Paddy's Wanderings

Under Pressure

Good day fellow wanders, welcome to the desk.

If you disregard the fact that I can't take pictures, even sitting at my desk, then you will notice what, or should I say who, is watching me, day in and day out. That my friends, is a very cool poster of a painting of Elric of Melnibone, Eternal Champion of the Elric novels by Micheal Morcock. You'll notice it was painted by Chris Achilleos. Very nice if I do say so myself. I am not only a big fan of the artwork of Mr. Achilleos, I am a big fan of Mr. Morcock and the Elric series. 

Elric watches over me.

The sun is sorta shining through the side window where as I write, I can hear the construction crew next door, torturing a jack hammer. To put it ever so bluntly and to coin a phrase from days working in a repair shop, put down the purse and hit it! And yes I know, women are fully capable of using jack hammers but they are smart enough not to do so. I wont go down the path of man purses, I don't care if they call it a European Shoulder Bag.

You may notice, if you care to look, a small knob of some sort, sticking out at the bottom of the picture. That would be the top of the post that at one time, supported a mirror. The desk was at one time, a lady's dressing table, or make up table, whatever you want to call it. It is a very old piece of furniture that works just fine for me. I have five junk drawers, what more could I need? I have an old computer chair(need to work on that) and a nice side cabinet. There is a printer, a scanner, the very old puter, an xbox and a Wii, all stationed next to the TV I use for a monitor. It is a veritable station of distraction.

But I am off topic again. We were talking about Elric and the fact that he has a large sword in hand and his eyes follow me across the room. I really should stop blogging and either go write an article, or short story, or better yet.. go work on the blasted novel. After all, that is what Elric is there for, to gently remind me to write the big story.

Before I forget, it was better 1/2 that acquired the poster, many many moons ago. Somehow, it has survived 15 yrs of our collective craziness. If that ain't inspiration enough, then there is always the sword..

Happy Wanderings!

Maple Tree in Spring

That my friends, is a pic I took today of ye olde Maple Tree. Spring has sprung here in the Mitten and the trees are budding just fine. Today it is a bit gray, a tad overcast and really, the clouds look more threatening than they really are. The sun occasionally peaks out and there is some nice, strange shadows floating across the road and barren fields. At least it is warm, and for that, and the very real possibility that the white stuff isn't coming back, I am grateful.

I did not take any pics in the winter and I should have, but with one thing and another, I just did not get to it, maybe next time. For now, there is fall, which I love, and spring which is my second most favorite season. The tree made it through another season, and for the record, it was a pretty easy winter.

When I walked out today (yes I left the cave for a bit!) the robins were in the tree, happily using the jeep as a potty. I may have said something about birds and BB guns and feeding the neighborhood cats some robin tartar, but really, I was only kidding. Well, maybe just a bit. I have children to wash the jeep so its all good. But when I had camera in hand, the robins found somewhere else to perch, must be camera shy.

That is my Monday. Now I have the camera bug, this week I just may have to take some pics, go on an adventure with the techno-tyke. But today it is time to scribble a bit on the fiction side, and go do an article on Martha, she has a new book coming out and who doesn't like Martha?

Surfing Dark Journeys

You know it is a good day when you surf into some cool content, and I did just that. The other day I wandered into Portrait of a Dead Countess, a short story by Jennifer Hudock. I really liked the story and I admit I was looking forward to another in the Dark Journeys Collection. Today I popped on over and story number 2 is for sale, woot! So being a fan already, I downloaded and read On Raven Wings. I wasn't disappointed and for a couple bucks? yeah man, it was worth it.

Here is an excerpt right from the author herself.

On Raven Wings

Screaming tires spit chunks of rock and painted a cloud of dust on the road behind them. The Charger hugged the turn dangerously, and Eric squinched as he leaned forward to grip the dashboard. Kenny licked his lower lip and grinning, looked back out at the road in front of them.

“Relax man,” Kenny said. “I could drive this road blindfolded.”

Tendrils of smoke drifted into the front seat on the currents of Andy’s laughter, and Eric’s fingertips dug deeper into the dashboard. Several times he opened his mouth to speak, but lack of courage stopped him until Andy’s giggling in the backseat finally pushed him to say, “If you wreck my car, I’ll kill you.”

Kenny flashed the charming rows of his perfect teeth across the car. A stretched black curl fell over Kenny’s forward, across his line of vision and he huffed it away with a confident breath, “You need to chill, man.”

Coughing, Andy slid down the backseat and pressed his knees into the back of Eric’s seat, escalating Eric’s temper.

“Seriously, man,” Eric glowered over the seat at Andy. “Cut it out.”

“Kenny’s right, you need to chill,” Carmen bumped herself forward and shouldered into Sara. Her bangle-braceleted arm held the joint to Kenny’s lips, and he inhaled. “Don’t be such a pussy, Eric.”

One of Carmen’s bracelets caught on Kenny’s jacket as she withdrew and the car reacted to the jerk with a leftward leap. Eric clenched his stomach muscles so tight he almost puked. At seventeen, Kenny was on his second driver’s license suspension and shouldn’t have been driving to begin with. He had been Eric’s best friend since the second grade though, and often all it took was a clever, trust-me smile to convince Eric that Kenny’s brand of trouble was fun. Someone almost always got hurt, or wound up in trouble.

Eric watched the speedometer jump ecstatically against one-thirty-five, and the roar of the motor vibrated his body inside and out. The simplest turn had become a nightmare that not even Eric could close his eyes to anymore and it was only a matter of time before they went spinning over an embankment to their death. .

“All right, you had your fun.” Teeth clenched, knuckles white on the dashboard, Eric roared, “Kenny, stop the car! I mean it, stop the fucking car.”

Most people signaled their own negligence with phrases like “trust me,” but Kenny said nothing. He implied the sentiment in the dangerous twitch of his lips. His gaze lingered sidelong as he approached a blind turn that would surely be the end of them.

“I’m going to be sick,” Eric’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Dude, trust me.” Those words were like a death sentence

“Jesus, Kenny,” he drew in short, intoxicating breaths through his nose. “Jesus!” The second time was more like a prayer, a last ditch effort to save them from the certain doom that waited beyond that turn. Eric closed his eyes, repeating the small mantra, “Please God, don’t let us die. I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything. . . I’ll do anything. . .”

The car spun effortlessly around the curve. It hardly trembled at top speed, barely even lifted its tires off the asphalt. Kenny straightened it out with a whooping, “Woo!”

Relief flooded like cool water through Eric, battling the heat of adrenaline pumping his heart and warming his cheeks. His trust in Kenny was completely renewed, despite the nausea he felt. Completely confident, Kenny half-smiled and shook his head, “I told you to tr—”

Time froze. Somewhere in the suspension of reality Sara cried, “Kenny!”

Her warning shot through both passenger and driver like a bolt of electricity, but the shock wasn’t enough to register a quick reaction. Eric turned forward in his seat. The girl in the middle of the road looked right at him, and panic gripped Eric as the horrific truth that was about to take place entranced him. The girl’s eyes were calm, blue as winter, as death itself, and she smiled in welcome—as though she had waited all her life for that exact moment.

Kenny tried to react, but his arms stiffened as he gripped the wheel and stamped down on the brakes. His body elongated as the scream of rubber on asphalt carried them through an eerie silence, and then her body slammed into the windshield and rolled across the hood of the car like thunder. Carmen wailed from the backseat and the car spun out of control. Kenny scrambled, his fingers slipping across the steering wheel as if it had been slathered in butter.

And then Eric looked toward Kenny. Dumbfounded, he seemed to stop trying to regain control of the vehicle and the horror of the moment spanned across forever. They had killed someone and were all going to die, Eric realized, and then the terror halted as the driver’s side of the car impacted with the limestone cliff. Gravity drew Eric left and then immovable force threw him into the passenger side window. There was a painful light and realization, and then there was nothing.

That is but a taste, and if that gets your blood pumping, by all means, go over to her site and get more info here. Or if you have a Kindle or downloaded the app like I did, go right to Amazon and for $1.99 read the whole story, it is well worth it. When there, if a little suspense, a wee bit of horror or if you just like good short stories you can pick up a copy of Portrait of Dead Countess here.

Happy Reading!

Domesticating Paddy

As some of you know, I was recently laid off from the day job. To be precise, it has been three weeks. I have not been laid off since 1991 and there was a point when I worked and played hard ~ every, single, day. Now I have all this time on my hands, unemployment is near twenty percent in the middle of the mitten and prospects look bleak. Nice little vacation right? Blow it off, hang, do some fun stuff, for heaven's sake monkey boy, write like the wind! Yeah.. about that.

I have been doing just that, writing like the wind. So much so in fact, that my hands cramp and I get these serious headaches by early evening. Suffering for your art right? I admit, it sounds like I am whining, but I am not. It has been cool. But there is more to the day then just that. I figured what the heck, better 1/2 is working, I can do all the household chores, do a Mr. Mom gig. Yeah.. about that too.

I thought what the heck, I would invade the domain of better 1/2 by whipping the kitchen into shape, organize the pantry. I even started cleaning the closet of doom, unearthing who knows what. Today I was multitasking, write a bit, do some laundry, do last nights dishes, you know, putter between paragraphs, pitch in and do all those things, everything I could so better 1/2 gets a break. Figured it might slow down the finger cramping, the brain and eye cramping.

Tomorrow is the big game day and Steph(better 1/2) was baking cookies this morning, all done and cooling on the counter. I had put away plates in the cupboard and was checking the laundry cause I unbalanced the washer.. again. Sure enough, it rattled so bad, the plates I had apparently precariously perched on the shelf, came crashing done, breaking all over the still warm cookies. I filled a bag with broken plates, five or six I think, and the still warm cookies with broken plate stuck in them. Yeah.. I oops'd pretty bad.

Today I was going to blog about my new passion for Food Network and the, now apparently crazy, idea that I would try my hand at baking(our pantry has five one pound bags of flour? why?). I can't cook water, I can barely operate a microwave. But, I thought it would be fun to bake brownies(three mixes in the pantry of holding), you know, surprise everyone, how hard can it be? I can read and follow directions and turn a knob. I just can't stack plates, which is now painfully obvious. I say why not, we have a fire extinguisher and it can't be any worse then me running over my hand with a power sander right?

Well you have been warned, fellow wanders. I am going to try my hand at cooking and see if I can't have some fun. Oh and write like the wind too. Its either that or find a job soon. I think I'll go shopping for an apron, maybe con someone(gammie sheeple?) in to stitching Kiss the Paddy on it.

Its gonna be fun, trust me.

V: The New Series

Working second shift for over five years puts a real cramp in your TV viewing style if you ask me. For the past three weeks I have been like a man dying of thirst in an ocean of sweet ambrosia. Last night, I got all excited because they were going to show the new V series. I gathered my snacks, plopped my butt down and was all set to watch an episode. So far, I had surfed the net, followed as best as I could, but had only been able to catch wee snippets, so I was pumped.

What I got was an hour long recap of the first four episodes which was, at first, disappointing. Then I could not be more thankful, cause I was gonna need a quick rundown of all that happened so far, and that was what I got. Just a taste, a tease, and it got me circling the date and time for the resumption of the series, which I imagine was their whole point. 

Let me state that I was/am a huge fan of the original mini-series and the short lived series and final movie, a big fan. As a matter of fact, when I found the complete original series on DVD I snatched that baby like it was the next best thing to sliced bread, which it is. I was a wet behind the ears nineteen year old in college when the original aired and I loved it then, the story was so captivating. Over the years, my fondness has grown and it is one of those TV shows the better 1/2 and I really like and still watch about every nine months or so.

So when I heard they were going to re-do it, I was excited and skeptical. As usual I was wrong. That brief hour and all the stuff I have found over the past few months has made me a fan already. I'll be tuning into ABC and catching the latest episode of V. The new show is a fresh look at the story with some pretty compelling characters and good plot lines. Well worth wandering into if you ask me.

In the Caprica Zone

Every once in awhile, a Television show will inspire me to give it a go and I am willing to give it a shot. Some shows were a must see before the pilot even aired, for example Star Trek: The Next Generation. But other shows I found interesting enough that I might give it a shot, and then I fell in love with the show, never missed an episode, and eventually bought it on DVD, and so on. Caprica was a maybe.

I was a big fan of the original Battlestar Galactica and I looked forward to the reboot on Syfy, but like so many things, I never got a chance to really watch the show, week to week. So I got haphazard viewing, got lost in the story, and never really got in the groove. It's a shame really, because what I saw, I liked. Then along comes Caprica, a neat twist of a spin off. I was determined to give it a go and as luck would have it, I got a chance to catch it and watched the marathon last weekend, and now I am hooked.

What appeals to me is the cyber punk feel, the play on what is reality, life after physical death. The plot is interesting, the sub-plots maybe even more so. Each new episode brings more questions then answers and I am torn between the search through New Cap City for Tamara Adama and the story of Zoe. I want more of the v-world, it is right up my alley with the 'game' feel and the reality of unreality. With Zoe trapped in the Cylon and her father's search to get her to respond, yeah, that last episode was just awesome.

But Zoe's mother and her messed up, vision laced descent into despair and her growing relationship with the group of the One is intriguing as well. There is so much that can be done with just that story line that I find it almost as intriguing. The plot revolving around the corporate espionage and the battle of rival corps, is kinda been there, done that. But maybe there is more there, we'll have to see.

Overall, the show is good SF and has a really appealing vibe. To me at least, this is the kind of show that I really like to watch on TV. My time in front of the tube is precious, so a show better grab me, make me want to make the time. Caprica does just that.

If you wander over to Syfy, check your local listings, you'll be able to catch an episode, season one is almost done. That makes me want more, a lot more. I am just getting into it and can't get enough. If you watch an episode and you wonder where your at, yeah that will happen, but you can get a feel for the show. Then watch the pilot and the episodes in order and you'll get the whole story, well at least as much as the rest of us have gotten. You may just find yourself hooked, and I don't think that is a bad thing.

Where is my Fedora?

Today I started down a path I had never imagined, not really. I have started doing freelance work. Have keyboard, will write for hire is the new motto. I will grant you, it is but a baby step, but it is, none the less, a step forward. In an effort to experience as much as possible and wander into every nook and cranny, I thought freelance work might be just the ticket. Today, I got a ticket.

I have donned my hat, put on my gray suit and pinned my press pass into the inner coat pocket. I just need an office in the seedy side of town, a girl Friday to type in the front room, a pack of smokes and my name on the door. Sounds kind of like a private detective, but Depression Era cops, reporters, and private dicks are right up my alley, shweet heart.

I am gonna have fun with it, see what happens. I will be writing articles as a book examiner for examiner.com and you can check out my page here. I should have a book review or new release announcement just about every day. I will also be covering other events like book signings or library events throughout the Flint and Tri-City area.

As with the blog here, you can subscribe and receive email updates when something new is posted, then just click the link in the email and the way you go. Of course I will post links on Facebook (Patrick Pillars)and on Twitter(@paddyfestus). From time to time, I will also update here on the blog. I appreciate all the support I get from my friends and family and also to you, the reader who wanders into the blog.

Stick around folks, I have no doubt that I will find more and more to wander into and more fun stuff to share. Happy Wanderings!

Novel-Tone News March 22nd

It has been a couple weeks since I did an update on the..Project. I thought I would pass along my current status and where it is all heading. Well.. at least the parts I have been tinkering with for awhile now.

I have been focusing a lot on the 6th and 7th chapters lately. Did I mention I have the whole enchilada broke down into chapters? No? Oh I did that earlier, I think back in January, but any who. For some strange reason, at this point in the book, a lot of interesting things happen, character wise. Sounds kind of technical, but really it is not. Not that I know squat about the technical aspects of writing a novel, just what I have read and studied. Now I get to put that in to practice, I hope.

In this part, we get to see some of the characteristics that well, make up each character. See them on the move, see them in action, so to speak. Believe me, there is plenty going on before this point and there is some interesting stuff about the characters, but in these two sections, a lot of what makes them who they are is revealed more and more. Sure, I do that earlier, but it is beneath the surface of all the action. Here, the characters are into the second day of travel, and here is where some interesting tidbits get thrown into the mix.

I have the story in various stages in different parts of the book. The basic story is there, on the screen. Now comes the part where all the details, all the neat stuff I want to do with the story get added into the mix. The key is to do all of this without distracting from the story. The idea being, to enrich the story, like adding spice but without overpowering the whole dish, if that makes sense. This is the part I am truly enjoying, the whole rewrite and all that jazz. I am diggin' this part.

I don't know if this is how it is done. I have read a metric butt load of material on the subject, but in the end, it all sounds like magic to me. So I am off into the wilderness and trying my hand at the whole thing. I have a guidebook but it seems wonderfully vague. That is just fine by me. This is an adventure into the unknown and the journey has been pretty crazy, and a whole lot of fun.

The end is just the beginning...

Paddy's Poetry Corner ~ Sestina

I have tinkered with the sestina form for many, many years and never really did much with it. Like so many things, it was a passing fancy and I will admit, I struggled with it. This past fall, I started working a bit more on this type of poetic form, and I finished a couple and have half-written a handful or two of more. I even have a few in 'note' form. Yeah, outlining a poem and writing notes and going through several drafts, not something I ever really did before. Mostly, it was a matter of a word or two, maybe a point of flow, but never to this extent. With a sestina, yeah, you gotta do a lot of work.

I imagine that over time and with much practice, writing in this form would become second nature. I don't know if I will ever go that far with it. This type of writing is very demanding and I have so many other projects I want to do, but as a dabble, why then I think it will do just fine.

So que the spotlight, I got the stool in my hand. Put down the Manhattans for a minute and get those fingers snapping and the bongos goin, time for a sit down in the corner daddy-o!

Last Pattern in the Sand

The moon in her glory, so comes the tide,
flowing outward in revolution's time,
from the northern sky blows the gentle wind,
tonight the voices are but a whisper,
black velvet canopy, shimmering stars
trace my forgotten shadow in the sand.

Hunched down, eyes closed above warm sand,
feeling the flowing of the even tide,
the persistent pulse of the moon and stars
lost in whirlpool memory time,
from childhood past comes a gentle whisper
floating, dreamlike, along a southern wind.

A breath from the east, an opening wind;
a single finger draws in sienna sand,
the pattern flows from a breathless whisper
mirror the rhythm, passion of the tide,
my thoughts are lost in an eddy of time,
the waking dream flows outward to the stars.

Lines reflecting the path of somber stars
circle within circle, pattern in time,
inhale symmetry from the west wind
dancing across the surface of the sand,
and racing against the encroaching tide,
catch the echoing sound of a whisper.

The fingers trace an elusive whisper
listening to the siren call of stars
feeling the counterpoint of running tide,
directionless in a compass wind,
digging down, down across the shifting sand,
merging into synchronicity time.

The moment is frozen, ensnared in time
and the voices chant in urgent whisper;
a melody is born in circling sand
in harmony with the song of the stars,
sprinkled with memory from a spirit wind
washed in the cooling waters of high tide.

Looking beyond the stars, pursuing time
and on the wind, the soft voices whisper,
relentless tide, last pattern in the sand.

My Keyboard doesn't speak Gaelic

I have a few thoughts on St. Patrick's Day, a wandering anecdote or two and some general information to pass along, if you will. I am Patrick, named after my father who was born on St. Patrick's Day into a family that is half Irish and half English. But most people refer to me as Paddy and that is a story unto itself.

When I was a wee lad, my father's family usually referred to me as Patty, to set me apart from my dad, or sometimes as little Pat, as it being less offensive I guess. I did not mind Patty really, until I found out a lass down the street was named Patricia and was referred to as Patty, for short. Well being a young lad, I sure didn't want to be called a girl's name. Enter my cousin, who always called me Paddy, with a 'd'. From then on, I am good with the Paddy, although any version of Patrick is just fine.

On my dad's side there is a smidgen of Scotch and Welsh, on my mother's side there is mostly German, with about a quarter English, thanks to my great grandma. Like most Americans, whose family has been here for a few generations, I am a mixed bag. I have no problem with that, but I do tend to favor the Irish side, maybe because a bit more of the blarney flows through my veins, or maybe by choice, hard to say really. But, there it is, and that is that.

For most folks, St. Patrick's Day is a yearly holiday for drinking green beer, wearing green clothes and all the typical American commercialism of holidays. I don't like green beer, but I do like a good pint of Guinness and shot or two of Jameson Whiskey, but I don't need a day for that. Green and blue are my favorite colors, so I wear green often. As to the rampant buy because it is a holiday and everyone is Irish,  I say bah. I'm not catholic so I don't even have a saint's day to go to Mass.

You wear green, not because everyone else is doing it, but because it is in remembrance of the folks who starved during the Great Potato Famine and their mouths turned green from eating grass. It is a cultural holiday for us poor folks here in American to remember our native soil, to never forget our cultural heritage and to celebrate not only being Irish, but in gratitude to the country who accepted our ancestors. It is so much more then putting on a green hat and drinking green beer, it is a celebration of a people, a rich history and cultural heritage, that despite the best efforts of many, has flourished to this very day. You celebrate your cultural heritage and diversity in the bosom of the melting pot, together as one people with common ground.

Every day. But my wandering friends, that's just me.

So how about some fun or at least interesting information. Most immigrants from Ireland went to Canada first, then migrated down to the States. Racism against the Irish was pretty rampant when they first arrived, as is true with most immigrants. They became cops and firemen and built canals and railways, often at barely above slave labor wages. Oh and they were allowed to own a bar. Many fled Ireland to Liverpool, England. Some settled, most came over on the coffin ships but the chance of dying in passage was better then starving. Like most immigrants, after a generation or two, they acclimated right into the American way of life and today are just one of the many peoples living in the States.

I am pleased people celebrate the cultural and historic heritage of a foine set of people. Today is a day that you should explore these folks, or at the very least explore your own cultural heritage. Stir the ol' melting pot a bit, see the uniqueness of it all and just how it all comes together. If you see an Irishmen, by all means give 'em a smooch, buy 'em a pint. If you happen to be one the foine creatures themselves, even partially like me self, why then, you're blessed already, so share the wealth.

Like most days, I'll enjoy myself, have a bit of fun and remember and celebrate being Irish. I'm off to listen to Eithne Patricia Ní Bhraonáin, a.k.a. Enya. Have fun and happy wanderings!