Day & Night

Blondie and I saw Toy Story 3. We loved it. Hope it's not forgotten by Oscar time. It should win for best animated film, hands down. That franchise or trilogy is ridiculously awesome.  Each film lived up to (or surpassed) the previous one. That's how it's done. Thanks, Pixar, for doing Andy, Woody, and Buzz justice.

Pixar also inserted a short film prior to Toy Story 3. It's called Day & Night. It's a little long, but these two characters make it hard to look away because you just want to know what they'll do next. Someone needs to do a Day & Night picture book. Simple, yet exploratory, concept. Since we are all creators, here is a short behind the scenes clip of Day & Night. Artistic. Creative. Collaborative.



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I've also decided that Looking for Alaska was very low concept and character driven, but John Green has a way of drawing you in with voice, character, emotion, and raw reality. He's an honest writer, telling the truth through fiction. I'll be stockpiling his other novels for my nightstand.

And since I'm hearing MT Anderson speak at SCBWI this summer...

On deck: Feed, by MT Anderson 
In the hole: The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, by MT Anderson

Mixed Summer Ale

1. Today I sprayed Blondie with water and she screamed (and cried). I said it was an accident. It was. Maybe. She squirted me first.

2. There might be a rat somewhere closeby. I think it lives up in the palm tree near the street.

3. I just finished a chapter with three scene breaks. I think it should be split into two chapters.

4. It's still relatively cool here. I'm enjoying it to death, because it won't last long.

5. If there were a prize for green lawns with brown patches, I would win.

6. I keep entering free book giveaways and never win. What's up with that? Someone throw me a bone. I have a family to feed.

7. I'm banging away on this novel, trying to finish by July 31st. Anything's possible... in Omaha. Too bad I don't live there.

8. The Nike/iPod running gadget is worth buying. It's cool, and almost accurate. The best part is when Lance Armstrong's or Paula Radcliffe's voice congratulates you on a new best in the mile. See, I told you it was cool. Buy it.

9. Took Blondie to the doctor today.  Two shots = two round snoopy Band-Aids to cover "wounds", one princess bracelet (that was really a sparkly Band-Aid), four toys from the treasure chest, and a bright red lollipop. When I was a kid, the nurse strapped a cotton ball to my arm with a five-inch piece of tape and said, "See you next year."

10. I'm a little behind the times, but Looking for Alaska (by John Green) is entertaining. Read it, and check out his site.

My Writing Space

I've been meaning to do this for a while, but with the move and the baby and school ending, I've been consumed by more important happenings. So here it is: my current writing space.

To the left:

If I look up from my laptop:

If I look to the right:

Where I should be looking:

My future writing lair...

Shapeshifting Spiders

School is out. It's official. I'm a free man. Now I can bum around in ugly plaid shorts, V-neck tees, and flip flops while growing a lazy man's beard. The first week of summer is odd; it's like the adrenaline just wore off after riding a gnarly roller coaster. You walk around half dead, thinking of what to do with your life. After that time passes, you start to feel energized and ready to take on the world. I like to be goal oriented. But that doesn't mean I always set (or reach) them. This summer I'm setting a few goals, some have to do with life, others with writing, others with killing venomous spiders.

1. Run 15 miles a week.

2. Finish second novel before SCBWI Conference (July 31).

3. Read a lot of books.

4. Get rid of farmer's tan.

5. Clean out the Bomb Shelter.

6. While completing number 5, kill at least 5 black widows (I know where two are hiding).

7. Eat less, but somehow enjoy it. (impossible)  

8. Wash my face more often & shave once a week. 

9.  Like math a little more.

10. Talk Blondie into being a good listener. 

Well, there it is. I'm already behind on numbers 1 and 2 for this week, so I should stop blogging and get running or writing. Before I go, vote for your favorite summer tagline, posted as negative numbers (I'm trying at number 9):

-1. Summer. Where winter's not.

-2. Summer. Here til school starts.

-3. Summer. Taste the heat.

-4. Summer. Hand me another.

-5. Summer. Sun. Sweat. Shapeshifting.      

My favorite is negative 5, because I've always wanted to turn into fire.  

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And because I've recently learned to embed YouTube videos, you get to enjoy the opening to my favorite 1980s cartoon.

    

Poetry, Funk Art & Droodles

In the last several months Blondie (age 3) has gone bonkers over this book. She loves several of these short poems and enjoys making me say the titles (in a strange voice) before reading them. Here are some of her favorites:

Happy Birthday

Kick A Little Stone

Swing

I'm Small

Brother

I've yet to read my poems to her, mostly because there are no fun illustrations to accompany them. I can't draw very well, but I can droodle around with a Sharpie, as long as objects can be funky and nothing close to looking realistic. Funk. It's a music genre, but shouldn't it also be an artistic method? 

"Hey, what kind of art are you into?"   

"Funk."

-Pause-

"Oh. What's that?"

"You know, funk art. Anything funky. Nothing too real."

-Pause-

"Okay. Right. Whatever."

So maybe *funk art doesn't work so well. But I do like the word droodle, which I kind of made up a while back. 

drawing + doodle = droodle

If anyone already uses this **word or knows of it, let me know. I'm thinking of submitting it to Webster or whoever you submit new words to. I think it has a chance.  

Any funky words you're particularly proud of creating?

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*Funk Art already exists. Rats!

**What the &@#!% (Life's only fair on weekends; too bad it's Monday)

A Fine Day Indeed...

The Deathday Letter

Shaun David Hutchinson's debut novel The Deathday Letter releases June 15. One way or another, I'm reading it, even if I don't win the SDH sponsored contest to win a free signed copy. This got me thinking of what I'd be willing to do for a free book. Here's what I came up with:

1. Jump in a pool with nice clothes on.

2. Eat a worm. Okay, two worms.

3. Stick my hand in a freaky hollowed-out log where a large spider is rumored to live.

4. Lick the bottom of a shoe. (I've done this)

5.  Eat an uncooked Habanero. (Check. When I was 16. Cried. Stood at the water fountain outside Spanish class for 40 minutes.)

6. Run 3 miles. Walk 3 miles. Crawl across 3 football fields.

7. Jump rope for one hour. Backwards.

8. Eat a whole onion, followed by six cloves of garlic. (Altoid?)

9. Swim with sharks. Baby sharks. 

10. Skydive ~ like the aforementioned author.   

What would you do for a free book?

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In other news, today I got my hair cut at Floyds Barbershop. Glad I wasn't there on this day.

PMM Wants to Hang Jim Joyce (Just a Hunch)

My cyberpal Paul Michael Murphy, known as PMM 'round these parts, is a huge Tigers fan. For all you sports nuts out there, this is baseball we're talking about, not lawn bowling. And yesterday, a young Tiger's pitcher threw a perfect game.

Well, not quite.

The pitcher, Armando Galarraga (no relation to PMM), was robbed (of a perfect game) by the umpire on--what should've been--the final play.

Why is this such a big deal?

There have only been 20 perfect games thrown in Major League Baseball history. Oddly enough, two have already been thrown this season, since May 9. If you didn't click on the link in the first paragraph, a perfect game, in the simplest terms possible, means that in 9 innings (3 outs in each half inning), no one reached first base by being walked or by hitting the ball. So the pitcher (our good buddy Armando), got every batter out. Except the last one (which became the second to last one). Which he actually did get out.

You see, the first base umpire, Jim Joyce, blew the call. Badly. And in doing so, robbed Mr. Galarraga of the 21st perfect game in history. Perhaps Idiot Joyce's moustache was blocking his view of first base. Or maybe he had too many seeds stuffed in his mouth. To Joyce's credit, he admitted blowing the call. But is that enough? Does that make it okay? Humans error, that's a fact, but this isn't fair. Or is it?

I'm no palm reader, but I'm guessing that Armando (the pitcher) had this coming. That's the only sensible explanation. Maybe in second grade he pulled someone's pants down at the urinal. Maybe he dumped his girlfriend on prom night. Maybe he stuffed an avacado in his pocket when the grocer wasn't looking (that was not meant to be racist). Ahh, I got it. He snuck into an R-rated movie when he was twelve. Well, whatever Armando did, it came back around yesterday afternoon when the baseball gods, channeling their energy through the moustache of Jim Joyce, took away his place in history.

Instant replay anyone?

Men DO Read

This article was posted over a month ago, but it's worth revisiting. I agree with many of his points, especially this one:

"Men read. Tons of them do. But they are not marketed to, not targeted, and often totally dismissed."

Serial Comma - or - Not

 

Which do you prefer?

1. At the store we bought apples, oranges, and bananas.

2. At the store we bought apples, oranges and bananas.