The Chosen One
by Tony Noland
From a distant planet, they came to Earth, scanning every one of humanity's three billion minds. Men and women, from the cradle to the deathbed, every member of every race in every city, hamlet and forsaken wilderness was logged and evaluated. In their silent, invisible isolation, they tested us for intelligence, cleverness, empathy, creativity, aggression, self-awareness, passion and a hundred other traits.
They needed a person with exactly the right balance of qualities; they didn't find one. Their need was great, however, so they waited. Under their gaze, for three centuries we lived and died, fighting our wars and making our pacts, increasing our numbers from three billion to seven, eleven, fifteen. They waited and scanned, waited and scanned.
They chose me.
When I was born, I was put on the list of "possibles", with all the others who had scan results like mine. We were less than nine million individuals among all of Earth's billions, and from that moment, they watched my mind develop. Thirteen years later, I killed a man to protect my sister; they moved me up to the list of "probables", one of forty thousand. When my wife of eleven months died in a fire our absentee landlord set to get insurance money, my tiny son lived for only seven hours after I cut him from her still-smoking belly. They moved me up to the final list of "confirmed", the list with only two other names.
I found all this out later.
For what they wanted done, they needed a perfect match, the very best. They captured all three of us for the final testing: the Brazilian, the American and me. The Brazilian looked like a tough bastard, scarred and tattooed, missing the ring finger of his left hand. The American was a hard kind of pretty, medium height, blond hair, small breasts and wide hips. I don't know what either of them thought of me. I didn't ask.
The silver-blue walls disappeared and the voices told us they’d been searching for the right person for a long time, that we were all going to be sent on a job. The Brazilian and the American eyed each other, and me, suspiciously.
I didn't waste time with looks or questions. I leapt at the Brazilian and jabbed a hand into his neck, crushing his windpipe. His reaction time was good, although not good enough. His uppercut caught me in the jaw, but he was already as good as dead. I rode out the force of his punch to flip backwards towards the American.
She was in a fighting stance and I landed with arms deliberately flailing. She fell for it; her right hand felt like a piece of rebar as it came in hard to break my collarbone, as I expected. She'd looked like someone who fought to disable, not kill. I shifted my stance to let my shoulder take the hit and I elbowed her in the right breast. She hunched up and I killed her with the palm of my hand, brought down hard on the back of her neck.
A short fight with me still standing - my favorite kind. My jaw and shoulder hurt, but everything still worked. I turned to face my ... host. The human-shaped mask it was wearing looked puzzled.
It waved a hand at the pretty corpse and the choking, clutching man on the floor. “Why did you do this?” it asked.
“They weren’t paying attention, were they? You said you’d been searching for the right person. Person, singular. That meant that two of us were the wrong person.”
“And if that had been simply an error in translation?”
I shrugged. “It doesn't seem likely that you’d make a mistake like that.”
The being looked through the wall to where four more of them stood. A discussion took place, just like so many of the job interviews I’d been through with people who had a tricky job that they needed done thoroughly.
The last list now had only one name on it.
They chose me.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
Three Word Wednesday: Break, Negative, Surface
My contribution for Three Word Wednesday:
Went negative without a sound,
The surface serene all around.
Some summer break!
I'll haunt this damned lake,
Wasn't my fault that I drowned!
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
Went negative without a sound,
The surface serene all around.
Some summer break!
I'll haunt this damned lake,
Wasn't my fault that I drowned!
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
Back to normal
That rant that you wrote was a hit -
For a weekend you felt like hot shit!
But the crowds are all gone
'cause the Net has moved on,
It was fun, now get over it.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
For a weekend you felt like hot shit!
But the crowds are all gone
'cause the Net has moved on,
It was fun, now get over it.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
What does a viral hit look like?
So... what does a viral hit look like?
On Thursday, I posted a little rant, "11 Ways You Can Stop Pissing Me Off On Twitter". I intended it to be shocking yet funny, a mixture of over-the-top explosion with a message.
Each of the 11 Ways not only described what the objectionable action was, but clearly stated why I thought they were bad, and also (and this is important) offered specific suggestions on alternative behaviors that would improve the Twitter experience.
Improve it in my eyes, that is, but I'm not that different than anyone else as an interlocutor.
I posted it Thursday afternoon and tweeted the link. I was amazed at the response. So pleased and amazed that I tweeted the link once again on Friday morning.
That's when things took a turn upwards.
The scale on that image is dramatically skewed by the hits from the last two days. I usually get ~30 hits a day, a level I'm reasonably pleased with. Yesterday was more like 800 hits. By noon, "11 Things" had surpassed the previous champ, "Ode To The Semicolon" in terms of page hits. By the end of the day, it had doubled that previous record.
I've done popular things before, but this is the first one that's escaped into the wild and led to this kind of a response. I don't know if there's a formal definition of "viral", but this hitcount is an order of magnitude over and above that for any other single post, besting a year's worth of hits in less than hours; from my perspective, that's pretty viral.
Fascinating.
UPDATE, 8/29/10: I was assuming that this thing had run its course, but between yesterday and today, that rant got another ~500 hits, which would have topped the Ode all by itself. Assuming weekend traffic is lighter than weekday traffic, I can only wonder what this week will bring.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
On Thursday, I posted a little rant, "11 Ways You Can Stop Pissing Me Off On Twitter". I intended it to be shocking yet funny, a mixture of over-the-top explosion with a message.
Each of the 11 Ways not only described what the objectionable action was, but clearly stated why I thought they were bad, and also (and this is important) offered specific suggestions on alternative behaviors that would improve the Twitter experience.
Improve it in my eyes, that is, but I'm not that different than anyone else as an interlocutor.
I posted it Thursday afternoon and tweeted the link. I was amazed at the response. So pleased and amazed that I tweeted the link once again on Friday morning.
That's when things took a turn upwards.
The scale on that image is dramatically skewed by the hits from the last two days. I usually get ~30 hits a day, a level I'm reasonably pleased with. Yesterday was more like 800 hits. By noon, "11 Things" had surpassed the previous champ, "Ode To The Semicolon" in terms of page hits. By the end of the day, it had doubled that previous record.
I've done popular things before, but this is the first one that's escaped into the wild and led to this kind of a response. I don't know if there's a formal definition of "viral", but this hitcount is an order of magnitude over and above that for any other single post, besting a year's worth of hits in less than hours; from my perspective, that's pretty viral.
Fascinating.
UPDATE, 8/29/10: I was assuming that this thing had run its course, but between yesterday and today, that rant got another ~500 hits, which would have topped the Ode all by itself. Assuming weekend traffic is lighter than weekday traffic, I can only wonder what this week will bring.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
#FridayFlash: Long Story
Long Story
by Tony Noland
Scooter threw the bundle out the window, watched it disappear into the night. He tried to listen for the thud, but the whipping wind was too loud. How far? Dammit, how far? He pulled on his end, trying to feel if it was slapping against the ground below. Between the weight of the tape and the wind, he couldn't tell.
Ten rolls of cheap duct tape, each brand new, thank God. Each roll was two inches by 60 yards. He didn't think he lost much length when he twisted the tape all together to make this rope.
The pounding on the door was getting louder. There were more of them out there now. The wood was holding so far, but if they started to pound in a rhythm, the broom handles would break under the strain. He wished he'd thought to use some of the tape to wrap them into a single rod; it would surely have been stronger than four individual broom handles.
Too late for that now, though. He didn't dare take them out of the barricade to re-secure it.
He looked out the window again. How far?
He had about 180 feet of improvised rope, minus what it took to tie it to the drain pipe in the corner and to cross the room. The supply room was about fifteen feet long from the pipe to the window. He was on the 14th floor. If a story was ten feet, he was 140 feet up. That meant a short drop at the end of the rope, but nothing serious. If this building used long stories, though, each one was fifteen feet, and he was more than 200 feet up. A drop of 40 feet was too much. Way too much.
Fists slammed into the door, beginning to merge into a coherent thudding, dead flesh pounding at the yellow pine.
He lifted himself out the window, holding onto the sticky mass of the twisted strands. The wind cut at his arms as he eased himself out.
Eleven years ago, his car broke down out on Route 41. In a stroke of luck, his brother-in-law Marshall drove by after only a half-hour. Neither of them had a tow rope, but Marshall had a roll of duct tape, the same cheap stuff Scooter found in that box on the bottom shelf. Marshall swore he could do anything with duct tape, and in ten minutes he'd twisted up a piece of tape-rope, eighteen feet long. They'd tied the cars together and started off slow.
The tape-rope lasted less than a minute, snapped with the first hard jerk. It had been eighteen strands thick.
Boom, boom, boom - the door shook with each crashing blow of all those fists.
I weigh a lot less than a car, Scooter said to himself, eyes closed. I weigh a lot less than a car.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
He opened his eyes and lowered himself out. Hand over sticky hand, he moved down into the darkness.
Don't look down. Don't look down. Just don't look down. Don't look down.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
by Tony Noland
Scooter threw the bundle out the window, watched it disappear into the night. He tried to listen for the thud, but the whipping wind was too loud. How far? Dammit, how far? He pulled on his end, trying to feel if it was slapping against the ground below. Between the weight of the tape and the wind, he couldn't tell.
Ten rolls of cheap duct tape, each brand new, thank God. Each roll was two inches by 60 yards. He didn't think he lost much length when he twisted the tape all together to make this rope.
The pounding on the door was getting louder. There were more of them out there now. The wood was holding so far, but if they started to pound in a rhythm, the broom handles would break under the strain. He wished he'd thought to use some of the tape to wrap them into a single rod; it would surely have been stronger than four individual broom handles.
Too late for that now, though. He didn't dare take them out of the barricade to re-secure it.
He looked out the window again. How far?
He had about 180 feet of improvised rope, minus what it took to tie it to the drain pipe in the corner and to cross the room. The supply room was about fifteen feet long from the pipe to the window. He was on the 14th floor. If a story was ten feet, he was 140 feet up. That meant a short drop at the end of the rope, but nothing serious. If this building used long stories, though, each one was fifteen feet, and he was more than 200 feet up. A drop of 40 feet was too much. Way too much.
Fists slammed into the door, beginning to merge into a coherent thudding, dead flesh pounding at the yellow pine.
He lifted himself out the window, holding onto the sticky mass of the twisted strands. The wind cut at his arms as he eased himself out.
Eleven years ago, his car broke down out on Route 41. In a stroke of luck, his brother-in-law Marshall drove by after only a half-hour. Neither of them had a tow rope, but Marshall had a roll of duct tape, the same cheap stuff Scooter found in that box on the bottom shelf. Marshall swore he could do anything with duct tape, and in ten minutes he'd twisted up a piece of tape-rope, eighteen feet long. They'd tied the cars together and started off slow.
The tape-rope lasted less than a minute, snapped with the first hard jerk. It had been eighteen strands thick.
Boom, boom, boom - the door shook with each crashing blow of all those fists.
I weigh a lot less than a car, Scooter said to himself, eyes closed. I weigh a lot less than a car.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
He opened his eyes and lowered himself out. Hand over sticky hand, he moved down into the darkness.
Don't look down. Don't look down. Just don't look down. Don't look down.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
11 Ways You Can Stop Pissing Me Off On Twitter
We're all human, and we all make mistakes. (Except for me, because I'm not and I don't, but that's next week's blog post.) I know you didn't mean to piss me off on Twitter. I'm sure that pissing me off was the LAST thing on your mind.
Nevertheless, you did.
I'm a patient and tolerant guy. I let a lot of things slide without getting upset by them. It's only when people habitually make the same gaffs, faux pas, breaches of etiquette, etc. that I want to shake them like somebody else's 2-year-old and get them to knock it off.
So, as a public service, for your benefit and for the sake of my own blood pressure, here are 11 Ways You Can Stop Pissing Me Off On Twitter (which you can also regard as some simple rules for building your follower list or establishing a brand or whatever the hell else you want them to be, so long as you implement them):
11. Shut The Fuck Up About Your Cats I followed you because I thought you'd have some interesting, informative or amusing things to say. Instead it's a constant stream of "Oooh, Mr. Fluffykins' litter box stinks!" or "Meow Tse Tung just walked on my keyboard LOL" or "Sparky is sitting in front of me." Shut up about them already!
What you can do instead Show some restraint! It's fine to make an occasional banal observation about your cats, your kids, your spouse or any other living being in whom you have an emotional investment. That tells me you're human. If you do more than one of them a day, though, what does that tell me? THAT YOU ARE BORING.
10. Learn How Twitter Works There are a bajillion blog posts out there devoted to how to use Twitter. GO READ SOME. Unless you're a newbie, you shouldn't be making annoying newbie gaffs, like RTing one of my tweets, but doing it as an @ reply. That means that the only people who will see your RT are me and you. I appreciate the RT, but it would be nicer if you hadn't screwed it up.
What you can do instead You can pay attention. You can learn. You can invest 20 goddamn minutes in getting better.
9. Change Your Background Picture God in heaven, you have 12,000 tweets, but still have the default green-bamboo-on-brown-background on your Twitter page? Even one of those tacky "www.TwitterBackgrounds.com" pictures would be better than that! What does this tell me? It tells me that you don't think much about your appearance. You probably have soup stains on your shirt, too.
What you can do instead This would be a PERFECT place for pictures of those damned cats. Or of the sunset that convinced you that it was possible for you to be a writer. Or of anything you like or find interesting or inspiring. This is YOUR page... personalize it!
8. Act Like A Human Being A lot of big names are on Twitter because their publicists told them it would be a good idea. They don't need to interact because people will follow them anyway (I'm looking at you, @BarackObama). Their tweets are a one-way street. Send them a reply or a DM, you know what you get? Nothing.
What you can do instead Interact! Engage! Answer replies, get involved in discussions, be present. Look at how @SusanOrlean does it, and do that. Hell, I get more interaction from @StephenFry and @KarlRove than I do from some agents I follow.
7. Save The Knives For DM Guess what? If you are having a spat with someone on Twitter, it's like arguing on a street corner. I. Don't. Care.
What you can do instead If this is between you two, keep it between you two. Your argument shouldn't be an occasion for public spectacle. Unless you both LIKE the attention you get from arguing in public, in which case you are a couple of sad puppies who wouldn't listen to advice from me anyway.
6. "Americans Suck"/"Americans Are Stupid" Oh sweet Jesus, don't get me started on this one. You know what? Yes, we do, on occasion, suck. And so do you, for an imperfectly overlapping suite of similar reasons. We are also, on occasion, a noble and gifted people whose ideals of liberty and ethos of personal freedom coupled with personal responsibility are an example to the rest of the world. I can't generalize about you or what kind of sterling qualities of goodness might be resident within your soul, but at least I know you like your cats a lot.
What you can do instead Be polite. Go look that word up if you have to.
5. Be Committed To Your Own Strangeness I find it weird when an author sets up a Twitter account so they can tweet as the main character in their novel, or as a time-traveler bouncing around from one historical period to the next. Weird, but not necessarily bad. Where this falls apart is when you break character to make an appeal for Haiti, or for prayers for your neighbor's mother, or whatever.
What you can do instead If you're going to play a role, is it too much to ask that you stay in character? This was your idea, after all.
4. You're Always So Fucking Upbeat "Hey, Tony", you might be saying, "what's wrong with being a happy person?" And I say, nothing. I'm glad you're so happy and cheerful. But you know what? Normal people have good days and bad days. If you're a uniformly happy person ALL THE TIME, I'm going to conclude that, in addition to being annoying as hell, you must be heavily medicated.
What you can do instead First off, send me a case of whatever you're on, or the name of a trustworthy supplier in the Philadelphia area. Failing that, just relax and be yourself. Let us see the clouds as well as the sunshine. We'll love you all the more for it.
3. You're Always So Fucking Depressed Look, if you can't see for yourself what's wrong with this, then it's going to take a lot more to help you than a list of 11 Things.
What you can do instead Cancel your Twitter account and go get some therapy. And try to get in touch with Mr. Happy up at #4 and see if he can hook you up.
2. You Make It Hard For Me To Promote You I am a sweet, generous, supportive guy who likes to promote and foster the success of others. I love you. You, yes, YOU! I followed you because I wanted to hear what you have to say. If you tweet something brilliant, funny, informative, insightful, etc., I want to pass that on so others can learn from you the way I have. So why you gotta make it so damned hard for me to RT you, huh? You've got a Twitter name that's 35 characters long! Even if I don't want to preface the RT with a mini-comment like "This!" or "Interesting" or "o.O", by the time I set aside 3 characters for "RT ", I don't have the space for your tweet.
What you can do instead If you write a tweet that you think (or hope) others might want to RT, make it easy for them. Here's a formula for you to use: GoodTweetLength = 140 - (chars in your username) - 3
1. Stop Pretending To Be On Twitter When You Aren't Really On Twitter I'm not a goddamn moron, OK? When I see that every single one of your tweets is an "informative link" posted via SocialOomph, you know what conclusion I draw? That back in February, you spent a day or two loading up your new SocialOomph account with tweets and links, then programmed it to spew out at a rate of 10 per day. You've turned yourself into a goddamn bot!
What you can do instead Have some self respect! I use SocialOomph myself occasionally, it's a great tool, but it's not intended as the Alpha and Omega of tweeting, you know? Do you really want to be such a cold, calculating drone that you turn your back on the opportunity to use this amazing social network to actually be social? Log on once in a while, interact, engage. You've got lots of followers, but don't you want any friends?
And that's it. Do these 11 things and you will not only stop pissing me off on Twitter, you will be a kinder, wiser, better person. Remember, all of this is not about me... it's about you. If you know anyone who could benefit from reading these feel free to forward them the link: http://bit.ly/buMbyh
Two final notes:
1) Sure, I could just un-follow you if I find you annoying. Believe me, I do un-follow people. But you? I like you and I want you to be a better person.
2) The other method of RT'ing, although it preserves the original tweet in toto, does not allow for any editorial commenting or prefacing as I described above. If you want to use it, fine. Don't bug me about it.
Nevertheless, you did.
I'm a patient and tolerant guy. I let a lot of things slide without getting upset by them. It's only when people habitually make the same gaffs, faux pas, breaches of etiquette, etc. that I want to shake them like somebody else's 2-year-old and get them to knock it off.
So, as a public service, for your benefit and for the sake of my own blood pressure, here are 11 Ways You Can Stop Pissing Me Off On Twitter (which you can also regard as some simple rules for building your follower list or establishing a brand or whatever the hell else you want them to be, so long as you implement them):
11. Shut The Fuck Up About Your Cats I followed you because I thought you'd have some interesting, informative or amusing things to say. Instead it's a constant stream of "Oooh, Mr. Fluffykins' litter box stinks!" or "Meow Tse Tung just walked on my keyboard LOL" or "Sparky is sitting in front of me." Shut up about them already!
What you can do instead Show some restraint! It's fine to make an occasional banal observation about your cats, your kids, your spouse or any other living being in whom you have an emotional investment. That tells me you're human. If you do more than one of them a day, though, what does that tell me? THAT YOU ARE BORING.
10. Learn How Twitter Works There are a bajillion blog posts out there devoted to how to use Twitter. GO READ SOME. Unless you're a newbie, you shouldn't be making annoying newbie gaffs, like RTing one of my tweets, but doing it as an @ reply. That means that the only people who will see your RT are me and you. I appreciate the RT, but it would be nicer if you hadn't screwed it up.
What you can do instead You can pay attention. You can learn. You can invest 20 goddamn minutes in getting better.
9. Change Your Background Picture God in heaven, you have 12,000 tweets, but still have the default green-bamboo-on-brown-background on your Twitter page? Even one of those tacky "www.TwitterBackgrounds.com" pictures would be better than that! What does this tell me? It tells me that you don't think much about your appearance. You probably have soup stains on your shirt, too.
What you can do instead This would be a PERFECT place for pictures of those damned cats. Or of the sunset that convinced you that it was possible for you to be a writer. Or of anything you like or find interesting or inspiring. This is YOUR page... personalize it!
8. Act Like A Human Being A lot of big names are on Twitter because their publicists told them it would be a good idea. They don't need to interact because people will follow them anyway (I'm looking at you, @BarackObama). Their tweets are a one-way street. Send them a reply or a DM, you know what you get? Nothing.
What you can do instead Interact! Engage! Answer replies, get involved in discussions, be present. Look at how @SusanOrlean does it, and do that. Hell, I get more interaction from @StephenFry and @KarlRove than I do from some agents I follow.
7. Save The Knives For DM Guess what? If you are having a spat with someone on Twitter, it's like arguing on a street corner. I. Don't. Care.
What you can do instead If this is between you two, keep it between you two. Your argument shouldn't be an occasion for public spectacle. Unless you both LIKE the attention you get from arguing in public, in which case you are a couple of sad puppies who wouldn't listen to advice from me anyway.
6. "Americans Suck"/"Americans Are Stupid" Oh sweet Jesus, don't get me started on this one. You know what? Yes, we do, on occasion, suck. And so do you, for an imperfectly overlapping suite of similar reasons. We are also, on occasion, a noble and gifted people whose ideals of liberty and ethos of personal freedom coupled with personal responsibility are an example to the rest of the world. I can't generalize about you or what kind of sterling qualities of goodness might be resident within your soul, but at least I know you like your cats a lot.
What you can do instead Be polite. Go look that word up if you have to.
5. Be Committed To Your Own Strangeness I find it weird when an author sets up a Twitter account so they can tweet as the main character in their novel, or as a time-traveler bouncing around from one historical period to the next. Weird, but not necessarily bad. Where this falls apart is when you break character to make an appeal for Haiti, or for prayers for your neighbor's mother, or whatever.
What you can do instead If you're going to play a role, is it too much to ask that you stay in character? This was your idea, after all.
4. You're Always So Fucking Upbeat "Hey, Tony", you might be saying, "what's wrong with being a happy person?" And I say, nothing. I'm glad you're so happy and cheerful. But you know what? Normal people have good days and bad days. If you're a uniformly happy person ALL THE TIME, I'm going to conclude that, in addition to being annoying as hell, you must be heavily medicated.
What you can do instead First off, send me a case of whatever you're on, or the name of a trustworthy supplier in the Philadelphia area. Failing that, just relax and be yourself. Let us see the clouds as well as the sunshine. We'll love you all the more for it.
3. You're Always So Fucking Depressed Look, if you can't see for yourself what's wrong with this, then it's going to take a lot more to help you than a list of 11 Things.
What you can do instead Cancel your Twitter account and go get some therapy. And try to get in touch with Mr. Happy up at #4 and see if he can hook you up.
2. You Make It Hard For Me To Promote You I am a sweet, generous, supportive guy who likes to promote and foster the success of others. I love you. You, yes, YOU! I followed you because I wanted to hear what you have to say. If you tweet something brilliant, funny, informative, insightful, etc., I want to pass that on so others can learn from you the way I have. So why you gotta make it so damned hard for me to RT you, huh? You've got a Twitter name that's 35 characters long! Even if I don't want to preface the RT with a mini-comment like "This!" or "Interesting" or "o.O", by the time I set aside 3 characters for "RT ", I don't have the space for your tweet.
What you can do instead If you write a tweet that you think (or hope) others might want to RT, make it easy for them. Here's a formula for you to use: GoodTweetLength = 140 - (chars in your username) - 3
1. Stop Pretending To Be On Twitter When You Aren't Really On Twitter I'm not a goddamn moron, OK? When I see that every single one of your tweets is an "informative link" posted via SocialOomph, you know what conclusion I draw? That back in February, you spent a day or two loading up your new SocialOomph account with tweets and links, then programmed it to spew out at a rate of 10 per day. You've turned yourself into a goddamn bot!
What you can do instead Have some self respect! I use SocialOomph myself occasionally, it's a great tool, but it's not intended as the Alpha and Omega of tweeting, you know? Do you really want to be such a cold, calculating drone that you turn your back on the opportunity to use this amazing social network to actually be social? Log on once in a while, interact, engage. You've got lots of followers, but don't you want any friends?
And that's it. Do these 11 things and you will not only stop pissing me off on Twitter, you will be a kinder, wiser, better person. Remember, all of this is not about me... it's about you. If you know anyone who could benefit from reading these feel free to forward them the link: http://bit.ly/buMbyh
Two final notes:
1) Sure, I could just un-follow you if I find you annoying. Believe me, I do un-follow people. But you? I like you and I want you to be a better person.
2) The other method of RT'ing, although it preserves the original tweet in toto, does not allow for any editorial commenting or prefacing as I described above. If you want to use it, fine. Don't bug me about it.
I am the Prince of Tides
My motivation to write is at a remarkably low ebb. The weather is lousy, I feel like crap, everything I've written in the last week sounds shallow and formulaic , there's no inspiration to be had.
Mari Juniper is running a birthday giveaway blog post. Go post, and try to be funnier than I was.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
Mari Juniper is running a birthday giveaway blog post. Go post, and try to be funnier than I was.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
Fear not
Annie Evett writes today about the fear surrounding writing. Interesting thoughts.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
How am I feeling today?
Feeling like an aimless, no-talent hack, actually. This isn't even worth a blog post, but I thought I might mention it anyway.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
SpokenSunday: Megalo-Man vs. Dr. Tarantula
A bit of old-time superhero & science fiction:
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
Portrait of the Artist as a Middle-Aged Fart
Over at John Wiswell's Bathroom Monologues, the submissions in his art challenge have been posted. These include a little piece my yours truly. Pop over to John's site and check out the other entries, they are fantastic! My piece (below) is titled "From Land to Landless". Catchy, eh?
While you're there, read some of John's fiction & blog posts. You'll be glad you did.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
While you're there, read some of John's fiction & blog posts. You'll be glad you did.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
#FridayFlash: Pop
Pop
by Tony Noland
----
I wanna be a billionaire so freaking bad,
Buy all the things I never had
I wanna be on the cover of Forbes magazine
Smiling next to Oprah and the Queen
Dennis turned the radio off. "Sean," he said, "if I hear that song one more time I'm going to put a bullet in your brain."
"Don't be an ass."
"I'm just giving you fair warning."
Sean lowered his magazine. "And how am I responsible for what they play on the radio?"
"You picked the station."
"So pick a different station. Just not that goddamn classic rock oldies stuff."
"And what's wrong with classic rock?"
"Oh for Lord's sake, Dennis, you get upset at hearing a pop tune for the third time. What do they play on those classic rock stations but the same damned songs over and over? Their whole playlist is about a hundred songs in daily rotation. You've heard every one of them at least a thousand times."
"And every one is a fantastic song that has stood the test of time. That's why they are classics. It's not like this pop crap, here today and gone tomorrow, bands you've never heard of playing shitty music that is only worth hearing once anyway."
"So you think I wanna be a billionaire is a shitty song?"
"I think it has no redeeming social value."
Sean turned in his seat to face Dennis. "That is the most pompous, fatuous, pseudo-intellectual thing I have ever heard you say."
"Well, I'm sorry you're disturbed by the truth when faced with it."
"And I've heard you talk out of your ass more than any man should have to stand, too, so that's really saying something, Dennis. What the hell does that mean, 'redeeming social value'? Did you hear that phrase on one of your TV talk shows and decide to try it out for yourself?"
"It means, did you even listen to the lyrics of that song? Really listen? Do you even understand what the song is saying?"
"Yeah, he's says he wants to be a billionaire so freaking bad. Unless there's some deep subtext that I'm missing, I'd interpret that to mean that he wants to be a billionaire. It seems pretty straightforward, Dennis."
"No, it's not straightforward. He says he wants to be a billionaire and have everything that goes with it, but in the whole song, he never even says word one about how he's going to get the money. Shit, I want to be a billionaire, too, but I'm working for my money. This guy? He's just sittin' on his ass doin' nothing but saying, 'I want, I want, I want'. What kind of message does that send? Kids today, they listen to that song and they think that all you have to do in life is just want and somebody's gonna give it to you. What does that do to people's work ethics?"
"For Christ's sake, Dennis..."
"I'll tell you what it does, it screws 'em up! All this pop crap, you listen to this for an hour and your brain turns to mush. You start to think the world owes you a living, that whatever you want - money, success, women, happiness, whatever - that whatever you want, the world is just gonna leave at your doorstep tied up in a ribbon, like it was a basket of fruit. You got a whole generation that's gettin' more screwed up every day, and it's because their music convinces them that it's OK to just sit around and do nothing to better themselves, to just want to be a billionaire but not get off their ass, to be caught in a bad romance and not dump the guy, to cling to 'I just haven't met you yet' instead of having a realistic understanding of relationships. Maybe you don't care about what music teaches young people, but I do!"
"And when you were a kid, Dennis, I suppose you wanted to go live in an octopus' garden, right? You wanted to give her every inch of your love, you wanted to come sail away?"
"Screw you, Sean, you are deliberately not understanding me."
"Or did you wish that you had Jesse's girl? Or maybe you just wanted to come on Eileen?"
"This conversation is over."
"Of course it's over, because you're being ridiculous. Pop music is supposed to be new and different, its very nature is to offer the same old universal themes in new ways. Love, sex, money, heartbreak, ambition, cars, whatever - of course there's nothing new in those desires because people are people. The point you aren't getting is that you listen to pop music to be exposed to the unfamiliar, to a new twist on an old story. Because it's new, it makes you think about the music, the lyrics, not just sit back and have it on as background noise to be ignored. Dennis, we've got hours yet before the job; I'm not gonna sit here with the radio off and listen to you breath just because you're an old fart who gets a rash at music you haven't already heard ten thousand times." Sean reached over and pushed the button.
I wanna be a billionaire so freaking bad,
Buy all the things I never had...
He picked up his magazine. Dennis moved his right hand up to his shoulder holster, unstrapped it and rested his palm on the butt of his Glock.
Sean rolled his eyes and changed the station.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
by Tony Noland
----
I wanna be a billionaire so freaking bad,
Buy all the things I never had
I wanna be on the cover of Forbes magazine
Smiling next to Oprah and the Queen
Dennis turned the radio off. "Sean," he said, "if I hear that song one more time I'm going to put a bullet in your brain."
"Don't be an ass."
"I'm just giving you fair warning."
Sean lowered his magazine. "And how am I responsible for what they play on the radio?"
"You picked the station."
"So pick a different station. Just not that goddamn classic rock oldies stuff."
"And what's wrong with classic rock?"
"Oh for Lord's sake, Dennis, you get upset at hearing a pop tune for the third time. What do they play on those classic rock stations but the same damned songs over and over? Their whole playlist is about a hundred songs in daily rotation. You've heard every one of them at least a thousand times."
"And every one is a fantastic song that has stood the test of time. That's why they are classics. It's not like this pop crap, here today and gone tomorrow, bands you've never heard of playing shitty music that is only worth hearing once anyway."
"So you think I wanna be a billionaire is a shitty song?"
"I think it has no redeeming social value."
Sean turned in his seat to face Dennis. "That is the most pompous, fatuous, pseudo-intellectual thing I have ever heard you say."
"Well, I'm sorry you're disturbed by the truth when faced with it."
"And I've heard you talk out of your ass more than any man should have to stand, too, so that's really saying something, Dennis. What the hell does that mean, 'redeeming social value'? Did you hear that phrase on one of your TV talk shows and decide to try it out for yourself?"
"It means, did you even listen to the lyrics of that song? Really listen? Do you even understand what the song is saying?"
"Yeah, he's says he wants to be a billionaire so freaking bad. Unless there's some deep subtext that I'm missing, I'd interpret that to mean that he wants to be a billionaire. It seems pretty straightforward, Dennis."
"No, it's not straightforward. He says he wants to be a billionaire and have everything that goes with it, but in the whole song, he never even says word one about how he's going to get the money. Shit, I want to be a billionaire, too, but I'm working for my money. This guy? He's just sittin' on his ass doin' nothing but saying, 'I want, I want, I want'. What kind of message does that send? Kids today, they listen to that song and they think that all you have to do in life is just want and somebody's gonna give it to you. What does that do to people's work ethics?"
"For Christ's sake, Dennis..."
"I'll tell you what it does, it screws 'em up! All this pop crap, you listen to this for an hour and your brain turns to mush. You start to think the world owes you a living, that whatever you want - money, success, women, happiness, whatever - that whatever you want, the world is just gonna leave at your doorstep tied up in a ribbon, like it was a basket of fruit. You got a whole generation that's gettin' more screwed up every day, and it's because their music convinces them that it's OK to just sit around and do nothing to better themselves, to just want to be a billionaire but not get off their ass, to be caught in a bad romance and not dump the guy, to cling to 'I just haven't met you yet' instead of having a realistic understanding of relationships. Maybe you don't care about what music teaches young people, but I do!"
"And when you were a kid, Dennis, I suppose you wanted to go live in an octopus' garden, right? You wanted to give her every inch of your love, you wanted to come sail away?"
"Screw you, Sean, you are deliberately not understanding me."
"Or did you wish that you had Jesse's girl? Or maybe you just wanted to come on Eileen?"
"This conversation is over."
"Of course it's over, because you're being ridiculous. Pop music is supposed to be new and different, its very nature is to offer the same old universal themes in new ways. Love, sex, money, heartbreak, ambition, cars, whatever - of course there's nothing new in those desires because people are people. The point you aren't getting is that you listen to pop music to be exposed to the unfamiliar, to a new twist on an old story. Because it's new, it makes you think about the music, the lyrics, not just sit back and have it on as background noise to be ignored. Dennis, we've got hours yet before the job; I'm not gonna sit here with the radio off and listen to you breath just because you're an old fart who gets a rash at music you haven't already heard ten thousand times." Sean reached over and pushed the button.
I wanna be a billionaire so freaking bad,
Buy all the things I never had...
He picked up his magazine. Dennis moved his right hand up to his shoulder holster, unstrapped it and rested his palm on the butt of his Glock.
Sean rolled his eyes and changed the station.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
And the winners are...
The contest in celebration of my 100th blog follower, my 1000th tweep and my 10,000th visit was a huge success!
I'm grateful to everyone who re-tweeted about this contest, who Facebooked about it, re-posted about it, and generally made it a lot of fun for me. I've had my ups and downs in writing fiction and in enticing people to read it. It's gratifying to look back and see where I am now as what I can only hope is a very good beginning.
And now, the winners!
In the category of New Blog Follower: jsblyth86
In the category of New Twitter Follower: @MeaganSpooner
In the category of Celebratory Commenter: Susan J. Cross
Each of these three lovely people has won an audio recording, performed by yours truly, of one of their stories. This offer is good for one year from today, so if a winner wants to write something new and special for this, or take some time to polish up an existing piece, no worries, I'll be here. I'm really looking forward to seeing what the winners have for me to record! Thanks to everyone who entered. I'll hold another contest at the next nice, round number of blog followers, or when a book comes out.
And to my three lucky winners, feel free to let me know what you eventually decide to do with the audio files. I'll pimp the links here. Cheers!
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
I'm grateful to everyone who re-tweeted about this contest, who Facebooked about it, re-posted about it, and generally made it a lot of fun for me. I've had my ups and downs in writing fiction and in enticing people to read it. It's gratifying to look back and see where I am now as what I can only hope is a very good beginning.
And now, the winners!
In the category of New Blog Follower: jsblyth86
In the category of New Twitter Follower: @MeaganSpooner
In the category of Celebratory Commenter: Susan J. Cross
Each of these three lovely people has won an audio recording, performed by yours truly, of one of their stories. This offer is good for one year from today, so if a winner wants to write something new and special for this, or take some time to polish up an existing piece, no worries, I'll be here. I'm really looking forward to seeing what the winners have for me to record! Thanks to everyone who entered. I'll hold another contest at the next nice, round number of blog followers, or when a book comes out.
And to my three lucky winners, feel free to let me know what you eventually decide to do with the audio files. I'll pimp the links here. Cheers!
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
Three Word Wednesday: grimace, phase, stumble
For Three Word Wednesday:
The physicist made a grimace
When he tripped on some tight TorsionSpace,
But his little stumble
Turned into a tumble,
And he cursed when he fell on his phase.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
The physicist made a grimace
When he tripped on some tight TorsionSpace,
But his little stumble
Turned into a tumble,
And he cursed when he fell on his phase.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
Best of Friday Flash, now available
Jon Strother's got lots more info about the book and the process of how it came to be. Go check it out!
The book itself is available over on Smashwords for $2.99 in a variety of e.book formats, including Adobe's PDF, which is suitable for home printing.
===== Feel free to comment on this or any other post.
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