taking the plunge

Recently an almost complete microbrewery kit came into my possession. The only thing I need to start this off is a stainless steel cooking pot, and I have a few leads on where to get one of those. In addition to that I have nearly two cases of mead that the previous owner made. I've read the books and learned there are a lot of things I need to know. It's one of those 'learn by doing' experiences. Signing up for a class in microbrewing was simple enough. Today I got to watch them make some pumpkin beer for Oktoberfest. The class ran a little longer than anyone expected. My wife and kids had to be picked up from a church sponsored BBQ, so I left the class a little early to pick them up. From what I could piece together, microbrewing is an extension of cooking. Following a recipe and once you've practised enough, create something on your own with a unique flavor.
Right now all our money is tied up in other things, but I may get the chance to do something later on down the line. When my English family members  come for a visit, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to serve them a glass of chilled honey wine or an ale worthy of their tastebuds.



 

Brain pan cooking

No, no... not zombie cuisine. My as yet unnamed sequel is gearing up for the finale. During lunch today, the leading edge to the climax started to appear on the pages. It's discouraging to have only two paragraphs to show for my time during lunch break. I suppose it's all in how you look at it. A regular writing session yields roughly six to eight pages. That's not to say I'm having writers block, but several factors come into play. When I'm on the clock, I work at a pretty high energy output level. When I sit down to eat, the bottom drops out on me. Literally, I nod off while typing. It must be a blood sugar thing. Still, I get some outlining done. Stuff gets blocked out... and the footnotes! When I hear a joke or a really good snarky comment, I quickly write it down. Later on I try to work it into the story.

So the Jabberwocky agency sent me a nice rejection letter. That does bum me out a bit, but I can see their point. Everyone is looking for the next Harry Potter. Choosing the right story can make or break the company. Even if the story is good, there's no guarantee people will take a shine to it. Publishing is a risky business. When you put yourself at the mercy of a publisher or agent, your hopes tend to rise and expectations soar. Then a rejection letter is all that more deflating.
That doesn't mean I've given up. Quite the contrary, I'm going to have to go in a direction that few people are brave enough to venture out to. It's what I'm already doing, but more so. 
There's a bunch of short stories that I'm itching to write. So far they're 'treatments', which is to say short paragraphs outlining the plot and storyline. The great thing is I don't have to finish what I'm doing with the TR sequel before I start a short story. My next body of work is going to be the short story collection. That's the thing with all the creative energy juice: the more you use it, the more you have. Okay folks, sneak peek time.

“It didn't take that long mind you,” Charlotte called out from just behind me. After much discussion the two of us settled on a mode of transportation for the journey to Fort Worth. My first thought was to travel by train, but we'd have to journey down to Austin, spend days waiting to catch a train heading in the proper direction, eventually getting to Fort Worth. Not quick enough for me. Charlotte suggested a stagecoach would be faster. For some reason I never took to riding in a wagon. Sore backside. Breathing dust and dirt. Not being able to see where you're going. There wasn't even an in-flight movie!

Charlotte gave me the look that told me I was being a whiner. Eventually we compromised. Sally loaned us a horse so Charlotte could ride alongside Salt and myself. A pack mule rounded out our entourage for our supplies and bags.

“We should get there in a day or two if the weather holds.” I commented. This stretch of the trail allowed Charlotte and I to ride side by side for once. All too often the path forced us to ride single file. Riding beside each other like right now, we had some of our best conversations.

“What's the future like?” She asked.

“I thought we agreed not to discuss specific events.”

“No,” her mouth smiling slightly as she spoke. “What are people like?”

This made me pause for a moment to think. “People are basically the same. A lot of people are good. Some people are selfish. A person you'd meet in the twentieth century would behave somewhat the same now. Why do you ask?”

Charlotte took a moment before speaking. “I've been thinking about that girl in Pensacola, Gemma. Are her people ever going to stand as equals?”

“Yes,” I smiled. “It'll take some time. A lot of arguing is about to take place. But it will change many people's minds. Women will get the right to vote and eventually get the same pay as a man does. There will be wars... demonstrations over who's better: man, woman, white, black... the list goes on. Nationality and religion is going to factor in too.”

“This must all seem so barbaric to you.” Charlotte remarked. Sometimes I think she did that on purpose in order to pick a fight or get me to talk. I'd end up revealing a little more than I wanted to and she'd get her curiosity satisfied. This time around I was ready for her.

“Actually a good idea or invention will stick around.” Charlotte regarded me with an amusing look. “Ben Franklin invented reading glasses. People in my time still use them. A man named George Washington Carver came up with a whole bunch of ways to use peanuts.”

“Who?”

Whoops. I fell for it again.

“If you haven't heard of his name, you will shortly.” I amended, but Charlotte wasn't about to let it go. “What did he do?”

With a small sigh escaping my lips, I answered. “A lot of his work is in soil conservation. More than anyone else, he's going to be responsible for southern agriculture to make a comeback.

“Tell me more,” she dared.

“He was black. A free man I believe.”

Charlotte looked at me with mild irritation. I knew what she wanted me to say, and I was being down right stingy with details about the future.

“What would you like to know?”

“Everything! Anything!” she giggled. “It's not like I'm going to go blabbing my mouth off to the world... and we have plenty of time.”

“So it appears.” I agreed. “Okay, first off: in my time we have fifty states. Alaska and Hawaii are going to be admitted to the Union sometime in the 1950's...”

We had a couple of days of travel in front of us. Might as well make the most of it.

“C'mere you.” I called to the mule carrying our stuff. A firm tug on the rope brough him over to where I could hobble him for the night.

“Why don't we give him a name?” Charlotte called out from the campfire. Taking care of the horses and setting up camp was a one person job. Cooking dinner would fall to the second person. To keep it interesting we would switch off. In order to keep the peace, I usually cleaned up afterwards.

“Oh I don't know...” I tried to sound bored. “We might have to eat him.”

The stirring ladle stopped momentarily as she decided whether I was kidding or not. “That's not going to happen.” Charlotte chimed in her sing-song warning voice.

Truth be told I was considering giving our pack mule a moniker that suited him for a couple of days now. “Let's see...” I thought aloud. “He likes to get dirty... Plays in the trash if we let him. Definitely not a morning person... I know what to call him!” Snapping my finger as I stepped in front of the mule. “I christen thee Oscar!”

Looking up from the stew dinner on the fire, she called out, “You're naming him after that poet, Wilde?”

“Nah,” I shot back. “I knew a grouch by that name.”

 

Time

Have you ever felt the world needed to freeze for 24 hours, just so you can catch up on things? Maybe we don't need the whole 24 hours at once. For instance when you have to be in two places at once. Yesterday I had to take my daughter to her orthodontist appointment. Of course I had to cover 30 odd miles in a few minutes. With rush hour traffic, that wasn't going to happen. So we got there fifteen minutes late. Not the worst thing in the world, but still...
Yesterday after work, I had to attempt to fix my wife's car. The battery won't hold a charge. I'm going to take it down to the auto part store when I pick up my headlight. They have test equipment to see if the battery is any good. While that's going on, I'll put the new light in.
Could the world just stop for... I dunno, an hour or two?
What I really need to do is take care of the floor. There is water on the passenger side. It could be condensation from the air conditioning, but it looks like I'll have to pull up the carpet to see where it's coming from.

Before

During

After

Do you think I went up in experience for this? Maybe. If I had the money burning a hole in my pocket, I'd fix the truck up the way it should be. The turn signal still doesn't work, but I suspect the bulb will have to be replaced. It's times like these where I need the world to stop while I catch up. There's still a big pile of projects that need to be taken care of. If I thought I could get away with it, I'd call in and catch up on all the crap I need to do, although I don't think one day will cover it.

 

What is done

Busy weekend. When you own a truck there are two questions asked the most often:
Can you help me move?
Can you give me a jump?
For that reason, I carry a set of jumper cables and some straps in my cab.
Now one of the man rules states that moving furniture for friends is to be compensated by one of the following:
Beer, food or gas.
The standard rule is one beer per flight of stairs and or heavy furniture. Since my buddy was moving from house to house, no extra beers were added into the price for moving.
Come to think of it, I didn't get fed or gas money allocated. Some one owes me for two days of moving his washing machine, comic books and couch. These are services rendered. Pay up bub, open a tab.
Now you might ask, what are 'man rules'?
This is the unwritten code men live by. People have tried to define it and there have been several attempts to put things down in writing.
Here's some of the rules to pay attention to.

• No cameras are to be brought to a bachelor party, period.
• Unless he murdered someone in your family, a friend must be bailed out of jail within 12 hours.
• If you've known a man for 24 hours, his sister is off limits... Unless you are going to marry her.
• Whining about the free beer in your friend's fridge is forbidden.
• On a road trip, the strongest bladder determines road stops, not the weakest.
• Buying a birthday present for another man is strictly optional, as is remembering the birthday in the first place.
• friends don't let friends wear speedos, ever.
• When you come across other men watching a sporting event, it's okay to ask the score, never who's playing.
• No two men shall share an umbrella.
• Only in situations of mortal peril are you allowed to kick a man in the nuts.
• Never hesitate to reach for the last beer or slice of pizza, but not both.
• Never talk to a man in the bathroom unless you are on equal footing. i.e. both urinating, both washing your hands. In all other cases, a nod is all that is required.
• There is no reason to watch ice skating or men's gymnastics.
• You may exaggerate an anecdote by 50% without fear of reprisal. Anything beyond that and people within earshot may call 'BULLSHIT!'
• When queried by a friend's wife, or girl friend, you need not provide any useful information as to his whereabouts. In some cases you may deny his very existence.
• The minimum amount of time you are required to wait for a buddy that is running late is five minutes. For a girl it is ten minutes for every point on the standard 1-10 hotness scale.
• Being the wingman for a buddy who is trying to hook up with a hot girl is your legal duty. If you end up hooking up with her less comely friend, (i.e. taking one for the team.) Your friend is required to keep his fat mouth shut. 
•  Before dating a buddy's ex, you are required to ask permission, in turn, he is required to grant it.
• Universal compensation for helping a friend move: Beer, food or gas.
• You are not required to like your girlfriend's cat.
• Before allowing your drunken friend to cheat on his girl, you are required to intervene once. If he tells you to fuck off, he's on his own.

There's more, but I don't know where I put them.
 

Something to learn

Never believe for a moment, not one second, you know everything. We pretend we're experts a lot of times, but we're not. The most we can aspire to is to be an authority on any given subject. Another person may know as much as you, perhaps more. Maybe they know a different point of  view. where you are an expert at ABCDEF, they may know DEFGHI.
In all my people watching, I witness brilliant people getting the brush off. To be fair, they allow themselves to be put to the side. There is a guy I know who bags groceries at our supermarket. I've seen him at a few cons and game stores. We've spoken to one another several times. He's a likeable fellow. One time he had his beard tied together with a rubber band, so I did the natural thing: I started calling him 'Captain Lou' after the wrestler, Captain Lou Albano. He stopped wearing the rubber band after that. 
One day not too long ago, I found out this guy was tutoring college students in calculus. What I couldn't wrap my head around was this: here's an obviously smart guy, who doesn't drive, doesn't have a lot of things. (On several occasions I wondered if he owns a comb or brush.) Now my sister will roll her eyes. I'm no fashion authority, but I have standards. They're low, but they are there. Moving on...
If you are smart or talented, shouldn't you be able to hold down a job worthy of your skills? A while back I heard about the math genius working at Subway. I talked about not finding a job in your chosen field and taking a lesser job to pay the rent. Now what about my friend, Captain Lou? I stopped him in the parking lot and asked him this. Why isn't he doing something he's clearly qualified to do? His answer was both cryptic and insightful. He said he had a lot of issues to work on. That could be anything from confidence to depression. It brought up another facet to consider: You have to want something bad enough. With most people, they have a desire or passion to be what they want to be. Others may want thier life to be a certain way, but don't want to work at it, or they're afraid of change. With a little reluctance I admit to being in a third category. Hating enough to change.
There are parts of my life I hate. That's a word I don't throw around much. When I waited tables, I did it because I needed the money and I was sorta good at it. Also, I considered it legalized begging. This is not to say all parts of my life suck. Parts of my life are pretty good. Certain facets suck a little less. Then there are the things that make me so miserable that I have to change them or lose myself in the process.
The trick is not to let the sucky things take over your life. When a pointy haired boss starts coming down on me, there is a little sliver of human inside of me saying;'I've got a secret and you can't crush it.' I relish the time I have when I'm working on writing. When I was hustling down at the convention, it felt right. Going into a room (in Mr. Confidence mode, no less.) and eventually sitting one chair away from the agent I wanted to meet, then actually talking to him afterwards and hopefully impressing him. That was me in my element. All the synapses in my right hemisphere were firing. I didn't care about food or water, my mental list checked off things I needed to do, and boy did I need to do them. So what's the difference between me and Captain Lou?
I want it, and I'm willing to work for it.
 

Goes without saying

My daughters are the joy that makes life worthwhile. Admittedly, I was a tad jealous when my first child was born. My world revolved around my wife and I at that time. I hate to admit it but, I resented the intrusion. For the small amount of food she ate, her body multiplied it ten fold as it came out the other end. She cried, she kept me from sleeping. She occupied all the attention of my wife. Privacy was non-existent. At the time I felt angry and resentful, that I was being pushed to the side. Then I read about Sudden Infant Death syndrome. She pissed and crapped and didn't do nothing, I reasoned. What if I just held my hand over her mouth and smothered the little brat? 
Looking selfishly at this intrusion into my life, I was almost willing to send her back to whatever dark place spawned this hell child.
Then something amazing happened. As I brought my hand up to cut off her wind pipe, she looked up at me with those cute puppy dog eyes and cooed. All thoughts of malice went out the door. A sudden realization hit me: here was a living, breathing soul I brought into the world and I was being a self-centered asshole. At that point, I stopped living and thinking for myself. From that point on, I started living for my children. That day I learned more about love and the ability to care. You get out of life what you put into it, and I'd forgotten that. So I spent time with my daughter, we celebrated victories and milestones. Held her when she cried, comforted her when she felt sick.
Immortality isn't found in a bottle, pill or surgery. If you want to be immortal, raise your kids in a way that brings honor and integrity to everyone's life. 
On the first day of school, my oldest decides to hop over a ditch in order to get to class. Like the graceful swan, she rolls her ankle and goes strait to the nurses office. From there she is sent home. Didn't even make it to her first class. With her ankle swollen reminiscent of a tree trunk (With big purple bruises.) she had to go home. The wife took her to the doctor and confirmed what we already knew: no breaks or fractures, just very badly sprained.
"She's your daughter." the wife quips. Oh, so now I get the blame. Seriously, I didn't think I was that bad. 

After the injury, before the bruising

 

Bruising and swelling, what a pair

Sunday busy Sunday

Tomorrow may be Labor day, but I have to join the real world. Schools will be closed, So will the banks. Not Lowe's or most of the retail stores.
My kids are sleeping in, the wife has errands to run. Work resumes for me after a pretty exciting weekend. Going back to my Clark Kent job is feeling more and more like a let down. All this great stuff is happening and my life is moving forward. This feels right. Simply put: my job is interfering with my life.
When talking to Howard Taylor, I framed it in his terms. He was working in the IT field (what he did for a living.) and made the leap to writing and drawing web comics. (what he's doing for a life.)
The look in his eyes told me he understood exactly where I was coming from. Perhaps it's wishful thinking on my part, but the unspoken words were, 'good luck buddy.'
Today was my last appearance at the con. There was one more thing on my to do list: Joshua Blimes and the Jaberwocky agency. If his agency didn't do speculative fiction or alternate history, I wouldn't have thought it was a good match. The fact that I got into the coffee klatch was something short of amazing. The underlying feeling was they didn't want to say no to anybody.
There was a good Q & A session and afterwards I had a chance to give him my card and let him know I submitted my query to his assistant. He wrote my name down. All in all I thought things went well. He got to see that, 'Here's a guy who's taking this seriously.' In the mean time, back to doing what I was doing, writing and working. Working and writing.
A lot of people were in attendance today. Here, let me show you what I mean.

The entrance

Behind the iron throne

See the difference?

This is what a book signing looks like

This is the line for a book signing

It's a big line

The dealers area was rocking

A good time was had by all

 Steve Jackson came up and lent us a hand at the Chaos machine. No, I didn't take pictures of that. Just as I didn't take pictures of any of the other guests I talked about. The reason for that is I wanted to treat them as human beings.
Before they became famous, they were ordinary people.

Wil Wheaton said it best: It's not about what you love, it's how you love it.

Three o'clock rolled around and I had to cut out. Real life was calling. I did forget my battery recharger, but with the help of my faithful sidekick, we got it back just in time to take kids back to their respective parents and I collected a microbrewery kit. There is a bit of reading I have to do, but I'm looking at four cases of mead sitting in my living room with all the stuff to make gallons of beer, wine and mead in the garage. This may or may not turn into a new hobby. I'm going to read up on it, figure out the cost to make this, and see if I'm actually any good at it. If not, I can still pass it on to somebody else. Who knows? When I told my friends, they were thinking: 'Party at Bill's house.' Little do they know I'd rope them in to helping brew the stuff. I'm told it's a two or three person job. Well, let's see how things turn out.