Jumping Trains by J J Dare

“How many trains have you jumped in your life?”

These nine little words gave me pause. For the past week, I’ve been alternately obsessing, compulsing and nonchalanting. Yeah, I know, I’m adding my own words to the dictionary. I kind of roll that way. Scrabble becomes a new game when I play.

It’s been a restless sort of week. I’ve been blowing hot and cold on a lot of things. One thing I locked on that helped get me back to my normal chaos was my country music roots.

I grew up with the country greats. This week I’m jumping on a familiar train with Cash, Campbell and Cline. As a writer, particularly as a short story one, I love a quick tale with a punch that leaves you breathless. A good song tells a story in the space of a few minutes. A good country song tells the story and leaves you misty-eyed.

I’ve talked about how music effects my writing. Most of my thrillers were written under the influence of hard rock. Avenged Sevenfold, Godsmack, Finger Eleven, and Seether were a few of the bands shaping the words I put on paper. They were heavy, dark and desperate and exactly what I needed for what I was writing.

I still love me some primal music in the form of hard rock. I love the stories good music tells. But, I’m drifting back to the original balladeers from the hills. These folks turned every day events into extraordinary happenings.

My current obsession is with Glen Campbell’s “Wichita Lineman.” It is a timeless human nature story of loneliness and love. With only a few words, Jimmy Webb wrote a powerful story about missing the one you love.

Most of us will leave a mark before we jump our last train. Song writers and singers never really die. Neither do we, the writers of today. I’m glad to be a member of this immortality club because I know that after I’m dust, my words will live forever.

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J J Dare is the author of two published books, several short stories and triple digit works-in-progress.

Current enthusiasm is sharpening intangible knives and co-authoring at Rubicon Ranch

Facebook addiction

Broken Finger Syndrome by J J Dare

Better than a palm smack to the forehead, I’ve come up with a surefire way to prevent future writing embarrassments and shameful literary episodes. It’s called Broken Finger Syndrome. Posters, pens and stickers coming soon

Live Long and Don’t Cut Your Finger

I don’t literally break my own fingers, although at times I probably should. Instead, I figuratively give myself broken finger syndrome. Sometimes it’s the only way to stop me from writing when  I shouldn’t.

Heaven

Case in point: I don’t need to write when I’m under the influence of grandmahood. Although warm and fuzzy has its place in literature, it doesn’t belong in a gruesome murder-mystery. Grandmahood prevents me from writing those sharp scenes dripping with terror. I devolve into Care Bears and unicorns and cotton candy clouds.

I love the night life, I got to boogie . . .

Another time I should not touch my keyboard is late at night. I write my best when the house is quiet but lately night is not a quiet time. Late night has become the middle of the day for some folks in my household.

Cup says it all

Caffeine can be a bad thing when it comes to writing. I’ll get started on a story and speed through it like a cheetah. Even though I like what I’m writing as I go, the next day I might look at it and think, O M G, did I really write that?

On a different, yet similar note, writing while under the influence of (prescription) drugs may work for some (Mary Shelly, Poe, etc.), but not for me. I was due for my part in a collaboration and quickly wrote out what I thought was a shining chapter after taking medication for my pulled back.

It was so full of holes, Swiss cheese was jealous. Thankfully, the collaboration’s conductor gently pointed out how screwed up I’d made my chapter. She was much nicer to me than I was to myself. My butt still hurts from the kicking I gave it.

A serious lack of sleep is as bad as drinking or drugs. There’s a point during sleep deprivation that you believe you’re Superman. If I write during this time, it ends up reading more like a super villain’s not-so-bright sidekick than a superhero.

In conclusion, I’ve given myself permission to use Broken Finger Syndrome – BFS – when it’s in the literary world’s best interest that I temporarily cease writing.  You’re welcome, Great World of Literature.

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J J Dare is the author of two published books, several short stories and triple digit works-in-progress.

Current enthusiasm is sharpening intangible knives and co-authoring at Rubicon Ranch

Facebook addiction

The Day of the Trickster by J J Dare

The first day in April is a silly day. If this day had a spokesperson, it would be Monty Python’s Flying Circus (“Nudge, nudge! Know what I mean? Say no more! A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind bat, say no more, say no more”).

The origin of April Fool’s Day is obscured by this and that, but a good lead suggests it started as a farmer’s festival in ancient Rome around 230 BC. This festival, Saturnalia, was named for Saturn, the Roman God of Agriculture. It was a way for the people to cut loose after a long harvest season.

According to what we know about the old days in Rome, these guys and their mythological gods loved to party. During the Feast of Saturnalia, roles were reversed. The master served the servant, the parents obeyed the children, executions were cancelled with a laugh and pat on the back, cats pretended to be rabbits, and, for the most part, the shoe was on the other person’s foot for awhile. Silliness ran rampent.

Silly Cat-Rabbit

Although April Fool’s Day can be loosely traced to the Feast of Saturnalia, pranksters have been around since the beginning of time. The Romans upped the ante and it snowballed into what we recognize today as a time to get away with bending the truth. As long as we do it in the spirit of fun, we’ll be forgiven. Of course, don’t try this if you’re attempting to get out of a speeding ticket. Trust me, it doesn’t work.

Sometimes the holiday can be taken a little too far. There are numerous accounts of hoaxes and pranks throughout time and if I start talking about them, we’ll be here all day. Instead, I limited myself to four of the more notorious literary fibs from this century.

James Frey’s “A Million Little Pieces” hit the bookshelves with a bang in 2003. The sad memoir of a young substance abuser, this tale (and I use the word “tale” very specifically) was on the New York Times Best Seller’s list for almost four straight months. Only after The Smoking Gun published an article entitled “A Million Little Lies,” which pointed out the falsehoods in Frey’s recollections, did the “memoir” become “semi-ficitonal.” Great. One more category in book genres to keep up with. What next?

“Three Cups of Tea” by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin was published in 2007 and stayed on the NY Time’s nonfiction best seller’s list for a long time. Too bad this account of one man’s journey to make a difference in the lives of young children from Afghanistan and Pakistan was overshadowed by fictious accounts touted as true events and mismanagement of the charitable institution that sprang from the book. Was co-author Relin’s suicide last November because of all the controversy? Who knows? One thing for certain is Jon Krakauer’s rebuttal book, “Three Cups of Deceit,” did not help matters.

“Honor Lost,” an account of life in Jordan by Norma Khouri, debuted to sensational acclaims shortly after publication in 2003. While the story of two star-crossed lovers has played out through time immortal, this one was not true. In fact, it was a bald-faced lie. The relationship between a Muslim woman and a Catholic man is ficitonal but was sold as a true story by the author who was the supposed go-between for the lovers. The eventual “honor killing” of the girl by her enraged family is also false. Khouri admitted her deceit after she was caught in the lie. While these types of executions still happen in modern times, for Khouri to exploit this type of tradegy for profit was shameful.

Last, but not least, here’s one that was stopped at the gate before trotting into the Field of Books. “Angel at the Fence” by Herman Rosenblat was the “true” love story between an inmate in the Schlieben concentration camp and a Jewish girl pretending to be a Christian who saved his life by supplying  him with food thrown over a fence. They later met in the States on a blind date and, surprise, surprise, discovered their shared history (ehh, only a little bit true. The truth: they met on a blind date). Although Rosenblat was at Schlieben during the Holocaust, the account of a brave, selfless act by a young girl was fictitious as she was on a farm over two hundred miles away. Once the facts were discovered to be false, publication was cancelled in 2008.

“Secret to Immortality,” rare Japanese document I found in a bottle someone had tossed in the ocean. Bidding starts at $2.5 million. April Fool’s! For all I know, this is someone’s grocery list my dad picked up in Tokyo after the war.

I’m really glad I write fiction. As a teller of tall tales, I can get away with just about anything. Unless I’m a Cohen brother and the script’s name is “Fargo,” if I label something I write as the truth, I sure as shooting flying pigs better be able to back it up with facts. Unless, of course, it’s April Fool’s Day.

By the way, did I tell you I’m in the running for a Pulitzer?

Snort. April Fool’s

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J J Dare is the author of two published books, several short stories and triple digit works-in-progress.

Current enthusiasm is sharpening intangible knives and co-authoring at Rubicon Ranch

Facebook addiction

Five Easy Body Pieces by J J Dare

“Dismembering the human body in five steps” is one of many terms I use when researching books I’m writing. One day I can see this getting me into trouble.

While “the amount of blood in a human body” won’t send up any red flags, I know I landed on some government entity’s radar when I tried to find out “location for black market cheap plutonium.” Yeps, these types of searches will have the Men in Suits knocking at my door.

To be fair, I go to Wikipedia for most information. It doesn’t have to be completely accurate; it only needs to be believable.  I’m not about to cross the line into the dark abyss of internet anarchists. I don’t want to be labeled as a threat to national security. And I don’t want to be responsible for the recipe for a homemade disaster.

Writing mysteries and thrillers, especially spy and terrorist thrillers, involves getting down in the trenches. A few of the places I’ve found information have been, in the words of one of my kids, “sketchy.” When I hit those dives in the dark corners of the Internet, I get my stuff then quickly and quietly run away.

While Dexter makes dismembering a human body look easy, that’s not actually the case. It can be done, quickly and efficiently, but a human body is not exactly like a chicken. I won’t go into detail; suffice to say, the three steps in the title refer to a chainsaw and a big old mess.

“Robbing Fort Knox” won’t win me any medals. Neither will “at what temperature do eyeballs freeze solid.” I doubt “fastest acting poison” and “lethal amount of absinthe” will get me in trouble, as long as no one around keels over.

My ISP probably wonders about me.

I know so many authors who write about the intimate details of military operations, coups and terrorist attacks. I have to wonder if they also look over their shoulders when they research material for their books.

How about you? When you look for answers on the Internet, does a small part of you keep waiting for the authorities to bang on your door as you type away?

When you read a book, do you ever wonder where the writer found his technical material? Ever wonder if the author might know some of this stuff firsthand? Scary

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J J Dare is the author of two published books, several short stories and triple digit works-in-progress.

Current enthusiasm is sharpening intangible knives and co-authoring at Rubicon Ranch

Facebook addiction

Bad Wasps by J J Dare

We’re getting close to the end of Rubicon Ranch: Necropieces, the second book in the Rubicon series. As I wrap up my deeply flawed characters, I have time to reflect on their behavior.

They’re bad. Bad to the bone. Bad in ninety-five percent of their molecular makeup. If an ice-cream flavor was named after them, it would be “Vinegar and Vinegar” and it would taste just as sour as it sounds.

They are evil, narcissistic, self-centered, selfish and plain mean. Both characters think nothing of climbing over the living and dying bodies of anyone in their way. They are Bad Wasps.

So, why did I write them this way? It’s not a reflection of me. I’m fairly mild, with only a bit of flair once in a while. And I’ve never wanted to murder my parents

Pops and Moms

or my brother, although he did chase me down the street one time when I ran away in protest of a nap. It was terrifying for a four-year old to hear the thwump, thwump of an angry sibling’s running feet hitting the sidewalk as he raced to catch me.

Bro and Sis back in the day

Even though I write from the view of a soldier in some of my books, I’ve never shot anyone or fired a cannon at an approaching enemy (although I’ve thought about it from time to time).

We don’t need no stinking guns . . .

Of course, part of my heredity includes the lawmen and the lawless. I can pull from both sides although I, myself, am fairly law-abiding (except when I get in my car – speed “limits” limit my ability to go faaaaaaast).

Don’t shoot him, Paw Paw. Oh, what the heck, go ahead. Shoot

My characters don’t reflect the true me or, for the most part, the me I fantasize I am at times.  Without a qualm, I can make a bad-asp character who behaves like an asp. After all, it’s all in my mind.

And what a kaleidoscope my mind can be. In the next installment of Rubicon Ranch, I’ll introduce a new emotion to one of my Sinclair characters – love. But, love with a twist because when you look up “dysfunctional” in the dictionary, you find the entire Sinclair family tree.

As I’ve said before, writing a straight line is boring. I’ll always choose the zig-zagged, crooked path because it’s infinitely more interesting.

J J Dare is the author of two published books, several short stories and triple digit works-in-progress.

Current enthusiasm is sharpening intangible knives and co-authoring at Rubicon Ranch

Facebook addiction

Waking the Sleeping Writer by J J Dare

“When are you going to start writing again?” a friend asked me a few weeks ago. The question didn’t catch me by surprise since I am well aware I’ve been neglecting my written creations for the past few years. But, I have the feeling I’m in the process of waking from my writing coma.

Nightlife in NYC (and in my mind)

My many half-finished works gave up on me and I fear they are on the edge of a coup. I strongly suspect they are the ones who killed my laptop in an effort to get my attention.

Surf’s up

It worked. I’ve opened a few documents and started editing. In a strange twist, I found five partially written manuscripts and, when combined, these five made two complete novels.

I’m thinking about my short stories. Since shorts are my strong point, I need to heed the advice I was given three years ago and combine them into a collection.

Acrobatic dragonfly

The sleeping dragonfly is waking up. Excuse me while I dive headfirst into these mischievous manuscripts.

J J Dare is the author of two published books, several short stories and triple digit works-in-progress.

Current enthusiasm is sharpening intangible knives and co-authoring at Rubicon Ranch

Facebook addiction

Perpetual Motion by J J Dare

The perpetual motion of life is an interesting state of being. Even when we’re inert, such as in couch potato mode, life doesn’t stop revolving around us. Here’s how my life has twirled lately:

At home after the parade: The Boy & his Mardi Gras loot

The baby’s first Mardi Gras parade was last night. It was a small parade, kind of like a starter parade for him until he’s older and graduates to the wild and woolly ones in New Orleans. He hated it. The bands made him cry and the lights scared him. The father of a two-year old standing next to us said it takes awhile. The two-year old looked slightly bored. Regardless, it’s something The Boy will get used to – it’s in our blood to celebrate Mardi Gras loud and proud.

White Devil: caught!

The White Devil amused us for awhile when he jumped into a narrow box and couldn’t figure how to get out. Even though he’s so mean to the other animals in the house, I couldn’t let him suffer for long; how could I resist those eyes? After a few minutes I tipped the box over and let him crawl out with his kitty pride intact.

Soft lights of the city late at night

Late the other night, I was driving out of town and the mist on my windshield made the streetlights and stoplights soft and fuzzy. It served a dual purpose by making the song “Sister Christian” stick in my mind and reminding me I need to up the prescription in my glasses.

Other events:

A friend is divorcing her husband of ten years and was trying to figure the best way to tell her two young children that everything will be okay. She was emotionally bombed more by having to explain that Mommy and Daddy are divorcing than by the divorce itself. I gave her the only thing I can in situations like this: a sounding board. When my friend and her children’s father explained what was going on, her oldest child said, “Okay,” and went back to a game he was playing and the youngest asked if this meant he would get two deserts, one from each parent, after supper every night. Kids.

Another friend told me of a mutual friend’s recent accident. He was on the interstate and a board flew out of the truck ahead of him. He veered to the right to avoid it and ran into the car in the lane beside him. Had he veered to the left, he would have driven along the shoulder and not suffered a broken body that will take a long time and many operations to repair. But, he is alive and will heal and the other driver suffered only bruises. The jerk in the truck sped away. My friend and I talked about the split second choices we make so often during the course of a normal day and how these choices could easily turn a normal day into a devastating one. During my own life, I’ve tried to follow my own intuition – instead of ignoring the nagging in my head (go left – not right; turn on the next street – not this one; back up your files now – nah, don’t worry about it ‘cause your laptop won’t completely quit).

My laptop is still dead. Oh, woe is me. Although there are three computers in the house, I was incredibly lazy with a laptop. I could take it anywhere, including the couch in front of the television, and I could multitask. Of course, this was not always good when I was trying to write. I’m easily distracted at times. Now, I have to use a desktop in a dedicated area with no television and a door that shuts everyone out. Yay is me. I found a plus side to a laptop death.

I’m cycling through the writing phase again. I feel something creeping up and scratching at my creativity door. “Tell the story,” the insidious muse is whispering through a crack in the wood. “I’m too busy,” I reply. “You have time to do everything else. Let me in.” Since my own muse terrifies me at times, I think I’ll get back to some of my WIPs.

The world is perpetual chaos. Well, at least in my world. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. Sometimes the chaos is happy chaos (weddings, births, frozen yogurt runs); sometimes it’s not so good. We’re not wired to live in a perfect state. Perfection, like absinthe, should be handled in small sips.

From my kids at Christmas. My family keeps me grounded in life

The bedlam in the lives of my characters mirrors my own life far too often, but, the chaos of perpetual motion is my drug of choice. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now, it’s off to my next line of mischief. My grandson sounds like a raptor when he yells (and he yells when his diaper’s wet or his belly’s empty). We tell him his raptor buddies aren’t coming to save him but I think it’s time for him to learn something new. Since I taught my granddaughter a short bit from “Superstar,” I’ll teach my grandson the head bob from “Night at the Roxbury.” It’s never too early to learn classic cult movie scenes and who knows? Maybe his first words will be, “What is Love?”

Hehehe.

© SNL Studios SUPERSTAR!

J J Dare is the author of two published books, several short stories and triple digit works-in-progress.

Current enthusiasm is sharpening intangible knives and co-authoring at Rubicon Ranch

Facebook addiction

When the Ink Runs Dry by J J Dare

My laptop is terminally ill. It’s suffering from a 7-beep sickness and will only turn on one time out of twenty. Dell explains this as a CPU failure. Investigating further, I discovered it’s not so much the CPU as it is a motherboard issue. Delving deeper, I uncover the true culprit: cheap and shoddy soldering.

I backed everything on discs during one of the rare times it came on this past weekend and now I’m totally reliant on my ancient and very slow desktop. I fancy myself Dr. I-Can-Fix-It and as such, I’ll attempt laptop surgery soon. However, my alter ego is Serial Appliance/Electronic Killer, so I give my laptop a 30% survival chance.

Since it takes fives times as long to do anything on my dinosaur desktop, I took a break from computer stuff and found other things to do. I finally watched some shows I’d recorded: Emily Owens, Haven, Keeping Up Appearances, WKRP, The Middle. Eventually, nervous energy turned into crafty projects and funny baby pictures.

Pink puff quilt pre-stuffed

This is a puff/biscuit/bubble quilt I’m making for my granddaughter. Above is before it was stuffed. I finally had time to add the filling yesterday.

Stuffed like a holiday turkey

I had fun with my grandson, took goofy pictures of him and basked in the miracle of life for awhile.

I think, therefore I am . . . hungry

And another as he  spies something surprising.

What the heck is it?

I finished off the weekend starting a few teeny car seat covers. I just need to add trim around the edges. Me, finishing something I start. What a novel approach to life.

Go, Mike!

Writing is so much like sewing. I have a vision of the completed project and then I go step-by-step until it’s finished. Over the past few years, though, most of my writings have stalled midway (or at the pre-stuffed stage).

While sidelined without a laptop, I kept thinking about all of my unfinished writing projects. “If you come on, I promise I’ll finish something,” I told my silent writing partner this morning.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. Not the answer I wanted to hear. I’m about to perform open-circuit surgery and hope my patient pulls through. If not, I’ll be back to my dinosaur desktop and more artsy crafts.

(Any typos are because of grandson-holding and one-handed typing)

J J Dare is the author of two published books, several short stories and triple digit works-in-progress.

Current enthusiasm is sharpening intangible knives and co-authoring at Rubicon Ranch

Facebook addiction

A Gentler Year by J J Dare

The main characters in my writings tend to be reprobates, sinners with tarnished wings, saints with broken crosses, unrepentant narcissists, manipulators and malcontents. These are the bad boys and girls of my literary world.

I’ve occasionally self-analyzed myself about this tendency to write from the viewpoint of characters who are deeply flawed. I like to think my flaws are rather superficial and haven’t burrowed too deeply into my psyche, but when I think about how horrible some of my characters are, I have to wonder about myself.

My writing is based on the real world as I see, experience and understand it. When I ask myself the eternal writer’s question of “What if,” I base the answer (which influences how I write) on what bad things might really happen. While I’ll still write about death, disorder, murder and mystery, I’m making 2013 the year I slowly turn over a different colored leaf.

I’ll try to write more often about life and less about death. Although death is a part of life, for too many years it has dominated mine. I’m ready to drive in a direction I rarely take. A new baby in the house is persuading me to write about the power of life.

Mommaw’s one-handed typing with The Boy supervising

Of course, this doesn’t mean I’ll start writing romances. Ughh. No. Or if I do, they’ll be so offbeat you’ll have to really read between the lines to see it as a love story. But, I may try.

I’ll probably finish some of the straight fiction I’ve been working on for, uhm, many years. I might finally get to the bottom of this four-foot tall pile of unfinished literary symphonies.

One more resolution I have for this New Year is to compile several works-in-progress into an anthology. Fun times ahead

So, in honor of my resolutions to drive down different literary roads and to actually finish old projects, I’ll leave you with a piece I wrote:

Too by JDL

J J Dare is the author of two published books, several short stories and triple digit works-in-progress.

Current enthusiasm is sharpening intangible knives and co-authoring at Rubicon Ranch

Facebook addiction

Balancing on the Beam by J J Dare

These past few days have been slightly more chaotic than my usual hectic weekends (and weekdays). I’m juggling sharing a car with my daughter while her car is out of commission for the next few weeks, I’m hosting Baby Boy’s grandfather from Arizona, I’m helping a kid move into an apartment, and all of the usual daily stuff involved in keeping a house, working, and helping with baby, cats and a dog.

Sometimes, I feel like a spinning dreidel. This weekend, definitely. From one thing to the next, these past few days have been non-stop. As I type this blog post, I’m doing it one-handed while holding a sleeping baby.

It’s amazing how quickly you learn to negotiate daily life with only one functioning arm. I’ve learned that I  can do almost anything one-handed. Occasionally, I’m not only one-handed, but I’m holding the bottle with my chin. I am the Cirque du Soleil of Baby World.

The cats and dog have been slightly miffed since the baby’s birth. None of the animals are number one, two and three anymore. There are two camps in my house now: Team Four-legged Daybreakers or Team Sweet Baby Nightwalker.

Baby Boy is nocturnal and his mother has the night shift, while I have the morning/day shift. Baby Boy’s father gets him for a couple of hours in the evening so we can take a few deep breaths.

Raising a child takes a village or at least a smitten grandmother. It’s similar to writing a book. When I write, instead of a child, I’m raising a story. Instead of a smitten grandparent, I’m an obsessed writer. The village consists of my editor, proofreader, publisher and readers.

When I’m writing, there are times I’m going here and there and trying to tie up all loose ends. I write on the fly, so chaos is my normal mode of operations. If I get stuck (like a car breaking down), I stop and try to fix what’s wrong.

Writing and raising children. So many differences, so many similarities.

And now for something different and long overdue:

I feel like I’m cheating on my pets. They are no longer Number One on my lap. Out of guilt, I promised to make them famous on WordPress, so here goes:

Neglected ( or so they think) Pet Collage

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J J Dare is the author of two published books, several short stories and triple digit works-in-progress.

Current enthusiasm is sharpening intangible knives and co-authoring at Rubicon Ranch