I’m pleased to announce that Apocalypse Ink Productions has finalized the purchase of FAMISHED: THE RANCH – the third, and likely final, book in the Gentleman Ghouls series!
For the next four days, I am reading the final proofs aloud to an empty room, in a last-chance effort to catch typos. I will NOT use this time to make changes, add words, edit scenes … that time has passed. Of course, I’m already finding things I would change; because this is how it works. In any creative endeavor, you will always find things you want to change. There’s no getting around it, but eventually, you have to let your creation out into the wild.
In any event, the publishers will have the final copy in their hands by midnight on Tuesday, August 2 – and I hope that you, my friends, will have a copy soon. Thank you for your patience and support with this final push!
So here’s the story about how lyrics I’ve known for over 30 years brought me to happy tears tonight.
You first need to know that my wife, Leanne, is a fabulous artist. She makes amazing jewelry, and she had the courage to strike out on her own several years ago. Since then, the economy has performed its usual fol-de-rol, and as such she’s decided to take on a side job at a grocery chain.
Her shift this morning was 6 AM – 2 PM, and she left the house before I was out of bed. As such, when I came home at 4:30 (PM), she was cocooned in a blanket on the sofa. While I am often out of bed before she is, it’s rare that I have a chance to see her sleeping and at peace; which brought this song to mind.
My late father Craig Ewert loved Jethro Tull, and I inherited that love when he shared it with me. Several old friends have told me they think of me when they hear Ian Anderson sing, and that makes me happy.
I kinda wanted to send Leanne this song, after watching her sleep this afternoon. But I’ve been burned by lyrics before, so I decided to double-check. And my mind, it was blown.
This song was recorded before I was born, and I’ve been mis-hearing the lyrics forever. In my head, they always went like this:
What a reason for waiting
And dreaming of dreams
So here’s hoping you’ll fail
In impossible schemes
A very Scots warning against over-reaching yourself. A very reasonable note that you won’t always succeed, that it’s all right to aim lower than you could, that nobody could blame you for settling. That really, in the end, you’re always going to fail.
But tonight, before sending them to my sleeping beauty, I looked up the lyrics on Google Play.
What a reason for waiting
And dreaming of dreams
So here’s hoping you’ve faith
In impossible schemes
I’m still in tears, frankly, over this confusion. That for thirty or more years, I’ve held back. And that I’m not too old yet for faith.
Thank you, Ian. Thank you, the long-gone Mr. Tull. Thank you to the Blades. Thank you to Leanne for this gift, and thank you to my father, who bequeathed me with cynicism and hope in equal measures.
Right. It’s a work night. No more tears, but thirty years of memories to unpack.
We return, sadly, to the “big fish” dilemma. Will you allow me a moment, and offer advice?
A number of things went really well today. Among them, I had a coworker come up after I ran my first 100+ person meeting to say, “You’ve convinced me to join Toastmasters. I want to speak like you.” Fantastic! I tell him I’ve also got four years of theatre training and years of performing, but this is the easiest entrance for him.
At the TM meeting, a couple of the young guys come to ask for advice. Again, fantastic! Let me help you become a better speaker. I’ll review scripts, forward articles, critique, whatever!
But one anonymous comment comes through after I speak: “Once again, Ivan shows he’s too good for us.”
“Oh,” I think, crestfallen, “this poor person. It must suck to feel that way. Maybe I ought to stop giving speeches to the group. I don’t want to discourage anyone.”
Fortunately, I stop to think. I LIKE speaking. It’s why I joined. It’s why I’ve applied more energy to meeting these goals than anything since finishing the Gentleman Ghouls trilogy, or getting in shape. Why should I stop doing what I love to make this person more comfortable?
“Because showing compassion to their feelings is the right thing to do.”
Well … is it? It’s what Ivan tends to do, but is it the right thing to do?
I’m honestly torn by this. I could stop speaking at my main club and focus on the educational and administrative parts of that club, while speaking at the sister club and others in the area. That would still let me reach my goals, but would also mean potentially pushing someone else out into the cold, in addition to taking up speech space the other clubs sorely need.
I could just quit speaking for a while. I’ve made a huge amount of headway already, and the feedback I get now is minor. I could focus on the leadership portions. By which I mean, the portions that hold less interest to me, but which need to be checked off in order to achieve the goal.
Despite all the evidence that many people want me to speak and find my work inspiring, inconveniencing or hurting one person seems to throw all that praise out the window. I realize I’m giving this anonymous person too much power over my decisions – but to laugh it off, throw their criticism away, and keep doing what I love seems so very selfish.
On the other hand, there are people who want to learn from me. I do no good to them by surrendering to this commenter.
I lay aside the gift with which I wish to serve people.
Why are the needs and insecurities of this one person so important to me, even when I don’t know who they are?
Ansel Burch is a writer, performer, creative polymath, and a friend of mine who specializes in re-enactments and professional radio dramas. His use of Pinterest as a way to curate visual representations of the places and people he writes about led me to interview him over the weekend. I’m a big fan of the social media platform, but usually reserve my inspirations in secret boards so as not to tip my hand on projects. Ansel is less concerned with that than I am, which allows others to gain more inspiration from his curating work. You can follow him on Pinterest as captfrobisher, or on Twitter @dndisms.
1. When did you start using Pinterest to organize your inspiration?
Probably about a year ago – I was against it initially, but my wife convinced me that it was a good idea, and I came around eventually. It’s currently the best way online to categorize and keep images for a specific project. Google Images seems to use textual parameters around the articles attached to an image, rather than the image itself; and Pinterest also loads faster on the smartphone, which is my main means of interaction with it.
2. Why do you find Pinterest useful for this?
You and I both work mostly with the written word, which can become very ethereal if you let it. Especially with my radio plays, when you’re writing, there’s sometimes this dream aspect where the characters move from point a to point b with no real description.
But if you have a visual concept you can refer back to, you get a more solid concept of “the rocket is so big, and people have to go from here to here …” You can narrate it more effectively. The characters have to get through the airlock, get around the bulkheads, etc. Getting that concept of where you are visually is so key when your work is mostly verbal and textual.
3. Do your ideas generally lead you to images, or vice versa?
I look through my feeds and pin things to the various projects I already have going on. I’ve not yet been inspired to a new project by Pinterest, but it’s given me a lexicon of imagery to work on for future projects.
4. Where do you start looking for your inspiration online?
My feed is made up by following boards rather than following people. I’ll look for an image that’s iconic for what I’m working on, then investigate what board it was pinned to, and follow that board. Then I investigate the lineage of pinning – looking for where similar images or boards exist, and follow up from there.
5. About how much time a week do you spend researching on the site vs. actively creating?
Probably 2-3 hours a week on the high end, mostly during my train commute. I only focus on it if I’ve got a specific project that I need inspiration for. For example, I may spend some dedicated time to get images of important locations or individuals for a storyline. But it’s mostly what I call distraction work.
Active creation usually takes 10-12 hours a week. Less than I’d like, but more than I can justify given the job situation. I’ll give all that active creation time in a day on a single project, rather than splitting the time between projects, and days of the week are devoted to specific projects – Monday I write the radio scripts, Tuesdays before a game are devoted to the upcoming scenario, etc.
6. Do you have a specific project or board you’re proudest of?
The curation for my constructed world of Tendar is probably my most well-designed board. Lots of architecture and landscape which show people exactly what I’m thinking of. There’s less “creep” of unrelated pins and pictures on this board.
7. What feature of Pinterest do you find most useful?
I honestly enjoy the “recommended for you” feature, which I know we disagree on and which my wife finds creepy. But it really delivers things to you, rather than requiring you to go look for specific images and hunt them down. I find it convenient, though of course it’s not perfect. For example, I wind up with a lot of women’s fashion being delivered to me because of the costume boards I frequent.
I delivered an original speech yesterday. Well, not completely original, and not completely a speech.
The Storytelling manual is an interesting bit in Toastmasters. Like Interpretive Reading, it’s one of those which is right up my alley but which feels a bit like cheating. These aren’t speeches so much as solo performances, which I’ve already got plenty of training in. In fact, one of the commenters yesterday pointed out my “unfair advantage as an actor,” which I understand. I’m doing this manual as what they’d call a quick win in the business world, a way to progress swiftly through the checklist to the next level of the organization.
Project Three is “The Moral of the Story,” which asks you to either write an original story with a moral lesson at the end, or to adapt an existing fable into a new story. I decided to go with the second option, again, working toward that quick win.
There were a few comments that stuck out to me both as a speaker and a writer.
- “Maybe a bit too dramatic / Try a more natural mode of speaking.” Well, guilty as charged. As a fan of Kipling (his writing, not his imperialism), I used many of his tricks from Just So Stories, which makes the language seem a little archaic. I personally enjoy that stylistic difference and chose to make use of it, but I can understand others can find it off-putting. In terms of the performance, I chose to deliver it as though I were speaking to a room of children – since lecturing adults on morality is something I’m trying to step away from in my personal and public lives. Perhaps I should have made that clear at the outset. Either way, the drama was a choice I made, so it’s good to have the comments.
- “The mother’s really just a plot device.” Argh, argh, argh. True. Excellent point. While I’m working toward simplicity in a five-minute story, that shouldn’t reduce any of the characters to mere devices. And of course, it’s the mother who gets the short end of the stick, because I’m writing automatically as a man and not being as attentive as I should be. I’m embarrassed by this comment and ashamed of its accuracy, but I can take it as a reminder to watch more closely next time.
- “Dogs can’t talk. That was a big surprise, but it gave the moral greater impact.” I … okay, I don’t know what to tell you about this one. It’s a fable, of course animals can talk. That’s a staple of the genre. Happy accident that you felt it punched up the purpose, but an accident nevertheless.
- “I was so happy to see this bratty kid get his comeuppance.” I didn’t think I’d written the little boy as a brat, per se. Just as a little boy, with the tendencies I’ve observed in all little kids. They cry and cajole when they want something, and things don’t hold their interest very long when they involve work. Is that bratty? I’d call it human nature, but I wonder if this says more about my thoughts as a writer or the commenter’s experience as a listener and mother.
A couple things for me to remember. It’s always good to get feedback like this, that I can actually work on. Sometimes the comments are too positive when I do well, which is obviously nice, but doesn’t help anything except my ego.
The story was adapted from “The Goatherd and His Wild Goats,” one of the Aesop stories I’d never heard before looking for one to adapt; and I’ve included the story below.
The Mother, Her Child, and His Two Lost Dogs
Once upon a time there was a woman named Claire who lived in this very town, and this woman had a little boy, and because of this we will call her Mother Claire and we will call her little boy Caleb, for that was Caleb’s name.
Like all little boys, Caleb was sometimes quiet and sometimes he was loud, and never was he louder than on those occasions when he wanted something, and never EVER was he louder than on those occasions when he wanted something which Mother Claire would keep from him. And like all little boys, one of the things Caleb wanted more than anything in the world was a puppy to call his own.
And after asking and pleading and crying and shrieking for the better part of a month, like many parents, Mother Claire became so tired and worn out from the noise that one day she brought home a puppy for Caleb, and they named that puppy Buddy because Buddy is a very good name for a puppy.
Now Caleb had promised to take very good care of Buddy, and so he did – for a little time. He kept Buddy in his bed at night to keep him warm, and he fed Buddy the very nicest of scraps from his table, and he walked Buddy proudly around the block, and he even picked up the things which Buddy left behind, which I will not talk about because I can see by the way you smile that you know what I mean.
But after a while picking up after Buddy seemed like a nasty thing to do, and so Caleb stopped doing it, and Mother Claire had to pick up where Caleb left off. And after a while walking Buddy became a chore, and so Caleb stopped doing it, and Mother Claire had to walk far around the block before and after she went to work.
And after a while Buddy became roly-poly and round, and so Caleb called him Fatty and stopped the feeding of scraps, and Buddy got so big that Caleb had no more room in his little bed and he made Buddy sleep on the hard floor.
Then one evening in the winter – and you know how cold winter gets, my loves – one winter Caleb heard a scratching and a whining at the door, and he opened it up, and there was a little lost puppy who was long and lean and floppy-eared and so much more handsome than Fatty Buddy.
Caleb felt very sorry for the new little puppy, and he showed Mother Claire how handsome and young and friendly the new puppy was, and he took the puppy into his room, fed him actual pepperoni (which is the finest of snacks for a puppy), and tucked him up in his own bed sheets to warm him and make him a friend.
And Mother Claire saw this, and she saw that Caleb liked the new puppy best, and so she called a friend who lived on a big farm and she told him to come and he could have Buddy for his own. And Caleb said that was just fine, for the new puppy was so much more to his liking.
Now the next morning, when the snow had stopped and the sun was out and the day was fine, Caleb opened the door to walk his new best friend. But! The new puppy was much smaller than Buddy, and he slipped easily through the leash and easily through the door and ran down the street.
Caleb called after him, “But wait! Come back! You bad dog! You ungrateful dog! Didn’t I treat you better than my own Buddy?”
And the puppy called back, saying “You did, and that is why I will not stay! Because if I stay with you, one day I will be an old friend, and you will throw me aside like you did Poor Old Buddy for a new friend!” And the puppy ran off into the wide world, never to be seen again.
And as for Caleb, he grew into a man.
But Mother Claire never again brought him home a puppy.