I listen to a lot of Children’s music, and it got worse when El Matador was born. Usually, it’s just playing in the background as an alternative to the black silence that will someday consume us all. I’m a big fan of Charlie Hope and Caspar Babypants, but a song that recently caught my ear was called Marzidotes in Pandora. If you stop bathing your child and actually listen to the words, you’ll realize you’re hearing nonsense. And then it gets interesting.
As an author, it’s important to see the characters you create as real people. That may sound like a contradiction, but it’s true: if you don’t consider your characters as humans with feelings and thoughts and motivations, your readers won’t either. I don’t think this is a controversial opinion, but I also don’t think anyone with a normally functioning brain can pull it off. To write multiple people, you have to be multiple people. Forget the duality of man; embrace the infinity of identity.
I have become a FitBit. The most important thing in my life right now is counting the number of steps El Matador takes each day. Some days that number is two, or zero, or like the other day, seven. I can’t express how exciting this seemingly mundane task is to me. I know one day he’ll be running circles around me, but right now, this is amazing to watch, and honestly, I had no clue it would be.
One of the things “they” don’t tell you about parenthood is that at some point, you may feel like a prisoner in your own home. Your wonderful bundle of joy becomes a tether, and the outside world takes on a magical, limitless quality that makes you yearn for freedom. Fortunately, one of the easiest ways to combat this feeling is to invite people over, feed them pizza, and let them regale you with stories of a mystical, faraway land called “outside.” They may leave at the end of the night, but their stories will stay with you and make you happy, that is, of course, unless your husband (acclaimed Science Fiction author Daniel Verastiqui) hijacks the conversation and steers it towards The Dark Place.
It’s a beautiful night for writing. Jack is in the Coke, treason is in the air, my fingers are in the mood to fly, and also Jack is in the Coke.
I went on a business trip this week to Maryland, home of the Marylanders, and in the course of setting up transportation and lodging and all of those other things, I had to give out my email address way too many times. But you know what, I hate giving out my email address. As an ardent opponent of advertising, I really hate spam. Like, really hate it. Thus, I needed a way to keep my personal email private while still giving companies a way to contact me. A few years ago, I figured out a relatively easy way to do it.
El Matador has begun taking micro-naps whenever the mood hits him. They only last 5 – 10 seconds before he’s up and at it again, but it’s still interesting to see him learning he can control his own downtime. I love this kid. Everything he does amazes me.
Every company needs a wannabe programmer in a non-engineering role to help bridge the gap between available software offerings and company needs. I’ve been lucky enough to fill that role at Uplogix for a while now, and most of that time has been spent fighting the “cloud-based business software CRM” behemoth known as Netsuite. In fact, almost every app I’ve written has come from a Netsuite shortcoming, from tracking customer information to managing RMAs and so on. Recently, we tried to use Netsuite to compile an order history for a customer. Long story short, I had to write some code.
Thirty years ago, our family was stationed at Goodfellow Air Force Base in San Angelo, Texas. It was actually our second time there, and I remember my parents re-introducing me to friends I’d had when I was four or five years old. We all lived on a measly three streets, which are no longer tagged on Google Maps: Carswell, Vance Circle, and I forget the third. My friends and I explored every inch of that neighborhood and that base. And though I haven’t been back since 1991, I still remember it fondly, which was why it was so horrible to hear Trump would be housing detained immigrants there.
I love a good moody mind-bender movie. Whether it’s horror or drama or just mystery, I love trying to figure out the why and how before the protag does. And if I can’t figure it out before the movie reveals the truth, I will slowly golf-clap in appreciate. A Cure for Wellness managed to keep me guessing up to the end because I couldn’t quite put together how eels and water and Dane DeHaan’s palor all fit together. But even though Cure fooled me, it didn’t get a golf clap from me, and it’s all because of one little problem that I couldn’t look past.