We’re firing up the next issue of the Noveltown Review in conjunction with some cool colleges including UC Riverside, where I will be teaching a 4-day course on flash fiction. Writings from the course will be included in the next magazine issue, which will have non-fiction and memoir as its main focus.
Although we passed on our summer issue, our fall Review edition is a definite and we're excited.
As editor of the magazine I can say I won’t be completely orthodox with what I will be teaching or looking for from student writers in the UC Riverside Extension Program course.
That allows for full student experimentation and creativity with words.
I think the most important aspects of the class will be twofold: writing, and a lecture/workshop I am preparing on creativity. I will be blending creative writing theory with my own in how students can submerse themselves in the culture of writing, be writers, think like writers, and transform themselves both intellectually and creatively.
I will also be talking some about a new American-bred literary movement.
So get your writer friends together and carpool down for two great weekends of writing and creative transcendence.
Course Description:
Flash Fiction for Publication Course: CRWT X421.5 Ever get the urge to write something quickly? With flash fiction techniques, the writer writes a short, short piece filled with all the elements of a great story. In this workshop, through reading, writing and discussion, students learn how to write a concise, vivid, character-dominant, drop-dead captivating piece of fiction on a subject they choose. Discussion explores the history and theory of flash fiction, genre (fiction, creative nonfiction), voice, length and editing. Students have the opportunity to have their work printed in a student section of the "Noveltown Review," an independent literary magazine based in Bakersfield. Writers of all levels are encouraged to attend.
Date/Time: Fri., 6-9 p.m. & Sat., 9 a.m.-5 p.m. Oct. 5, 6, 19 & 20 (4 meeting/s) Location: University Extension Center - Room TBA, RIVERSIDE Text: "No Text Required," Fee: $245
New class teaches the art of brevity What is old is new again. Writing for the Internet has resurrected an age-old art form practiced by O. Henry and Ernest Hemingway. UCR Extension's new Flash Fiction class will show you how to write a full story with the fewest words possible. Enough said.
Today marks a historic day with the largest mass murder in Bakersfield ending in a death sentence for the convicted killer, Vincent Brothers.
Sitting adjacent to the ABC23 newsroom from my fish bowl, I wondered how a black man could get convicted in Bakersfield for mass murder, while O.J., in the news again, might walk free, again.
Executive Producer Jay Jones automatically said “L.A.” Does that mean L.A. courts versus Bakersfield courts? Would Phil Spector’s trial have ended the way it did if cast in the Bakersfield theater of mean justice? Would O.J.’s first case fair the same? What about the second O.J. case?
Now I’m not saying Vincent Brothers is innocent. His family seems convinced he killed members of his own family. The courts proved he killed his family. But then, I’ve read The Innocent Man by John Grisham. Innocent men do get locked away for murder.
They sit in prisons and rot and wait for the needle, noose, electric chair, or whatever it is their state uses to execute them. And they were proven guilty too.
Now once again, I’m not saying Vincent Brothers is innocent. A man who can’t acknowledge his own daughter while she talks about her loved ones killed in cold blood…well, I would have a hard time being lenient on such a man too, to let's say, serve life without parole rather than getting the chair, needle, etc. I don’t even think he looked her in the eye; his own beautiful daughter.
Should Brothers sit in prison and rot? Obviously the courts don’t think so, even though Brothers will likely rot in prison for years before his death sentence is carried out. If ever.
I heard one person in the newsroom say, “He’ll be there 20 years.” Maybe there won’t be any further executions in California. I doubt that. I’m sure the blood bath will start up any day.
Not that I don’t believe in executions for heinous crimes. Although sometimes it may be better for convicted criminals to sit and rot instead of leaving the world.
I do have to say I understand what it feels like to have an unsupportive family in one way or another. And to lose that family by being either excommunicated in one way or another. And although one of my uncles was murdered years ago, I can’t possibly imagine so many members of a family gone at once, though I can easily imagine broken and unsupportive relationships with family.
There was so much anger and passion in Margaret Kern’s speech that I had to take off my headphones for a moment to dry my eyes. I couldn’t separate emotionally from Kern’s emotions she displayed.
I think by showing her entire statement on the ABC23 website it makes for a necessarily tougher day for the community. So I put it there. People need to see her entire statement, feel her pain. At least for the portion of the community who cares about the falling apart of familial relationships, hurt daughters, an ethnic community in turmoil, and resolution to tragedy and loss.
It's a serious controversy about Godsmack, Bakersfield song thieves, an Irishman named Rob Shock, and the Plain White T's...
Excerpt:
First we heard about Preston Nash's bitter cries of foul in regards to the possibility that one of his songs was stolen by one of Metal's premiere bands "God Smack". A pretty shitty ordeal if you ask me, but it seems that where there is smoke, there is always... FIRE!!!
Thats right...
With all the hype surrounding the arrival of the Plain White T's show in Bakersfield, it appears a new scandal of similar nature will be riding into town as well... and on the coattails of one pissed off Rob Shock. Apparently Rob feels as if one of his songs were boosted by another chart topping band in the same fashion... namely the T's hit song "Hey there Delilah". Yep, Rob is one pissed off red head and will soon be in the hunt for justice along side Mr. Nash.
Rob gave me a set of lyrics dated Nov. 17th 2004, and I have to admit that although I never would have guessed this to be of Rob's writing style... There is an uncanny resemblance between the two lyric sheets.
It was one of those last-minute decisions to jam out to the free Plain White T's show at Wal-Mart on Monday night. I wasn't going to. But then I thought, what if I miss a big local event? I figured I would go snap some photos, maybe meet the band, then leave.
I didn't expect to see 5,000 people gathered.
Four hours later, right as I was entering the autograph-signing tent my mini-HD camera ran out of batteries. I have yet to upload that content. There's funny imagery of one of the band members examining a police baton.
What can you do? I'd already shot stills and videos of the the concert, kids and adults getting yanked from the crowd as they were squashed against a railing. I ran out of space on a 2-gig card so had to get another (4-gig) at nearby Best Buys (Sorry Wal-Mart).
I caught the entire police message of "We might stop the show" on camera, the song 'Hey There Delilah' and even shot some stills on members of my family I hadn't seen in years. It's all attached to the ABC23 article, "Free Concert At Rosedale Wal-Mart Rough For Some Kids."
Yeah, those family pics. It was one of those, Oh-yeah-those-people-ostracized-me moments. I walked by them. They pretended to gaze through me the way they always looked through me when they knew me. It's OK. You just deal with the bullshit and stupidness of a family who doesn't support an artist. I'm from one of those families who thinks writers are losers, who've put me down for years. I was told one of my books was "too boring to read". That same book is now being read by Brenda Knight, who freakin' rocks in the publishing world. I can't even begin to state the importance of a Brenda Knight in anyone's life.
So one day I got tired of the name-calling, the putting down of myself and kids. I fought back. I stood up for them and myself. If you read this blog, you know I do that now and then. It's like I say on here time and again. Like Ray Bradbury said when he came to town. People who are obstacles, who put you down, who don't believe in you, shove them out of your way. Live your life and fulfill your dreams.
Well I was going to interview Plain White T's and was asked by the tour manager to hang around. I made friends with one of their distribution representatives. I had already put in four hours. I just left. It had been a long night.
It was one of those nights that showed me a few things about myself and my ex-family. My ex-family just stared from a distance, like they did when I walked past. They stared at me like they still think I'm a loser--the loser I never was but they judged me to be. Like I'm sure they stare at the accomplishments that I don't pretend to be quiet about.
My kid is on the front page of Bakersfield.com today. I'm proud of that. My other son who has high-functioning Autism just aced his first college exam. I'm very proud of that.
I walked up to a concert on a whim and negotiated an all-access pass, and could have met the band for an interview. I'm proud that I am able to do that and grateful for having become a journalist through blogs that some people like my ex-family hate.
I can't complain today. Two photos that I took of local bands are on the homepage of Bakersfield.com, and they're of two of my favorites: The Filthies and Dirty Spanglish.
Did I get photo credit? Nah. Ah well, I'm giving myself credit right now.
Of course you know my kid, Lando is in Dirty Spanglish, that bratty kid punk band who needs to get off their butts and finish their new material.
I wrote a little criticism on Buzz Bands about how the media is in a frenzy about the Plain White T's coming to a Bakersfield Wal-Mart parking lot, when the band was just in town a few months ago at the Dome.
Excerpt:
The Plain White T's are performing tonight in Bakersfield. Are your kids going?
I knew the Plain White T’s were a decent indie band stepping into Bakersfield. So I almost attended back in May. Hey, at least I knew about their last performance! People who have read my bazillion band reviews on my Paperback Writer blog know I mostly covered Bakersfield bands. I have enjoyed writing about World Wide Spies, Jessie Deluxe and a few others...
Since starting Bakersfield Buzz Bands I’ve stepped out of my shell a little bit more to at least discuss other bands. So I just had to bring up the difference in the media frenzy over the Plain White T’s this time around.
On one of my weekly treks to the Noveltown postal hub where big puffy packages arrive full of books, I opened Women on the Edge Writing from Los Angeles, edited by Samantha Dunn and Julianne Ortale. Dunn sent the book of short stories for N.L. Belardes of Noveltown to read and review. Good thing he never got the chance.
The title, Women on the Edge, and the Andy Warhol-style pop art faces of the women authors on the book cover called out to me as if they knew what I needed to know: revelations in writing and life from women writers.
I discovered compelling literary stories from women who have experienced hard lives, emotional times, strange events, unexpected turns and twists, and women who were unafraid to face obstacles. After reading such haunting stories I can easily say Belardes is not getting this book back.
Janet Fitch, author of White Oleander, wrote the foreword for Women on the Edge.
I pondered one of her quotes:
“Out here on the perimeter, there are no stars. Out here we is stoned, immaculate.”~The Doors, from L.A. Woman
Not a huge Doors fan, I wondered how a rock music quote could encapsulate women on the edge, writing from the edge. With each story I read, the subtle nuances, the profound moments, the hard emotions, and Fitch’s words in the foreword about these stories and women authors echoed true. Women on the Edge stories were about women at varying stages of life experiencing the beauty of life at its messiest.
I found myself living through the characters as if their experiences were my own. I understood Mrs. Poovey’s need to feel useful and needed again in Julianne Ortale’s Milk, and Debbie’s ostracization as a school girl in Aimee Bender’s Debbieland, or having to put a grandmother away in a home in Dylan Landis’ Rose, or wanting to know if love is somewhere in your future in Liz Gonzalez’s Destiny, and dealing with the loss of a loved one in Jody Hauber’s Between the Dog and the Wolf. These were stories from the heart about women whom I felt I was or had been at some point in my life.
The characters haunted me. So did the writing. I was just as enthralled with the language, beautiful prose and fine sentences expertly disguised within the hard, dark and emotional circumstances of each story.
In the end, I realize the beauty of Women on the Edge is the stories within tell a tale of what it is to be a woman. And that story links the contributing women authors and characters to women everywhere out on the edge, which is life.
Samantha Dunn - Photo by: Lupe Fernandez
You will want to read these stories!
Women on the Edge Writing from Los Angeles Authors/Stories: Karen Horn, Levinium 241 Julianne Ortale, Milk Erin Julia McGuire, Crowfeathers Aimee Bender, Debbieland Samantha Dunn, Going Green Lindsay Fitzgerald, Hunger Dylan Landis, Rose Lisa Teasley, Magda in Rosarito, Beached Lisa Glatt, Ludlow Abby Mims, Me and Mr. Jones Michelle Latiolais, Boys Rachel Resnick, Meat-Eaters of Marrakesh Liz Gonzalez, Destiny Anita Santiago, Flying Blind Carol Muske-Dukes, Contraband Rochelle Low, Where Angels Tread Jody Hauber, Between the Dog and the Wolf Mary Rakow, The Memory Room
Recently, I had the opportunity to talk with Samantha Dunn about Women on the Edge Writing from Los Angeles and how this wonderful collection of short stories came together.
Read the interview:
Noveltown: Women on the Edge Writing from Los Angeles are an eclectic collection of short stories. As an editor, how was the process of bringing all of these amazing stories together in one collection?
Samantha Dunn: The process? Like herding cats. Neither Julianne, my good friend and co-editor, nor I are particularly administrative-minded, and trying to wrangle writers—solitary, nonconformist types in general—is never an easy task. We were also working on a tight deadline and a shoestring budget, so we began our calls to writers with lines like, “Hi, we can’t give you hardly any money and we need it tomorrow, but can we print your story, pretty please?” Happily, all the women were really supportive of our idea for the collection and very cooperative. It was truly a joy getting these stories and feeling that we were discovering some great new material, or giving more exposure to incredible stuff that maybe had not been seen as much as it should.
Noveltown: Were the short stories for Women on the Edge handpicked or was there an open submission process?
Samantha Dunn: It wasn’t an open submission process in that we did not print a notice in literary magazines or other such places, and we didn’t have a long lead time that would have allowed us to edit pieces that had potential but weren’t quite “there” yet. We relied on our own email lists and word-of-mouth to attract material; in some instances I asked for specific pieces, like Aimee Bender’s spectacular “Debbieland” and Karen Horn’s beautiful work, “Levinium 241.” I think I called Lisa Glatt and just said “Just give me something,” knowing that anything she did would fall in the spectrum of what Julianne and I had in mind. We had in our heads a certain idea of what we wanted; a tone, if you will, that we were seeking.
Noveltown: When Women on the Edge Writing from Los Angeles arrived in the mail I saw the title and immediately thought these are I-am-woman-hear-me-roar stories. There was no heavy dose of feminist extremism, though the stories captured womanhood. What I found were very well crafted literary short stories that touched me unexpectedly. How do you think the title of the collection reflects the short stories within?
Samantha Dunn: This is trenchant question and one I appreciate, but it’s hard for me to answer succinctly. OK, first let me say I find that writing labeled “feminist” is often lugubrious in nature, limited, stale, and reflects nothing of the concerns and attitudes of myself or the women I know. Julianne and I were looking for stories that somehow captured the essence of our experience of life itself—off kilter, messy, beautiful, uplifting, heartbreaking, at times transcendent and other times just plain weird.
Noveltown: While reading Women on the Edge I found common themes within the stories. Was there a particular theme or themes you looked for as an editor while choosing stories?
Samantha Dunn: Uhm…you did? Did they have anything to do with what I just said in the last question? Hope so.
Noveltown: Do you have a favorite short story from Women on the Edge? Can you reveal your favorite? If so, what about the story moves you most?
Samantha Dunn: This is the “Mother, which child do you like the best?” question. And of course I will admit to nothing other than to say I love them all for different reason, while the savvy reader will suspect I do have my favorites. I will tell you that the story “Levinium 241” is the reason for the whole collection. Years and years ago I had been in a workshop, which the writer Karen Horn was a part of, and I had been so taken with the story. I really had never gotten it out of my head, I guess because it combined all the elements that make an interesting story for me—a deep emotional stake, breathtaking insights, no easy answers, and all of it wrapped in beautiful language. Anyway, Karen, for whatever reason, never pursued publication and so the story had stayed in the drawer all these years. I always thought that was a shame.
Well, along comes a phone call from Matthew Miller, publisher of the Toby Press, the small, independent publisher who put out my novel Failing Paris, asking if I would be interested in putting together a collection of my short stories. I didn’t have enough for my own collection at the time, but I thought about Karen, and my friend Julianne, who is truly an incredible, undervalued literary talent, and that led me to think about putting together a collection that would highlight these kinds of difficult, offbeat but generally brilliant stories. Matthew, bless him, was totally up for it. Thankfully Julianne was game to be my co-editor, because as a graduate of the University of California at Irvine’s MFA program, I knew she’d seen a lot of talent I didn’t know about, and I knew we shared the same literary tastes.
Noveltown: Do you feel like you’re writing from the edge as Janet Fitch’s forward suggests?
Samantha Dunn: Oh hell yes.
Noveltown: As a woman writer and the editor of this collection of stories what advice would you give other women writers striving to achieve the quality and style of writing within Women on the Edge?
Samantha Dunn: Alas, all I can impart is bumper-sticker wisdom…you know, the whole “dance like no one is watching,” “lead with your heart” thing. But, honestly, all cornball catch phrases aside, I think good writing is like that. Most every one of the writers in this collection has toiled a long time, alone in a room, writing not because she was making any money, attracting big readerships or becoming famous, but because she felt compelled to this form of expression. And because she loved literature. These writers also have apprenticed themselves to the process of becoming writers, studying, putting ego and everything else on the line just for that one satisfying (often transitent) sentence, or a scene well rendered, or sometimes merely the joy of finding the perfect word.
Noveltown: Would you ever edit another collection of short stories?
Samantha Dunn: I would if the stars were aligned again, if I had the same kind of control I had in this one, sure. Of course I would also skydive, motorcycle without a helmet, drink the water in Mexico and tattoo my husband’s name on my holiest of holy, so I’m maybe not the best person to ask about appropriate behavior.
Noveltown: Are you working on any projects now? What’s on the horizon for Samantha Dunn?
Samantha Dunn: I’m writing something now but I don’t quite know what it is yet. I just want to get back to language and ideas. I’m in screenplay recovery. My last book was purchased by Lifetime for an original movie and I got the job to co-write with a professional screenwriter. I went in with no small amount of hubris, thinking that since I have put out six books—two ghostwritten for other people—and umpteen magazine pieces I could just slip into the screenwriting world. What actually happened was kind of like the artistic equivalent of a smackdown on Saturday night wrestling.
Noveltown: Thanks for hanging out with Noveltown and discussing Women on the Edge.
Samantha Dunn: Thank you all so much. Bakersfield, literary hotbed. I love it! Y’all are on your own edge…
******** Samantha Dunn - Photo by: Lupe Fernandez
Samantha Dunn is the author of Failing Paris (Toby Press), a finalist for the PEN West Fiction Award in 2000, and the memoir, Not By Accident: Reconstructing a Careless Life (Henry Holt& Co.), a BookSense 76 pick. Her most recent memoir, Faith in Carlos Gomez: A Memoir of Salsa, Sex and Salvation, is published by Henry Holt & Co. Her work is anthologized in a number of places, including the short story anthology, Women on the Edge: Writing from Los Angeles (Toby Press), which Dunn co-edited with writer Julianne Ortale. Dunn's essays have appeared in numerous national publications.
It was a surreal moment. I stood at Wired Nextfest in the dark lights of the Exhibition Hall near a table lined with robots, computers and people. I’d just watched the life-like Hanson Robotics boy robot twitch its simulated facial muscles and stare wide-eyed into the direction of all the people gathered around.
It was a robot zoo. Or maybe a birthing center like the kind you see in hospitals with large windows so you can peer in and see what life has just created.
As I started to walk away amid the buzz and whirl of sound and sight I heard a woman coo. Sure, there were a lot of parents and kids around, but this was weird. It was like the kind of coo you would hear from someone doting over another person’s baby.
I had a camera with me but I just froze. I couldn’t even take a picture because I thought I might ruin the moment. I suddenly felt like I was staring right into the face of one of the greatest ethical dilemmas our society will soon face: the question of whether robots will soon replace our children.
The woman’s own face contorted into a look of coddling pleasure. She looked to be in her mid-40s, with shoulder length brown hair. She was expressive. Zeno, the revolutionary robot friend in the shape of a boy was being talked to in motherly fashion. The woman said something like, “Oh, I think you are so handsome… oh yes I do, look at you… you are adorable…yes you are!”
She responded to every blink, turn of the head, and open-mouthed grimace the toy robot made.
Sure I’ve seen Blade Runner a million times. The final cut is coming out soon. It’s a cult classic that includes life-like robots that may or may not be friends to the creators who developed them. Some of the robots are child-like.
Or AI. Remember that Spielberg flop of a film? It might be time to dust it off, watch it again, and dive into the ethical issues of robots in the image of man, albeit a little man, a kid.
Innocent, right?
I remember meeting the concept developer for AI. He was living right here in Bakersfield. We spoke about the artwork involved, the robotics. The same guy had done all the ideation for Terminator. Nice robot man-killer designer turned friendly fluffy AI designer of all robots friendly to humans: stuffed bears, prostitutes and yes, little boys that can replace the idea of a real boy. Pinocchio in reverse. Make them all out of wood and electrodes...
That idea isn’t as far-fetched as you think. While I’d love to sit here and type a wonderful piece about how all Americans have perfect family values, that just isn’t the case.
Maybe some families would cling to robots more than their gang warfare kids...
And it’s not even a family value issue when discussing moral ethics and whether we as a society should allow life-like robots to replace our children and our pets.
And let’s not forget your cars, jewelry and whatever else you’re obsessively attached to. How hard would it be to be attached to a robot that only cost the amount of a Wii, and that talks to you, wanders around your house, and calls everyone by name it sees with its camera eyes?
And expressive through simulated skin movements. And intuitive.
And no dog poo to clean up, and with its own heat source so that it’s not so cold and lifeless as the recently hailed Robosapien robot toy. And you never have to turn it on or off. And you control it wirelessly. 802.11b friendly as it maneuvers through your house, suddenly, and without warning, a part of your family.
I ask you once again, how soon will robots replace our children and pets?
If there is a god (dess), he, she, or "it," to use Kerouac's word, must truly have a sick since of humor.
When I got my first job in publishing at HarperCollins, working with religious texts, I most certainly did not mention that I had gotten kicked out of church camp at the tender age of 14. Blackballed, actually—a letter was sent to church camps across America warning them that “Brenda is a danger to the mission and positive message of the First Day Adventist Church” and, as such, I was to be barred from the door of every church in the country. My mother is still embarrassed by it all, and I think she is secretly glad I live 3000 miles away. At the time, I thought it was much ado about a whole lot of nothing, but now realize that it may have been the single coolest moment of my life.
I was 14, deep into a tenth read of LOTR, and working at getting through Herman Hesse, Kerouac, and Thomas Mann in between. I was also reading serialized installments of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas because my best friend Abby’s dad (also our school principal) had a subscription to Playboy which we sneaked and read while he watched PBS. We hid in the attic while Abby smoked cigarettes and I burned incense and embroidered progressive rock band logos on my hip huggers. My look can only be described as “bohemian elven queen,” with nearly knee-length hair, and Abby was, well, just really perfect and beautiful. We were in an escalated academic program but we had incredibly bad attitudes. And, as you have doubtless heard before, it’s hard to be bored in a really small town.
My mother had not yet given up on me—I still reeled in all A’s, and how much trouble can you get into if you read all the time? What she didn’t know was that by then, I felt a growing bond with the Gonzo journalist himself. As I read each Playboy installment, I felt this frisson down my spine, realizing that you could chuck it all and hit the road with a pal and explore America and all the big, beautiful world outside the protective flood walls of Point Pleasant, West Virginia. Just watch and wait and make sure your driving buddy has as poor impulse control as yourself.
So mom signed me up for church camp, and off we went. In retrospect, it surprises me that she didn’t notice that all I took with me was some books, suntan lotion, and a wardrobe comprised of the aforementioned hip huggers, short shorts, a sun-faded bikini, and some halter tops. Not exactly church camp uniform, but PERFECT for hitting the road if the opportunity presented itself. The one thing I looked forward to was lying by the pool and reading.
One of the camp counselors was a sweet lady named Carol. She let me sleep in (I am a Double Pisces, so sleeping in is way more important than breakfast) and seemed to understand how deeply bored I was. I explained to her that “shuffleboard was not my thing” and asked if there was any way I could sit in her car and listen to the radio and read. Miraculously, she went for it. So I fired up the radio, dug a paperback out of my purse, and set to reading. Usually, music and books are more than enough, but this time I was restless—switching stations, looking out the window, and flipping my hair. The other camp misfit, a girl named Debbie with fire-engine read hair, spotted me and leaned in the window. “Whatcha doing?” she asked. I told her Mrs. Jones was letting me read in her car. “Cool, can I come in?” I opened the driver's side and let Debbie in. I remember thinking that Debbie was neither Mexican nor an attorney like the Hunter S. Thompson’s infamous partner-in-crime Raoul Duke, but that maybe she'd do.
And Debbie knew something I did not: she recognized the significance of this contraption on the dash of Counselor Jones's dashboard. “Hey, she has a CB radio!”
Debbie also knew how to work the CB, since her dad had one he monitored police action and highway traffic with. Within minutes, we had come up with “handles” and were going live on the air. I was amazed by how friendly the truckers seemed to be. Why would they want to talk to two teenage girls? We didn’t mention our tender ages of thirteen and fourteen to them, but they seemed mightily interested that we were camping out in the woods. We also neglected to mention that we were at church camp—it was just really nice to tell our new friends how wretchedly bored we were. They wanted to know where we were, but I couldn’t explain at all since I had been reading while my mother drove to the remote location of the retreat center. Debbie, however, seemed to know exactly where we were, and was more than happy to tell them. All the "breaker one" and 10-4 business seemed like a fun secret code with which to transmit secret messages.
A knock at the window interrupted our wireless reverie and Mrs. Jones hustled us out of her car and into Bible class. The rest of the day went back to a headache-inducing buzz of boredom, and I forgot all about talking with Debbie on the CB radio. That night I mounted my top bunk, read with a flashlight until the battery dimmed and woke up very, very late. I could feel something was a bit off. The campus was completely silent, not another soul to be found. I walked around a bit nervously—had aliens abducted everyone else and left me behind?
I walked down the road and could hear voices coming from the hall of worship. Odd. Very odd. I peeked in and one of the nastier camp counselors grabbed me by the elbows, murmuring about "what you've done." Some primitive instinct in me told me to remain silent, and I was hustled off to the office where Debbie, her mother, Mrs. Jones and Reverend Gibbs awaited me. Debbie could not look me in the eye. They told me to sit down and I refused, arms folded across my hot pink halter top. "How could you do this?"
Finally, I relented and said," Do what?" in my most sullen tone.
Only then did I discover that, in the middle of the night, a group of truckers had come in and crashed though the camp gates. When not greeted warmly, they tore up part of the camp until the police came. (In addition to sleeping late, I am also a HEAVY sleeper.) Mrs. Jones was in a lot of trouble, having not been strict enough with me, and Debbie had sold me down the river in record speed, claiming it was all my idea.
I tried to picture these men in their big trucks, yelling out our names. It sounded scary and in no way like the nice, friendly men we were talking to on the CB radio. Mrs. Jones looked pinched and nervous, and Debbie looked guilty as sin, her wild red hair tangled.
I decided silence was my best and only option and dreaded the drive home with my mom, as I was certain to be kicked out of camp on my embroidered ass. Then Reverend Gibbs announced that they were holding a "special service to pray for my soul." Now I was getting pissed off. This sounded REALLY LAME. Once again I was steered back to the hall of worship by my elbow and placed in a chair in the front, not unlike "Exhibit A" in a criminal trial. It all seemed potentially embarrassing, but I DIDN'T CARE.
I had only read about acid in Hunter S.'s neon prose, but this seemed like a really bad trip. People intoned and prayed "for the lost Brenda to once again find her way," and a few people even went up and rededicated themselves to Jesus. There was no way Jesus could have gotten through the enormous block of Artic ice that had formed around my soul, though. Not even with a blow torch and the help of some Goetian demons. I was a goner.
But I couldn’t help but notice that what was becoming known as "the Brenda inviting the truckers to camp incident" was turning into a banner day for Jesus and the camp. I was not a bearded lady, but I was sure selling tickets to this circus. I quickly formulated a plan to try to get myself 86'd ASAP.
When, FINALLY, every other person was "saved" or resaved or whatever, they gave me one last chance to give up my life of sin and run into the loving arms of the savior. I announced to the 300 people present that I "did not need saving" and that I "was agnostic" and wasn't sure I really "believed in God." But here was my ace in the hole: I had read that Emperor Constantine, who had overseen the editing of the bible at the Counsel of Nicene, was a pagan. I decided to fill in the freshly resaved hordes in on that fun fact.
Lacking a cross or pillory, all they could do was march me outside the broken gate of the camp with my beat-up suitcase. To further punish Mrs. Jones, she was assigned to guard me so I did not return to the grounds and infect the rest of the kids with my sinfulness.
Needless to say, I was grounded for the rest of summer, and my mother informed me I was not allowed to go to camp anymore. A month later, we found out about the letter that had been sent out to warn other church camps against me. A copy was sent to our church where my mother was secretary, and she was inconsolable. She couldn’t stop crying and wailing about “the shame I had brought to this house.”
I was secretly flattered by the letter (kind of like a press release, right?) and relieved when my mother said I could stop going to church. But The Incidenthad lit a curiosity in me—I was determined to know which chapters were left out of the bible by Constantine and his early Christian cronies. Thus began my fascination with the apocrypha, particularly those regarding the infancy and childhood of Jesus himself.
I am not alone in this interest, as evidenced below.
If you know Wired magazine, then you might now Nextfest, where all kinds of future technologies are shared with the public (with a hefty admission price of course).
It's amazing where technology is going. Check out this toy robot that makes expressions and has synthetic rubberized skin:
Hanson Robotics
Here's my on-air segment showing off a man and his twin android. Guess which is the real robot:
Now check out Zou Ren Ti and his android:
If that isn't enough you'll want to hear Executive Director of the entire event, Victor Friedberg, who was gracious to grant an interview:
And of course, discussion about a samurai robot:
There's more videos in the article...including with a girl from Yahoo, a NASA-JPL rover that runs over kids, and more.
I'm hoping CNN picks it up. But I think they already did a piece on Hanson Robotics.
Preston Nash had been screaming about his song being jacked by Godsmack. I thought I would try to take the controversy to the next level. That started with posting the ABC23 article today, "Local Radio Personality Angry Over Godsmack Song."
Click on the article and you'll get audio tracks, my appearance on KNZR 1560, and a Digi-cam interview with Nash outside of the 1560 studios.
I followed the article just in time for another episode of Nick 2.0. I just with Rachel 3.0 could make a guest appearance.
I won't let my Captain America article die on the entertainment pages of CNN!
So here is my plug and plead to Bakersfield viewers to come and check out a hero. Besides, as I said, we all need heroes on days like today, whether fictitious or otherwise.
By the way, I hear there is a grisly Rambo trailer online...
So tomorrow I start on-air promotions of ABC23 on the web. I'll promote bands, literature, news articles, whatever really that I think is cool related to www.turnto23.com.
I think I will start a new blog for it titled "Nick 2.0." Should be fun. It was a name supplied to me by Brenda Knight in a funny discussion Sunday night.
I might start a blog up tomorrow under the same name.
In other blog news, one of the blogs I write for ABC23 is called The Newsdesk.
Oh, and the whole sidebar on that blog is a work in progress. If you know of local bands that should be listed, let me know. It's time consuming, but slowly getting there...
Brenda Knight of Red Wheel/Weiser Books and Conari Press has jumped on board the Noveltown blog train. In the short time I've know Knight I've heard some wicked tales. I just hope she shares some of those stories with you Noveltown blog readers.
Knight is an expert on the Beat Generation spiritual books, and a whole lot more.
Her first entry details some of her journey at the 40th anniversary of the Summer of Love. - n.l.
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Summer Lovers – San Francisco, Calif. Brenda Knight bknight@redwheelweiser.com
Last Sunday, 40,000 people commemorated the 40th anniversary of The Summer of Love; a day filled with poetry and song and maybe a little bit of madness. My friend Amanda and I decided to go together. It was going to be her seven-month-old daughter Aya’s first concert. We both wore Beatnik black, and as we dove into the sea of tie dye, we realized we would not have made good hippies. I started to question my choice of footwear a couple of miles in—my platform wedgies were not making the trek up and down 70 degree angled hills any easier. By the fourth mile, one of my feet was bleeding.
I didn’t mind; we were there to represent. We laughed the whole way there and felt excited to be a part of history.
Looking for signs and augers for the day, the first thing we saw upon our arrival was a hippie being carried off on a stretcher. “Hmmmm.’ we both intoned. The next thing we saw was also puzzling; the security was being run by Hell’s Angels. “I guess they forgot about Altamont,” Amanda observed.
Our plan was to take in the vibe of free love and record Beatnik goddess ruth weiss’s reading of a poem she had written for the occasion, “1967.”
Ruth had promised to get us on the VIP list for backstage, but I was a little worried since she had forgotten to confirm with a call on Saturday. When I went up to the will call booth, a mean lady said our names were nowhere on the list and started giving me the bum’s rush. She was all business and was definitely not dispensing any free love.
A slow-moving man in the back of the booth was grabbing up a bundle of yellow strings with which to tie laminates. He seemed to approve of my choice of outfits very much. I saw my chance and waited in his line. I leaned forward a bit to make it easier for him to look down my top and told my sad tale, ending with a rather wheedling, “We really need to be interviewing the poets, man. They’re about to go on stage.” I realized that I could have been speaking in the strange clicking language of the Subsaharan bush men and it wouldn’t have mattered. He looked sideways at Gestapo Woman and deftly slid two laminates to me in a folded piece of paper. As we entered the gate, I was trying to remember my Dante.
The backstage scene was an astonishing array of rock royalty. Wine and beer were flowing freely as well as incense and other strangely scented smoke. I said to Amanda, “There is going to be a lot of really strange hooking up this evening.” It was only a little after “high noon,” but you could just tell that things were going to get crazy. The concept of free love began taking on new meaning for us; we looked at each other and made a pact to get out of there before the going got too weird. I was hearing some deeply strange snatches of conversation as we swept along looking for Ruth, a 4-foot-11 needle in a hippie haystack. One man was giving very detailed instructions on the dispensation of acid on pencils while, next to him, a cameraman filmed actor Willem Dafoe pontificating his politics. There were a whole lot of happy people, though, and I did not see one person who wasn’t smiling. Amanda spied Ruth beside a massive speaker—we rushed over to hug her. She seemed a bit tipsy, but elated. She was due to go on stage in fifteen minutes, so we made a plan to hang out afterward and I went to get a good position for recording Ruth. My laminate also accorded me access inside the barriers with the news crews, and I settled down to enjoy the show. Ruth came on after Country Joe and the Fish’s performance of “Viet Nam.” I remember thinking it was a good thing George W. Bush and Dick Cheney were not there; they had no friends among the Summer Lovers.
Ruth glided onto the stage decked out in a sequined butterfly shirt. It always amazes me that this big voice can come out of this tiny woman. She started off by ululating, “Beast Be a Saint.” I stood right in front of the stage and recorded. Oddly, Amanda, Superbaby and I were the only women inside the barrier. The crowd went wild for her original composition, and Ruth ended with a prophecy of peace. Hot Tuna took the stage, and for a moment I felt like I had traveled back in time.
And maybe I did. Somehow, the recording of Ruth was erased by the tear I had made in the fabric of time. All we could do was laugh and find some shade under the perfect summer sun.
Slammed as unethical, told a local band doesn't hurt for promotion, yet a tape mysteriously arrives at the ABC23 studios promoting the band in question.
Although Baketown is bashing the poor kid who is crossing mountains by foot for love as just being an unemployed loser, I'll just go ahead and take the dreamy approach that love supercedes employment opportunities, welfare checks, and corporate offices.
Love is just what it is. You can't put an employment price tag on it. In most movies do you care about the love story or about whether both characters are employed?
We live in a society (and county) where people lose jobs, pick up the pieces, and move on. Sometimes people don't have jobs. Doesn't mean they're going to stay down and out at all. Personally, I think Staker's commitment to his journey is showing a great work ethic.
I've been unemployed before and in love. So what? Big deal! Besides, CNN keeps begging us for video, so I think people are appreciating this story...
Now that I vented, have a look at the TRAVEL JOURNAL I've put together. I'm calling Staker every few hours to ask him about the latest, then posting on the original story.
In trying to sum up my experience at the Yosemite Writers Conference I thought I’d share a few of the memorable sentiments, phrases and writing advice that really resonated with me.
“Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth,” ~Pablo Picasso, “and that is fiction” ~Ginny Rorby
“Sheroes” (women heroes) ~Brenda Knight
“You can change what people think with your writing.” ~N.L. Belardes
“Social networking is a way to raise awareness.” ~N.L. Belardes
“Write from the heart, write what’s around you, write the truth of hidden history” ~Brenda Knight
“Make writing a practice, make it a priority” ~Kate Gale
“You want to aspire to write great work.” ~Kate Gale
“You have to make your book stand out.” ~Farrin Jacobs
“Write the novel you want to write.” ~Steve Yarborough
“Your voice is important. Use your voice to capture attention for yourself, use your voice as a community service.” ~N.L. Belardes
“It really was inspiring. Felt like the writer's New Year for me.” ~Genevieve Choate
“One of the things you achieve from a point of view character is VOICE.” ~Hallie Ephron
“Movies have ruined more fiction writers.” ~David Morrell
“The most important thing in a book should be tension.” ~Irene Webb
“Be a first rate version of yourself not a second rate version of someone else.” ~David Morrell
“Develop an identity for yourself as a writer.” ~David Morrell
“Never underestimate the emotion of jealousy.” ~Bonnie Hearn Hill
“You can have a literary voice and still tell a good story.” ~Bonnie Hearn Hill
“Writing well is the best revenge.” ~David Morrell
“Always remember the enthusiasm with which the idea struck you.” ~David Morrell
On the same day I got some big news that I can't talk about, one reader slammed me saying I was unethical because I wrote about my kid's band in the article "Local Harry Potter Song Wrocks" and about my Yosemite Writers Conference experiences in the story, "Is Book Publishing Dead" on ABC23.
Harry Potter songs were very newsworthy at the time. That was the biggest book release in the history of book releases in the world, and Potter songs are popular and have their own music genre. I was proud that my kid's band was involved, and who better to write about it? Since I do run a literary press. I'm qualified! That's why MAS and Bakotopia asked for the article to run in their magazines too.
My Yosemite Writers Conference pieces are timely as well, or one of them would not have gotten the traffic it received.
In fact, I didn't go out of my way to promote myself at the conference. That would be tacky. I spoke about the hot topics at hand and only spoke about my book when asked.
I think I do a pretty good job of promoting others. I got my Captain America piece on the CNN homepage yesterday (As well as about 75 broadcast websites). I don't think that was self promotion. And I could list hundreds of articles I've written that promote others.
So why don't people get it? Are there just naysayers out there? People who only pretend to support others to get media attention?
Ahh, it comes down to you can't please everyone. Jealousy in the scene maybe? And that's OK. It's just part of the heat I've been taking since blogging. You gotta have thick skin in this biz. I've heard the same arguments since I began my blog. My philosophy is what Ray Bradbury said when he came to town. He said there is always going to be people who try to ruin your dreams. Push them out of your way, he said. So I did. I told that person to quit writing to me. Although I respect people's opinions, I can't support people who outright slam me. That would be crazy. Who needs that? Ray Bradbury would have run over that person's opinion with his wheelchair.
My answer is for more people to blog, to be the media, to put themselves in positions to help the community they believe in, and to help those close to them who are doing great work, even in if they are in their own families. And yes, to even help themselves when appropriate.
I believe in helping my kid's band. I do write about music don't I? I would take heat if I ignored them.
Now for some self lovin'...
In a sudden bout of feeling self promotional, I was overjoyed that ABC23 reporter Leticia Juarez included my novel in a cameo in her report on earthquake safety tonight! If you want to buy a copy of my book used in this on-air report, go to www.noveltown.net/books and order a copy!
If you haven't been reading my Buzz Bands blog on ABC23, now's the time. You can read me bash the Horrorpops lead psychobilly chick's dress, and see some pics of Korn...
And don't forget the comedy on the Newsdesk blog. You can read about the Light Bulb Nazi, the Mangy Lot Cat and Will Ferrells in the newsroom...
You can also vote on your favorite Bakersfield band. If only 5 people vote, I don't care, I'm still going to air the results on TV.
What's cool about that is the article links up to all the fine folks at the Yosemite Writers Conference. I built a huge sidebar with links, videos, and even the article in the Sierra Star that talks about the blogging panel I was on there.
In today’s world, blogging has become a way of life for many people and corporations. It’s an instantaneous way to connect with people. For writers, blogging should be a natural progression, a promotional tool and a way to personally reach readers and build a fan base.
This year’s Yosemite Writers Conference workshop, “Blogging Your Way to Fame” was taught by N.L. Belardes of ABC23 and Noveltown (noveltown.net/blog), Genevieve Choate of the Fresno Bee and Momologue, and Rik Bollman a Las Vegas writer/blogger and radio host, three individuals for whom blogging is not only a way of life, but a necessary part of being a writer. Three individuals who understood that blogging is not just posting a blog and hoping a handful of anonymous people on the Internet find it and read it. No, blogging is about so much more.
Blogging is about using your voice to capture attention for yourself as a writer and about using your voice as a community service. Blogging is about having a sense of integrity, being humble, and being smart about what you write. Blogging is not about what you ate for lunch, but rather it’s about getting out there in your community and finding original content to write about. Blogging is about having a conversation with people and that is what is truly unique about blogging.
Since blogging is a conversation with people, N.L., Genevieve, and Rik broke panel tradition and had a conversation with the workshop attendees about blogging. Everyone responded and interacted as if we were all sitting around an informal dinner table discussing blogging. For those who were new to the conversation, this method seemed to demystify blogging and make it less daunting. As a blogger myself, I felt this conversational format was most effective.
Gone was all the techy talk and html, instead the discussion centered on how writers can use blogging to build their author platform and a community of readers. By spending time on social networking sites such as myspace.com promoting your blog, book and/or yourself as a writer, by posting compelling content and updating your blog often and through grassroots promotion you can build a fan base and a platform that editors and agents will notice. Belardes stated, “You have to sacrifice time to promote yourself.” He also stressed the importance of having a presence on social networking sites.
Even though Belardes stated that blogging most likely won’t make you famous, he did discuss how blogging could help you get where you want to go as a writer, for you never know who’s reading your blog. In the blogosphere, if you build it they will come. Blogging will grow an audience for your writing.
It was prearranged for me to help people in the workshop immediately sign up for a blog. With laptops available, I was able to answer questions and help a few people sign up at the end of the blogging workshop and later that evening in the Tenaya Lodge Jackalope restaurant. I think it was helpful for those new to blogging to have a computer and a person available to walk them through the process of setting up their blog. Hopefully they will continue their journey into the blogosphere and towards building an audience.
I tried really hard Friday to get CNN to pick up this ABC23 (KERO) story on the creator of Rambo helping to bring Captain America back to life. No go. CNN picked up a plane crash story near here after I tipped them off Friday night. Made top news.
Back to Captain America...
I met up with author of First Blood, David Morrell at the popular Yosemite Writers Conference. Check out this video interview:
Excerpt:
Come Sept. 5, perhaps Captain America can show citizens the way to courage, truth and justice after all.
Captain America is once again entering the consciousness of American popular culture by fighting the war on terrorism in the new six-part action series, “Captain America: The Chosen.”
New York Times best-selling author and creator of Rambo David Morrell has written the stand-alone comic series that follows Captain America’s involvement with a war-tired U.S. marine unit in Afghanistan.
Yet the question remains about the fate of America’s superhero, Steve Rogers, a k a, Captain America. Earlier this year in issue No. 25, Rogers was killed on courthouse steps in New York City.
According to Morrell, the new series pre-dates the superhero’s fictitious death and takes place in a separate Marvel Comics universe.
ABC23 managing editor Nick Belardes spoke with David Morrell at the premiere Yosemite Writers Conference to discuss Morrell’s dive into the world of Marvel Comics.
“I was called by Marvel Comics about two years ago and they thought it would be interesting if the creator of Rambo did a piece about Captain America,” Morrell said.
