Books?

In the blog Words From The Aether, they are soliciting book ideas. Most of the ideas are humorous takes on simple ideas. They want to see what hole in the literary market exists. I really doubt there are many holes. Have you been to Amazon or Barnes and Noble lately? Type in just about any word and there's a book on it or about it. It makes me wonder why I write? As a reader, I have an insatiable appetite for the next great read. Like anyone, I have subjects that appeal to me and once I finish a wonderful masterpiece, like food, I'm planning my next meal. In this case it will be a meal of words prepared by a master word chef, just for me, the reader.
So, I guess, being a writer is a natural extension for me. I've been writing as long as I've been reading. When I won a writing contest in sixth grade I thought, "finally I found something I can do." I was the quiet kid who was allergic to sports and liked weird things. I actually thought being called weird was a complement. Not one to follow the idioms of the natural order, I read Mad magazine, Tales From The Crypt and loved old horror films. I could relate to the poor misunderstood Frankenstein. Not in looks, so stop thinking that, but in the ostracized mutant that is Frankenstein. OK, I was the pudgy type, which in my mind, made me a soul mate for Frankenstein. Oh what a young mind will create in his little imaginary world.
I've raised on daughter and almost raised a son. They are fine little individuals in their own right. But you know what? I'm still waiting to grow up. As a child I was told it would happen. I would one day put aside my toys and enter the adult world of responsibility. I became responsible, but I've never felt grown up. I write this as I look at my sci fi figures and gargoyles aligning my desk. Here's to eternal youth, if only in the mind.

The Wormhole Adventures

My book, The Wormhole Adventures in Travel is Relative is being published. I will post how to buy my educational children's chapter book as soon as it is available. I am pleased with how it turned out. This book is intended to be the first in a series. In this story, three children discover a talking raven who takes them through a wormhole in time. They meet Albert Einstein and learn about the famous physicist. The book speaks to children between the ages of 8 and 15 and lays out scientific information in a way that they can understand. I believe that children are capable of learning a vast amount of knowledge. Most of the educational tales leave out too much information. Kids should not be talked down to. They should be respected as the intelligent little people they are.
Being an author started out as a dream and became a passion. We should all live the dream. We all have a dream, be it being a devoted parent, success in business, artist, etc. The ones that stand out are the ones with passion. So, here's to being passionate about something!

The Iron Gate

I've written stories of fiction integrating the metaphysical, sagacious wisdom I've acquired in my 30+ years of study. I lean towards the unusual and enjoy fantasy, allegory and abstract prose rather than the more monotonous literary tale of predictable outcomes following straight story lines. As a result of my overzealous scrawls, I've managed to pen several poems. I am an eclectic poet not using the same formats for my numerous verses. I write as inspiration dictates, not really knowing how it will all turn out. I've climbed the scripted mountain and sometimes slid back down. More often than not, I've managed to struggle to the peak of the great bluff. When achieved, I relish the beautiful view and draw in a deep breath of braggadocio. I'm humbled by the scene and thus am inspired to climb once again the precipice of composition. Here is an excerpt of one of my aforementioned poems:

The iron gate

Who knew that a soul could choose

That a cemetery had color

Within its dreary gates

Inviting the mortal to visit the soul

The morning requests your presence

There is no backing out

To inhale the air so dense

Acknowledges your attendance

The rusty fence overlooks the nameless

The demons entrenched within

Suffering in mute silence

Seeking the company of souls

Finley's Tale

My long awaited novel has been completed, copyrighted and formatted! Three cheers! Finley is a project that has been part of me for over seven years. Talking birds have dominated three of my books. Why? I really can't say. It just came to me from beyond. Really it did. I am able to tap into something outside of myself and absorb it. Call it channeling, inspiration or just insanity, it does not matter. I am what I am and do what I do. That is who I am. Writing is my passion and part of the reason I am here. We are all here, more or less, to experience. This is my experience.
Finley is a raven who dares to stray from convention. He is a philosopher and loyal friend. He lives alone because, as he puts it, "I have nothing in common with most creatures." At least that's what he thinks. Life tends to throw in a few surprises now and then. In Finley's world, animals and humans coexist as best they can. He has a human friend named Alice much to his surprise. He originally believed humans were to be avoided at all costs. That was until a crow named Ponce introduced him to Alice. Alice was an animal communicator and could understand them. Finley found quite a bit of common ground with Alice. They both were loners and loved philosophical discussions. Life had a deeper meaning to it and they were intent on discovering it.
This novel is an allegory similar but different from Animal Farm or Jonathon Livingston Seagull. Following messiah like teachings from the White Raven, Finley embarks on a journey of the soul. In the end he discovers more than he imparts.

Finishing touches

Tap tap tapping on the keyboard, carefully plotting, finishing.. My book completed, fine-tuned and polished, I tapped once again for good measure. I reformatted my manuscript so it will be prepared for reading by the right people who have the right connections. Sure, I've had the wrong people with no connections read it. They responded with glowing remarks and asked for more. They "got it" and assured me that I had what it took to create a best selling book. As an added bonus, they weren't even related to me. They were random readers who fit into the niche of those who love a good allegory or fantasy type story. Those who owned bookshelves full of offbeat novels, Sci Fi and intellectual genres made for the offbeat, intelligent reader. They even belonged to offbeat clubs and subscribed to weird periodicals. There are aficionados for all interests. Those who love Star Wars, scrap booking, Star Trek, Science Fiction in general, Quantum Physics and the list goes on to infinity. We are all vibrational beings tuned into specific pursuits and special interests. There are those who seek and those who offer....some do both.
My latest book is about a specific type of bird with a specific type of personality. He is intelligent and always seeking enlightenment. Original...maybe not the idea in general but the story as a whole...why yes it is.
The book I am beginning is about an abandoned child raised by an unusual sort of individuals. It is a cross between a Tim Burton movie and a humorous take on the family.
I've also written two youth chapter books. It stars a certain bird (not the same one). He travels into other dimensions with a group of kids.
I've copyrighted them just to make them real to me. I know there is a reader out there who just might like my stories. I think I shall persevere. People need me...and so do I.

Blue Moon

Once in a blue moon I decide to stop and take inventory of things. What things you ask? Life, stuff and the occasional random thought. I was told when I was very young, "Just wait till you grow up." or "You'll feel different when you're older." I've been waiting, you know, to feel all grown up and it still hasn't happened completely. Maybe there's something wrong with me. The "old" gene was missing or something. Alas, my body has no problem growing older but my mind, spirit, who I am is still a kid. Having raised one kid and started on a second ten years ago, I found it amusing that I could play with toys by saying "they're my kid's." What shall I do once my second offspring grows up? I guess I'll always be hopelessly young at heart. I still love to skate, go to amusement parks, ride the biggest roller coasters and go down the steepest water slides. I still get looks when I swing at the park. I bought a trampoline for myself...uh, I mean my kid, yeah that's right. What joy it is to defy gravity, if only slightly. The wind in my hair as I spring up into the sky, only to fall with great buoyancy to the springy surface. If I've heard it one time I've heard it a thousand, "You should act your age." Apparently someone forgot to give me the "age manual". Since I don't have the rule book, then should I act my age by observing others my age? That would be quite a task considering not everyone acts the same. Sure, they follow specific fashion do's and don'ts, but overall they all have different hobbies. Hmmm, I should take up scrap booking, gardening or cooking? Uggh! I like to eat, not so much the cooking part. Scrap booking is fun but way too much time and money I would prefer to use elsewhere. I love a beautiful garden as long as someone else tends to it. Plants seem to know that I am unable to devote a large portion of my time on them. Instead of waiting interminably for me (and dying a slow death), they resign themselves to the fact that a quick suicide is the answer.
So, I look at my life and my things and realize that I somehow missed the whole adult part. I work and write and pay my bills but that's the most adult thing I do. In my free time, outside of writing, I read old comic book collections, fantasy and sci fi books, go to nerdy conventions, jump, run and play. I write odd poems and books which still haven't connected with the right agent and enjoy watching funny shows.
I know that there is an agent out there who wakes up, gets a cup of tea, puts on a long black jacket and heads to the office in an old building full of interesting dark things. This agent opens query after cheery query letter hoping to find the one writer who truly understands Edward Gorey, Tim Burton and David Lynch movies. The writer who feels and lives in her own fantasy world of strange and wondrous things. This agent, picks up such a letter and smiles weakly. He pushes back his long dark bangs and hopes, maybe just maybe this is just such a writer. He snuffs out the candles burning slowly on the candelabra above his ancient desk and mails his response. This is the stuff which dreams are made.

Bats and thoughts

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat How I wonder what you're at! Up above the world you fly, Like a tea tray in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle—Lewis Carrol

On Neil Gaiman's journal, he put up a video of his bat intruder. Neil, if no one knows, is a graphic novelist, fantasy writer and gothic teller of tales. He's had movies and is having more movies adapted from his work. As I mentioned in a previous rant, he is also an animal lover. He rescued a dog just recently and was able to keep him due to the fact that the owner didn't want him. He already has cats which took to the dog in various stages of interest. I was glad to see that he wasn't put off or aggressive to the bat that invaded his home. It was the second such intrusion which he dealt with very humanely. Previous bat visitors were detained and carefully set free without mishap. I applaud anyone who is kind to bats. Too many people believe in the common misconception that bats are rabid hair tangling flying beasts. There is, of course, a group who make it their mission to dispel such myths.
Here's to bats who mistakenly enter a writer's den only to be corralled back into the wild from which they came. And here's to sympathetic authors who understand that bats, like writers, are wildly misunderstood.