Anybody remember MC Hammer with his "Can't Touch This?" I found an updated version:
I give you: MC Grammar:
“Can’t read dis.”
Daaaa na na na… naaaaaa na.
“Can’t read dis.”
Daaaa na na na… naaaaaa na.
“Can’t read dis.”
Daaaa na na na… naaaaaa na.
“Can’t read dis.”
Daaaa na na na… naaaaaa na.
The spelling’s butchered so hard
makes me say, “Oh my lord!
What is this garbage here?
Wanna cover my eyes, burst into tears.”
I can’t…ignore this stuff.
My inner grammar-nazi makes it too rough.
Capital “I”s are somethin’ we need,
and that’s the reason why (uh!) I can’t read.
And now, I thought it only fitting, the Grammar Police
Jul 22, 2009
Jul 21, 2009
July Blog Chain
Once more into the breach my friends! Yes, it’s time for the AW Blog chain. This month each post is answering a writing question put forth by the previous poster. It makes for a great variety of both questions and answers!
My question was posed by the previous poster in the chain, jen.nifer over on Live I Must . You can check her chain post HERE . Her question to me was:
If you had to publish a book for writers starting out (think King’s ‘On Writing’ or Bradbury’s ‘Zen In The Art……’), what kind of approach would YOU take?
Funny you should ask . . .
When I first started writing, I spent a lot of time reading books about writing, reading magazines about writing, and looking up information on-line about writing. Many a tree was sacrificed to the almighty photo-copier in the name of research about writing.
In other words, I was doing pretty much everything except writing! It got to the point where someone suggested that I had enough information to write a book about writing and that maybe I should give it a try. Fortunately, I didn’t get very far.
Why do I say fortunately? Because there’s a lot of writing information out there already. Most of it really good information, some of it not so good. There are countless books and magazines and websites, the market is saturated with information about writing.
Come closer and I’ll let you in on a little secret. You ready? This is what I learned from all those books, all those magazines, and all those photocopies. There is no secret. A writer is someone who writes. It’s as simple, and as complicated, as that. Yes, books can help you with the mechanics of writing, but they cannot show you that by putting these particular words together you’re creating something powerful. You can only learn that by doing.
These days I only have five writing books on my shelf and two of them are grammar books. The others, for those who are curious, are: On Writing, by Stephen King; On Writing Science Fiction, by the editors of Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine; and Creating Short Fiction, by Damon Knight. Out of the 20 years worth of writing magazines I’d collected, I have maybe a dozen and to be honest, I’m not even sure where they are.
I haven’t seen Bradbury’s book Zen In the Art of Writing, but I highly recommend Stephen King’s book On Writing. As King himself says, it’s not so much a “how-to” book as a “how-he-did-it” book. If I was ever foolish enough to attempt an instruction book of my own, I would definitely model it after Stephen King’s. But really, what can I say except, get writing!
Next in line for the blog chain is Fame/Infamy over on Ambiguous Vindication and my question is:
Do you believe in writer’s block, and if so, what do you do to combat it? If you don’t believe in writer’s block, do you ever suffer from days where the writing just doesn’t want to come and how do you overcome this?
Don't forget to checkout the rest of the participants in the blog chain. You won't be disappointed!
DniC: Four-Lettered Words
Big Words: The Graveyard
Fokker Aeroplanbau: I'm Always Right, Far Right
harri3tspy: Spynotes
Razibahmed: Blogging37
Forbidden Snowflake: Delirious . . .
bsolah: Benjamin Solah, Marxist Horror Writer
jen.nifer: Live I Must
Lady Cat: Random Thoughts
Fame/Infamy: Ambiguous Vindication
Rosemerry: W.I.P.
aimeelaine: Aimee Laine
Proach: Deanna's Information Center
Apelle: Ghost Words and Other Echoes
lostwonderer5: Lost Wanderers Writing Blog
upsidedowngrl: UpSideDownGrl's Writing Blog
JamieMT: The Variety Pages
My question was posed by the previous poster in the chain, jen.nifer over on Live I Must . You can check her chain post HERE . Her question to me was:
If you had to publish a book for writers starting out (think King’s ‘On Writing’ or Bradbury’s ‘Zen In The Art……’), what kind of approach would YOU take?
Funny you should ask . . .
When I first started writing, I spent a lot of time reading books about writing, reading magazines about writing, and looking up information on-line about writing. Many a tree was sacrificed to the almighty photo-copier in the name of research about writing.
In other words, I was doing pretty much everything except writing! It got to the point where someone suggested that I had enough information to write a book about writing and that maybe I should give it a try. Fortunately, I didn’t get very far.
Why do I say fortunately? Because there’s a lot of writing information out there already. Most of it really good information, some of it not so good. There are countless books and magazines and websites, the market is saturated with information about writing.
Come closer and I’ll let you in on a little secret. You ready? This is what I learned from all those books, all those magazines, and all those photocopies. There is no secret. A writer is someone who writes. It’s as simple, and as complicated, as that. Yes, books can help you with the mechanics of writing, but they cannot show you that by putting these particular words together you’re creating something powerful. You can only learn that by doing.
These days I only have five writing books on my shelf and two of them are grammar books. The others, for those who are curious, are: On Writing, by Stephen King; On Writing Science Fiction, by the editors of Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine; and Creating Short Fiction, by Damon Knight. Out of the 20 years worth of writing magazines I’d collected, I have maybe a dozen and to be honest, I’m not even sure where they are.
I haven’t seen Bradbury’s book Zen In the Art of Writing, but I highly recommend Stephen King’s book On Writing. As King himself says, it’s not so much a “how-to” book as a “how-he-did-it” book. If I was ever foolish enough to attempt an instruction book of my own, I would definitely model it after Stephen King’s. But really, what can I say except, get writing!
Next in line for the blog chain is Fame/Infamy over on Ambiguous Vindication and my question is:
Do you believe in writer’s block, and if so, what do you do to combat it? If you don’t believe in writer’s block, do you ever suffer from days where the writing just doesn’t want to come and how do you overcome this?
Don't forget to checkout the rest of the participants in the blog chain. You won't be disappointed!
DniC: Four-Lettered Words
Big Words: The Graveyard
Fokker Aeroplanbau: I'm Always Right, Far Right
harri3tspy: Spynotes
Razibahmed: Blogging37
Forbidden Snowflake: Delirious . . .
bsolah: Benjamin Solah, Marxist Horror Writer
jen.nifer: Live I Must
Lady Cat: Random Thoughts
Fame/Infamy: Ambiguous Vindication
Rosemerry: W.I.P.
aimeelaine: Aimee Laine
Proach: Deanna's Information Center
Apelle: Ghost Words and Other Echoes
lostwonderer5: Lost Wanderers Writing Blog
upsidedowngrl: UpSideDownGrl's Writing Blog
JamieMT: The Variety Pages
Jul 20, 2009
By The Pricking of My Thumbs
. . . something wicked this way comes!
Okay, so maybe not. I just had that quote stuck in my head and I thought if I wrote it down I could get it out again. :-)
It may interest you to know that the first time I read that line was in Ray Bradbury's brilliant book, Something Wicked This Way Comes, and so I'd always attributed the line to him. However, the quote is actually from Shakespeare's MacBeth, Act IV, Scene I :
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes:
Open, locks,
Whoever knocks!
Now that that's out of the way, let's get down to brass tacks. How did I do goals-wise last week?
First and foremost, I got my Marketing paper done. All 2000 words of it. And let me tell you, it wasn't easy because my heart really wasn't in it. The information we were given was six years old and out of the three pages of the source article we had to come up with a five page paper.
I also got some poems submitted to poetryz'own and finished one of the two poems I'd been working on. And let's not forget Friday's fiction piece, which finally made it up on Saturday. :-)
I did not get my submission made to the AW anthology, nor did I get the Starlight outlines finished.
So, those two things will move to the top of this week's list of things to get done. I also want to finish that second poem and I'll need to come up with something new for Friday's post.
Wish me luck! :-)
Okay, so maybe not. I just had that quote stuck in my head and I thought if I wrote it down I could get it out again. :-)
It may interest you to know that the first time I read that line was in Ray Bradbury's brilliant book, Something Wicked This Way Comes, and so I'd always attributed the line to him. However, the quote is actually from Shakespeare's MacBeth, Act IV, Scene I :
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes:
Open, locks,
Whoever knocks!
Now that that's out of the way, let's get down to brass tacks. How did I do goals-wise last week?
First and foremost, I got my Marketing paper done. All 2000 words of it. And let me tell you, it wasn't easy because my heart really wasn't in it. The information we were given was six years old and out of the three pages of the source article we had to come up with a five page paper.
I also got some poems submitted to poetryz'own and finished one of the two poems I'd been working on. And let's not forget Friday's fiction piece, which finally made it up on Saturday. :-)
I did not get my submission made to the AW anthology, nor did I get the Starlight outlines finished.
So, those two things will move to the top of this week's list of things to get done. I also want to finish that second poem and I'll need to come up with something new for Friday's post.
Wish me luck! :-)
Jul 18, 2009
Creative . . . uh . . . Saturday
It's not that I forgot to post yesterday, it's just that I started working on my post and the story I was going to offer up, and then I got distracted by a migraine, which was triggered by my sinuses, which were triggered by the weather. Yes, it's a vicious cycle.
This morning the phone woke me up at a God-awful early hour and as I was trying to get back to sleep I started thinking about the story and the next thing I know I'm cursing under my breath as I'm headed down stairs to work on it before I forgot the pearls of wisdom that popped into my head.
I spent the next couple of hours working on the story but I could feel my sinuses and head gearing up to cause trouble, so when I came to a spot where I could stop I took the last of my sinus medication and a couple of macaroons and went back to bed for a couple of hours. Macaroons work far better than aspirin. :-)
This is another horror story, and I'll warn you right now it's a work in progress. The asterisks in middle are to mark where I may be adding to this story in the future . . . or not, like I said, it's a work in progress.
* * * * * * * * * *
She awoke in silent darkness, unable to see, unable to hear, unable to move.
Where was she? How did she get here?
She couldn’t remember.
Sensation returned slowly. Her tongue felt too thick for her dry mouth. Her arms and legs tingled as feeling began to return to them. She was aware that her chest rose and fell as she breathed, but she could see nothing, hear nothing. She could feel, but she couldn’t move.
It was like being in a sensory deprivation tank. Wait . . . how did she know that? What else did she know?
She could tell she was lying on her back, in the dark and the silence. There was a feeling of space around her. A warehouse? A cave? Beneath her was . . . earth. Packed earth. A cave then, or some place underground. But she still had no idea how she got here, unable to move, unable to see, unable to hear.
Holly. Her name . . . her name was Holly. Her memory was staring to return. Her name was Holly and she was a reporter. She’d gone to the park to investigate the strange disappearances.
There’d been no witnesses to the disappearances. Police were baffled. The hookers and drug dealers faded into the background, unwilling to get involved. No one else was talking.
Mostly she’d interviewed street people. Their stories ranged from government conspiracies to vampires and werewolves. All except that last man, the wino, only he’d been stone cold sober when he told her that what was taking those people was far worse than any government, more ancient than any vampire or werewolf. Then he’d warned her to stay away from the birch grove in the park and she’d laughed . . . until his eyes began to glow.
She shivered in the dark. The old man had done something to her, pulled her in with his eyes. The world around her had spun, faster and faster until her only anchor had been the light of his eyes.
* * * * *
Cool air kissed her skin causing goose flesh to rise, making her aware again. She was naked. Naked and alone in the dark and the silence. Was she alone?
She could feel another presence nearby, maybe she wasn’t alone. Or maybe it was just her imagination, running in circles.
No, there it was again. The heat of another body, moving, circling her. She could feel the faint vibration of its steps. Did it know she was here? Was it able to see her? She might have whimpered, but she couldn’t be sure.
Her body jerked involuntarily as a tongue rasped across her skin, hot and moist. Human? Animal? She had no way of knowing, could only quiver in fear. Tears leaked from her eyes as the tongue rasped again, this time across her breasts, then again, lower.
Two tongues now, touching her, tasting her fear. No, wait. The second one was dry and scaly, like a reptile. It moved across her skin sinuously, like a snake or a . . . tail.
Panic set in. She could feel her heart race. Her mouth opened and the scream ripped through her, but there was no sound. Just implacable, utter, silence.
Why is this happening to me?
It was her last coherent thought before the pain boiled through her and carried her away.
This morning the phone woke me up at a God-awful early hour and as I was trying to get back to sleep I started thinking about the story and the next thing I know I'm cursing under my breath as I'm headed down stairs to work on it before I forgot the pearls of wisdom that popped into my head.
I spent the next couple of hours working on the story but I could feel my sinuses and head gearing up to cause trouble, so when I came to a spot where I could stop I took the last of my sinus medication and a couple of macaroons and went back to bed for a couple of hours. Macaroons work far better than aspirin. :-)
This is another horror story, and I'll warn you right now it's a work in progress. The asterisks in middle are to mark where I may be adding to this story in the future . . . or not, like I said, it's a work in progress.
* * * * * * * * * *
She awoke in silent darkness, unable to see, unable to hear, unable to move.
Where was she? How did she get here?
She couldn’t remember.
Sensation returned slowly. Her tongue felt too thick for her dry mouth. Her arms and legs tingled as feeling began to return to them. She was aware that her chest rose and fell as she breathed, but she could see nothing, hear nothing. She could feel, but she couldn’t move.
It was like being in a sensory deprivation tank. Wait . . . how did she know that? What else did she know?
She could tell she was lying on her back, in the dark and the silence. There was a feeling of space around her. A warehouse? A cave? Beneath her was . . . earth. Packed earth. A cave then, or some place underground. But she still had no idea how she got here, unable to move, unable to see, unable to hear.
Holly. Her name . . . her name was Holly. Her memory was staring to return. Her name was Holly and she was a reporter. She’d gone to the park to investigate the strange disappearances.
There’d been no witnesses to the disappearances. Police were baffled. The hookers and drug dealers faded into the background, unwilling to get involved. No one else was talking.
Mostly she’d interviewed street people. Their stories ranged from government conspiracies to vampires and werewolves. All except that last man, the wino, only he’d been stone cold sober when he told her that what was taking those people was far worse than any government, more ancient than any vampire or werewolf. Then he’d warned her to stay away from the birch grove in the park and she’d laughed . . . until his eyes began to glow.
She shivered in the dark. The old man had done something to her, pulled her in with his eyes. The world around her had spun, faster and faster until her only anchor had been the light of his eyes.
* * * * *
Cool air kissed her skin causing goose flesh to rise, making her aware again. She was naked. Naked and alone in the dark and the silence. Was she alone?
She could feel another presence nearby, maybe she wasn’t alone. Or maybe it was just her imagination, running in circles.
No, there it was again. The heat of another body, moving, circling her. She could feel the faint vibration of its steps. Did it know she was here? Was it able to see her? She might have whimpered, but she couldn’t be sure.
Her body jerked involuntarily as a tongue rasped across her skin, hot and moist. Human? Animal? She had no way of knowing, could only quiver in fear. Tears leaked from her eyes as the tongue rasped again, this time across her breasts, then again, lower.
Two tongues now, touching her, tasting her fear. No, wait. The second one was dry and scaly, like a reptile. It moved across her skin sinuously, like a snake or a . . . tail.
Panic set in. She could feel her heart race. Her mouth opened and the scream ripped through her, but there was no sound. Just implacable, utter, silence.
Why is this happening to me?
It was her last coherent thought before the pain boiled through her and carried her away.
Jul 16, 2009
Mmmmm, Muffins!
And yes, before you ask, this is going to be one of those long-winded stories of mine that is probably better suited to my every day blog, but in light of the fact I’m sticking to my rule of posting only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays over there, and the fact that I really can’t think of anything else to post about, this is what you’re getting.
Now, where was I?
Oh, right. Muffins.
Yesterday the daughter stopped by in the hopes of me helping her make some corn meal muffins so she could use up the last of her strawberries from her jam making venture. Being the thoughtful mother I am, I pointed out that I had some serious studying to do for a quiz, plus assorted other stuff to do. Being the thoughtful daughter she is, she ignored me. :-)
So I took a break from studying and decided to get the baking stuff ready before she got here. This is the part that’s making me twitch as I type. Anyone who’s easily grossed out, skip the next paragraph.
We’ve got a moth problem in the kitchen. Those little moths that get into food. I’ve been meaning to clean out the cupboards to discourage them, but I haven’t got around to it yet. Or should I say, hadn’t. I pulled out the package of corn meal from the cupboard I keep my baking stuff in and out flew several moths. That’s not the worst part. The worst part was the moth larva inside the package. All together now: Ewwwww! I also discovered some zip lock baggies with nuts in them that the moths had got into. I pulled everything out of that cupboard and there was a veritable nest of larva. Ever seen a moth larva? They look like maggots.
Okay, it’s safe for the squeamish to start reading again. To make a long story short, the daughter dropped off the strawberries and figured I could probably make the muffins on my own. It took me several hours to clean out that cupboard and a trip to the dollar store for glass jars for my spices and plastic bins with snap top lids for the dry goods (which I mostly just tossed without looking too closely at). I did not feel like making muffins when I was done. Of course I didn’t feel like studying either, but that’s another story.
Anyway, I took a baking break from studying today and made a double batch of corn meal muffins with strawberries in them. Very yummy, if I do say so myself.
I don’t know what was with me the past week, but I’ve been extra tired and very unmotivated - not just unmotivated in my school work, but unmotivated to write or pretty much do anything else. However *knock wood* something changed today. I don’t know if it was the extra long shower I started my day with, the extra large coffee, or something else altogether, but I’ve got more energy and ambition.
I’d like to strike while the iron is hot and get some writing done, but I’ve got to get some studying done first. The final exam for Marketing is tomorrow and I don’t appear to have retained anything from the textbook.
Now, where was I?
Oh, right. Muffins.
Yesterday the daughter stopped by in the hopes of me helping her make some corn meal muffins so she could use up the last of her strawberries from her jam making venture. Being the thoughtful mother I am, I pointed out that I had some serious studying to do for a quiz, plus assorted other stuff to do. Being the thoughtful daughter she is, she ignored me. :-)
So I took a break from studying and decided to get the baking stuff ready before she got here. This is the part that’s making me twitch as I type. Anyone who’s easily grossed out, skip the next paragraph.
We’ve got a moth problem in the kitchen. Those little moths that get into food. I’ve been meaning to clean out the cupboards to discourage them, but I haven’t got around to it yet. Or should I say, hadn’t. I pulled out the package of corn meal from the cupboard I keep my baking stuff in and out flew several moths. That’s not the worst part. The worst part was the moth larva inside the package. All together now: Ewwwww! I also discovered some zip lock baggies with nuts in them that the moths had got into. I pulled everything out of that cupboard and there was a veritable nest of larva. Ever seen a moth larva? They look like maggots.
Okay, it’s safe for the squeamish to start reading again. To make a long story short, the daughter dropped off the strawberries and figured I could probably make the muffins on my own. It took me several hours to clean out that cupboard and a trip to the dollar store for glass jars for my spices and plastic bins with snap top lids for the dry goods (which I mostly just tossed without looking too closely at). I did not feel like making muffins when I was done. Of course I didn’t feel like studying either, but that’s another story.
Anyway, I took a baking break from studying today and made a double batch of corn meal muffins with strawberries in them. Very yummy, if I do say so myself.
I don’t know what was with me the past week, but I’ve been extra tired and very unmotivated - not just unmotivated in my school work, but unmotivated to write or pretty much do anything else. However *knock wood* something changed today. I don’t know if it was the extra long shower I started my day with, the extra large coffee, or something else altogether, but I’ve got more energy and ambition.
I’d like to strike while the iron is hot and get some writing done, but I’ve got to get some studying done first. The final exam for Marketing is tomorrow and I don’t appear to have retained anything from the textbook.
Jul 15, 2009
Whimsical Wednesday
Apparently I have post performance anxiety this week. In other words, I’m having trouble coming up with post topics. So once again I’m relying on my good friend YouTube for Whimsical Wednesday fodder.
What can I say? It’s early and I have school in half an hour.
These three cartoons of Simon’s Cat are surprisingly true to life. Multiply them by five and you’ll get an idea of what it’s like living in my house. The last one is particularly true. :-)
What can I say? It’s early and I have school in half an hour.
These three cartoons of Simon’s Cat are surprisingly true to life. Multiply them by five and you’ll get an idea of what it’s like living in my house. The last one is particularly true. :-)
Jul 14, 2009
Saved!
I had no clue what I was going to post about today. Some days are like that. Fortunately, Benjamin Solah gave me a meme of five words to “waffle” about. Thank you, Ben!
School
Yes, it was my decision to go back to school at *mumble* years old, but was it the right one?
When I have a week like this one where I have to readjust to getting up early, a quiz on Thursday and a paper due as well as an exam on Friday, I feel like I need a sanity check (which I just had this afternoon and my doctor says I’m good for another three months). But I have to admit that I enjoy getting up in the morning with a sense of purpose and the more I have to do, the more I get done. Does that make any sense?
Muse
I’m actually surprised at the number of writers who scoff at the idea of a muse. Do I really think that one of my cats turns into that hot guy at to the left of this post? Of course not! Although it’s fun to imagine he could if he wanted to. ;-)
To me, the muse represents the drive that makes me a writer. It’s that little voice inside me that tells me “enough with the spider solitaire already, get writing!”
Poetry
I wrote my first poem when I was eight years old. I do not remember the poem itself, but I remember it was about how my cat Tobey was always jumping up on my lap every time I sat down, and that my teacher was impressed with my strong sense of rhyme and rhythm.
Most of the time, poetry comes easy to me. I think this is why I used to discount it as true writing. If I don’t have to slave over, it can’t be any good, right? I think the turning point for me with my poetry was the PAD Challenge. So many people, writing so much poetry! And some of those prompts were pretty darned hard! But it made me start to feel like a real poet.
Goals
Setting goals is easy, it’s keeping them that’s the hard part. I used to set myself all kinds of goals, but I’d pretty much keep them to myself. That way, when I wouldn’t reach them, I was the only one who was disappointed in me. Now I’ve learned to set more reasonable goals and I post them where all the world can see. And if I don’t reach them? Surprise! No one’s disappointed, they just encourage me to try again.
Sci-fi
There is so much to say about sci-fi that I don’t know where to start.
When I was a child my favorite cartoons were the Jetsons, Roger Ramjet, and Space Ghost. I used to beg to be allowed to watch the Saturday afternoon monster movie, which was more often than not about monsters from space. I was the kid who loved the Outer Limits, Twilight Zone, and Star Trek.
I wish I could remember the first science fiction book I ever read. Was it the Chrysalids, by John Wyndham, in highschool? I do remember a year or so after that reading the Gor series by John Norman and my English teacher being horrified - not by the content, but by the terrible writing in those books. I read the sci-fi books he recommended and it opened up a whole new world for me.
The first short story I ever wrote was science fiction. It was a terrible space opera with lots of action, and everyone ended up in suspended animation in the end. The first novel I wrote was also science fiction, as were the next couple, all appallingly bad.
Life took several unexpected turns and I got away from science fiction, but it’s started to creep back in lately. We’ll see where it takes me.
School
Yes, it was my decision to go back to school at *mumble* years old, but was it the right one?
When I have a week like this one where I have to readjust to getting up early, a quiz on Thursday and a paper due as well as an exam on Friday, I feel like I need a sanity check (which I just had this afternoon and my doctor says I’m good for another three months). But I have to admit that I enjoy getting up in the morning with a sense of purpose and the more I have to do, the more I get done. Does that make any sense?
Muse
I’m actually surprised at the number of writers who scoff at the idea of a muse. Do I really think that one of my cats turns into that hot guy at to the left of this post? Of course not! Although it’s fun to imagine he could if he wanted to. ;-)
To me, the muse represents the drive that makes me a writer. It’s that little voice inside me that tells me “enough with the spider solitaire already, get writing!”
Poetry
I wrote my first poem when I was eight years old. I do not remember the poem itself, but I remember it was about how my cat Tobey was always jumping up on my lap every time I sat down, and that my teacher was impressed with my strong sense of rhyme and rhythm.
Most of the time, poetry comes easy to me. I think this is why I used to discount it as true writing. If I don’t have to slave over, it can’t be any good, right? I think the turning point for me with my poetry was the PAD Challenge. So many people, writing so much poetry! And some of those prompts were pretty darned hard! But it made me start to feel like a real poet.
Goals
Setting goals is easy, it’s keeping them that’s the hard part. I used to set myself all kinds of goals, but I’d pretty much keep them to myself. That way, when I wouldn’t reach them, I was the only one who was disappointed in me. Now I’ve learned to set more reasonable goals and I post them where all the world can see. And if I don’t reach them? Surprise! No one’s disappointed, they just encourage me to try again.
Sci-fi
There is so much to say about sci-fi that I don’t know where to start.
When I was a child my favorite cartoons were the Jetsons, Roger Ramjet, and Space Ghost. I used to beg to be allowed to watch the Saturday afternoon monster movie, which was more often than not about monsters from space. I was the kid who loved the Outer Limits, Twilight Zone, and Star Trek.
I wish I could remember the first science fiction book I ever read. Was it the Chrysalids, by John Wyndham, in highschool? I do remember a year or so after that reading the Gor series by John Norman and my English teacher being horrified - not by the content, but by the terrible writing in those books. I read the sci-fi books he recommended and it opened up a whole new world for me.
The first short story I ever wrote was science fiction. It was a terrible space opera with lots of action, and everyone ended up in suspended animation in the end. The first novel I wrote was also science fiction, as were the next couple, all appallingly bad.
Life took several unexpected turns and I got away from science fiction, but it’s started to creep back in lately. We’ll see where it takes me.
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