I just emailed a proposal for two books to my agent. I'm hoping she thinks it's absolutely perfect as-is and that I'm shopping for my private yacht by the end of the week.

Today's office was the Ocean Beach Pier Cafe, which is that little white speck at the end of the pier.



I was able to pick up bunches of wireless signals, even a couple from Crystal Pier in Pacific Beach, miles and miles away. I wonder if all that open water with no buildings in the way makes the signals bounce or something. Anyway, I couldn't actually sign onto any of those networks, not even the one for the cafe, but it was just as well, because it meant I spent less time websurfing and more time watching the surf.

They weren't really set up as a coffee joint. More as a quaint and salty breakfast/lunch joint. The waitress wasn't quite sure what to do with me in the nearly empty room. She even offered me a refill of coffee, which is so unlike a coffee joint that I'm afraid I stared at her for a while in utter confusion. Ultimately she brought me some water, and I think that satisfied her.



And apropos of nothing, man, I wish I lived on this street in Dana Point:

Rush!

Yes, I saw Rush again, last night, in Irvine. This time Lisa got to go, and we used the occasion of the show to have a leisurely drive up the Pacific Coast Highway between San Clemente and Laguna Beach.

In San Clemente a guy in traffic got me to roll down my window and asked if we were, in fact, on the Pacific Coast Highway, and if it would take him to Irvine. I told him we were, in fact, on PCH, and that even though we'd never taken this route, we believed it went to Irvine, as that's where we were headed. Even though the show wasn't for another five hours and we were probably only an hour away from Irvine, and Irvine's a city of almost 200K people and there are many reasons to go there that have nothing to do with Rush, he held up his Rush baseball hat with a questioning look, and then we hung devil's horns and screamed "RUSH!!!" at each other until traffic separated us.

The show was quite terrific. Of course. Even though the crowd was kinda lame. I mean, who sits during Neil Peart's drum solo? Who sits through "Natural Science," for crying out loud???!!

I did quite a bit of head banging, which aggravated my sore shoulder which I made sore last weak by sitting. I'd call this a sign of aging, only I've been doing stuff like this for decades.

The fact that I've been doing this for decades -- 21 years of Rush shows -- now that's a sign of age.

***

On the way up we stopped at a very nice coffee joint in Dana Point, where I finished a draft of a proposal for two books. I used Scrivener for this, and I loved how easy it was to juggle notes, an outline, a synopsis for each of the two books, sample chapters, and be able to quickly display and reference the short story these books are based on. I might try to draft the first book this way. Assuming somebody buys the books.

So tired. Rush show was awesome, fun time had by all. Bought a tour shirt, my first since "Hold Your Fire" in 1988. That one was a flimsy, long, narrow tube with sleeves, like a t-shirt made for asparagus. This one is very much more shirt-like.

Since there was miraculously no traffic between San Diego and LA, I never once had to dip below 70mph and made it to Culver City with time to spare, which I used productively at a coffee joint to do some outlining-type stuff on the new novel.

In the news, a teacher is accused of wizardry for making a toothpick disappear.

Starting a new book!

Just tippy-typing some notes so far, actually.

I'm at a very pleasant coffee joint in Pacific Beach. I like this neighborhood. It's far enough north from Garnet Ave. that it might not be full of bar-hopping knuckleheads at night. And I can see ocean when I look down the street. Definitely an area to check out when the current lease runs dry in a few months.

I do not have a complete draft of my YA novel, but I have typed the first word of the first scene (the) and the last word of the last scene (laughed), and all the words in between. The reason why this doesn't constitute a first draft for me is because if I sent it out in the world in this shape, even to trusted first readers, it would die. The lungs are hanging on by mere threads. The heart is sewn onto the elbow.

So, what's required now is what they used to call meatball surgery on M*A*S*H. It's not polish and perfection. It's more stuff like, if the heroes employ a mummy in the climax to save the day, I have to actually go back and write in a mummy for them to employ.

This is a dangerous time for me. The language is clunky, the characters inconsistent, some of the plot business completely nonsensical, and not being able to fix all these things before people read the draft can push me pretty far out on the ledge of shame and despair. But I don't have time to fix all these things. I only have time to shove the heart into the chest cavity and hit it with my fist and scream, "Live, damn you, live!" Alan Alda-style.

I haven't been posting many pics of writing from the coffee joint because I've seriously curtailed my coffee joint visits. I have this crazy, nutty dream of writing for a living someday, and though I'm nowhere near that point, it seems like it'd be smart to make sure writing isn't actually costing me money. So far this year, I'm still in the black.

Not having had a good writing weekend, I desperately required a productive morning. It was reasonably productive, thanks to the mojo of my trusty "A T.Rex Named Sue" coffee mug.



I said the day that my new Threadless Loch Ness Impostor t-shirt arrived would be the happiest day of my life. It just arrived, and I have to say, I'm pretty happy.



Lastly, this octopus mosaic in Pacific Beach has been making me happy for months.



Anything making you happy?

I've been going to my current kung fu school since October, and not ever, not even once, have I stopped in at the donut shop a few storefronts down. But, oh, god, did I want a jelly-filled sugar raised today.

ETA: I think I left this unintentionally ambiguous. I bypassed the jelly-filled donut. I still have had no donut, and I feel I should be given a black belt for my sacrifice.

***

Writing.

Not liking the writing much this morning, but no complaints about the coffee joint.

Getting back on track with the book after several days away. I've been working at home instead of coffee joints, mostly in the interest of saving money, but made an exception today. I'm up at the E Street Café in Encinitas, which has nice, big tables, free WiFi, accessible electrical outlets (mainly because I brought my own extension cord), and a beach.



A few of the beach, with giant shelled ocean bugs:

Encinitas - March 20, 2008

DIE YOU FUCKING ANTS EVERY SQUIGGLY ONE OF YOU DIE DIE DIE DIIIIIIIIIIEE!!!!!!!!!

***

Other than that, though, it's been a rather excellent day. One of the best things about moving from Phoenix is now there's a whole entire city to discover. A whole city! With stuff in it! That I don't know what it is or where it's been put! Previous to coming here to live, my experience with San Diego was limited to a few family trips to Sea World or the zoo and a couple of Comic-Cons. But it's turning out to be so much more than Shamu and asphyxiation from too many Doom Patrol fans.

Today we had lunch (me with a pork chile Colorado and a Negra Modelo, Lisa with a lobster enchilada/fish taco combo) in University Heights, yet another nifty neighborhood full of neat coffee joints, restaurants, and cottages. Back in the early 1900's, the area was an ostrich farm, so there's lots of ostrich iconography all about. All the houses are built upon an ancient ostrich burial ground, and so on.



Afterwards we made the short drive to Midtown for snackage and work at Eclipse Chocolat, where I had a latte with super-special caramel made from sugar imported from the Hollow Earth.

I read the last 50 or so pages of my book, and though the last ten or so are rocky (major characters introduced and lots of exposition to get across), I encountered nothing fatal, so I just have to keep on writing.

The last couple of days have been good, too. Had burger and beers and ice cream shakes at Hodad's in Ocean Beach with the visiting Jackie and Chris, and then got to hang with Jackie more at Rebecca's. It's nice to be social. Even with Jackie.

I think I'm going to eat some wings now, washed down with hooligan beer.

Hope your Saturday's been good!

I woke up ridiculously early this morning and couldn't fall back asleep, so instead of staring at the ceiling, I brewed coffee and sat down to write. I could actually hear my neighbor in the adjoining apartment snoring. Either she was sleeping in her living room, or her snores go through at least two walls. Headphones on, Beatles Master Mix iTunes Playlist set to random, and she went away.

Having done a lot of writing in coffee joints, I've gotten used to working with auditory distractions around me. But yesterday we were walking along Pacific Beach and I spotted a guy typing away on the second floor of the condo in the photo below. At that height, with all those windows, he has an amazing view of the beach. On a clear day, he can see from Mexico to the cliffs of La Jolla, and out over the Pacific for mile after mile.

I wonder if I could work with a view like that. I sure wouldn't mind finding out.



My much more modest view:

I'm an apartment dweller and don't have the freedom to paint my walls, much less install a wind turbine to power my television or solar panels to heat my water. I can't install a system that will enable me to drink my purified pee. But I do want to do the little things that will help me be less of a polluting, consuming, outgassing blight upon the face of the Earth, and the Green Apartment blog seems like it might have some useful tips for people in my situation. If you know of any other good resources like this, or better ones, please let me know? Thanks.

***

"The 27 bones of the hand rattle around inside a glove of skin and fluids."

YouTube clip of a guy karate chopping a brick in slow motion.

(Via the head instructor from my old Kung Fu school, which I'm missing more than ever, partially because we did no breaking.)

***

Clip of a dude attempting a handstand on a running treadmill (via affinity8).

***

Giving myself a May 1 deadline for the current book. If I don't make it, I'm a lamer.

When I was a kid, I liked dirt. We lived on a two-house lot in Venice, California, my parents and my brother and I renting the little front house, and my grandparents renting the little back house. Between the two houses, we had a palm tree, the Bin of Spiders and Forgotten Wood, a cage that sometimes held pigeons and for a while held a pheasant, and dirt.

I liked to dig holes. Digging holes was a good way to access more dirt. The dirt contained small treasures: stones, fragments of chalk, worms, last year's Hot Wheel, mummified cat poo. But if these archaeological treasures were the message and dirt was the medium, I was a media kid. It was about the dirt. The UPS-brown sand, the way it turned into loamy soup with the addition of water, the deeply satisfying moist, packable mud.

I know we had other kids in my neighborhood. I was aware they existed. Sometimes I heard the noises they made as they conducted their activities or whatever. Sometimes I even encountered them. But they were largely irrelevant, as they were not entirely made of dirt. It wasn't their fault. I no longer blame them for being other than dirt.

The stuff at the bottom of my coffee cup is rather dark and thick this morning.

Shaq debuted with the Suns last night against the Lakers. I thought he looked good. He was moving well, hustling, diving on the floor for loose balls, and if he's not the dominant monster in the middle any more, he's still a monster. The Suns seemed out of sync with him in the offense, but they've only had a few practices together, and it'll take a while for them to get used to each other.

But, man, it's weird not rooting against Shaq. I used to hate Shaq. Now I'm laughing at all his press conference quips. Oh, that Shaq, he's a pistol!

Sports are so weird.

***

I am angry. I am angry at my writing for not being better. I think it owes me.

Stupid writing. This synopsis is starting to get worse with each new draft.

Maybe if I change the font...

Oh, god, the coffee's not working. The coffee's not working!!

Dead flower edition, because I'm feeling emo:

Scott Kerkmans is Chief Beer Officer for the Four Points by Sheraton hotel chain. His job is to drink beer and choose craftbrew selections for the chain's bars and restaurants.

The basement of his house is crammed full of fine beer. He mostly works at home.

"Something just seems a little bit wrong about drinking beer at 8 in the morning, every morning, for me, so I often will wait until about 10 on the mornings that I'm tasting. Not to say that there's anything wrong with having a beer for breakfast. I do that sometimes, too," Kerkmans says.

(Read story at NPR.)

***

I've been harassing some of my writer friends for tips on synopsis writing. I should have known that jaylake (Jay Lake) would have covered the topic thoroughly in his journal: Synopsis writing, according to Jay.

And I've been getting wonderfully generous tips and advice and examples from my other victims colleagues as well. I love my colleagues. Maybe I've got the best job in America. (Except for the lack of living wage part, of course.)

Finally, somebody, somewhere, understands my needs: Possibly the world's biggest coffee cup.

My synopsis still needs some work.

I need to go downstairs to the laundry and see if my pants are dry.

What do you need?

Hey, in celebration of Valentine's Day, they're giving away free shots at Starbucks.

Of espresso, I mean. If you find out where they're giving away free shots of Jäger, let me know.

***

Another reason I like Steve Nash (yes, it's a man crush): He's got a new Nike shoe coming out. It's made from factory scraps. It's called the Trash Talk.

***

I am a song binger. Current binge is a two-song loop of I Was Wrong (Social Distortion), and Infected (Bad Religion), with a bit of snacking on Los Angeles Is Burning. How's that for romance?

***

A lot of ants died last night. Baited traps seemed to do a pretty good job. I'll lay down some more today to let them know I'm serious. I am serious.

***

At most of the martial arts schools I've trained at, it's considered a no-no to ask when you're going to learn or do a particular thing. You're supposed to be patient and concentrate on what you're learning now, not what you're going to learn later. Be respectful of your current material. So I've been trying to be subtle about asking my fellow students when we get to start sparring.

At my Shaolin Kenpo school, we started sparring at orange belt (the third rank). At my old Kung Fu school, we started sparring on our second day of class. At my new Kung Fu school, apparently, we start sparring at fourth level.

I'm a first level.

I CAN'T WAIT THAT LONG TO SLAP A PUNK!

I'm just kidding. Mostly.

I really do miss sparring.

Tiny little perching pterosaurs.



***

Turning off my AirPort seems to have helped my productivity these last two days. Not so much helping with the gig-searching.

Two more pages to hit my day's goal, though. Off it goes for now.

Nothing's been formally scheduled yet, but my editor (whom I'm already adoring, btw) says Norse Code will probably be released in Summer '09. At least that's the current plan. In some ways that seems so far down the road, but I'm sure once I'm in the midsts of revisions and proofing and all that, it'll feel like an avalanche of activity crammed into a short span. So I'm still going to have to jam away on the current book.

Speaking of which, turning off the Internet this morning helped me hit page 50. For various reasons, I'm tending to think about this book in 50 page sections. The first 50 got my characters on stage and in motion and all obstacled up. Onward now to complications and hijinks and more obstaclization.



Oh, also, here're pictures of my socks, which are too damned to be darned. ( my socks )
Yes, I'm posting photos of my feet poking through my socks on the Internet. You're welcome.