Ben Farrell's Blog
May 19, 2017
Teenagers, cryptids, and a helping of hope.
I was stuck in greater Los Angeles traffic yesterday and rather than let the creeping rage monster overwhelm my better nature, I went to my happy place...the world of THE UNSEEN. I geek out on world building, I get way too excited about something that Maeve is going to do in a book that I haven't finished yet (#2) and I get goose bumps thinking about all the Big Damn Heroics in #2 and #3.
After my talking car helpfully informed me, "TRAFFIC AHEAD, CHOOSE ALTERNATE ROUTE" (seriously, we are living in the future) for the 87th time, my mind wandered to why cryptids and YAs? THE UNSEEN is relatively new on the scene for me, I've had the kernel of a hard(ish) sci-fi novel floating around in my brain since my mid-twenties, so why didn't I write that first?
Because equal parts cryptids and teenagers.
I've been lucky enough to spend almost all of my career (there was a year that I didn't see the sun while working for a bank) working with 13 to 21 year olds. My first time teaching was in a community college, where I received a question that still haunts me to this day, "How are you qualified to teach this class?". No idea what my answer was other than heavy sweating and desperately hoping that a black hole would appear, sucking me into another dimension whereby I could leave a complicated code to my former self in order to call in sick that day. Outside of that particular moment, it's been pretty great. There is so much potential, belief, excitement, nerves and hope in the teenage years. They don't think they can change the world, they KNOW they can change the world. The world is open and the possibilities are endless. I've taught them, cried with them, advised them, coached them, laughed with them, been made fun of by them (this is a theme!), played with them, traveled with them and learned from them. I've sat through the absolute best moments and the crushingly awful moments as well, but through it all, my job has been to help them see that their future, indeed our future, is still unwritten.
How are teenagers connected to mythical beasts, legendary creatures and mythological animals around the world? Well, anyone who works with teenagers will read that one way and laugh but more importantly, it's less so the creatures and more the people that they attract. I love that there are large numbers of adults, all over the world, who spend their own time and money in the search for these creatures. Their belief, their hope is the same that I see in my students. They haven't been ground down to a nub of their younger selves, the world is still open and fresh with possibility. It's beautiful really.
I'm excited to learn more about this community, connect with the people in it and hopefully go out on a few expeditions myself.
So if the Census would consider you an adult, take a moment and remember yourself at 15. Who were you? Who did you want to be? Think and then take heart friends, it's never too late to become that person, to stand up and claim who you're supposed to be. It might be scary, it might be difficult but your dreams are worth it.
Have a good day friends.
After my talking car helpfully informed me, "TRAFFIC AHEAD, CHOOSE ALTERNATE ROUTE" (seriously, we are living in the future) for the 87th time, my mind wandered to why cryptids and YAs? THE UNSEEN is relatively new on the scene for me, I've had the kernel of a hard(ish) sci-fi novel floating around in my brain since my mid-twenties, so why didn't I write that first?
Because equal parts cryptids and teenagers.
I've been lucky enough to spend almost all of my career (there was a year that I didn't see the sun while working for a bank) working with 13 to 21 year olds. My first time teaching was in a community college, where I received a question that still haunts me to this day, "How are you qualified to teach this class?". No idea what my answer was other than heavy sweating and desperately hoping that a black hole would appear, sucking me into another dimension whereby I could leave a complicated code to my former self in order to call in sick that day. Outside of that particular moment, it's been pretty great. There is so much potential, belief, excitement, nerves and hope in the teenage years. They don't think they can change the world, they KNOW they can change the world. The world is open and the possibilities are endless. I've taught them, cried with them, advised them, coached them, laughed with them, been made fun of by them (this is a theme!), played with them, traveled with them and learned from them. I've sat through the absolute best moments and the crushingly awful moments as well, but through it all, my job has been to help them see that their future, indeed our future, is still unwritten.
How are teenagers connected to mythical beasts, legendary creatures and mythological animals around the world? Well, anyone who works with teenagers will read that one way and laugh but more importantly, it's less so the creatures and more the people that they attract. I love that there are large numbers of adults, all over the world, who spend their own time and money in the search for these creatures. Their belief, their hope is the same that I see in my students. They haven't been ground down to a nub of their younger selves, the world is still open and fresh with possibility. It's beautiful really.
I'm excited to learn more about this community, connect with the people in it and hopefully go out on a few expeditions myself.
So if the Census would consider you an adult, take a moment and remember yourself at 15. Who were you? Who did you want to be? Think and then take heart friends, it's never too late to become that person, to stand up and claim who you're supposed to be. It might be scary, it might be difficult but your dreams are worth it.
Have a good day friends.
May 12, 2017
Charging down the hill and the love of an old dog
Blessed is the person who has earned the love of an old dog..-Sidney Jeanne Seward
I've been lucky enough to have the love of three old dogs in my time. From before I was born through college, I grew up with them and they grew old with me. Each was a member of our family and each of my pups taught me something powerful about life.
Ollie was a mutt through and through. While not entirely sure of her humble beginnings, it quickly became clear that she was one of the more athletic beings the world had ever known. Easily able to clear the highest of fences in a single bound, it was almost as if her gravity was turned to a different setting than the rest of us. Rather than walk out the front gate of our home in Cambridge, Massachusetts, she would casually leap over the fence with the ease of someone who was operating in about 5% of their normal gravity. She was famously paired with her long time friend, Cat. Cat was a cat, obviously. My older sister attempted to name Cat, "Lucy" but in the ways that only cats can, Cat, ignored the shit out of that and responded only to Cat. When my mother was pregnant with me, Ollie and Cat would flank her as she paced the house. Because of Ollie and Cat, I'm a big fan of the cat/dog balance, think Sith/Jedi. I'm not equating cats with the Sith but if I were (I kind of am) they would be necessary to bring balance to the force. In her later years, our Ollie dog couldn't clear the fences in the same way but she still found ways to scrabble over them. Have you ever seen a dog climb a fence? It's weird and amazing. Ollie set the standard by which I judged all dogs (and most humans) and while she has been gone for some years now, she is immortalized in a nursery rhyme my parents sang to me and that I now sing to my babies.
Kooler burst onto the scene when I was seven years old. We'd moved out of the city, (way out!) to an old farmhouse in rural Western Massachusetts. In order to help me with the transition, my parents surprised me with a puppy a few weeks after we moved. They snuck him into the den while I was doing something else. A few moments later I walked in, saw a floppy eared puppy, turned on my heel and sprinted back into the kitchen, "There's a dog in the den!" I exclaimed in equal parts panic and alarm. I was a city kid after all and I just assumed that wild packs of roaming puppies would invade and set up shop in your home if you let them. From that point, Kooler was an ever present component of my life. Beginning of the day? Kooler would sit patiently with my sister and I as we waited for the bus, he'd sense the bus coming far before we did. He'd stretch it out in that glorious dog shuddering stretch and trot to the top of the hill next to our house, lord of all he surveyed. End of the day? Kooler would wait in the driveway for us to return, then he'd yip and yap his way to the front door as he told us about what he'd done that day. Kooler is what I think the Mafia must be like with their families. The family knows something is going on, Dad is away on "business" for most of the day, there are people who are always around, but you have no idea what anyone actually does. There were brief glimpses of Kooler's alternate dog pack leader life. A dog that no one had ever seen before would suddenly show up (we lived in the middle of a forest) and subserviently shuffle up to Kooler, he'd look at us, look back at the dog and almost imperceptibly nod his head in a direction. Random dog would take the cue, put its tail down, and head off in the trees.
If Ollie was the athletic, friend to all species Jedi and Kooler was the charismatic leader of free dogs everywhere, Blazer was...different.
We aren't sure that Blazer was actually a dog. I'm not sure that Blazer thought she was a dog either. If aliens decided to beam down and take the shape of mankind's loyal friend in order to gather intelligence on us, Blazer was part of that initial spy operation. She was unabashedly a Golden Retriever, sometimes playing the part of being a Golden Retriever so well in fact, that it was clear she had comprehensive data files on how to Golden Retriever most effectively. Happy go lucky demeanor? Check. Lolling tongue? Check. Friendly greeter to all who came to our door? Check. If Kooler had been Liam Neeson from Taken in his fierce and confident protectiveness of our family, Blazer was that really friendly Southern mother with feathered hair, that greets everyone with a booming and friendly, "How y'all doing? Would you like some pie?". There were moments that Blazer would be licking something or the other and we'd make direct eye contact. We'd stare at each other unblinking, two different species of Earthly cohabitants whose ancestors have worked together for countless millennia and a silent question would fill the void between us, "Am I dogging correctly right now? Is this the appropriate level of dogness?". Then a fly would zip by, or something on her butt would interest her more and that cross species connection would be broken until the next time.
Blazer in the wilderness was a wonder to watch in action. As we grew up surrounded by the forest, and she was ostensibly the proud descendant of wolves, you'd think that she would move silently, almost cunningly, through the trees. Well you'd be wrong to think that. Blazer slammed through the underbrush, doing her best to catch every bramble and branch on the way. Blazer's favorite activity was to find a wooded hill and charge down full speed, tongue streaming out of her mouth, tripping, rolling, somersaulting, bouncing off shrubs all while making as much noise as possible. I'd come up to her as she did that dog roll/flip thing they do when they're trying to stand up and gather themselves, she'd look at me, smile her Blazer smile and crash off into the next obstacle. When we walked with Kooler and Ollie, we'd often see deer, turkeys and other woodland creatures. With Blazer the word was passed along all around us, "There's a dog-like being trying her best to dog right now, watch out friends!".
I say all this because recently my younger sister and I were trying to come up with the best idea/image/belief system to get(and keep) our creativity flowing. How do you keep going? What happens when you don't know what to do next? What do you do when you're scared? We both decided that we need to be the best version of Blazer possible. We need to charge down that hill, stumbling, rumbling, crashing into obstacles, slamming through uncertainty, getting back up after the inevitable falls. Those walks, expeditions, hikes and moments with my dogs growing up have taught me more than much of my formal education. My dog/alien superspy was, and still is, my teacher. I'll follow her lead, I'll follow her down the hill, through it all, because she taught me you can always get back up again.
Happy Friday friends.
I've been lucky enough to have the love of three old dogs in my time. From before I was born through college, I grew up with them and they grew old with me. Each was a member of our family and each of my pups taught me something powerful about life.
Ollie was a mutt through and through. While not entirely sure of her humble beginnings, it quickly became clear that she was one of the more athletic beings the world had ever known. Easily able to clear the highest of fences in a single bound, it was almost as if her gravity was turned to a different setting than the rest of us. Rather than walk out the front gate of our home in Cambridge, Massachusetts, she would casually leap over the fence with the ease of someone who was operating in about 5% of their normal gravity. She was famously paired with her long time friend, Cat. Cat was a cat, obviously. My older sister attempted to name Cat, "Lucy" but in the ways that only cats can, Cat, ignored the shit out of that and responded only to Cat. When my mother was pregnant with me, Ollie and Cat would flank her as she paced the house. Because of Ollie and Cat, I'm a big fan of the cat/dog balance, think Sith/Jedi. I'm not equating cats with the Sith but if I were (I kind of am) they would be necessary to bring balance to the force. In her later years, our Ollie dog couldn't clear the fences in the same way but she still found ways to scrabble over them. Have you ever seen a dog climb a fence? It's weird and amazing. Ollie set the standard by which I judged all dogs (and most humans) and while she has been gone for some years now, she is immortalized in a nursery rhyme my parents sang to me and that I now sing to my babies.
Kooler burst onto the scene when I was seven years old. We'd moved out of the city, (way out!) to an old farmhouse in rural Western Massachusetts. In order to help me with the transition, my parents surprised me with a puppy a few weeks after we moved. They snuck him into the den while I was doing something else. A few moments later I walked in, saw a floppy eared puppy, turned on my heel and sprinted back into the kitchen, "There's a dog in the den!" I exclaimed in equal parts panic and alarm. I was a city kid after all and I just assumed that wild packs of roaming puppies would invade and set up shop in your home if you let them. From that point, Kooler was an ever present component of my life. Beginning of the day? Kooler would sit patiently with my sister and I as we waited for the bus, he'd sense the bus coming far before we did. He'd stretch it out in that glorious dog shuddering stretch and trot to the top of the hill next to our house, lord of all he surveyed. End of the day? Kooler would wait in the driveway for us to return, then he'd yip and yap his way to the front door as he told us about what he'd done that day. Kooler is what I think the Mafia must be like with their families. The family knows something is going on, Dad is away on "business" for most of the day, there are people who are always around, but you have no idea what anyone actually does. There were brief glimpses of Kooler's alternate dog pack leader life. A dog that no one had ever seen before would suddenly show up (we lived in the middle of a forest) and subserviently shuffle up to Kooler, he'd look at us, look back at the dog and almost imperceptibly nod his head in a direction. Random dog would take the cue, put its tail down, and head off in the trees.
If Ollie was the athletic, friend to all species Jedi and Kooler was the charismatic leader of free dogs everywhere, Blazer was...different.
We aren't sure that Blazer was actually a dog. I'm not sure that Blazer thought she was a dog either. If aliens decided to beam down and take the shape of mankind's loyal friend in order to gather intelligence on us, Blazer was part of that initial spy operation. She was unabashedly a Golden Retriever, sometimes playing the part of being a Golden Retriever so well in fact, that it was clear she had comprehensive data files on how to Golden Retriever most effectively. Happy go lucky demeanor? Check. Lolling tongue? Check. Friendly greeter to all who came to our door? Check. If Kooler had been Liam Neeson from Taken in his fierce and confident protectiveness of our family, Blazer was that really friendly Southern mother with feathered hair, that greets everyone with a booming and friendly, "How y'all doing? Would you like some pie?". There were moments that Blazer would be licking something or the other and we'd make direct eye contact. We'd stare at each other unblinking, two different species of Earthly cohabitants whose ancestors have worked together for countless millennia and a silent question would fill the void between us, "Am I dogging correctly right now? Is this the appropriate level of dogness?". Then a fly would zip by, or something on her butt would interest her more and that cross species connection would be broken until the next time.
Blazer in the wilderness was a wonder to watch in action. As we grew up surrounded by the forest, and she was ostensibly the proud descendant of wolves, you'd think that she would move silently, almost cunningly, through the trees. Well you'd be wrong to think that. Blazer slammed through the underbrush, doing her best to catch every bramble and branch on the way. Blazer's favorite activity was to find a wooded hill and charge down full speed, tongue streaming out of her mouth, tripping, rolling, somersaulting, bouncing off shrubs all while making as much noise as possible. I'd come up to her as she did that dog roll/flip thing they do when they're trying to stand up and gather themselves, she'd look at me, smile her Blazer smile and crash off into the next obstacle. When we walked with Kooler and Ollie, we'd often see deer, turkeys and other woodland creatures. With Blazer the word was passed along all around us, "There's a dog-like being trying her best to dog right now, watch out friends!".
I say all this because recently my younger sister and I were trying to come up with the best idea/image/belief system to get(and keep) our creativity flowing. How do you keep going? What happens when you don't know what to do next? What do you do when you're scared? We both decided that we need to be the best version of Blazer possible. We need to charge down that hill, stumbling, rumbling, crashing into obstacles, slamming through uncertainty, getting back up after the inevitable falls. Those walks, expeditions, hikes and moments with my dogs growing up have taught me more than much of my formal education. My dog/alien superspy was, and still is, my teacher. I'll follow her lead, I'll follow her down the hill, through it all, because she taught me you can always get back up again.
Happy Friday friends.
May 6, 2017
My early-mid twenties was the middle school of my adult life and the blinking cursor of fear/awesomeness.
There's a scene from a story that I've been wanting to write since I was in my twenties that has looped on repeat for years now. At some point I screwed up the courage and wrote it down. It was actually the first creative writing that I'd done since a creative writing course in college.
Almost every time I think about it, it brings me to tears.
Let's be clear, I'm not saying that the prose is so arrestingly beautiful that it moves me to tears. I'm not even saying the writing itself is so remarkable that it moves me to tears. It's just that scene connects all the dots for me. There's hope, fear, righteous anger, looming sacrifice, duty, honor and the call of a home that most had never known.
As I kicked around in my twenties, trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do, writing would flit in and flit out but I never gave it my full focus. I think part of me felt foolish to dare presume that I could write. With the certainty that someone else could write it (whatever I was thinking about) better and my struggles with disordered learning in college, it was never something that I let crack the bubble of possibility.
There is a significant amount of cognitive dissonance that this produces for me because I essentially see the world as a story. Some part of my brain is looking at what's happening around me and ordering it through the lens of a novel. This was why jogging on the streets of New York City after 9:00 pm was so vital and amazing for me in grad school, there was just so much happening at once. Anyway, that dissonance was rooted in literally seeing the world in a certain way, then another part of your brain telling you, "Sorry bud, that's not for you."
It wasn't until I was thirty-three that I started THE UNSEEN. I wrote it during a difficult and nearly overwhelming moment in my life but it was in that place that I allowed myself to throw my self created caution to the wind. Once I let myself believe that I had the right to write (English ftw!) I held myself accountable and just did the damn thing. Of course "doing the damn thing" took far longer than I initially anticipated. If THE UNSEEN ever takes off, I have about 80,000+ words that got cut, so although it's only one finished novel, their world is already much larger.
If I could go back to that twenty something kid, I would tell him that you gotta grind, everyday you have to fight for it. You will fuck up, often repeatedly. Your writing will take you places that don't end up anywhere other then knowing your characters better. Staring at a blinking cursor on an empty page is equal parts terrifying and breathtakingly incredible.
There is no big bow at the end, there is only the journey. The marvelous, awful, beautiful journey.
Have a great weekend friends.
Almost every time I think about it, it brings me to tears.
Let's be clear, I'm not saying that the prose is so arrestingly beautiful that it moves me to tears. I'm not even saying the writing itself is so remarkable that it moves me to tears. It's just that scene connects all the dots for me. There's hope, fear, righteous anger, looming sacrifice, duty, honor and the call of a home that most had never known.
As I kicked around in my twenties, trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do, writing would flit in and flit out but I never gave it my full focus. I think part of me felt foolish to dare presume that I could write. With the certainty that someone else could write it (whatever I was thinking about) better and my struggles with disordered learning in college, it was never something that I let crack the bubble of possibility.
There is a significant amount of cognitive dissonance that this produces for me because I essentially see the world as a story. Some part of my brain is looking at what's happening around me and ordering it through the lens of a novel. This was why jogging on the streets of New York City after 9:00 pm was so vital and amazing for me in grad school, there was just so much happening at once. Anyway, that dissonance was rooted in literally seeing the world in a certain way, then another part of your brain telling you, "Sorry bud, that's not for you."
It wasn't until I was thirty-three that I started THE UNSEEN. I wrote it during a difficult and nearly overwhelming moment in my life but it was in that place that I allowed myself to throw my self created caution to the wind. Once I let myself believe that I had the right to write (English ftw!) I held myself accountable and just did the damn thing. Of course "doing the damn thing" took far longer than I initially anticipated. If THE UNSEEN ever takes off, I have about 80,000+ words that got cut, so although it's only one finished novel, their world is already much larger.
If I could go back to that twenty something kid, I would tell him that you gotta grind, everyday you have to fight for it. You will fuck up, often repeatedly. Your writing will take you places that don't end up anywhere other then knowing your characters better. Staring at a blinking cursor on an empty page is equal parts terrifying and breathtakingly incredible.
There is no big bow at the end, there is only the journey. The marvelous, awful, beautiful journey.
Have a great weekend friends.
May 2, 2017
My little sister, diversifying across platforms and deep self loathing.
How to help an author:
Buy their books
Talk about their books
Turn up at their house with scotch
Cut the power and force them to go outside for a while
Don’t let them respond to that review
More scotch
Also coffee
Give them a hug
Let's get right to it tonight friends. In my family my little sister is regarded as an almost mythical hero. She might not believe it or understand it, but she is. She is braver then I'll ever be, stronger then I've ever been and waaayyyyy smarter then me. From the moment she graduated college she pursued her dream with a level of determination and grit that she shares with Gandalf (Grey and White), Luke Skywalker(trench run) and Calvin (during Calvinball).
I get it now. In a way that I never understood because I wasn't brave enough yet, I get it.
Being creative is some lonely shit yo.
When you're done with the lonely part, you're sharing your art and baring your soul to the entire freaking universe! Whether your audience is one or a billion, it's exhausting in a way that even the empath in me didn't fully appreciate it.
I've been out in the wide world of the internet for a month, she's been singing, recording songs, putting albums together, playing shows for twelve years.
I think we all have that spark inside us, that dream, that hope for the one thing you want to do and that allows you to make a living as well. For some of us those two things coincide, for others they don't, and for people like my sister, she brushes it all off and keeps singing. She just does the damn thing.
This brings me to plot point two and three. We were laughing today because she said in a extraordinarily nerdy voice, "You must diversify across platforms!" It was funny if you were there, promise. In this new alien, almost too bright world of creative writer Ben, she's right. You don't want to have the same image or story up on all your social media platforms (I'm actually rolling my eyes at myself right now, so you don't have to). However, I think I might today based off the most timely meme that was shared on my Facebook page about an hour ago.
A gentlemen that I went to elementary, middle and high school with tagged me in the picture you see above. He was always one of the smartest guys in our class, seemingly devouring all new material at a rate that would have made a large Chtorr (reference anyone?) proud. For instance, he and one of his best friends actually learned Elvish from LOTR, as in they passed notes to each other, that the other understood (!) in Elvish. They were actually the basis for Maeve to understand, read and speak Klingon in my book. Anyway, out of nowhere he tags me in the post from above and what he can't know, what most people who aren't in the shit as it were, was how far in my head I was today! This was coming off a really great night last night (I'll get into insanity tomorrow) but I was stuck way in my dome today. Nothing was good enough, I wasn't good enough, my plan to get the book out wasn't good enough, I smelled and someone stole my lunch money.
But out of nowhere, David, who I haven't had a conversation with since graduating high school comes riding over the hill with the Knights of the God Damn Vale and saves the day. So for all those reading this, HOLD FAST! There are people around you, watching, waiting, protecting, lifting you up in ways large and small.
We can do this.
You CAN do this.
Good night friends.
Buy their books
Talk about their books
Turn up at their house with scotch
Cut the power and force them to go outside for a while
Don’t let them respond to that review
More scotch
Also coffee
Give them a hug
Let's get right to it tonight friends. In my family my little sister is regarded as an almost mythical hero. She might not believe it or understand it, but she is. She is braver then I'll ever be, stronger then I've ever been and waaayyyyy smarter then me. From the moment she graduated college she pursued her dream with a level of determination and grit that she shares with Gandalf (Grey and White), Luke Skywalker(trench run) and Calvin (during Calvinball).
I get it now. In a way that I never understood because I wasn't brave enough yet, I get it.
Being creative is some lonely shit yo.
When you're done with the lonely part, you're sharing your art and baring your soul to the entire freaking universe! Whether your audience is one or a billion, it's exhausting in a way that even the empath in me didn't fully appreciate it.
I've been out in the wide world of the internet for a month, she's been singing, recording songs, putting albums together, playing shows for twelve years.
I think we all have that spark inside us, that dream, that hope for the one thing you want to do and that allows you to make a living as well. For some of us those two things coincide, for others they don't, and for people like my sister, she brushes it all off and keeps singing. She just does the damn thing.
This brings me to plot point two and three. We were laughing today because she said in a extraordinarily nerdy voice, "You must diversify across platforms!" It was funny if you were there, promise. In this new alien, almost too bright world of creative writer Ben, she's right. You don't want to have the same image or story up on all your social media platforms (I'm actually rolling my eyes at myself right now, so you don't have to). However, I think I might today based off the most timely meme that was shared on my Facebook page about an hour ago.
A gentlemen that I went to elementary, middle and high school with tagged me in the picture you see above. He was always one of the smartest guys in our class, seemingly devouring all new material at a rate that would have made a large Chtorr (reference anyone?) proud. For instance, he and one of his best friends actually learned Elvish from LOTR, as in they passed notes to each other, that the other understood (!) in Elvish. They were actually the basis for Maeve to understand, read and speak Klingon in my book. Anyway, out of nowhere he tags me in the post from above and what he can't know, what most people who aren't in the shit as it were, was how far in my head I was today! This was coming off a really great night last night (I'll get into insanity tomorrow) but I was stuck way in my dome today. Nothing was good enough, I wasn't good enough, my plan to get the book out wasn't good enough, I smelled and someone stole my lunch money.
But out of nowhere, David, who I haven't had a conversation with since graduating high school comes riding over the hill with the Knights of the God Damn Vale and saves the day. So for all those reading this, HOLD FAST! There are people around you, watching, waiting, protecting, lifting you up in ways large and small.
We can do this.
You CAN do this.
Good night friends.
April 27, 2017
HEAVEN IS A BACKYARD, STRING LIGHTS AND A COMPUTER.
When Chirrut Imwe says "I'm one with the Force, and the Force is with me." through a hail of blaster fire (frickin Stormtroopers!) at the end of Rogue One, I got it. Not like "I possess the Force as well, feel you brother!" kinda way (although, I'm working on it...) but based on the picture at the top of the page. When I'm writing, nothing can touch me! I am a better human when I am writing on the regular. Colors are more vivid, I'm even more hilarious than normal, birds flock to me, the air is dewy and most importantly, the words just tumble out, almost of their own volition.
I say all this as I'm writing this blog and watching the newest season on "Mystery Science Theater". I was pretty worried about wrong sounding Kermit syndrome but I find the new episodes to be pretty funny. More to the point, I realize that I have to create the time for writing in my life. For a while, I couldn't claim it as my own, in college I found out that I had some disordered learning that focused on grammar, so I felt like something of a fraud when I dared consider myself a writer. But I realize now that I am a writer not because of The Unseen but because I need to write, I'm the best version of myself when I write and that there are stories in me that need to get out.
Have a good night friends.
Tagged: writing, mst3k
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Little milestones
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I say all this as I'm writing this blog and watching the newest season on "Mystery Science Theater". I was pretty worried about wrong sounding Kermit syndrome but I find the new episodes to be pretty funny. More to the point, I realize that I have to create the time for writing in my life. For a while, I couldn't claim it as my own, in college I found out that I had some disordered learning that focused on grammar, so I felt like something of a fraud when I dared consider myself a writer. But I realize now that I am a writer not because of The Unseen but because I need to write, I'm the best version of myself when I write and that there are stories in me that need to get out.
Have a good night friends.
Tagged: writing, mst3k
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Little milestones
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April 26, 2017
Little milestones.
I've spent years working on this book, about four to be exact. I pounded the initial version out in about three months. Foolishly, I thought I was done. I'd poured my entire being into what I'd written and although I didn't want to part with a single word, I knew I wanted it to be something greater than it was. So I asked for feedback. I asked for feedback from friends, family, former students and people I didn't know all that well. They gave me alottttt of feedback. From that point forward, it's been an editing and revising game. So much editing and revising. So much in fact, I wondered if I'd ever get this story out.
My characters demanded it though. Sound crazy? Maybe. But if you've written something of any length or importance to yourself, I think you know what I mean.
After all this time, and all the excitement, worrying, nerves, stress and joy, I got this ball rolling about a month-ish ago. Finding and creating a website, getting the book ready for Kindle, figuring out cover art (so happy with all my art!), reworking the website, editing the book one last time, etc.
So to say I'm happy right now would be an understatement. Today there were a few milestones, today felt GOOD.
First, as modest as it sounds, I passed the century mark in sales. Twelve days ago a group of about ten people had any idea I'd been working on a book, twelve days ago no one knew this existed. Today, there are well over one-hundred people who have read/are reading my novel. They're meeting the kids, exploring the world and (even if they don't know me) connecting with a deeply meaningful part of who I am.
Second, my twenty year old niece walked home from track practice at Williams College, sat down and bought my book. She was number 100.
Third, just today, I've had people from NINE different nations decide to come to my website to learn more about me and THE UNSEEN. I realize this isn't huge in the scheme of things but for me, for someone that put this out there twelve days ago, it means the world.
Thank you.
My characters demanded it though. Sound crazy? Maybe. But if you've written something of any length or importance to yourself, I think you know what I mean.
After all this time, and all the excitement, worrying, nerves, stress and joy, I got this ball rolling about a month-ish ago. Finding and creating a website, getting the book ready for Kindle, figuring out cover art (so happy with all my art!), reworking the website, editing the book one last time, etc.
So to say I'm happy right now would be an understatement. Today there were a few milestones, today felt GOOD.
First, as modest as it sounds, I passed the century mark in sales. Twelve days ago a group of about ten people had any idea I'd been working on a book, twelve days ago no one knew this existed. Today, there are well over one-hundred people who have read/are reading my novel. They're meeting the kids, exploring the world and (even if they don't know me) connecting with a deeply meaningful part of who I am.
Second, my twenty year old niece walked home from track practice at Williams College, sat down and bought my book. She was number 100.
Third, just today, I've had people from NINE different nations decide to come to my website to learn more about me and THE UNSEEN. I realize this isn't huge in the scheme of things but for me, for someone that put this out there twelve days ago, it means the world.
Thank you.
April 25, 2017
Dancing Chaperones and YAs in the wild
Do you remember the absolute soul-crushing mortification when a teacher would dance at one of your high school dances? I do! But then again, I get mortified when someone does something embarrassing on TV. I still laugh uncomfortably when I think about the original British Office and David Brent performing "Free Love Freeway" for the first time. Tim saying, "He went home to get it." about David's guitar is quite possibly the best acting by any any actor ever.
I digress.
Here are a few snippets from Prom 2017 that I'd like to share:
-My wife and I were almost taken out on the dance floor by a boy with a tie tied around his head.
-I'm proud of that boy, he's doing it right.
-We did make it happen on the dance floor and strangely THEY LOVED IT!
-Ira would absolutely love dances.
-At least three distinct and ongoing chess games broke out over the course of the night. This was not viewed as odd.
-At my first formal dance in high school, I wore my Dad's too big coat and one of his ties. Within seconds of walking in an older guy asked me if I was heading to a funeral home.
-As a functioning 37 old male, I am finally, mercifully, (but not really) letting that moment go.
I digress.
Here are a few snippets from Prom 2017 that I'd like to share:
-My wife and I were almost taken out on the dance floor by a boy with a tie tied around his head.
-I'm proud of that boy, he's doing it right.
-We did make it happen on the dance floor and strangely THEY LOVED IT!
-Ira would absolutely love dances.
-At least three distinct and ongoing chess games broke out over the course of the night. This was not viewed as odd.
-At my first formal dance in high school, I wore my Dad's too big coat and one of his ties. Within seconds of walking in an older guy asked me if I was heading to a funeral home.
-As a functioning 37 old male, I am finally, mercifully, (but not really) letting that moment go.
April 21, 2017
Prom and #Ownvoices
I have chosen a profession in which I get to go to Prom each and every year. As a writer with a fondness for, and now a book about, all things young adult, it's just amazing!
This singular moment that has launched a thousand books, short stories, movies, tv shows, etc., is something I get to participate in every year!
There is a significant amount of old man dancing that I can bring to the table and while my lateral movement might not be what it once was, I can still cut a rug (kids say that right?) with the average to lower end of them.
I say all this for a few reasons. I feel like a combination of Jane Goodall and (as the Dean), the tough as nails film noir detective with a heart of gold. Seriously, that's exactly how I feel as I do the two step in the middle of the circle.
The other reason is slightly more meaningful. I look around at my students and I see my characters, I see those five geeky teenagers that I dreamed into existence, and imagine how they would react and exist in the world. What kind of nonsense would Ira be getting up to? (All the nonsense) How much would Dan chafe in his obviously too small suit? (He'd rip it if he moved too quickly but he wouldn't because he'd be too worried about hurting someone. This would all be very quiet as well) Would Maeve be having any fun? (Yes, because she would have broken into the library, she has her own keys, and would be using the combined computing power of the computer lab to crack terror organizations and search for her holy grail...what exactly happened during the Noodle Incident) What would Lily be doing? (She would want to be with Maeve but the large circle of teenage suitors would be preventing her from getting to the Library. She also would surreptitiously be looking at Colman once every 39 seconds) How would Colman respond to this obvious flirting from the girl he was desperately in love with? (Oblivious, Colman is terribly, desperately, horribly oblivious...like TRYING to mess it up oblivious, ESPECIALLY with Ben FarrellBen FarrellLily)
But more than that, my characters, and my students, represent all of us. There are kids from all over the world, from most ethnicities, different sexual orientations, differing levels of ableness and socio-economic status, from different cultures and religions. As an educator and writer who happens to be multi-racial and connects very strongly with the #Ownvoices movement, it's important for me to get their story out.
The authenticity of my characters come from what I have seen, where I have worked and what I have lived. We are all different but more often than not, those differences can, and should, unite us, connect us and make us all better.
So please, where ever you are on Saturday night around 10:00 pm, please raise a glass (non-alcoholic, don't want the Dean to get you!) and toast to all of us, all of our stories and how our differences make us stronger.
This singular moment that has launched a thousand books, short stories, movies, tv shows, etc., is something I get to participate in every year!
There is a significant amount of old man dancing that I can bring to the table and while my lateral movement might not be what it once was, I can still cut a rug (kids say that right?) with the average to lower end of them.
I say all this for a few reasons. I feel like a combination of Jane Goodall and (as the Dean), the tough as nails film noir detective with a heart of gold. Seriously, that's exactly how I feel as I do the two step in the middle of the circle.
The other reason is slightly more meaningful. I look around at my students and I see my characters, I see those five geeky teenagers that I dreamed into existence, and imagine how they would react and exist in the world. What kind of nonsense would Ira be getting up to? (All the nonsense) How much would Dan chafe in his obviously too small suit? (He'd rip it if he moved too quickly but he wouldn't because he'd be too worried about hurting someone. This would all be very quiet as well) Would Maeve be having any fun? (Yes, because she would have broken into the library, she has her own keys, and would be using the combined computing power of the computer lab to crack terror organizations and search for her holy grail...what exactly happened during the Noodle Incident) What would Lily be doing? (She would want to be with Maeve but the large circle of teenage suitors would be preventing her from getting to the Library. She also would surreptitiously be looking at Colman once every 39 seconds) How would Colman respond to this obvious flirting from the girl he was desperately in love with? (Oblivious, Colman is terribly, desperately, horribly oblivious...like TRYING to mess it up oblivious, ESPECIALLY with Ben FarrellBen FarrellLily)
But more than that, my characters, and my students, represent all of us. There are kids from all over the world, from most ethnicities, different sexual orientations, differing levels of ableness and socio-economic status, from different cultures and religions. As an educator and writer who happens to be multi-racial and connects very strongly with the #Ownvoices movement, it's important for me to get their story out.
The authenticity of my characters come from what I have seen, where I have worked and what I have lived. We are all different but more often than not, those differences can, and should, unite us, connect us and make us all better.
So please, where ever you are on Saturday night around 10:00 pm, please raise a glass (non-alcoholic, don't want the Dean to get you!) and toast to all of us, all of our stories and how our differences make us stronger.
