Look, a Book!

You can read my review of Livi Michael's The Whispering Road at Goodreads: C. D. Brinker review.

Please visit my personal collection of books at Goodreads: C. D. Brinker  (or simply click on the button on the right of my blog) and check out my other reviews.

Suffice it to say . . . Decent Book, Good Read.

Look, a book!

You can read my review of Jesse Bullington's The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart at Goodreads: C. D. Brinker review.

Or you can also find it at: Skull Salad Reviews

Please visit my personal collection of books at Goodreads: C. D. Brinker  (or simply click on the button on the right of my blog) and check out my other reviews.

Suffice it to say . . . Good Book, Good Read.

On track . . .

Whew! What a ride it has been these past few weeks/months. A lot has been accomplished, and I am ever so grateful that it's all over . . . and just in time for spring too!

The list thus far:

1. Finished moving (unpacking)
2. Bought a car
3. Turned 30
4. Published (upcoming spring issues)
5. Passed exam for CPhT

1. Unpacking always sucks! Especially when you have as much junk as I do. My closet is filled with old toys, old notebooks, boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes of novels I've yet to read, a couple of guitars, a bass and drum pads . . . and that's just in our very apartment! At my folks storage/garage I have more guitars, an entire drum kit, old video games, et cetera. I have a lot of junk! But alas, our apartment is fully furnished and decorated (for the most part). As such, I decided to reward my efforts by doing the following puzzle:

Definitely not easy! Kayla bought me the puzzle for Christmas after I saw a few puzzles based on M. C. Escher's art and expressed a desire to do one. Little did I know that putting together a puzzle that's completely black and white is ever-so freaking difficult! But it'll be worth it in the end. And when I'm finished, it will hopefully be framed and hung up on some wall. Joyous!

2. Yeah, I finally went out and bought a car. A 2008 Honda Fit. A little hatchback of the soccer-mom variety, or so people mock, but I like it! The hatchback provides a quick and easy way for me to transport music equipment and the fact that it gets 35 mpg is just plain awesome!

She has been named Meepers Creepers on account that Kayla likes to joke about the car, often saying "Meep, meep," in reference to my driving the thing; and of course the other half of her name is derived from my musical tastes. Ergo, the name fits . . . pun intended! Sadly, however, some nimrod nicked/dented the rear door (presumbly by whacking their door into mine) just 10 days after my acquiring the vehicle.

3. Turned 30.

4. Getting published . . . yes, finally! After years and years of writing and submitting and reading rejection letters that begin with Dear ______________ we are so delighted that you took an interest in our magazine, but [. . .] I am finally seeing a few stories in print. More details on that later . . .

5. And finally, after fretting and avoiding a much needed certification for the better half of a year, I passed the exam for my CPhT. What is a CPhT? It's an acronym! Duh! Okay, but what it stands for is Certified Pharmacy Technician. I work for a pharmacy, have for years, and about a year ago I was accepted into the Technician Department on the approval that I earn my CPhT within one year as is required by law. So, to put it simply, failing to obtain my certification as a CPhT means losing my job! At first, I didn't care, but as the months wore on and the deadline grew nearer I really began to freak out . . . more so because Kayla has the exact same job as I do and told me horror stories about her exam and just how hard it was. Needless to say, I studied college-cram style for about a week and passed the exam. So all is good. I get to continue to sit in a cubicle wasteland! Yay! But seriously, I'm very delighted to have this certification.

. . . and that's all folks! With everything all wrapped up and completed I can finally get back on track with other endeavors. I still have a few projects and a number of stories in the works and now find myself with a giant load of free time to spend however I wish! With spring here, my days really do seem to get brighter and longer! (How cheesy?)

What Now?

It has been quite awhile since I made a post. I have found myself in the midst of several changes (both opportunistic and frustrating) and what little time I have had I have not spent to the fullest. Overtime has consumed a small portion of my time, as well as preparing to move to a new apartment in a few weeks, but I haven't utilized my free-time to its fullest. In fact, sitting around playing video games and reading a few novels has really been all I've done. I haven't worked any further on Dead Again nor have I spent much time drawing. I did however get together with some buddies to jam out in preparation for an upcoming show. So I guess that's something . . . but for the most part my time has just sort of dissipated. However, I am ready to get back in the saddle (even though I don't like horses) and get back on the right path. It's good to stray away from time to time, to let your mind melt and to forget all your wants and desires, but remaining in such a state is a very dangerous thing. For weeks my mind has been in turmoil, struggling against plot ideas and character attributes while simultanesouly drifting into the best weapon and perk set-up to achieve a better kill/death ratio with my first-person shooter video-game. Oh, the struggle!

Anywho, I don't have much to say but I wanted to say it all the same.

Could Be Worse . . . Could Be Better

Holy frickin' crap . . . Christmas is tomorrow!  This Christmas season has definitely had its ups and downs for me, but in the end, the very idea of family, good food and boxes wrapped in pretty paper just outweighs all those negative feelings attributed to debt, uncertain futures and bad eggs.

Kayla often says I'm quite the negative individual, so I've set a goal for a New Year's resolution to think more positively and politely.  And with Christmas just around the corner (in fact, in exactly twelve hours) how could I possibly be negative?!

My frickin' car died, that's how!

Or rather it's severely wounded.  Earlier in the week, I made it to work okay but when it came time to leave at midnight in the 20-degree weather my car started, but that's about it.  Steering . . . gone . . . acceleration . . . gone; diagnosis . . . it's a 1998 Chevrolet piece of s**t! 

I mean seriously, she was a good car but this was the very end of what became a rapid, spiraling deterioration.  For the past five years I've dealt with the car's alternator crapping out, the driver side window motor crapping out, the back-passenger side window motor completely breaking altogether, the brake-pads and rotors going bad, new tires, a cog/gear for the serpentine-belt broke off and went rattling through my engine while I was driving home one night . . . then there was that whole ordeal with the standard antifreeze Chevrolet uses ruining gaskets, which owners were advised to flush it out and replace it with new antifreeze, which I frickin' did, and yet my gaskets still ended-up in ruins . . . and now, to top it all off, the alternator casing has cracked completely apart, whereby it is disconnected from the car (i.e. in terms of being bolted down) and it now dangles there under the hood, where it subsequently tore the serpentine-belt. 

Sigh!

So . . . frustrated, upset and suffering an existential crisis as my thirtieth birthday approaches, I cried (just a little) three days before Christmas as I stood there in the parking lot, shivering with Kayla while we waited for her father to pick us up at one-in-the-morning. 

But now, it's Christmas eve!  Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells!  Who can be upset on such a holiday as this?!  And why would you want to be?!  So what if I don't have a car, tomorrow I get presents!  Presents!  PRESENTS!  STUFF!  MATERIAL OBJECTS!  Yay!

Seriously though . . . it is rather frustrating that my car chose three days before Christmas to torment me, her engine screaming suffer sucker! as I tried to leave that night.  But within a day, I was smiling once more as Kayla suggested that I step-it up and get a new car, sort of a Happy Thirtieth Birthday to myself.  So I figured, why not?  I'm not going to fix up my old car anymore (I've fixed it her up one-too-many times) and it is time to move forward with life.  What better way to begin said journey than in a new ride?

So hopefully in the next week or so I'll be able to scout out a few dealerships and find some good deals before the end of the year.  I already have a car or two in mind and as my credit is in real good shape, I should be able to get one I want.   

And with Christmas only a day away, I'm so excited right now!  I still have a lot of presents to wrap, then the next few days will be filled with nothing but family parties, joyous occasions, good food, presents and a new car!  Yay!  Stuff!

  

Weekly Writer's Report

Dead Again is still under revision, though thus far I am pleased with the new narration.  It makes the story flow a lot better, but I'm dreading yet another edit/rewrite after this one.

Also, 3 of my poems have been rejected.

Ahh . . . poetry.  A torture of emotions.  I once heard that poetry was a young man's vice . . . I'm not positive who said it, but it's a phrase which has stuck with me for years.  Indeed, it has been many, many years since I last attempted to craft a poem.  In my adolescence (in relation to maturing as a writer) I found poetry to be the penultimate form of expression.  Fine art is far too cryptic and music too blase, but poetry was a way to truly understand one's soul (if indeed such an entity exists).  I filled pages and pages and pages and pages and pages--computer paper, notebook journals, sticky notes at work--with wandering words written with woeful, sorrowful sentiments, that any reader would weep over the weariness of my wanton desires and self-loathing.  And in the end, I would sit back, read my poetic angst, and say to myself: ah, what wonderful alliteration that was.

Yet, in the past few years poetry has become sort of a pastime for the back-burner, like a pot of canned corn slowly simmering, unnoticed, unstirred.  That doesn't mean I don't write a limerick or a haiku or even a few lines of modern prose, but needless to say poetry no longer has the same fascination or wonderment it used to.  I still love to play with words, obscuring the path and altering the craft of word choice and symbolic intent, but such an effort finds its way into my stories more so than a poem.  I shall always have a profound respect for poetry, but I must admit that I find writing stories far more rewarding as it is a pursuit worthy of only serious writers.  Poetry can not only be a professional expression, but a deeply personal one, where almost anyone (specifically the illiterate [figuratively speaking]) can create a sense of flow via simple schemes of end-rhyme.

Yet, this is the beauty of poetry is it not?  From the most professional poet . . . to a writer with a woeful poetry collection withering away in dusty box of journals . . . to an immature, amateur writer that has yet to be met, chucking words on the Internet . . . such lives best expressed and easily shared through that the enigma of the poetic craft.  It doesn't matter if you have a degree in Creative Writing or are a survivor of war or are a housewife in Ohio or a sing or simply a kid that's bored during study hall in high school, poetry is poetry.  But your poem is definitely you.

I'm a winner . . . again!

The company loves to share the wealth, and every holiday they like to have a little feast and a party and every once and awhile they have a raffle . . . but today, I walked in to work and the next thing I know a number of co-workers (a small handful out of the thousands employed at our location) start congratulating me. 

Why?

Turns out I won an Ipod!  And I didn't even do anything!  No raffle ticket; no honorary-super-star employee award; and come to think of it, I totally did a no-call/no-show last Saturday!  But it matters not!  In the spirit of the holiday the company gave away thousands of dollars in prizes . . . one of which was a lovely new Ipod which I won via random drawing!  Though I'm not scheduled tomorrow, I'm going to go in and proclaim my new prize.

I like winning.

And I like music more than I like winning.  I'm a super hardcore musical fanatic, albeit of a sub-genre variety, and despite my age (crawling towards 30) I still head-bang and pine over emotional tones like a teenager at a heavy-metal vomit party.

Laziness

What a lazy week I had . . . and this is actually stemming over from last week as well.  I haven't done much of anything, except sit around and stare at things on the Internet.  I did however contact the local music academy about a possible teaching position, but other than that . . .

I had hoped to have Dead Again all nice and tidy and ready for submission, but instead I chewed it apart and started anew; I'm still in favor of the introduction, but I decided to stick to a more simple third-person narration as opposed to the first-person/stream-of-conscious/dialogue narration I originally had.  Just look at the difference:

First Draft:

He would always come to Mackie’s every so often, boasting himself as he would burst through the busted door frame.  “Robert!  Not just a ghost!” he would announce.  “But rather a host; toasting from east to west to north to south the concerning and yearning for heaven . . . or the learning of burning in hell.”  I never understood what he meant by that; honestly, I think he was trying far too hard to sound intellectually stimulating.  He was an idiot, a goofy quack-nut, a bastard.  He would just go on and on about all these wild experiences he had, as if he was some other worldly explorer.  As if I’m not already dead myself?  Though, some of his stories were fascinating.

He would talk about murderers he stalked, whispering the names of their victims in their ear while they slept; he would tell us about the naughty secrets of politicians and celebrities, as if we cared about such meaningless soulful monstrosities of humanity; and sometimes he would just say he went and had lunch with Elvis.  But most of his stories were about what he really enjoyed: a good, old fashion haunting.

First Rewrite:

He would burst through the busted door frame, announcing himself:  “Robert!  Not just a ghost, but rather a host toasting from coast to coast the concern of yearning for heaven or learning of burning in hell.”  The atmosphere of Mackie’s was always different whenever Robert came to visit; there was a juvenile fascination whenever he shared his tales.  He talked about murderers he stalked, whispering the names of their victims in their ear while they slept; he would share the naughty secrets of politicians and celebrities, which some ghosts took a particular interest in, as if their vote still counted; and sometimes he would just say he had lunch with Elvis.  But the stories Robert loved the sharing the most (which were his best stories) were about what he really enjoyed: a good, old fashion haunting. 

I feel this narration is much tighter and flows better, not too mention it makes the rewrite/editing process a little bit easier . . . although it does imply that there will have to be yet another rewrite following this one.  Oh well . . .

Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness

Lebanon, Ohio . . . a charming, historic town with all the quaint conveniences needed to seduce any would-be wanderer.  Located amidst a stretch of rural America, smack-dab-between Cincinnati and Dayton, Ohio, the town of Lebanon has such alluring fascinations that anyone who lives there is more than proud to call it home.

The citizens of this small town are a rather eclectic mix of folk, ranging from the young, to hungry artists, to college students (though this isn't a college town), to retirees, senior citizens, the red hat society, upper-middle class, the GOP, and of course stoners and rednecks.  Indeed, this town is picturesque of small-town-America with a philosophy of know thy neighbor, though there's a lingering attitude, charismatic of pretentious citizens, where judgement falls on a bias, yet friendly nature, charming all the while.

The people of Lebanon may hold a snobbish demeanor, but there's no lack of politeness or friendly conversation.  It's a town where people wish to keep it one of a kind, all the way from the historic significance down to the core of local politics and businesses themselves.  It is a town that loves showcasing its history through local shops owned and operated by their owners.

My adventure in Lebanon began with coffee . . . or rather, a triple-shot espresso, peanut butter latte followed shortly thereafter by a double-shot espresso, vanilla and apple-spice latte . . . at the hip and stylish Manna.  A family owned business Manna specializes in cupcakes, offering a tempting range of devilish sweets to help jump-start the day.  It's the type of place where one can easily pass the time with friendly chats, personalized work or simply in the gathering of minds.  It's hard to pull yourself away from such temptations--coffee, cupcakes, conversations . . . what more could one ask for out of life?

From there I meandered about the local train station, which runs every weekend, offering a joyous ride to the nearby town of Mason, Ohio.  I then proceeded (not by train) to the historic district where I visited the town's library, a few shops and a small sub-section of homes and businesses.  Perhaps one of the most attractive features of this town is the vastly diverse, rustic architecture.  Buildings as old as a hundred years or more are still present in the town, and homes even as young as fifty years old are picture-perfect representations of artistic, individualistic fashions portrayed by the towns inhabitants.  No two houses look alike.  There are purple houses, green houses, red houses, firehouses, brick houses, wooden houses, big houses, bigger houses, and there's even a house with a garage fashioned in the exact same architectural style as the home itself!  Even the shops and churches all differ from one another, each offering a beauty all their own.

From there I proceeded on a quest, looking for local trophies, which I was richly awarded by the town's very own personal expression.  Statues, jewels, monuments, whimsical signs and white-boy graffiti all contribute in painting the portrait of this community; where personality, artistry and formality are the key elements in the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  I smiled then, realizing that this town was indeed a home, rather than a place.  I decided to conclude my journey at the Wine Cellar, another of the town's local family businesses.  The Wine Cellar definitely has a smooth, cool vibe, where people can engage in conversations with complete strangers over a glass of fine wine or even finer beer.  It's not a bar that caters to the likes of most American folk; offering an enormous taste of the luxurious and the exotic as opposed to the drab and bland one might find in even the quaintest of fine wine bars.

In the end, I find myself seduced by the alluring charms of Lebanon, Ohio.  The locale might represent an air of right-winged liberalism, private yet proud, but in truth it's a town where one feels safe, welcomed and admired, no matter how unique or how boring your persona may be.  I have been a citizen here for only one year, but I can think of no other place I want to call my future home.

  

Look, a Book!

Note: from here on the reviews of books I read will be posted at Goodreads.  This is a wonderful site for any book enthusiast, with millions of titles to choose from you can construct your own virtual library to share with the rest of the world.  You can pick the books you've read, look at books you may wish to read, and of course leave your own detailed reviews so others may peruse your thoughts on books they may consider for their own library. 

Ergo, you can find my review of Clive Barker's Galilee at my personal collection at C. D. Brinker Goodreads  (or simply click on the button on the right of my blog) and you can read my review of Galilee here: C. D. Brinker review.

Suffice it to say . . . Good Book, Good Read.