Sex & Violence: Fun for the Whole Family

I’m going to do one of my few rants about something that’s “public” and not just one of my own private little battles.  This is mainly because a friend — whom I believe writes erotic fiction — on Facebook had one of their book covers reported (I believe; I’m not competely in the know on it, but it’s still something that gets my blood boiling a little so just the possibility starts me off).

I’m sure you may (or may not) remember the debate about Grand Theft Auto’s “Hot Coffee” minigame.  It was a little part of the game where you got to control a sexual situation.  I forget the exact details of it; I never played it myself, just heard a lot about it.  Basically, it pissed everyone off.  I mean royally.  Because kids had access to it, since it was in a video game.

Think about this for a second.  This is a video game where you run around breaking the law, causing grievous bodily harm to characters, and performing missions for organized crime bosses.  You can regain energy by picking up prostitutes and driving to a dark area where the car starts rocking.  You get various weapons — machine guns, rocket launchers, sniper rifles, etc. — that you can use to kill people, quite graphically too.  The police and military come out to get you if you start getting a little too rambunctious, and it’s “bad” to get caught.

This stuff, apparently, is fine.

A minigame that, though probably disrespectful (again, I haven’t played it), but involving a natural act that most people will encounter at least once in their life, is wrong.

Violence: ok; sex: bad.

Seriously, what am I missing?  Why is it okay for someone to play a video game where you can get a sniper rifle, find a high perch, and pick people off at random, but the minute someone starts in with a sexual situation, it’s evil?

Same with movies.  Most parents that I know have no qualms with letting their children — of a certain age, at least — watch violent movies.  I watched Robocop, Predator, Aliens, and many, many more action and horror movies by the time I was thirteen, and I know damned well I’m not alone on that so I doubt it’s “bad parenting.”  These were seen with my parent’s approval, it wasn’t something I sought out.  And I wasn’t even that interested in the blood and guts kinda stuff — most kids I knew had seen all the Nightmare on Elm Street movies, all the Friday the Thirteenth movies, Halloween, Child’s Play (okay, I watched those ones; Chucky was cool).

But the world be damned if a kid watches a movie with a nipple.  Let’s see: violent dismemberment and nightmares, or frontal nudity.  Let the kid think violent behavior is acceptable, or let the kid think sexuality is acceptable.  An “adult” movie is taboo; a movie with someone torn limb from limb is family viewing.

And we wonder why there’s so much damned violence in the world…

Could someone tell me what I’m missing?  I know it’s easy to tell your kid “Hey, don’t think like that, it’s not real,” when someone gets shot thirty times, and kinda difficult to sit down and say “Those people do that stuff with each other because they really care about each other.”  Actually, it isn’t that difficult.  Maybe a little embarassing, but shouldn’t you feel worse trying to explain to your kid that people do mean things to each other when they’re mad — unfortunately that’s how the world acts and you shouldn’t think like that, rather than explain to your child what love is all about?  Maybe I’m just the wierd one.

Changing Direction

It’s a lovely Sunday here in the desert — not too hot, a little breezy, but really nice.  Perfect day for doing absolutely nothing.

Instead, though, I’m trying to figure out where to go with Shattered, the sequel to Like Glass. And it’s one of the things that I both love and hate about writing, too.  I had a bit of an epiphany this morning, on how the book should play out, and it completely threw everything out the window.

I’m not going to go into details, because I don’t know if it’s going to stick or not and I don’t want to be held accountable for it.  But basically, instead of the sequel being focused on the further trials and tribulations of Rob, the protagonist of Like Glass, Shattered looks now like it’s going to be focused on a new character’s problems, just from Rob’s perspective.  Basically, instead of Rob dealing with his own crap, he’s going to be dealing with someone else’s crap.

Should be fun, if I can get it figured out alright.

Like I said though, that’s what I both love and hate about writing: just when you start to think you know the story you’re going to write, one of your characters comes along and says “I don’t think so, bubba, it’s gonna be like this.”  And you have two options: you can either force your will upon them, which — since characters are real people too, in a writer’s mind — will normally piss them off and they’ll go somewhere else; or you can sit back and listen to them, and normally they either have a better idea or they can at least give you something to work with.

It’s a lot like life — you telling someone “It’s my way or the highway,” in which case the only people that stick around aren’t really much help, or you tell them “hey, that’s not a bad idea; I can work with that and together we can come up with something even better.”  Then you get people around who help out, who may not know exactly what’s going on but can still contribute enough to keep the ball rolling until it gets past the goal line.

I hope it’s obvious which method I try to use; whether I succeed in that is entirely up for debate though.

Okay, enough blabbing, on to trying to listen to our new friend.

Like Glass: First Chapter

Just for kicks, I thought I’d post the first chapter to Like Glass for your reading pleasure.  There’s been sample chapters available as a PDF download (which you can get here), but I know some people don’t really care too much for PDF’s or downloading files.  So, here’s a sample of the novel, and I hope you enjoy it.

Like Glass

Chapter 1

It’s generally inappropriate to call a woman in tears a bastard or a son of a
bitch, and ordering them to die and rot is fairly tasteless most of the time as
well. At least before you know what she’s crying about. Rob Jackson might
be forgiven for having those words on his tongue when he answered the
phone, as it was his brother he expected on the other end and not the
quavering, feminine sobs he heard as he put the receiver to his ear.

Five years had passed since he’d last seen Bill’s number on the caller id and
he’d waited by the phone until it quit ringing then. Five years still wasn’t long
enough. He still wished his brother were dead.

Of the eight years since Rob had called it quits with his brother, it had taken
three for Bill to get it through his head that Rob wanted nothing more to do
with him. Now it appeared he was calling again.

He almost ignored this call like the last one, but didn’t. It’d been a bad
Wednesday already—he’d lost the Grey’s Industrial Services account, a new
website that would’ve been great for the company’s portfolio as well as its
books. The LAPD finally decided that parking in front of the fire hydrant
outside the office door was worthy of a two-hundred-fifty dollar fine. To top
it all off, Cindy finally admitted to her affair with her trainer. That wasn’t that
big of a deal; he’d harbored stronger attachments to lawn furniture than any
woman in a long time. It just served as icing on top of an already shitty cake
of a day. Seeing Bill’s number on the caller id had proved that the day really
and truly could get worse.

Any other day he would’ve ignored it without a second thought. Not
tonight though. Tonight he wanted a catharsis. It’d been a long time since
he’d cussed out Bill for what he’d done to him, and it put him in a bit of a
better mood at least. A phrase somewhere along the lines of “You bastard
sonofabitch, die and rot in hell,” had been what sprang to mind, and he
marked it as either a good opening line or perfect for the moment before he
hung up the receiver on his brother’s pleading voice. Either would work, he’d
just wait and see how it played out.

When he picked up the phone, he hesitated—an act he was later at least
somewhat thankful for, although he could never figure out why he didn’t just
lay into Bill right off the bat. A rather feminine sniffle greeted his silence, soft,
almost pleading. At the very least it wasn’t Bill, and he quickly changed his
game plan. His pause apparently confused the tearful woman on the other end
as well.

”Hello?” Definitely a woman, speaking in that pathetic, shaky voice of
someone who’s trying to be strong and failing miserably at it.

”Hi, this is Rob.” Confused, he reverted to the office, speaking as he would
with a customer before he even realized it.

”Hi, Rob. It’s Janet.”

”Hi Janet. Long time.”

”Yeah. Um, I’m sorry to call you Rob. I know things were never that great
with us and everything, but…” That’s a lie, he thought, but didn’t say. It didn’t
seem appropriate to antagonize her at the moment. Maybe in a few minutes,
but at least he’d let her have her say.

”What’s up?”

”It’s Bill…he’s, um, Bill’s dead Rob. There was an accident at the factory
today and…” Her voice trailed off; she was still trying to be strong, but the
façade was crumbling fast.

”You’re kidding me. Is he—” He stopped himself; of course Bill wasn’t
okay, but that was the first thing that came to mind. “Are you guys okay?” In
hindsight, this was almost as stupid of a question, but he couldn’t think of
anything else.

”I don’t know. Lisa’s handling the um, the arrangements I think. She’s
watching Jake and Caitlain right now.” She was almost at a full sob again. “I
just wanted to let you know. I know you guys weren’t very close, but…” She
couldn’t continue, her words drowned out by the deep crying only newborn
widows are capable of.

”Janet, it’s okay. Look, I’ll be out there tomorrow and help out as best as I
can, okay?” Something that resembled an “okay, thank you” found its way
through her sobs. He told her to take care and that he’d see her soon.

Hanging up the receiver, he sat in anticipation for the sick joy he knew
should be coming along. Any minute now, he’d burst into a wide grin,
perhaps run to the store and get a bottle of champagne (or some cheap wine
from the gas station if the grocery store had already closed). It didn’t come
though, and he sat in his office, going over various bills and invoices as a light
rain blurred the city through the window before him.

After an hour he gave up trying to make sense of work and went online to
order a plane ticket to Portland for the next day. He called the office and left a
voice mail, telling whoever would get to it first in the morning that he’d be
gone for a while and to have Jim run the shop while he was gone.

He walked to the gas station at the corner, and instead of looking for the
cheap wine he grabbed a cheap six pack and returned home. Per his custom
when he could hear the sleepy grumbling of the past waking up to rear its
brutish head, he set one bottle aside and studied it as he drank the remaining
five. Still waiting for the malicious ecstasy he’d been expecting to join him at
this long awaited news, he turned his computer off and went to bed.

*    *    *

The next morning he woke early and packed for roughly a week away. If it
were longer, he could always buy more shirts and slacks; if it were less, then he
lost nothing but about fifteen minutes. He smoked a cigarette on the sidewalk
in front of his apartment, waiting for his cab to arrive, doing his part to
contribute to the late spring smog.

He hated flying, and was not particularly looking forward to the short
voyage up the coast. A “good” flight bores you to tears; an exciting flight is
what keeps the airlines in bed with the liquor companies. Turbulence is God’s
way of gently reminding you (and sometimes not so gently) that you’re His
whenever He wants you. He hoped the Almighty wasn’t in a reminding kind
of mood today as the cab pulled up. By the time he arrived at LAX, he relaxed
slightly, knowing the flight would be fine; whatever Gods there may be had
tried pretty damned hard to remind him of his mortality with the cab ride. If
they felt he still needed an extra push they obviously weren’t as all-knowing as
they claimed to be.

After checking in, he found himself an area near the main entrance where
he could enjoy a few cigarettes in peace while he waited the two hours before
boarding. Of course, it seemed these days “in peace” meant only two or three
non-smokers an hour harassed him, and only five others gave him dirty looks.
He didn’t really care one way or another about someone preaching at him right
now though; he was still waiting for the glee he had been positive would
follow the news of his brother’s untimely death. He was slightly disheartened
that it hadn’t made its appearance yet and confused that neither grief nor
remorse had taken the absent joy’s place.

*    *    *

Almost as much as flying, he hated kids. They could be cute, he supposed,
but mostly they were annoying. Too loud, too messy, too much of a nuisance.
Cindy didn’t want kids; that had been one point in her favor, but she was some
other poor sap’s problem now anyways. He was sure that the kid who smiled
at him as he smoked outside the terminal was no exception to the loud, messy
stereotypical child, and he doubted Cindy would’ve been terribly impressed
with her.

She looked like she might be cute at times. Probably most of the time, if
one were inclined to think runny noses and poor speech were endearing
charms. She was maybe eight, holding onto her mother’s hand as the woman
dragged her along. She waved at him and he tried hard to look annoyed at the
interruption in the thoughts he wasn’t having. Nevertheless, he found himself
smiling back at her diplomatically as she walked past, her blond hair bouncing
playfully along behind her as her mother tugged at one of her arms, a purple
stuffed dinosaur in the other.

He finished his last cigarette with about fifteen minutes to spare before his
flight boarded and hurried across the terminal. After a quick bathroom stop,
he found his gate and was just in time to stand in line as the attendants
boarded the plane. Luckily for him, Blondy was in line right ahead of him.
She noticed him, and turned and smiled again.

”We’re going to see my gramma.” She stated this with such an air of
importance that for an instant he thought she was referring to a foreign
dignitary. He smiled again at her.

”Really? Well, that’s good.” The girl’s mother turned at him, with stern
embarrassment.

”Krissy, how many times do I have to tell you: don’t talk to strangers. Sorry
about that,” she added to Rob. “She’s a bit too friendly sometimes.”

”It’s alright.” The lady turned back towards the front of the line, while
Krissy kept staring at him and smiling a smile that he could now see was shy a
few teeth.

”Gramma’s old. Older than dirt, daddy says.” The lady gave a sharp tug on
her child’s arm as Rob tried to hold back a chuckle in spite of himself.

”Krissy, be quiet!”

”‘Kay.”

The child finally listened to her mother as the line started to move. Within
minutes, they were boarding the plane, and Rob was relived to find himself
seated alone in the aisle (and noticeably many rows away from Krissy and her
mother, which he assumed was the mother’s way of showing appreciation for a
lack of assigned seats on this flight).

The flight attendants came along briefly to help people stow away their
carry-on bags, and as people took their seats another attendant walked down
the aisle taking drink orders. He satisfied himself with ordering a Crown Royal
on the rocks in spite of the relatively early hour, and within minutes they were
in the air. Not long after take off, when the plane had reached a stable
altitude, a different attendant returned with his drink and he sat alone with an
$8.00 double shot and his thoughts of the past.

He tried to think of Bill, to try and feel something one way or another as he
drank the whiskey, but it was hard—how could you remember anything about
someone you hadn’t known for eight years? There was before of course, all the
great times they’d had growing up together, the parties and the ribbing and the
long, late night talks about nothing and everything.

And there was then. The “then” that he’d used to alienate his brother, when
his brother finally grabbed the proverbial straw that broke the proverbial
camel’s back.

He could barely remember the before, and it was only in thinking of then—
the eight-years-ago then—that he started to feel anything. Nothing new there;
he’d thought of it plenty of times since it happened, and it always gave enough
fuel to the fire that kept him from picking up the phone himself. Part of him
didn’t want to think of then, it wanted to try and grieve over his brother,
because that’s what you do when family dies, right? He wanted to try and
force himself to respect the dead, but he couldn’t. As an airy ding signaled the
captain turning off the remain-in-your-seats notice, he gave up his battle with
himself and let his mind wander to then. To the eight-years-ago then.

Newspaper Interview; Mild Book News

Have my first “media event” today — interview at the El Paso Times.  At least, I’m calling it an interview; the guy I spoke with told me they don’t really interview authors, or do book reviews or anything like that, so I’m not really sure what exactly it is.  I guess “interview” is as good a word as any though.

Other than that, not a whole lot going on today.  Got an email from an agent yesterday who wanted to see a couple of pages of Like Glass, so we’ll see what comes of that (I’m excited, but I’m also no longer naive enough to get my hopes up too high).  Got a couple of reviews out in the fires, just need to get hard copies out to them as well as the digital copies I sent yesterday.  We’ll see what happens though.

Anyways, need to get ready for work.

Shattered Moving Slowly, but Moving

Shattered is moving along, slowly but surely (well, very slowly and not very surely).  I don’t feel as connected with it as I did with Like Glass, but that’s probably because it’s harder to work on it — trying to squeeze in a few words here and there during work isn’t exactly conducive to getting deeply immersed in the story.

It’s okay though; I’m looking at this stage as a rough draft, a “just get the damned thing out and then worry about it” kinda thing.  Once I get the rough draft finished, then I can print it up and see where things went stupid, and where things went super-good, and try and level it out.  That’s what I’m looking forward to the most, getting that rough draft in hand and getting something tangible to look at during a smoke break.  Gonna be a while at the rate I’m going though; I think if I’m lucky, I might be averaging about 200 words per day — not exactly blazing through it.  But, at least it’s something.

Also, might be getting reviews on the web for Like Glass within the next month or so — keep your eyes peeled, and I’ll be sure to let you know about them when I have more info to go on.

Anyways, need to get moving.

The Good Stuff

I was listening to this song — “The Good Stuff,” by Kenny Chesney — on a CD in the parking lot before I came into work this morning.  Good song; if you haven’t already heard it, check it out if you can find it somewhere.  At the very least, read the lyrics at the link I gave or check out the Wikipedia entry; of course it’s better with the music behind it, but you should be able to get the gist of the song.

I don’t cry much — not that I try to be macho, I just spent a lot of time in my past trying to be macho, and now it’s kinda “learned” out of me.  (There’s times I wish I could, but that’s for another post.)  This song is one of the rare ones that chokes me up though.  It came out a little before my wife and I started seeing each other, and a little bit of it rings true — I think there were very few dates she and I went on that did not end with either her mother and/or father waiting up, worried to death.  I didn’t drop the engagement ring, but my hands were shaking terribly when I proposed.   I know, pretty generic stuff that most people have probably been through before they got married, but still…

I just wanted to post this because, even though the song’s faded from the lime light, I think it’s probably one of the most important messages I’ve ever heard sung by anyone.  We get so caught up in work, our careers, in politics and elections, in trying to be right, in trying to be the best, that we forget what’s really important.  It’s very difficult to find someone we hold special to our hearts, and often when we do, we forget how important they are.  We forget how much they really mean to us, because the Cowboys just lost by a field goal or because so-and-so-nominee has this skeleton in their closet.  We don’t necessarily do something to show that we think they’re unimportant, but after time we forget how to go out of our way to show them how important they are.

I’m guilty of this.  I won’t even bother denying it.  These past few weeks I’ve been so caught up in trying to get my writing career of the ground, and worrying about my programming career, that I haven’t given my wife hardly the time of day.  That’s not to say I’ve ignored her; in my mind, I’ve been trying very hard to show her how much she means to me.  But not in the right ways, and what’s the use of saying something if whomever you say it to doesn’t understand you?  Tell someone they’re a millionaire in Portugese (assuming they only speak English), and they just give you a blank stare and a smile.

By a show of hands, how many people here can seriously picture themselves laying on their deathbed saying “You know, I probably should’ve worried a little more about making my wife/husband happy when I could, but it’s okay: I voted for McCain!  I can die happily now.”  I use politics as an example because it’s an election year, so a lot of people are focused on it.  And maybe it’s just me — I’ve never been able to get too fired up to stand in line and decide which person was going to let me down next.  But you can substitute anything in it’s place: news, sports, jobs, etc.  Anything that might get in the way without you even knowing it, and we’re not just talking about stuff that causes fights or other obvious conflict.

I’ll get off the soap box now, but I’ll steal the words from another country song before I do: “Tell that someone that you love/just what you’re thinking of/if tomorrow never comes.”

Shattered Update; Now on Facebook

Haven’t written anything here in a while, so I figured I’d drop a quick status report here.

Shattered, the sequel to Like Glass (or, at least that’s my working title for it), is coming along fairly smoothly.  I have seven chapters out of roughly 50 (that’s a mathematical estimate — using the average word count so far and my minimum goal of 80K words.  It may end up being more or less, based on how the story goes; I’m not far enough along to know yet).  So far it’s moving a long; there’s been a couple of minor bouts of writer’s block, but I’ve gotten past them.  Had a little bit today, but I think that’s mainly because I’m just tired.

Aside from that, I’m now on Facebook, for whatever that’s worth.  Drop me a comment if you happen to need an extra person filling your friend block, and I’ll look you up ;).  I’m still trying to figure my way around there, so if anyone has any suggestions, I’m all ears. (And if anyone knows the best way to link to my own profile, please let me know — I’m not sure whether the URL in the address bar when I’m logged in is good for that, or if there’s some generic one I’m missing.)

Okay, I need to run and figure out how to waste the next half hour.

Update: If you didn’t notice, I figured out the Facebook thingy — check the side bar.

Sequel Hell

Working on the sequel to Like Glass right now, and it’s driving me crazy (short trip, I know).  Already found myself starting to get formulaic, and it’s my second damned novel — how’s that?  Yep, a handful of chapters in and I caught myself starting to go in the same direction Like Glass did; thankfully it was early enough that I only had to delete a couple of paragraphs — and change the direction I was going, which I’m still working on that.  Anyways…

I know talking about my projects has always been a sure-fire way to kill them before they’re even really born, but I think I’ll do good this time.  I’ve got a decent “support” team, and I think I’m actually going to try to let them help me this time, instead of floundering on my own until it all comes out.

Right now things are going a little rough with it, the need for a direction change aside.  Actually, maybe not aside — that’s probably most of it.  It isn’t writer’s block though, not quite.  It’ll come if I force it, whereas my experience with writer’s block is that the harder you try, the harder it runs from you, which in turn makes you try harder.

Today — and I vaguely remember this with Like Glass as well — I find myself pacing a lot, trying to get it focused well enough to write.  Trying to see that next scene, and when I do see it, there goes 500-600 words like nothing.  When I don’t see it, well, then it’s time to check my email, stare at Visual Studio for a few minutes, check my email again, download something, check my email yet again, so on and so forth, ad nauseum.  Refill the coffee, go outside and smoke until the next scene comes again, rinse and repeat.

Anyways, I need to run and pick Patti up now; she was nice enough to give me her cold/flu/whatever, so (for today, at least) I’m working at home because I feel like crap.  That probably has a lot to do with things not coming out quite right.  We’ll see what tomorrow brings.  (Or later tonight, if I feel a little ambitious…)

Book Signing in December

Alright, for those keeping score here’s another signing to add to the list.

I’ll be appearing at the Book Rack, at 10708 Pebble Hills Blvd, (El Paso, Texas) from 1:00 PM to 3:00 PM on December 6th.  This will be my first “public” appearance, as I consider Shooter’s in the same light one might consider a child hood home (okay, maybe not quite that much, but I still don’t feel like I’m out in public there).

There will be books available for purchase there, but (like at the release party) it’ll be a limited supply, so make sure you get your copy now so you have it then.

A Breather

It’s been a very hectic week or so, and it’s time for a bit of a break.  So, I’m sitting here for a rare night-time post with a cup of chamomile tea, my beloved beagle whining for her daily Busy-Bone (still not quite time; can’t give in too early), and that peaceful, easy feeling the Eagles once sang of.

I’ve been much busier with the book than I have to date, and so far it seems to be paying off.  We have (in no particular order):

• A release party at Shooter’s Billiards on November 14th.
• A possible book signing (Note to self: finalize this tomorrow).
• A radio appearance sometime early in November (KTEP).
• A handful of potential newspaper appearances.

To top it off, there’s also some interest from the agent side of things — after reading the summary I sent, one agent has asked to read the book, along with reviews.  Certainly beats a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.  Now, if I can just scrounge up some reviews, we’ll be doing good…  (Some of those are in the works, and more emails will be sent and phone calls will be made in the days to come.)

For now though, it’s time to call it a night, I think, and enjoy this little silence before the storm of tomorrow hits.

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