was. While I certainly don’t put myself on the same level as her writing-wise, it was incredibly reassuring to see that someone like that still shares the same paigns of self-doubt and worry when standing up before a crowd and declaring what she does. In a strange way, I feel like less of an outsider from the writer's club.

All right, time to find my super friendly waitress and pay the check. It's my last night all alone in the big city, and I probably shouldn't spend it blogging in a crowded diner.