![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
Yes, Biteyites, that's right. She's stretched her legs, had some breakfast and is lounging macside in a modest-yet-sexy tankini. She tossed on some Andy Gibb and made suggestions for writing sex scenes, and while the littlest Gibb told me, in his clear falsetto, he just wants to be my everything, she whispered 'explorer' in my ear.
And I was off, off and writing. About Vasco de Gama and Ferdinand Magellan and Men who explore things. With their hands. All for their Queen.
All right. So it's only a page. It was a very important page. It LIVES, much like the juicy Muse I squeezed this afternoon.
Today, I get my bathroom back and breathe a sex life back into And She Was, and tomorrow, the plumber comes back to replace my toilet, install my sink and hook up the drainpipe on my tub. Then, not only will I have my Muse back and my characters doing it, I'll be able to have a bubble bath.
- Location:Mah desk
- Music:Andy Gibb: Shadow Dancing
In a romance novel, a hero can be a Beast (as in Beauty and the), scarred both physically and emotionally. He can be a hit man the likes of Anne Stuart's Ice Blue. He can be a soldier, a vampire, a werewolf and spy. He can be a cop, an Ad man, a guy who paints in his spare time when he's not being a a billionaire who collects art and runs his family's casino. This isn't to say there aren't any real guys here. There's the bad boy Fireman and the charmer investment banker, followed by the hot nerdy professor who's only pretending to be a nerd. The bartender at the corner pub used to be a marine, the boy next-door is a public defender, the jock is the high school football coach, and his buddy the comedian is the local mayor. Of course there's also the recently divorced Vet who looks after the widower rancher's livestock. These are all respectable everyday positions available to the average hero. Nice, solid, guy's work, but Mike Rowe makes me want something beyond The Beast, beyond the billionaire, marine, coach, Indiana Jones type.
Dirty Jobs makes me want a Dirty Hero.
And I don't mean x-rated dirty.
Call it a yen for some realism, but I want a hero who's an undertaker. Or, like Mike shows us, a man who cleans out giant wind turbines that generate electricity. Or a guy who crawls under houses to replace insulation. Or a guy who tidies up sinkholes where people dump their trash. Because really, are these dirty men not worthy of romance, of love?
If the crux of a romance novel is built upon a central love story with a optimistic emotionally satisfying ending, not the job the hero has, who are we to say, "Sorry Dr Sebastian Morris DDS, but cleaning teeth and fixing fillings just isn't as sexy as a Assistant DA cleaning crime outta the Big Apple?"
Why do we get fixated upon rules, upon what is and isn't allowed within the frame of romance fiction? A heroine can't be over the of 40. A heroine can't be a bitch. A hero cant have an unappealing job like undertaker, butcher or dentist. Who's to say a dentist can't be hot? If you put Mike Rowe to work as in a dental office, you better believe he's gonna make a scale and filling look incredibly sexy.
I'm making my appointment for a checkup today!
- Location:far away from the renovation noise
- Mood:
amused - Music:A tile saw
You and I both know how one day that will change. When the contract is signed and the royalty cheques start rolling in--all $18.75, which is no way near close enough to fund a direct supply of Snyders of Hanover beauties--I'll get that super-tax number. When that happens I'll be able to claim the cost of my postage, as well as the computer I use to be creative. Best of all, I'll be able to call myself a professional, and yes Ms E, that sounds so much better than word whore.
There's just one small, teesy-weensy, itty-bitty detail that's stuck in my craw about all this lately. The title Hobbyist seems to have lulled me into a near coma. In the last month I've written absolutely nada.
That's right Bitey-ites, the muse is sleeping.
Or maybe she's on vacation. I hear South America is lovely at this time of the year.
Wherever she is, it's plain I'm not getting any writing done.
You say, "That's because you're spending so much time dicking around on facebook."
I'd be inclined to agree with you, but the reason I'm dicking around on facebook chatting with Marv and Fritz is directly related to the snoozin' muse. I'm pretty certain if I force it to wake up whatever comes out on the page will most likely be total crap.
You say, "Sounds like writer's block to me."
That's a big fat nega-tory good buddy. I know what happens next. I know what goes where. I know who does what to whom. I simply can't o get the muse out of bed. Could be the nip in the morning air. Could be the lack of afternoon sunshine as we shift into autumn. Could be the fact I've been sharing a bathroom with Shrinky while my bathroom undergoes a major overhaul.
Nope. I'm not worried. I've noticed, that's all. So has Shrinky, who you just know wants to read something head-shrinky into it.
This has happened before. Kinda. I once lost my reading mojo. It came back and I'm certain The slumbering muse will yawn and stretch and come to life (thank you Dolly Parton). When she does you can bet I'll have the coffee waiting. But, before that happens, I think I'll take up tiling and grouting because everybitey needs a hobby.
- Location:not in the bathroom
- Mood:
sleepy - Music:Finger Eleven: One Thing
Romance is timeless--space and timeless, that is.I love engagement parties, bridal showers, weddings and honeymoons, and I have great respect for those who plan their fairytale fantasy wedding—this includes the folks who have the Klingon-themed nuptial-mass and those who say their vows while bungee jumping.
Oh all right. Maybe I’m telling a big fat one there about the Klingon wedding, but who am I to judge? Oldbitey walked down the aisle to ELO’s Do Ya. (come on, they’re the Electric Light Orchestra!) and my wedding photos have me perched on the edge of an old English Sports car. Not what you’d call Star Trek memorable. A Triumph Herald isn’t quite the bridge of the starship Enterprise, but it’s pretty cheesy just the same.
Katie-Sue is getting married. Her lovely sisters suggested a Vegas-style wedding dress for her. One can take that to mean a dress like this one, which comes from The House of Winnie. And that’s Winnie, not whinny. Nor is it, as I first thought, Haus von Skank, it's Casa La Winnie, who clearly is THE Dressmaker to the Skanks, Ho's, and your basic tramps who want to impress all the right people (for more on tacky weddings, visit tackyweddings.com) on the high-class, social circle, street corner down in The Valley.
Having slightly better, less skanky taste than her evil sisters, I suggested a woolen dress. So what if it looks like a giant hand-knit-by-grandma-condom? It’s ribbed, you know, "for her pleasure."
Of course it’s joke, and needless to say Katie-Sue has chosen something lovely for herself and her bridesmaids, but this joking ‘round has led to me to wonder about wedding planners who handle Vampire, Zombie, and White-trash style weddings.
Admittedly, since I am a geek, you all know I could take this way-out wedding thing pretty far. Oh the idea is brewing away. I can see a tower of beer cans, and a cake that resembles roadkill—or Deep Space Nine.
Set phasers to impress!
- Location:La Cucina
- Mood: amused
- Music:Dvid Essex: Rock On
Which is probably why we disagree on an individual's reasons for having a pen name or getting a nose job.
An old friend, one who's had a mustache since I met him back in 9th grade, recently asked me what my pen name was going to be. I've kicked around a couple of ideas. I don't think publishers would be pleased if I went with Old Bitey, but it would put me at the beginning of the alphabet on bookshelves. So how does one go about choosing a name to be plastered on a book cover? How did Nora Roberts choose JD Robb? I dig the initial thing, but could I go with a one-name nome de plume a la Madonna or Homer (and I don't mean The Simpsons)?
I'm sure my old 9th grade buddy. who we'll call "Fritz," would suggest Freda. Swell would tell me to go with my initials. And Shrinky would suggest therapy.
Then he'd expect I'd want to have my nose done, but he'd be wrong. I'd have a chin implant.
- Location:the kitchen
- Mood:
busy - Music:hammering of a bathroom renovation
More specifically, my bio?
Uh-huh. I thought it was pretty strange too. I mean, who am I to rate a bio? For about 90 seconds, there was part of me that wanted to hunt down respected biographer A. E. Hotchner (author of King of the Hill, one of my favourite books). He wrote the biographies of Hemingway, Sophia Loren, and Doris Day. I figured, since I'm built like Sophia, have the looks of Doris and write nothing like ol' Ernest (although I have been to a bull fight in Spain and past his old place on North Dearborn in Chicago), maybe Mr Hotchner (Co-founder of Newman's Own with Paul) wouldn't mind penning my bio as well.
Then my brain started working again.
Writing a bio for yourself is tricky. Excuse me, I should say writing an autobio is tricky because it's something you use to sell yourself.
Toot-toot-hey-beep-beep.
Did you hear that?
Toot-toot-hey-beep-beep.
Yeah, you did. I know you did. I'm humming it out loud. It's Donna Summer singin' about bad girls and me.
Yes. I'm back to the Private dancer, a dancer for money train of thought. I had to write this brief autobio to sell myself. And I'm not even going to get paid. Of course, financial gain is not the point. Publication is the payoff here, but I still can't help feeling like a hooker on hanging out on the corner waiting to get picked up by a John. Only this lacks a seediness and precludes all possibility of picking up a nasty sexually transmitted disease. The only clap I want out of this job is applause.
So back to the bio. After the I was born in the deep south just after the war of Northern aggression bit, what do I include as writing experience? Do I say I was on an editor's desk for a month short of a year before said Ed passed on my manuscript? Or does that make me a loser? Should I mention how I was the managing editor of my high school newspaper, or that I have a Masters in Creative writing, or how I pen this here Oldbitey over at LJ? Is it proper to mention how I sang with Glenn Tilbrook and that I plan to again?
All right. I know that last bit won't interest anyone but me and Glenn--and I'm sure he's not quite aware of my master plan for him. Yet.
But I digress.
Who's going to see this bio? I like to know my audience. I like to have things all wrapped up in a nice little package and something tells me I may have to bring in a talent like Mr Hotchner to beef up my cred and write a me really sunny Doris Day-Sophia Loren style bio with a Hemingway simplicity.
Nod if you agree.
- Location:screenside
- Mood:
hyper - Music:Faith No More: A Small Victory
As a writer with one green eye focused on getting published I know this is true. No foolin'. I watched the biopic musical Gypsy with Natalie Wood and Rosalind Russell, and I know Rosalind Russell wouldn't lie. I mean, Roz didn't tell porkies to her "Little Love" Patrick Dennis in Auntie Mame, so why, when she plays mother Rose in Gypsy, would she steer me wrong about the gimmick thing? I believe Roz and my belief is bolstered by a well-known literary agency I submitted a query to. This agency's website offers submission advice to prospective authors. There are agent bios that allows an author to see the types of novels a particular agent likes to read. Plus, the website states the company wants to know what sets YOU apart from everyone else, which you just know a fancy way to say, "What is your gimmick?"
Then there are the agencies out that are more along the lines of the TV series Dragnet. Like Sergeant Joe Friday, they want "Just the facts, ma'am," in one tidy little paragraph contained on a single page that is both your pitch, your bio, and your introduction. It's so very assembly line and homogenous. In what way does that sort of query set you apart from the rest of the herd of authors hoping to be noticed and published?
There's another kind of agent I've seen in the flesh, in real time, at a writer's conference, and this is what we're up against. This agent demonstrated the amount of time she normally gives to a query. If she didn't like your introduction, your simple, Dear Marina Agento (a totally made-up agent's name), My name is Fred Zimberbaum and I write time-travel erotica, you wound up in the trash BEFORE she even get to the sample chapter. Clearly, this kind of agent is not who you want to send your Time Travel Erotica to. She's a waste of postage. Your manuscript never gets a chance, which is a freakin' shame because writing a letter is vastly different to writing a novel.
Very different.
So how does one be professional, courteous and gimmicky enough to get the agent or publisher's attention? How is one to be all and everything at once? How can I get your attention, Mr./Ms Agent and Publishing Editor?
Well. guess what? I'm pragmatic. I know, no matter how good you are, no matter what your gimmick, it comes down to two words. Crap. Shoot.
Ok. One word. Subjective.
Since that's the case, if a query letter also comes down to a matter of subjectivity, doesn't it make more logical sense (and save trees) to send a note that contains a short synopsis, along with the first, say five pages of your manuscript? Better still, make all of this querying electronic. Hey, Agents, put your tastes on your bio page, so the author can target you and not wind up in the garbage because you only like erotica when it's Regency erotica. It would save on postage and time. No one would wait around for nine months to hear if your letter has been received. Go the route of Avon Books (the Harper Collins arm for Romance novels). They are speedy and to the point when they say No thanks. How about y'all get together to make some kind of industry standard?
I'm not really complaining. Really. Honest. But there is something I want to know. Will bribery work? Or would you prefer me singing for my supper? Because I can really belt out Let Me Entertain You. If you give more than just my query letter the chance.
- Location:le desk
- Mood:
curious - Music:Hey Man (Now you're really livin'): The Eels
Yes, well, you and I know she wasn't exactly referring to parking my arse on an office chair in front of a mac whilst creating a work of fiction. If you're an author like me, perhaps you too wonder if sending out queries to agents and publishers is a little like being your own pimp and hooker. Not that I'm standing on a street corner in the Valley, but I am hawking something, aren't I?
Truthfully, I'm a little uncomfortable when it comes to trumpeting my own horn. I can do it for others. In fact, I excel at being a cheerleader for those who feel self-conscious or less than pretty or a little inadequate. It's easy to find goodness in those you know and love. Yet, when it comes to peddling the words I put to paper, when I send out those queries and sample chapters the cheerleader turns into someone else. I begin to feel all Huggy Bear, as if I should be wearing a purple hat with a red feather, some platform shoes and tight red bell-bottoms. I hear strains of Roxanne and my voice drops a couple of octaves until I sound like Barry White. Oh baby these words of mine are fine...sit back and let this silky story caress your body...let it love you right...let it love you tonight...
When the pimp sensation ends, the sideshow carny guy steps in...Step right up and see the pretty words!
After that it's the door to door salesman.
Yes, yes! I'm a whore selling words instead of my bod. How far do I have to go turn a trick that pays out?
Today, I sent out three queries. Two to agents, one to a major publishing house that's sent me polite form letter rejections via email. In a way those polite missives were refreshing because they were different to the glowing letters that praised my work and then turn it down. So now I'm the wallflower prostitute with the heart of gold. If all that means my words and stories are too old to work anymore, it's time to become a madam.
Luckily, I look pretty good in whorehouse red.
- Location:Out of the rain
- Mood:
artistic - Music:Love you Madly: Cake
If you had enough of my terrier-like nip on Monday, I advise you all to turn away if you don't want another one on Tuesday.
Oops, too late!
All righty. to recap: I bemoaned the fact romance lacks a voice in the literary world. I said romance readers have been brainwashed.
And now, I'm gonna piss some people off, but this is my soapbox and I'll look like an idiot if I wanna.
Yes. Brainwashed. I mean that too. Romance readers buy into the idea they're supposed to be ashamed of what they like to read. This is a huge reason why the genre lacks acceptance in the literary world.
Another reason is more a personal theory. I am of the opinion that romance is, at times, a little too prescriptive and narrow and unwilling to change. This is something I think that keeps it from being fully recognised as a 'literary' work.
"What's that?" you say. "How is romance prescriptive and narrow? How on earth is romance unwilling to change? Romance has changed by leaps and bounds!
Ok, I don't really want to go into the history of the romance genre and how it's developed over time now, but I'll briefly mention the evolution of the Harlequin-Mills&Boon's 'dime novel' and how the women's movement influenced female heroines in romance--much like in the world of Barbie, and how she went from Secretary and Stewardess to CEO and Pilot. There's the whole sex part too, as in heroines get to have it and not be classified as 'bad girls."
I'm talking about the unwritten rules that prescribe what a heroine can and can't do, what she can and still can't be, what a romance story can and can't include. At its heart, romance is escapist fantasy. A vampire is fine. An alien is acceptable, so are assassins and spies. But a romance heroine can't be a Judd Apatow pot smoking loser who lives with her parents. She can be too stupid to live, or a divorcee, or innocent, but heaven forbid she has a foul mouth--unless she fights vampires or double agents and then it's Ok to let fly with the fucks and shits and sons of bitches.
What I'm getting at is how it's just dandy to cross your paranormal with your romance, but not your romance with your women with an attitude.
Don't you dare say, hey, now, Old, what about Chick Lit? Chick Lit is not romance, people, but it does highlight my point. In Chick Lit, a heroine can have some major 'tude. She can swear like Marine Sergeant Carter or be Samantha from Sex In The City. She can be materialistic, flakey, and even mean spirited. Yet, take that attitude and give it to a heroine in a contemporary romance and suddenly that shit won't fly. The hero can be a brooding dickhead who changes. The heroine can merely transform from ugly duckling to swan. The contemporary fantasy has to remain in a much smaller, prettier box.
Now why is that?
I dunno, but I'm going out on a limb here. It's a little wobbly and kind of a stretch, yet I'm hanging it out there anyway. It's my brain and if it's been washed then it's up to me to hang it out to dry, right? So maybe, just maybe, if contemporary romance would open up a little, be a little less rigid about rules of heroine behaviour and allow for some materialistic, flakey, mean spirited attitude to infiltrate the fantasy, the way a vampire infiltrates the community, contemporary romance might climb up a rung in the literary world.
Oh, quit your laughing. It's my theory and I'm entitled to it.
Now get off my green. You're blocking my putt.
And as a completely unrelated side note, Glenn Tilbrook's new CD is out TODAY!
- Mood:
determined - Music:That Is Why: Jellyfish
Was Dracula considered to be literary? Can you name one romance novel that is considered to be a literary work embraced by millions?
OK, you Jane Austen fans. I see you. But let's set aside Mr. Darcy's era for a moment and talk contemporary.
And you girls who love Edward put your hands down too.
Now, allow me to make an observation. Besides my theory that vampires appeal to a youth-fixated population hellbent on not aging, I think it's clear that Paranormal romance is embraced by the literati because it has crossover roots in Horror and Science Fiction. Borrowing elements from those two genres lends a sense of 'respectability' to a romance novel, which,we all know, on its own, is nothing more than pure drivel that chains women to a patriarchal society. However, when one adds a brooding vampire to the mix, it kicks the dumb ass of a sickly sweet romance somehow releases that patriarchal bondage.
Or it adds another sort of bondage to the story.
A similar unchaining has occurred in Romantic comedies, but I mean movies, not books.
Take director/writer/producer Judd Apatow's recent romantic comedies: Forgetting Sarah Marshall and Knocked Up. When the lead character in the romance is a guy, everything changes. If the hero is an overweight, unemployed dope-smoking less than gorgeous dude, and there's a big dose of poop humour and dick jokes (I'll be the first to admit I think poop, fart, and dick jokes are funny), the romance suddenly crosses over into 'respectability.' It garners critical acclaim for being clever and sweet and funny, even if it is gross-out or toilet humour.
A romance novel, one that is straight romance, on its own is still considered to be lowbrow fiction. If the lead in a romantic comedy film is a woman, the movie is deemed a "chick flick." It's downgraded and loses respect and merit as a comedy or work of fine cinema because it doesn't have a penis or fangs.
Look. I don't buy into the 80s feminist argument that romance novels are porn for women or that it is something The Man uses as a leash to keep us ladies in line with masculine power. I simply think publishers, literary critics, and movie reviewers are slow to see where the real power is.
Romance seldom, if ever, gets reviews in newspapers or magazine, yet it still outsells every genre of fiction out there. It is poo-poohed as drivel. It is denigrated at every possible moment by critics and reviewers and academics teaching "literature" at great universities. A dear friend of mine (Hello Katie-Sue!) had a bi-monthly romance novel column in a major Australian newspaper. Although it was popular and garner awards, Kate's column was dropped in favour of book excerpts and reviews for genre fiction of all types.
Except romance.
If you don't believe me, check out last Saturday's Courier Mail. It reviewed three mysteries, a crime novel, and a work of literary fiction about Alzheimer's.
Pulp fiction and dime novels are acceptable to review. Genre fiction is included beneath the literary umbrella, yet romance stand outside and gets rained on. It's odd, considering how much spending power romance readers have. We've got the power yet, we don't make enough noise to make things change. It is because we're used to hiding our guilty little pleasures, or forays into escapist stories. We've been brainwashed into thinking we have to feel guilty about reading about love.
And we do it to ourselves.
Anyone out there in Oldbiteyland want to offer a suggestion? Or tell me what they think of romance? Anyone want to get up and make some noise? Because, as it stands now, It seems as if unless it has fangs or smokes pot, I'd say romance is going to continue to be the Rodney Dangerfield of fiction.
I for one am a little tired of that.
- Location:Sweltering under a hot sun
- Mood:
contemplative - Music:Still: Glenn Tilbrook
All right, all right. Quit snickering.
Now consider the following article a companion piece to the other day's posting about anal bleaching. http://www.theage.com.au/news/lifeandsty
How many times did you laugh as you read it? How many times did you think Oh, you have got to be joking?
Did you realise there are people out there who actually pay for this? Now how many of your think that vanity money be better spent on say...Botox or collagen injections or something others see on a regular basis? What's the world coming to when a person spends $150 simoleons on their lightening the inner area of their arse instead donating it to their fellow man?
Hey, lightass, ever hear of Darfur?
Now please excuse me. I'll climb down off my high horse because I think I may need to have my lips done.
- Location:mac HQ
- Mood:
indescribable - Music:The sounds of my own laughter
So tell me again why it's silly to count the rows between emergency exits or pay attention to the flight attendants little safety spiel. Call me a paranoid fool for knowing where the exits are in a crowded club. Tell me I'm a nerd for having escape plan if the cinema we're watching Bride Wars in suddenly bursts into flames. Chastise me for my common sense.
I now have proof that supports my so-called paranoid preparations for doom.
www.huffingtonpost.com/ben-sherwood/the-t
Go ahead, read it, scoff at it and say, "but Oldbitey, the data shows your odds are one in 60 billion for kicking off in a plane crash."
Yes, that may be true. But I'll be prepared. When Godzilla attacks, I'll make it out of Tokyo alive. And you know you'll beg me to come save you. And Ok, I will. I'll come back for you.
But I have a better idea. Pay attention to the article. Read The Action Heroine's Handbook or Worst Case Scenario Handbook. Then remember what the song says about first being afraid and petrified...and get up off your ass and go!
I will survive. Will you?
Or will you end up as a sad example in something I write?
- Location:The little house
- Mood: determined
- Music:Hinder: Without You
Yes. You read that last one correctly.
A local Spa advertises Anal Bleaching in their list of services. It comes right after eyebrow waxing and lash tinting. It's not clear if it's for dudes or ladies. There's no description of what exactly this process entails, but one can certainly imagine the bleach isn't gonna be your standard bottle of Clorox.
So, how does one go about asking for such a service? Does a guy walk in and say, "Hi, I'm here to have my back, crack and sac done, and while we're at it how about bleaching my anal pore."
Ok, so when you stop laughing, like I just did, ask yourself WHY someone would want this process done.
Did you think, Dear Lord, isn't waxing it all off enough?
All right, all right, I'll admit a certain level of curiosity. I'm going to go in to this Beauty Therapy shop--with what I hope will be a straight face--and ask what it's all about. I'm going to ask who and how and WTF. And No, I will not opt to have it done.
First I'll dare you to.
Then I'll go home and assign this particular beautifying service to a character because something this weird is just begging to be a character quirk--or a discussion between two characters...
- Location:the southern desk
- Mood: curious
- Music:It's a Sin: the Pet Shop Boys
I lifted a character's name from a well known actor. It;s not hard to know who comes to mind when you hear the last name Heston.
But I swear I did it without thinking.
For years, as a child, I thought the larger-than-life Mr Heston was the ONLY actor in the world. He seemed to be in every movie I saw in my early childhood. He was on TV as Moses, he was John The Baptist in The Greatest Story Ever Told and Ben Hur. A short time later, when Big Bitey took us wee ones to the drive-In, ol' Chuck popped up as Taylor in Planet of The Apes. After that came Beneath Planet of the Apes Soylent Green, The Omega Man (Big Bitey liked Sicience Fiction), Earthquake and Airport 75. Charlton Heston was embedded deep in my psyche.
That's the excuse I'm using for how I found a character's last name--and why her her husband calls her Chuck.
So you just know there's part of me that wonders if J.D . Robb--who some of you might know as Nora Roberts--did something similar when she named a character in her In Death series. And no, smarty-britches, I'm not referring to Eve Dallas. I mean Roarke.
Hello, Nora, did you ever have a thing for Ricardo Montalban?
A lot of you out in Olbiteyland know him as "Mr Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"
Still more of you geeky-types (I count myself here too so don't be insulted) may be familiar with him as Khan from the Star Trek series and film Star Trek II the Wrath of Khan.
Perhaps one day Nora will fess up to having a thing for the smooth, silky Corinthian Leather voice of Ricardo. I know I sure as hell did. I thought he was pretty handsome too.
So I confess also I'm saddened by the news of his death, just as I was when Charlton Heston died last year.
He looked damn fine in a white suit. How many men can pull that off and look masculine (besides Naval officers)?
I bid you a fond farewell, dear Ricardo, and a goodbye, heroic Charlton. Thank you both for the inspiration, the memories, and all those fantasies.
Say hello to Herve Villechaize for me.
- Location:Home at last
- Mood:
melancholy - Music:The wind...
If you'll recall, I've had my Andy Williams moment. I sat there like Nelson did, and stared up at my idol wide-eyed and deep in my giddy dorkness. I've promoted Christmas cheer and championed the Happiness virus an inoculation of The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. Some say he's the Emperor of Easy-listening schmarm. His court is made up by the Ray Conniff singers and Mitch Miller. He is waited on hand and foot by the Osmonds. He owns a theater in Branson, MO, where his minions flock to hear him croon the theme from Love Story.
Yet before we dub him the Kaiser of Korn and dismiss Mr Moon River as a joke, here's a fact or two a few of you might not know: He's been part of history. He was there when Bobby Kennedy was shot. In the 70s, his former wife, Claudine Longet, accidentally shot her lover, who's name was Spider. Back in 1976, my young mind fully understood reasons for killing a spider, but this isn't about me, it's about Andy, a real man, who fronted up to give his ex-wife support (If you want the full story, check out Wikipedia) after she shot her lover.
Now come on! How freakin' manly is that?
I mean Andy stepping up to bat, not Claudine's Spider killing.
Cars, chicks, that black suit. Yes. Andy's James Bond-like album cover is important. It's titled Music to Watch Girls By and that song was a huge seller back in the 60s. It's got that 60s manly cover and the tune is catchy in that hip 60s way. Bond=manly, right?Story ideas brew in the mind of Oldbitey (ideas which are not of the soap opera ilk) because Andy Williams has character. Andy Williams WILL be a character in something I write because, as you know, writers are scavengers and we live on carrion--I mean the anecdotes we hear, the stories we absorb. There's some easy-listening schmarm involved here, I'll grant you that, but big whup. A man like Andy, a man with a strong character deserves some respect.
So thanks, Andy. Thanks for making my Christmas time wonderful. It's nice to know there are men like you in the world.
- Location:beneath sunflakes
- Mood:
accomplished - Music:Jimmy Durante: Frosty the Snowman
I've been listening to Christmas music all week. I've got my Big R web radio station churning out Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, Swell's favourite, The Carol of The Bells, and Andy Williams saying It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year. It's all helped to put me in a festive frame of mind, but sweet baby Jesus, can't all year be Andy Williams wonderful?
What's with the time-limited be of good cheer God rest ye merry gentlemen thumpity thump thump joy to the world?
WHY is it only the Holiday season when people don't mind a shopper with 14 items in the 13 items or less check out line?
How come it's only now that making donations to St Vinnie's and The Salvation Army seem like a good idea?
There's current research that argues that happiness is catching, just like the common cold virus. Check out this week's Time Magazine. If you're happy odds are your friends are happy too. If you suffer from happiness, most likely your family does as well. If you're in a crowded room full of cheery Christmas party revelers, you will be cheery too!
Get ready for Oldbitey's hypothesis! Generally when you hear the word mob you think of riots, and lynchings, and people going after Frankenstein's monster with pitchforks and torches. Ok, I think about riots and lynchings and villagers hell-bent on a monster's destruction, but the truth is, Happiness is all about mob mentality. Read the research, people!
I gotta admit I love a good mob mentality. There's a mob of romance readers and writers who are very happy people. Optimistic, happy people breed happy optimistic readers. Romance novels are all about happiness.
You have heard of happily ever after, haven't you?
Anyhow, at this festive be good for goodness sake time of year, the point about joining a mob of happiness, or being infected by happiness, is that perhaps now can be a good starting position for perennial happiness, for--dare I say it-- actual world peace.
Outlaw surliness and ill will. Make happiness vaccines mandatory, like polio and TB boosters. Hand out romance novels. Teach smiling. Teach forgiveness.
Pollyanna thinking you say?
Maybe. But I'm happy and I'm gonna do my part to spread the happiness disease. And not just during The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. Someday soon I'll infect you. You'll succumb to the virus because you love the mob mentality.
Got your pitchfork and chequebook ready?
- Location:Close to the South Pole
- Mood:
happy - Music:Stan Kenton: What is Santa Claus
And here's something else for all you out there. If you're invited for dinner, it's customary to NOT eat before you arrive, isn't it? To eat beforehand sort of defeats the purpose of being invited for a meat-based meal your vegetarian host or hostess took the time to cook especially for vous.
Yes, I am aware it could be creeping middle age or some kind of bitching curmudgeon deep inside Oldbitey, but really, this sort of behaviour is, and I think most would agree, rude.
So how do I counter this sort of disregard? Well, I politely shove it down, wayyyy down and do not comment upon it when you (finally) grace my table. I smile at you and serve you dinner close to three hours past the time the freakin' now dried out chicken is cooked. And when you tell stories about your rude, cheapskate friends who always stiff you with the bill, I chuckle because I know something you don't.
I believe in karma.
Truthfully, this doesn't really bother me. I'm pretty laid back about it all, once I get past the anxiety that the reason you were late was because you died in a horrific accident on your way to my place for your late supper. Honestly, I find it amusing and I'm actually a little thankful because it means I don't have to cook for the rest of the week. Shrinky gets to eat leftovers until Friday and he loves leftovers!
Besides that, you are going to wind up as characters in something I write.
And you just know I'll send you a thank you note when it becomes a bestseller.
- Location:right here
- Mood: cheerful
- Music:Margaret Whiting & Jimmy Wakely: Silver Bells
Simply Having a Wonderful Holly Jolly Jingle Bell Rockin' around the Christmas Tree
Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
It's obvious, innit? Seeing as I've now completed my MA, I've got some time on my hands. Mind you, I could be using this time to continue writing And She Was, but I'm right into wasting time now, since I don't have a deadline hanging over my head. Of course that deadline was all my own making. I put the pressure on myself to finish early.
The trouble is I'm don't feel anything, no sense of accomplishment, no thrill, or relief. So, now that I'm affect challenged champion of the MA world what do I do? Well, I take part in a list that I ripped from facebook.
The trouble is I'm don't feel anything, no sense of accomplishment, no thrill, or relief. So, now that I'm affect challenged champion of the MA world what do I do? Well, I take part in a list that I ripped from facebook.
Sixteen insightful tidbits about Oldbitey (like you really wanna know)
1. Onions are plain evil when you love someone;
2. One day cursing will be an Olympic sport;
3. Oldbitey will win a gold medal for cussing;
2. One day cursing will be an Olympic sport;
3. Oldbitey will win a gold medal for cussing;
4. Andy Gibb was a huge talent;
5. Peas are nature's candy;
6. Root is the only beer worth drinking;
7. Gadgets and doo-dads aren't just for boys and/or geeks;
8. In 2009 Oldbitey will be offered a publishing contract and sing again with Glenn Tilbrook.
9. Redheads need to procreate to ensure the hair colour doesn't die out;
10. Oldbitey enjoyed Twilight far more than an Oldbitey should;
11. Someone needs to write a vampire novel with an orthodontist as the vampire hero;
12. Its not really Christmas until someone breaks out the Lebkuchen;
13. Spiders are freaky, but snakes are cool;
14. The concept of instant coffee is an abomination;
15. Christmas time Down Under lacks a Christmasy smell;
16. What do you mean you don't like A Christmas Story?!
Mele Kalikimaka, ya'll!
- Location:under the Southern Cross
- Mood: bouncy
- Music:The Boston Pops: Sleigh Ride
Dear Kanye,
Pee Wee Herman wants his suit and Playhouse back.
Love,
Oldbitey
PS. Dude, what were you thinking on this photo shoot? White shoes? What are you, a 77 year old Alter Kocker down in Boca?
Here's where you reply, "I know you are but what am I?"
- Location:I'll never tell
- Mood: amused
- Music:The lawmower man
Yes. It seems utterly ridiculous to think about Black Beard and Cap'n Jack Sparrow operating in this day and age, but quick. Go check out today's news and you'll discover the Indian navy has managed to sink a pirate vessel in the Gulf of Aden, which is pretty cool, if you ask me.
Which you didn't.
But I'll telling you about the coolness of battling pirates and you'll listen because I'm not talking Arrrgh, avast me matey and taste the blood of my cutlass as ye make yer way to Davy Jones' locker pirates.
Nosiree-Johnny. This new version of pirates attack things like tourists and Saudi oil supertankers. They hold hostages and they ask for ransom. But the Saudis, the owners of the recently hijacked (seajacked) oil tanker, do not negotiate with pirates.
Back in the early 80s, Michael Caine was in a movie about pirates. It was called The Island. It's one of the slightly lesser known works of Peter Benchley, author of Jaws. The pirates in that not-so-great film were of the swaggering, rum-drinking, five-good-teeth-left-in-their-mouth ilk. Of course, they all sounded like Basil Rathbone from Captain Blood or sailors who mutinied on the Bounty, rather than the Dread Pirate Roberts from The Princess Bride. These let' s-take-the-Saudi-tanker treasure pirates are mostly Somali, and they are serious killers who probably wouldn't take kindly to being played with such verve and camp a la Errol Flynn and Johnny Depp.
Ok. Perhaps they'd appreciate Johnny's portrayal. He was Donnie Brasco and gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson. He's a talented actor and, if called upon for such a role, he'd dig deep to show the really seedy desperation side of today's machine gun toting, rocket-grenade launching pirate.
So how many o you want to bet that a romance novel with spring forth from this recent piracy on the high seas? It will be a modern James-Bondian heavy on the adventure and romantic suspense. Yeah. Yeah, Yeah. Ok. so some of you may recall Under Siege, the more modern take on the pirate movie, where Tommy Lee Jones was the pirate and Steven Segal was the hero. Sure SS got to kiss the Playboy playmate Erika Eleniak (didja know was the girl Elliot kissed in ET?), but that ain't romance and you Oldbiteyites out there know better than to think a kiss makes a story a romance.
We can debate this if you like, but I'll point out the error in your logic.
Ahem, back to the pirate-romance. Aside my my very thrilling work-in-progress, which is not a pirate feature, some smart soul, maybe one of the many, many paranormal romance writers out there, will take it upon themselves to write a modern pirate romance.
And no. There will not be a "bodice ripper" image, shoe, or pink anything on the cover. I'm thinking a Jolly Roger...
Or not.
- Location:my secret desk
- Mood:
dirty - Music:Einstein's Sister: Little Known Fact
Syndicate
