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Hello, friends!

I've been absent from the internet for the past few days because I've been out of town. I went to the coast to celebrate a friend's upcoming marriage and we had a fantastic time. It was something I didn't know how much I needed until I was back home and thinking about how much better I felt after unplugging from everything for four days.

I've been living in my own little thundercloud for the past six weeks or so, and I didn't even realize how much the storm had consumed me until I was suddenly away from it with no way to get to a phone or the internet. Instead of the panic I was expecting, all I felt was a blessed form of relief. On the way home (a four hour drive by myself), I did a lot of thinking about my current situation - with the book, the Clark Kent job, everything. Being away from the whole scene helped me see how much I've been stressing out about everything, from word count to work duties, and how much of a toll it's taken on me. At least half of stress is perception based - you may not be able to change your stressors, but you can choose how you react to them - and I'm so grateful that I was given a chance to see that I need to change my perceptions about my daily life.

Instead of beating myself over the head with the goal of finishing the book by the end of May, I'm being a lot more kind to myself and rejoicing in how much work's been done. I know I'll finish, and probably within the time frame I've given myself - but I no longer feel as if I've failed or am in danger of failing an important task I've given to myself. The Clark Kent job does not feel like a prison sentence; it seems like a gift again. I'm refreshed and ready to finish this novel and get on to the next step in my life.

And when I got home, I saw so many lovely people have passed on my Pay it Forward giveaway on their blogs, twitter and Facebook! How incredible! You guys are an inspiration! It was amazing to see how things had progressed in the four days I was gone. Not only did more than ten people blog about the giveaway, but I also now have 121 followers! Only four more 'til the MYSTERY PRIZE is included in the booty list! (Booty list... now that was just fun to type, heh).

Are you stressing about something right now? Is it weighing down on you, or racing through your mind, keeping you from being calm? I know you might not be able to physically get away like I did this weekend, but try to mentally take a step back from that stress and see if you can take a different approach to the problem. Breathe - in through the nose for a four-count, hold it for a seven-count, let it out slowly through your mouth for an eight-count. Feel better? Need to vent? The comments section is always open.

Pay it Forward Update

Hello all! I announced my very first blog contest, the Pay it Forward Giveaway, on Friday of last week, and I have a couple of updates about it for you!

First, THANKS for all the wonderful comments, reposting, and goodwill-spreading! I've gotten a great response for this so far! I can only hope the two weeks will continue to be as amazing as the first few days of the contest were. In just three days, I received over 200 entries from interested bloggers! WOW!

I also gained 11 followers already - YEAH!! Welcome, new folks! Take a look around! Here are a few entries for you to peruse while you're here. They're some of my most popular posts, and you can learn a bit about me and my blog if you decide to take a gander:

Lycanthropy Awareness (from Arlee Bird's A to Z blog challenge)
A Fine Romance, With No Pages
Clark Kent vs. Superman

11 new people! That means we only have 14 more to go before a MYSTERY PRIZE gets added to the contest! Whoooo!! I think I'm as excited about that mystery prize as I am about the contest itself!

Also, Curt and Shane from Mooks in the Movies have thrown something out there to be added to the Pay it Forward Giveaway grand prize! As you know, the winner gets to choose EITHER a $25 gift card to the bookseller of their choice OR what I like to call an "Author Sponsorship Package" which includes me purchasing your published work (up to a $25 value), reviewing it on the blog and your bookselling website of choice, giving you and your work plugs on my Twitter and Facebook and hosting an author spotlight on my blog for you. Well, Curt and Shane are adding this little gem to that package:

To sweeten the pot, I am offering this. In addition to the sweetness of her prizes, we Mooks will name a character in one of our screenplays after the winner! You heard it right folks! Now, with respect to people's privacy, we will handle that this way:

We can name the character using your first name, screen name, or just a name you really like. We will also post a link to the winner's preferred media here on our blog as well. So, if you are the winner, you get your name used in one of our screenplays, and we will announce you as the winner, with a link to your blog, website, whatever!

How cool is THAT?? Awesome, huh? If you haven't had a chance yet, get on over there and follow their blog! You'll get +7 entries in the contest for it!

Also, Kierah Jane Reilly did her own spin on the Pay it Forward contest here. She started a really neat trend on her blog that's spread out to at least four other blogs so far... can't wait to see how far it goes! And I love your choices for the "In real life hangout", Keirah!

One more thing... the Pay it Forward Giveaway is inspiring another group of writers to compose some Pay it Forward drabbles! If you don't know what drabbles are: they're pieces of flash fiction, written in exactly 100 words. No more, no less. I can't wait to see more about this and share it with you as it develops!

Thank you so much to everybody who's gotten involved with this! I love this community!

The Pay it Forward Giveaway ends at midnight on Monday, May 31st! If you'd like to know more, visit this link for details!

Wake Up

I realized while I was getting ready for the Clark Kent job this morning that I forgot all about music Monday!!

Geesh! What kinda blogger am I? An off-the-cuff, disorganized, but still lovable one... well, mostly anyway. So to make up for it, I want to talk a little about one of my favorite songs by the Arcade Fire. It's called "Wake Up" and it's off their 2004 debut album Funeral. I first heard this song a few years ago, and I fell in love with it immediately - it's everything I want in a song: epic lyrics, a shifting, moving melody, and an overall uplifting sound. If you get a chance today, you should really give it a listen (click on the link above!). It's worth it. And it's only about five minutes of your life. You've spent more time in drive-thru lines. ;)

I love this piece of lyrics:

And children don't grow up
our bodies get bigger, but our
hearts get torn up
We're just a million little gods causin' rainstorms,
turnin' every good thing to rust
I guess we'll just have to adjust...

I really identify with this. Do you ever feel like you're still a kid inside your grownup body? I know I do. Stumbling around, wondering if what I'm doing is the right thing, wishing for some kind of direction... more often than not doing more damage than good. It's at times like this that I remind myself to breathe. And breathe. And breathe some more. I think terms like "adult" and "grownup" don't necessarily apply to artists. We are awake, fully awake, so much more so than most people - we don't really care so much about which celebrity is dating who, or what the stock market trade value of a certain company is, or whether or not the clothes in our closets are "in", or which reality show is currently kicking butt and taking names.

We're more concerned with the bright pinprick of light that's the evening star, set like a startling jewel in the velvety cobalt of the twilight-filled sky. We observe people while in public places, marveling at their secret lives on display for us to see, even though they don't realize it - listening to their conversations on airplanes, watching them play with their kids in the park. We are awake to the real world, a universe of color and sound and drama. It's our job, our calling as artists to capture that world to the best of our abilities.

Last night I was dragging from a ten hour day at work so I went to my local coffee shop for a delicious caffeinated beverage. On the way back to my house, I saw a little carnival set up in a parking lot, a study of flashing lights against the deep blue evening sky. Instead of passing on and heading back to the house, I pulled over and took a couple of pictures - and bought myself a bag of fresh cotton candy!

On the way out of the tiny cluster of lights and bells and barkers, I saw a Greenville County deputy parked beside the lot, leaning on his car and observing the few cars and people who'd gathered. I smiled and introduced myself, told him I was writing a book and that one of my main characters was a police officer, and then had a great little Q & A session with him about police work. I found out he's an English minor who's also working on a novel, and we had a really cool conversation about writing. We also traded info and he agreed to read my first draft after it was done and offer pointers on what will make Jack a more realistic police officer! YEAH!

See? I was AWAKE to the possibility of magic in my life, and the universe delivered! I could've passed on by, left the carnival and its enchanting little pool of twinkling lights and whirling rides behind, but I listened to that voice inside me, the one that said, hey man, maybe we should take a closer look at that, whaddaya think? and was rewarded for my efforts.

This can and WILL happen to you. You just have to keep your eyes open. You just have to be awake.

With my
lightning bolts a-glowin'
I can see where I am
go, goin'!

You better look out below!

Indeed.

Vigilant and Virtuous

I can't help but remember this scene from V for Vendetta when I think of the letter V. Our friend Evey has just been saved from certain deflowering and possible death by a mysterious stranger in a Guy Fawkes mask.

Evey Hammond: Who are you?

V: Who? Who is but the form following the function of what, and what I am is a man in a mask.

Evey Hammond: Well, I can see that.

V: Of course you can. I'm not questioning your powers of observation; I'm merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man who he is.

Evey Hammond: Oh. Right.

V: But on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace sobriquet, to suggest the character of this dramatis persona.
Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous.
Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it's my very good honor to meet you and you may call me... V.

Evey Hammond: Are you like a crazy person?

V: I am quite sure they will say so. But to whom, might I ask, am I speaking with?

Evey Hammond: I'm Evey.

V: Evey? E-V. Of course you are.

Evey Hammond: What does that mean?

V: It means that I, like God, do not play with dice and I don't believe in coincidences.

And neither do I. I believe everything happens for a reason, every choice we made in the past leads us to where we are now, and that we are all exactly where we are supposed to be. My whole life has a purpose. It's up to me to define what it is. I'm answering the creative voice inside me; I've stopped denying I am a conduit for the universe to speak through, and given myself over entirely to the calling. I'm choosing this profession, this lifestyle, this quest with open eyes and arms. Every decision I make is chosen with the future in mind, and it's starting to show more and more in my everyday life, flashing through in brief glimpses. It's just enough to keep me going, at least for one more day.

I refuse to give up. I will succeed.

And so will you, friend. All you have to do is listen to what you really want... and you truly have the power to make it happen. Your project. Your brainchild. Your heart's desire. I believe in you! What vigilant and virtuous action are you taking to realize your dream today?

Jesus Loves Indiana.

Yes, yes, He does. And the way you can tell? Because He gave Indiana the musical powerhouse that is Murder By Death.

I've mentioned Murder By Death a few times in my blog, most notably in my entry on live music. Today, for Music Monday, I'll be reviewing their brand-spankin-new album, Good Morning, Magpie. This album was released last Tuesday, April 6th, and it's the fifth album from Murder By Death, a band that's a strangely wonderful hybrid of rock and country, with epic accents from strings and a decent amount of folk thrown in for good measure.

Murder By Death has been making music for a decade, and over the five albums they've produced in those ten years, their artistic growth is impossible to deny. I love each album for its own particular voice and story - from the Devil visiting a small town in the New Mexico desert in Who Will Survive, and What Will be Left of Them? to the twelve different interludes about Hell on In Bocca Al Lupo, and everything in between. Murder By Death is known for their dark style and subject matter - the band has recorded songs about jailbreaks, murders, the death penalty, ghost pirate ships, whorehouses, and all sorts of under-the-radar goings on which happen on a regular basis in the dark universes they create with their lyrical and musical style.

Good Morning, Magpie does have its dark moments - the thunderous "White Noise" is ominous and foreboding in its deep study of anger and lost retribution, and "Piece by Piece" is a wonderful take on their fascination with convicts and the choices they make in their lives (see "Sometimes the Line Walks You" and "The Big Sleep" from In Bocca Al Lupo for examples).

But there's a new undercurrent of positivity and hope in this album that outshines the darkness. It's delivered in the traditional Murder By Death style we've grown accustomed to over the years - strong, catchy lyrics; heavy bass and cello expertly mixed; experimental drumlines and inspired rhythms underlying their inventive (yet reassuringly familiar) sound. "Foxglove", a ballad about a ghost lady who falls in love with a traveler in a forest, is a beautiful love song, while "You Don't Miss Twice (When You're Shaving With A Knife)" is quirky and funny, with a great drum set that includes a trash can lid and a propane gas tank as percussion instruments.

"King of the Gutters, Prince of the Dogs" is a wonderful song about being at the bottom but still looking up, and "Yes", a song about moving on after the death of a loved one and remembering the good times with them instead of focusing on your grief, is one of those songs I know I'll be returning to over and over in the years to come. "As Long as There Is Whiskey In the World" is going to be a great drinking sing-along song in concert - I can't wait to see it live. The horn section of "On the Dark Streets Below" is a new sound for Murder By Death, and it really brings that song to life.

The CD I received was packaged in eco-friendly card stock and came with a poster signed by the band (the virtues of pre-ordering). There's also a stunning vinyl press available of this album in midnight blue wax. It comes with an embossed gatefold cover, bound 12 page uncoated color booklet, a 24"x 24" poster, a sticker and a big black feather. These guys really pay attention to their packaging, and it's absolutely beautiful.

Overall, I think Good Morning, Magpie is a triumph. Murder By Death has worked long and hard to get here, and it shows. The album is a wonderful showcase of their talent, dedication, and view of the world around us - a view which is sometimes striking in its raw assessment of how the world works, but never disappointing. They've once again given this horror writer a new group of songs to work into my inspirational playlist - one that continues to feed my creativity and stoke the fires of my imagination.

Thanks to Sarah, Matt, Dagan, and Adam for working as hard as they do, all day, every day, for the past decade. It shows, and you're loved for it.

You can buy your own copy of "Good Morning, Magpie" on CD or vinyl by clicking here, or you can get a digital copy of the album here.

Dog Tag Dedication

I never knew my maternal grandfather. He died in the late sixties, several years before I was born. My paternal grandfather passed away even earlier than that - when my dad was still a kid. When I was younger, I never gave much thought to not having a grandfather; like most children, I accepted the ins and outs of my family dynamic without question. Other children had granddads, and of course I understood the concept. I just didn't have one of my own.

We never really talked about my dad's father - I guess he was just too young when his dad died to be able to relay much about him to us - but my mom talked about her father every so often while telling me stories of her childhood. I remember being fascinated by these tales of my mother as a girl. I listened faithfully, rapt in her memories, learning about my grandfather (whom my mother referred to as "Daddy" and my sister and I always called "Papaw"), his huge heart and wicked sense of humor. There weren't many of these anecdotes, and I can still quote them chapter and verse. But they were still only a handful of glimpses into the rich life of a man who passionately loved his town and his family.

In recent years I've grown much more interested in our family's history. I discovered some interesting facts about my heritage, such as my grandmother's membership in the Daughters of the American Revolution and the Daughters of the Confederacy. I learned I was related to two governors of South Carolina (both held office in the 1700's). I also found out that my great-great grandfather, Yelvon Brown, was an officer in the Confederate Army in Virginia. What a lineage!

Yesterday while I was visiting with my family for Easter, I found a bag of my mom's "keepsake jewelry". Through the plastic I saw the distinctive shape of dog tags tucked in with assorted bracelets, watches, pins, and charms. I dug them out and was delighted to find they were my grandfather's. They list his name and Army serial number, next of kin, and religion. There was also a small weatherproofed portrait of my grandmother with the tag, and on the opposite side of her portrait was a real four-leaf clover pressed against the photo's backing paper, perfectly preserved under the clear plastic. Mom said my grandmother had it made for him, just before he was shipped out.

Mom gave me the dog tags to keep for a while. I asked for them; I felt compelled. Now I can't stop thinking of my grandfather in the war: a couple years younger than me, homesick for his town and his wife, proud to help his country end the war as however he could. He wore this chain overseas and back home again; it was around his neck as he wrote letters to my Mamaw and slogged through mud and wished on evening stars to get back safe to his home in the Appalachians. He looked at the picture of my grandmother thousands of times in the two and a half years he was at war, wishing he could step right into its black-over-white composition and take her into his arms. He pressed his thumb over that four-leaf clover for luck over and over again as he faced dangerous situations, and its magic never failed him. Wearing these tags, I have the clearest sense of him as a real person I've ever had.

Eight months ago, I started a journey. One month left. It's an uphill battle but I refuse to surrender. I'm using this totem to remind me of the bravery I come from; the determination and pride which runs in my family. In me. I'm wearing the tags around my neck right now. That four-leaf clover is getting a workout, let me tell you.

As for Music Monday... This post might not be entirely music related, but I do have a thought for you. Long ago my mother told me what my Papaw's favorite song was. I think I'll go listen to it now. So, friends, if you know "Sixteen Tons" by "Tennessee" Ernie Ford, feel free to hum along.

Writing Playlists

I draw a huge amount of inspiration from the music I listen to in every stage of my writing process. I have thousands of songs loaded on my iPod, and I love to put the thing on shuffle and just let Jeff take to the wind. My mind will often drop into the zone of brainstorming without me even planning it, setting a scene to a particular song. The creative juices start flowing, and for the four-to-six minutes the song's playing, I'm locked deep in my imagination, the music playing as a soundtrack to the movie in my mind.

I also listen to music as I'm actually working on the novel. I don't do this all the time; sometimes listening to music as I write screws with my ADD, distracting me, and I end up looking for the "right song" to listen to as I compose a particular scene, wasting several valuable minutes in the process. But other times it's exactly what I need to transport me to my fictional town of Bulton, SC. I've composed a playlist over the last seven months as I've been writing the novel. The playlist has evolved, growing and changing as the novel does, but the core music remains the same.

I've populated my playlist with some good old rock n' roll, of course - the Eagles are a large part of the lineup. I've mentioned before how the song "Heartache Tonight" was a huge influence in a pivotal scene in the novel... and I swear, if this damn thing ever gets made into a movie, I'm pitching the song to the director... it's that concrete in my head. Other grit-yer-teeth rockers include Creedence Clearwater Revival and the newcomers Deer Tick. (I'd love to call all these bands Southern rock, and I know a good many people think of them as such. I just can't in good conscience do that, though, because CCR and the Eagles are from out West and Deer Tick is from RI.)

I've also got a good bit of Murder By Death on the playlist. Their epic rock-meets-country-meets-orchestra sound, coupled with beautiful dark lyrics and an underlying current of desperation, fit my little Southern ghost story very well. I chose some tracks from the Fleet Foxes, because their mellow, folk-y sound makes me think of the South in general and Appalachia in particular, most likely because of their song, "Blue Ridge Mountains".

Then there are a few single tracks from different artists and movie soundtracks, which feed my brain beautiful images and keep it running at high speed. I've had a lot of fun building this playlist, and I love to see the influence it's had over the tale I'm spinning. I'm continually finding songs and adding them to the mix, so by the end of this I'll have hours and hours of music that I can choose a really solid soundtrack out of, to burn to a CD for myself... sort of a behind-the-scenes extra, if you'll allow me that indulgence. You'd better, 'cause it'll just be for me anyway.

I love hearing what other writers were listening to as they composed their particular masterpieces, especially if they showcase lyrics from a song as a foreword, or mention it in their notes. One of my favorite horror authors, Joe Hill, recently published (on his blog) highlights from the playlist he listened to as he wrote his new novel Horns. You can check out that blog entry here - it's a really interesting read.

How about the rest of you guys? What have you been listening to lately, as you compose your masterpieces? Do you need a playlist to work, or would you rather have silence as company? I'm interested in how our creative processes differ.

Title... Easier Said than Done

I've been working on this novel since August, and I still don't know what the name of it is. Right now it's saved under "Dirt WIP" because red clay features prominently in the story, and the first short I ever wrote about my fictional town of Bulton, SC was a little story called "Fresh Dirt". I didn't want to stress about the name while I was just beginning the project, so I left it alone and didn't think about it.

Now it's seven months later... and I'm thinking about it. And thinking and thinking and thinking. I want a good title, something that will immediately grab a potential reader's attention. But I don't want something that doesn't make sense with my story. I played around with the idea of using Heartache Tonight for the title, because that song (from the Eagles) was a huge influence on a big scene in the book. But my friend and fellow Reedy River Rat/Guerilla Writer Gail Gray suggested I not use that title, because when it's published I'll want something specific and easy to find via an online search. Makes sense to me.

I've thought about going through some poetry after it's done, specifically Poe, because this is such a gothic-esque horror story. I might also look through the Bible for a good title, because my antagonist quotes the good book quite a bit. Or some song lyrics... I looked through the lyrics for "Heartache Tonight" and most of the rest of the songs on that album, but there's nothing that quite fits. I thought of calling it Bad Season because it's something my protag says about 2/3 of the way through the book. But it's in response to someone talking about baseball... and I just don't know if it fits or not.

I know I should just relax and be patient, because it'll come eventually. I want to know now, though! My instant gratification nerve is kicking in.

How did you guys choose the titles for your novels? Can you offer any suggestions on how I can figure out what mine is?

Live Music

I went to see Murder By Death this weekend in Bloomington, IN. It was a fantastic show. The band is from Indiana, so there were a lot of die-hard fans in the crowd - but we got the prize for driving the farthest to see them. We hung with the band for just a bit, shared a bottle of Gentleman Jack with them during their set (they signed the bottle for me and it's on a shelf in my room now), and had a great time. The drummer, Dagan, hurt his hand last week, so they had a stripped-down acoustic session with their old organ/piano player Vincent (he's no longer with the band) added in to beef up the sound. They played a lot of old songs and some things I'd never heard before in concert. There were also three songs from the new album in the set list. Incredible!

I love live shows. There's something elemental and raw about being in the crowd, hearing music so loud it rattles your joints and presses against your eardrums. I get taken over by the music, and have to move and dance and express the passion I feel coursing through me as I listen to a band churn out their sound. This was fostered at a young age - my first live concert was Chicago, when I was five. I had the best seat in the house, because we saw them at a Carowinds show and I sat on my dad's shoulders for the whole set list.

My parents were live music enthusiasts, and during the decade of decadence that was the 80's they took my sister and I to over fifty live shows. I saw bands like Huey Lewis, Starship, The Eagles, and Genesis. We also went to solo acts such as Bruce Springsteen, Tina Turner, Michael Jackson, and Bob Seger. My mom was a pop music fanatic, and she took my sister and I to see Duran Duran and The Power Station and Madonna. Dad was more of a blues and rock lover, so he took us to see Eric Clapton, ZZ Top, and Styx. It was a great upbringing... I learned a lot about live music and fell in love with the energy and passion in concerts. Of course, in the early 90's concert tickets skyrocketed to ridiculous prices and we had to stop going for the most part, but it was fun while it lasted. I've been to a few big concerts in the last decade - Nine Inch Nails, the Indigo Girls, the Eels - but nothing like the summers in the 80's when my parents went nuts and bought tickets to everything coming to Atlanta.

Now I prefer small clubs or bars to large venues, not just because of the cost but also because I feel a much stronger connection to the band and the crowd when the show is smaller. Saturday night at the Bishop in Bloomington, it felt as if we were all part of the same organism, living and breathing and screaming along with the music. There was a current of power running through the crowd, fueled by the songs we loved and the band that thundered through their set on the stage above us. The bass from the speakers along the sides of the stage thrummed in my joints while the melodies of Sarah's cello strings reverberated in my chest. I felt charged, energized, more than just myself - I was part of the animal Crowd, and the animal was satisfied with Saturday night's offering. There's nothing else like that feeling in the world - you just don't get that kind of up-close and personal experience in a large venue like an arena.

Now, two days later, I feel recharged. I went to the river of energy fueled by live music and was fulfilled. I'm ready to jump into my story and pump out pages (as soon as I get home from the Clark Kent job tonight, of course). Murder By Death is coming to Atlanta in April, and I already have plans to go see them then too. I just can't resist that kind of rush.

Traveling Adventure

I'm heading out of town today. In a little while I'll be packed and in Jeff, heading down 85 to Atlanta. I'll pick up a couple friends and from there drive on to Bloomington, IN for a weekend road trip. We're going to see one of our favorite bands, Murder By Death. (You know they're a favorite if we're driving 800 miles one-way to see 'em).

I love road trips, I always have. Seeing new places excites me. Plus, I feel like a sponge right now, soaking up everything in sight to put back into my book. I love driving down the highway to the music blasting out of Jeff's speakers, pushing the gas pedal just a little too much. I love letting someone else drive, too, so I can sit in the passenger seat and stare out the window for a while at the passing scenery. Any passing scenery will do - everything interests me. I like to think about the people who might be living in the houses I'm passing. What the farm I see from a mile away on the highway might be harvesting this summer. I love watching woods and creeks and fenced-off land roll along just beyond my window, all the time using my imagination to put myself along the trails I see, kicking through the blanket of fallen leaves and listening to the hum of the highway just over my left shoulder.

Road trip adventures are a nice little reset on real life, as well. There's nothing like getting out of town for a couple of days to help you get perspective on your life. The Clark Kent job fades and becomes a whisper in the back of my mind (unless, of course, we pass a bowling alley). I focus on what's before me, the road, the adventure, and forget about the stress and frustration of everyday life. It's refreshing.

I lived in Indiana for four years, and though it's a helluva drive to deal with in just one weekend, visiting is also always fun. It's a different environment from the South entirely - Hoosiers are so strange to my South Carolina born-and-bred brain. I mean... I mean, these are people who work when it snows. Can you really trust someone who drives to work when it snows? It's a foreign concept to me (which had to be put on hold for those four years, but that's a different blog entry). Bloomington is a college town - it's where IU is - and it's a fun little burg, about an hour from Indianapolis.

I'm taking the laptop with me and hope to continue banging out words on the novel, at least for a little while, during the weekend. I'm thinking I'll use it to get me to sleep tonight and tomorrow instead of a book. That's the plan, anyway. I don't want to be away from it for three days; the story's too hot in my head. I need to get it down, and fast. I may even find out if I can spread out in Jeff's back seat while a friend drives, that's how urgent the need to write has become. Besides, I need to learn to write on the road, right? Sooner or later I might have to do a book tour. ;)

This particular trip to Indiana seems like a pilgrimage. I don't know if nearing the end of a long creative work elevates everything to a surreal significance in everyone else's mind, but it seems to be doing that in mine. Everything has a strange confluence at the moment that lurks just below the surface of reality. It's like the whole world has been covered with a thin skin of solidity and I can see through to the odd (but beautiful) workings beneath. I can almost hear the clockwork of reality ticking right now. It makes everything important to me. I'm counting dates, adding up numbers, attaching special significance to every synchronicity I run across. It makes me feel like a lunatic sometimes, but I don't worry about that. Artists are crazy; we've known that since time immemorial.

Speaking of time... as Alice's white-furred friend says, I'm late! I must go pack for my mini-adventure. I'll report back on Monday how the trip went for all of your records (I know you're keeping them). Have a great weekend, friends!

Inspiration Strikes

Story ideas come to me in some of the most inopportune places, as I've mentioned before in a blog entry or two. I'm learning my way around those obstacles, and now when inspiration hits me like a lightning bolt from a cool blue sky, I'm more prepared to take note and listen to what the universe has to say. I've developed a connection with my car that tiptoes along the border between quirky and obsessive... to me, it has its own personality, even its own name: Jeff. Yeah, Jeff. Jeff has his windows tinted, so I joke about how he wears his sunglasses at night. On long, rambling expeditions around the city of Greenville which stimulate the right side of my brain into giving up invaluable nuggets of inspiration, he's a good friend, and his own strange species of noble metal-and-fiberglass steed.

I often use the time I have in the car to allow my mind to wander wherever it wants to. On my way home from work or a friend's house, I'll take alternate, longer routes without even thinking about which way I'm going, just grooving along with the music pouring out of my speakers and digging the vibration of my rolling wheels. Sometimes my subconscious makes interesting connections about the characters and story I'm writing. More often, I'm able to get into the mindset of a character and get a feeling for how they think or speak or what their feelings or opinions are on situations in the story they live in. It's a time where I'm unplugged but still switched on, almost hypnotized by the dotted white line in the middle of the road and its predictable Morse code disappearing under my wheels.

Driving like this (almost exclusively at night) gives me a chance to mentally gnaw on whatever I'm working on, which these past few months has been the novel. I'm constantly thinking of Bulton, or my main characters (Dan, Jack, and Miss Mary are the most common thought-thieves), or how the different ribbons of storyline are slowly braiding together to make one long, strange, beautiful tale. There are no distractions, no books, cats, roommates, movies, games, websites to steal my focus and clutter up my artist's mind. Just me, my music, and the whispering pavement under my tires.

And then every so often, when I least expect it, the Universe sends me a big old special delivery package via the channels of my awake-yet-dreaming brain, and I'm so overcome with excitement I can barely contain myself. This is when the new toy of the voice recorder in my phone comes in handy. I used it just last night, to record an idea which made me so happy, I was dancing in the driver's seat (as much as it would allow, anyway). I was just driving along, not really thinking about anything in particular on the surface of my brain, just letting the boys in the basement of my subconscious fart around and mutter about whatever they wanted, and then there it was. An idea of such loveliness and artistic proportions I had to record it right away, before I forgot any of its nuances. I yanked my phone out of my pocket and babbled away for three minutes into its voice recorder. Once I got it all out onto the recording, I had that happy-yet-drained feeling I get after a brainstorming session... as if my mind is a muscle I've been exercising heavily and is now spent but rewarded with the feeling of a job well done.

What was the idea, you ask? Heh... that has to wait for another entry. ;)