Writer's Commentary: Good

On Post: Good

Date: January 16

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Years ago, I worked in a bookstore. Of my various retail positions, it was easily my favorite. For one, I got to be around books, which I am a fan of, and had a decent enough to discount to purchase a great many of them. Additionally, the beauty of stripped paperbacks and magazines allowed me to bring stuff home for free that I would not otherwise be willing to pay cash for. The money (for a 16 year old) was good, the staff was generally fun...it was one of those jobs that made you wonder what the heck adults were complaining about.

But…

(There’s always a but, isn’t there…)

But, I had a co-worker who we’ll call “Otto.” Otto loved, loved!, LOVED! role play games, specifically the live action version of one about vampires that they played one night a week on a local university’s campus. He invited us to join…often and talked about it ever more than that. He was also in his mid 20’s at the time—which seemed SO far away to me then—had no car, no license, and had been engaged twice…but married never. When he wasn’t talking about vampires—the game or the mythical creatures—he disclosed all too personal information about his life. He was, in short, the worst possible stereotypes of LARPers come to life.

And he was the inspiration for this story, absolutely. The character here is an exaggerated version of him and the character’s peccadilloes were not the same as Otto’s. That said, this character does not exist without Otto and the one night I drove Otto back to his apartment and he talked my ear off about why he had moved home because of an unreasonable roommate. The roommate, in question, however, seemed quite reasonable, if Otto’s version of the truth was accurate. It was just that Otto’s perspective on what was acceptable and not was so skewed that he believed himself to be the “normal” offended party in this relationship.

Most would not agree.

****

When I first decided to follow through on Ron Chance’s Reader Choice suggestion of “Anything by Better Than Ezra” I was going to go with “King of New Orleans.” It was a “deep cut” and I thought it would be fertile creative ground. It was not. I couldn’t make it work. So, I abandoned it in favor of the much better known “Good.”

Initially, I was going to give it the “Old Apartment” treatment and make it a bitter note from the departing ex to the staying ex. However, I did not want to only explore the romantic interpersonal relationship in the Project and I had been hitting that note pretty hard. So, I asked myself “Who else lives together?”

Roommates, of course.

Once I knew I was going that route, the bitter, serious note idea fell by the wayside and instead I decided to go to overexaggerated comedy. Then, the idea of Otto as inspiration, as mentioned above, just felt natural.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: I Met a Girl

On Post: I Met a Girl

Date: January 15

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For the life of me, I could not remember what this entry was by looking at the title. Or in reading the first snippet of dialogue.

Not exactly a great sign.

But, as I read it, I remembered it more clearly and what about the song, specifically inspired it. So, lucky all of us.

The protagonist, via the chorus of this tells us, and then reminds us, that “I met a girl I’d like to know better, but I’m already with someone.”

The easy assumption here is, of course, he met someone who he was attracted to, but he’s already in a relationship. Looking to not go the obvious route, I asked myself, what if he is literally with someone. Like, they are right there with him at the met he meets this girl? And what if the someone in question is not a significant other, but rather a friend? And so, “I Met a Girl,” January 15^th’s” entry was born.

And in reading it now, I am not sure how I forgot it in the first place because Rick is just…awful. I don’t know how else to describe him.

I’m not sure if I was rushing or on autopilot or in a jerky mood when I wrote this or what—it was a Saturday, so the rushed thing is a definite possibility—but Rick is just so aggressive here. Honestly, reading this, I kind of felt like I needed to take a step back from him. Like he was TOO proactive in my face.

What’s worse, is that I can totally hear myself in him.

I’m not this bad, of course. Despite my long-winded writing style, I don’t believe I am generally wildly verbose in person. And, of course, the Thunder has thankfully ensured my lack of singledom for years now. And, even before I was betrothed, I was not the type of fella who would use the word “whipped” in the context Rick does.

All that said, Rick is like Tim turned up to 25. He’s maddeningly self conscious and totally cutesy about it, he paraphrases High Fidelity mid-monologue with an ease that suggests it isn’t the first time and during an area that would otherwise suggest genuine feeling is being expressed, and he feels the need to wrap things up in a sort of bittersweet, mournful romantic tone.

It is always a big ugly to hear your worst parts without the good and turned up to maximum volume. And that’s exactly what I felt this was for me. The worst part is, I wrote the damn thing. I created Rick. And I honestly don’t remember at the time making him so insufferable on purpose. If I just forgot it, great. But I’m guessing I just did not realize what a jerk he was at the time. Or, evidently, my personal potential for jerkdom.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: Dead Man's Party

On Post: Dead Man’s Party

Date: January 14

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This entry owes a huge debt of gratitude to author Ellen Raskin. If not for her writing, I cannot begin to imagine what I would have done with this entry. Probably some sort of zombie thing or other such nonsense. So, I guess you could say all you readers out there owe her some gratitude too, for sparing you from that fate.

Growing up, I was a huge fan of her book The Westing Game. For those of you unfamiliar with it, it tells the story of Samuel Westing, a rich, and recently deceased, man who gathers up his heirs and challenges them to solve a riddle before they can receive their share of his wealth. As the story goes on, it becomes considerably more complicated than that, with people not being who they claim to be, bombs, and the answer to the puzzle not really being the answer. In an odd way, I think my appreciation for stories like Fight Club, The Game, The Usual Suspects, etc, that feature twist endings that actually make sense and strengthen the story upon subsequent viewings or readings comes from reading The Westing Game as a kid.

In any case, when I sat down to write a piece inspired by Oingo Boingo’s seminal hit, a will reading where things are not as they appear immediately occurred to me. I, of course, lacked the time to write as complex a mystery as Raskin did, so I instead went for an atmosphere of discomfort and building anxiety that is eventually punctured by a dead man’s last joke. The tone of the initial notes were, I think, was also probably inspired in part by the film The Last of Sheila, wherein a man brings together friends to love his wife’s murder and gets the whole thing started by revealing their darkest secrets via envelope.

What’s interesting, to me at least, is that Westing Game was such a large presence in this story that I unconsciously gave the lawyer the author’s surname. I had to look up who wrote the book to write this commentary here, but somewhere in the recesses of my mind it must have still been available because there is an attorney named Raskin reading Wilton’s (a same sounding name selected very much consciously) Last Will and Testament.

The piece here, “Dead Man’s Party”, of course, does not compare to Raskin’s novel. But I do think it is quite enjoyable nonetheless

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: Gasoline

On Post: Gasoline

Date: January 13

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Poor Dodge.

I’ve never driven a Duster. Never even seen one up close, I don’t think. And yet it remains my go-to lousy car. I really should be nicer to it. I really should.

Can you tell I am struggling what to say here? Because I am. Quite a bit.

I suppose it is another entry in my overgrowing body of “relationships that end but don’t” works. Well, I don’t suppose. It clearly is. I should say, “I suppose I can point out that etc etc etc.”

Part of my difficulty writing about is that I’m disappointed in it. It is not badly written, but the song, from Airborne Toxic Event, is such a perfect representation of those feelings, of having moved on with your life in almost every way but still being excited by/longing for the memories of that first love. So when I read the lyrics or listen to it, I cannot help but then look at this and think, “Damn, really screwed the pooch on this one.” Rational or not, it is how I feel. The song does it so well that this piece just feels like a…shadow of it, I suppose.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: Daisychain

On Post: Daisychain

Date: January 12

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With this kind of project, it can be easy to be literal with the songs. And at times, I certainly was. Probably more often than not. However, I tried to break from that at least occasionally and this is certainly one of those entries.

Not coincidentally, it is also a favorite of mine from the Project.

It is, admittedly, a bit self indulgent. You can always tell I am being self indulgent when I do things like reference comic book characters—in this case, The Shroud—when it is not specifically called for. And since it is almost never specifically called for to reference comic book characters…

But, regardless, I still think it works. Sometimes doing something a bit different means you can get away with being a bit self indulgent. Or it does to me anyway.

Generally, amnesia is a.) too common in fiction and b.) almost never accurately portrayed. Sadly, I am sure I contributed to that here too, but I tried to at least show that memory loss is rarely total. The lead may not know his name, but he remembers aspects of himself. He knows he is a lousy judge of age, he recalls comic book related trivia, he can reference Legionnaires’ disease, and so on. In retrospect, I wish I had done a bit more of that, but since the entry is something like 700 words, I suppose I can’t be too hard on myself about that.

My favorite single moment occurs when the lead acknowledges that the hotel reminds him of a noir film and, from then on, his “voice” takes on a bit of a noir narration tone. I figure a guy with no true memory of himself but a remaining knowledge of trivia would adapt and adopt from environment cues. Thus, when he sees something noir-esque and knows noir, it seemed reasonable he would take on some of those trappings if for no other reason than to give him some kind of sense of self, no matter how superficial or temporary it may be.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: Get Over You

On Post: Get Over You

Date: January 11

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I am fascinated by relationships that end, but not really. You know, people who dated who become or stay friends, that sort of thing. I think it is probably, in part, because I am so lousy at it myself. I don’t seem to have that “gear” if you will. I kind of wish I did because I’ve dated some generally great people, but there you go.

However, because I’ve been lousy at it and seen others who were also lousy—but still did it—I tend to picture scenarios like this one when I think about it. Do I, generally speaking, actually think they go down this way? No. But do I think it greatly increases your chances of being saddled with this kind of relationship? Absolutely. It’s played for laughs, of course, but the boundary violating, delusions of reunion, etc seem very much in the realm of possibility to me. That may something profound about my view of romantic relationships and human nature, but there it is.

There are two moments in this I am particularly proud of and both come from how comfortable (or unaware of, I suppose) Calvin is with his creep factor. The first is when he compliments Ione’s figure—and how—when she points out she is the mother of two and the other is the…revelation of his bedroom activities with his ex. I always appreciate characters that are perfectly okay in their own skin despite how inappropriate they are.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: Let Go

On Post: Let Go

Date: January 10

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Remember how I mentioned I was no good at poetry? If my earlier attempt was too whimsical to convince you of my assertion, this entry should certainly do the job. This is poetry in the aggressively obvious, aggressively mediocre mold.
The problems started with the song. It is a good song, don’t get me wrong. I quite like it. But the lyrics and the title are like catnip to a future psychologist like myself. Of course I’d listen to it and find the idea of using it to explore a therapeutic “breakthrough.” Of course I would!

However, writing about therapy when you have done it is a problematic thing. You have to be ultra careful not to write about anyone you have ever worked on (unless you have permission, of course), even if it is un- or subconsciously. To do otherwise is unethical and/or a risk to your future. That fact, combined with the somewhat head-on nature of the lyrics made me think poetry was the answer. Going more abstract, as poetry does, would prevent me from pulling on my own past and would stop me from Mickey Mouse-ing the song.

(My documentary film processor always used “Mickey Mouse” as a verb or adjective to mean “the action on screen matches the music exactly and thus neither enhances the other and in fact might diminish both through repetition”)

Plus it was a challenge.

And so it was. A challenge I was not equal to. And I know this because my ever-supportive spouse, The Thunder, after reading this said (I paraphrase), “I didn’t love the therapy poetry one. It was…good, just not great.” Which, for everyone else would mean, “That just was no good.”

There is one good thing that did come out of it though is this was the last poetry (I believe) I did. If the pattern I had in the first 10 days held, I should have done three to four more. But I think this one, although I don’t it is awful, merely not good, taught me my lesson. Writing poetry is a challenge, but that doesn’t mean I have to keep doing it.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: But It's Better If You Do

On Post: But It’s Better If You Do

Date: January 9

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The thing about this entry is I’ve never actually been into a gentlemen’s club, strip club, topless bar, whatever you’d like to call it. So, I didn’t really have an idea what one actually looks like inside.

However, I did grow up near one. Actually near several. Newington, in part because of the Berlin Turnpike, has a disproportionate amount of adult entertainment and pay by the hour motels inside its city limits. But the one I am thinking of was particularly close. Mrs. Pips Café, if I recall correctly, offered free sandwiches on Tuesdays and jell-o wrestling on Wednesdays, or so said the old wooden sign that forever sat in their parking lot. Back in the day, I could give people directions to my house if they were coming from across town by starting with the phrase “So you know where Mrs. Pips’ is, right?” And, inevitably, they would. Sadly, it closed in 1995, years before I would legally be able to enter it, and was demolished in 2002. There’s a gas station on that corner now and, while I haven’t had to give directions to that area in years, I imagine everyone would not know right away the place I spoke of.

In any case, Mrs. Pips looked like a bombed out bunker. It was brick and the white paint was flaking off its façade everywhere. There were no windows. The parking lot was sort of paved, sort of gravel, sort of dirt. Aesthetics were clearly not a priority.

So, in creating this strip club, I just sort of translate that feeling to the interior. I might be being unfair to the average joint, but I’m going to go ahead and guess that I’m not.

At some point, I feel it is inevitable I’ll end in one of these places. One of my friends will get married and this will be his bachelor party idea and I’m going to go along because, hey, that’s what friends do. And I imagine I will be as awkward as the protagonist here. I also imagine I’ll be ultimately disappointed by how average the experience is because things are never as bad or good as you picture.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: This Time

On Post: This Time

Date: January 8

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In contrast to Fall on Me, a post I initially hated but have since softened on (as revealed in the commentary), I was pretty okay with this one when I first finished. Now…I think it is just an ugly mess.

I don’t dislike the idea in and of itself. In fact, I kind of like it. I think it honors the song in a non-obvious way by having someone else relate the story of one of those lousy, but seemingly never-ending relationships that I especially remember as part of the high school dating scene. I could have just done a piece from the perspective of one of the people in the relationship or a bit of dialogue between them, so I liked that I did not go there. In retrospect, the only idea that I had and liked that I discarded too soon was doing a piece from the point of view of one of the parents watching this unhealthy relationship unfold.

In any case, though, I don’t think the plot choice is the problem.

I also like the intro, which, for me anyway, creates a good environment for the story to unfold in and one that I believe most could picture.

It all goes off the rails with the characters, I think. For one thing, I am not sure I ever really figured out their relationship to one another. I think I started out with Nick and Rebecca as work friends in my head, with one or both of them possibly crushing on the other, then sort of moved towards a straight up first date situation, and back again. Both could be true at the same time, of course, but I don’t think I ever really make the choice to go both or one or the other and the “voices” suffer because of it.

In reading it, it also seems like I just wrote and wrote until I found an end. Sometimes that’s just fine, but with this project, where I consciously did not go back and edit things, it left the entry a mess. It goes on too long and it meanders too. That’s a deadly combination, interest wise.

The ending also does not do me any favors either. It’s so abrupt and unearned. I was telling this story about lousy relationships and veered off into sentimentality. Just not well done.

All of this is too bad too, because there are moments that work. The back and forth about the transition from one era of life to the next where kissing used to going far and is suddenly nothing at all or the back and forth about Chapman, for instance, are two parts I think work well.

Overall though…not a good entry.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: The Thong Song

On Post: The Thong Song

Date: January 7

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I think I may have cheated with this entry.

To my recollection, it is one of two pieces that references the song that inspired it directly. Given the rules I laid out, I think I followed the letter of it here, but not necessarily the spirit.

That said, I feel pretty okay about it. I’ve long enjoyed the idea of someone using hip hop lyrics that are, apparently, meant to be complimenting to the female form and how that would work out. Because, coming from Sisqo or not, “dumps like a truck” just doesn’t seem like something to butter a lady up.

It also enabled me to assert that “Unleash the Dragon” is a better song. I will never miss an opportunity to remind the people of this.

For some reason though, my favorite part of this entry has nothing to do with finally writing out a joke I first told a version of when I was like 18 or 19 years old. My favorite part is the reference to the guy wearing his lucky shirt. I’m not generally someone who laughs at his own work, but that part makes me giggle. I can just picture him telling this story to his buddies the next day and really emphasizing that point, really driving it home, to illustrate how unreasonable she was being.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: Fall on Me

On Post: Fall on Me

Date: January 6

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Did you know Chicken Little actually started out as Henny Penny? And was also referred to as Cockey Lockey, Ducky Lucky, Drakey Lakey, Goosey Loosey, Turkey Lurkey, and Foxy Loxy, depending on the country and the era?

All true.

I learned that while doing the research for this entry because I found myself suddenly, inexplicably, unsure on how the Chicken Little fable unfolded. I knew the bit about the acorn and the sky falling, but…I don’t know. I talked myself into thinking I was missing some key detail. I don’t think I was…if I was, I certainly don’t remember what detail I was missing.

I did learn that, no matter what Zach Braff tries to tell you, Chicken Little is typically a female in the story. Which makes a certain amount of sense, given that the character is a chicken, not a rooster. I am tentatively tempted to put on my feminist criticism hat and point out that, given the history of labeling the female mentally ill as “hysterical,” Chicken Little’s sex/gender is a sexist artifact of the time that she was created in. Actually, I suppose, by writing that sentence, I more or less already did put that hat on.

Anyway…

I’m probably stalling a bit because this one was brutal to write. Just brutal. I considered and jettisoned at least three other ideas before settling on this one. And I mean “settling” in the “I’m 39 and unmarried. If I don’t take this one, will I ever have another chance not to die alone?” sense of the word. I did it without pleasure or excitement, but rather with a sort of desperate, weary resignation. When it was done, I had no love for it, but had no intention of trying again.

In retrospect, I think I was being a bit harsh. The Thunder told me straight off that she liked it and said it “sounded” distinctly different than my other pieces. I can see that now and I think that is a fair description. But, man, when it was done I wanted to be as far away from the thing as possible.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: You Don't Know Me

On Post: You Don’t Know Me

Date: January 5

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“You Don’t Know Me” is one of the posts I got the most positive feedback on. People, for whatever reason, really dug it.

They liked the game show backdrop, they liked Hannah’s tone of voice, and some got a kick out of the Tom Cruise reference. Which, I assume, is because they too recognize that Tom Cruise is dreamy, not because they appreciated the reference ironically. Remember: Tom Cruise is a genius and everything he does is brilliant.

Oddly enough, no one mentioned the Humpty Dance reference which is the one I was really proud of.

For my part, I too liked it quite a bit. From a writer’s standpoint, it allowed me to write a third person story that, really, is more of a first person one. The whole entry is informed and shaped by Hannah’s tone of voice. You get a great idea who she is from just the tone alone. And yet, it is third person. That may not be interesting or noteworthy from a reader’s standpoint, but from a writer’s, it was fun to make that work.

If Hollywood is listening, I would totally host a show called “Spouse Joust.” Despite Hannah’s protestations, I think that’s a BRILLIANT name.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: Oh My God

On Post: Oh My God

Date: January 4

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Nothing is more panic inducing that achieving exactly what you want and quickly realizing you have no idea what to do with it. It was the first thing I thought of when I heard the song.

At first, I tried taking  the “I’ve never been so far away from home” line literally and went in the direction of a kid at sleepaway camp.

I still like the idea of it, but that idea led to me looking at my screen for several minutes without writing a word. So let it go. When I did that, this idea, the young man in the corner office, came together almost immediately. I think it was one of my fastest entries despite being one of the longest as well. It just made sense to me and I heard the Twenty-Something-Year-Old Man’s voice right off the bat.

Confession: I couldn’t resist my own comic lover background. So there is a Spider-Man reference very early in the piece. It is an obscure one and thus you will prove your nerd credentials if you can pick it out. You won’t win anything. Except a deep sense of self-shame, I suppose.

I also got to use the phrase “halo effect,” one of my favorite concepts from psychology. Mostly because I can remember it off the top of my head. It’s the same reason I love to write about “objective correlative” in English class.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: Freedom

On Post: Freedom

Date: January 3

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I am not a poet. I mean, if you couldn’t tell from this entry, it bears pointing out. More to the point, not only am I not a poet, I am fairly terrible at writing poetry. I love it. I also love lyrics and particularly well written rap music. For whatever reason though, I’ve never had any ability to write that kind of thing myself. I just lack that kind of lyrical ability, I suppose. I don’t “hear” it, if you will.

Yet, I tried to write it anyway. Sorry about that, but this was as much about me challenging myself as it was about producing stuff worth reading. And, as mentioned last post, I wanted to mix up my approach as much as possible. So, I knew I had to do at least one poetry post. Ultimately, I did two and I’ll talk more later about how clearly it proved I pushed my luck on that.

This post though, I have some pride in. I still clearly cannot write poetry, but there is some fun stuff in the language here that I liked. Obviously, the point was different interpretations of freedom, which I initially was resistant to. I wanted to try to avoid doing posts that were inspired by the song’s title and little else. However, after listening to David Gray’s song a few times and reading the lyrics, I felt the meaning he intended was clear (the freedom of love), but the composition was vague enough that one could use it as a backdrop for other “freedoms”: the freedom of friendship, the freedom of escape, lack of real freedom, and so on.

I also deserve credit for not literally writing “Freedom isn’t free” at any point. Because believe me, I was damn tempted.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press (which is now up and running) or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: Resistance

On Post: Resistance

Date: January 2

Find it here

I don’t think anyone would be unfair in calling Muse’s work, and this song in particular, “overblown.” Nor do I think that that is a bad thing, especially in a song above, essentially, the power of love to triumph over all.

So when I set out to write this entry that was the first thing that jumped out at me: its extravagant perspective on what love can inspire us to do. I thought about who might buy into that and immediately I thought of Romeo and Juliet. I have long joked that the best way for a teen who is in a relationship to deal with his or her overbearing parents is to quite the Shakespearean tragedy. Want to stop your parents in their tracks? Imply that you are considering a suicide pact with your significant other. So, I wanted to write a version of that joke in this piece. By the end, it was a different take—it’s actually the dad who ends up joking about it—but that’s where it started.

I also wanted to consciously, at first at least, vary my approach. Having already written a first person narrative (Christmas at Ground Zero) and a second person narrative (No Sleep Til Brooklyn), I wanted to try something different so the play/screenplay approach seemed a natural fit.

The reason for it being between a father and daughter was, essentially, me projecting myself 15 years in the future. My wife is pregnant and was at the time and the early indicators, hormone levels and such, were indicating it might be a girl. Thus, an exercise in “What would I be like as a father if we have a daughter?” I have no idea if I’m accurate or if I really even really think I “captured” me as a dad, but that was my concept for it.

By the by, the early signs were right. Earlier this week, the Thunder and I found out we are expecting a daughter. So this piece may turn out to be prescient. Check back in with me in 15 years.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press, set to debut shortly although information may be available before then here or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: No Sleep Til Brooklyn

On Post: No Sleep Til Brooklyn

Date: January 1

Find it here

Of all my posts during the January Project, I am pretty sure this is the one that ran farthest away from the song that inspired it. Not coincidentally, I expect, it would also make my “Greatest Hits of The January Project” if I was put together such a thing.

Initially, the first image that the song called to mind was a group of friends driving over the Brooklyn Bridge. I could picture them screaming and shouting and….that was it. I had no idea why they were there, where they were going or who they were. Thus, I didn’t care about them and didn’t care to write about them.

From there I moved on to a guy in an apartment in Brooklyn, unable to sleep because of a party on the floor below. Again, though, the party part didn’t click with me or give me an idea where to go. I did like the idea of a man awake in his own apartment and asked myself why else he might be awake. When I was still living in Hartford, our apartment was always about 75 degrees, winter, spring, and fall, (Summer got much hotter), thus the idea of living in an apartment too hot to sleep in.

With that premise in place, the rest of the story kind of flowed from there. The image of a sweltering apartment filled with reflective surfaces covered by beach towels, the complaining to co-workers, and the contrast of the snow outside fell into place almost immediately after I decided the heat was keeping Eric awake.

I feel bad about the snow bit though. I think we had only had one storm here in the CT by this point, so it was still more inspirational than terrifying and/or soul deadening. That changed rather rapidly and now I can’t look at this entry without thinking I somehow brought it on us. Like the snow gods (WHO ARE REAL) totally took it as a plaintive prayer and answered it. Over and over again. Apparently, neither the ice cream gods nor the gods of “intimate romance” employ the same system. Which is disappointing.

Oh, fun fact. (Relatively speaking) Nearly every male character during the January Project started out named “Eric” for some reason. I kept having to look back and remind myself that I already named someone Eric and change it.

Just because the Project has ended doesn't mean I still don't value your feedback. Feel free to let me know on Twitter (@UnGajje) or drop me a note at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or on Facebook. If you see anything you like, I am all over the net too, so please check out my other works at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press, set to debut shortly although information may be available before then here or my various 140 character missives on that Twitter account.

Writer's Commentary: Christmas at Ground Zero

On Post: Christmas at Ground Zero

Date: The Preview Post, The Proverbial Zero Issue

Find it here

For this sample post, I literally just chose the Christmas song that was playing at that moment in time. Because I make my own Christmas mixes every year and they can be… eclectic, I was lucky enough to have the fertile works of “Weird” Al Yankovich to inspire me.

The obvious track to take here was a literal interpretation of the song and that probably would have been interesting enough. But I was setting out to pointedly avoid this “easy” approach. For one thing, I felt like there woudn’t be much reason to read a story that was essentially a straight up adaptation of a song. For another, not every song lends itself to adapting so I predicted that if I got too used to that approach, I might get stuck without much idea what to do the moment such a tune came up. If I started thinking outside the box, I believed this would be less of a problem.

This is not to say to my choice was wildly unique. Comparing the break-up of a family to a war is a fairly old trope. That said, it appealed to me, so I didn’t push deeper. Plus, I hooked into the voice of a woman looking back on her teens pretty quickly. I know me and I know I tend to default to the male voice pretty easily (as we’ll probably see in reviewing the January Project) so I figured I should embrace these moments as they might not happen often.

As for the rest of it? I identified a few beats I wanted to hit—the bit about kids blaming themselves, Dad getting the phone call, Dad alone on the back porch, Mom visiting the kids in the basement, the family coming back together to talk to the non-present oldest child—and just sort of wrote towards them. Bits like setting it in the late 80’s/early 90’s (as evidenced by the Mutant League Football video game, lack of cell phones, etc) just sort of…happened. I liked it, but I never set out to put it there.

My favorite thing in the whole piece is the couch. I don’t know why, but I love that detail. For me, I could completely see, feel, and smell that couch.

The picture on the other hand? Not a fan. Was looking for a “divided family at Christmas” image and this was the closest I found. At the time, I was okay with it. Now though…pretty disappointed I settled on it.

The Future? Ahaha

First off, thanks to all who have followed The January Project throughout this month. It is appreciated. I hope you found a couple (or more) of pieces that you really enjoyed along the way.

Second, where does it go from here?

Well, for me, I do not just want to close up shop. I’ve really enjoyed it and I want to keep some measure of this magic going. But doing an entry every day? It was tough.
My solution then is a little something I am dubbing “Special Features.” The bulk of the special features are going to be “Writer’s Commentary,” in which I explain how I got my idea, what I think of the result, what I would have done differently with more time, and so on. I am planning to do one for every entry, including the Christmas prequel (or Zero Issue, depending on your level of geekdom).

Besides Writer’s Commentaries, there will also be “Deleted Scenes” and “Alternate Takes.” Deleted Scenes will be stories based on the Reader Suggestions I did not get to over the course of the month. There’s not a ton of them, but there are a few. Alternate Takes, there is, I believe, only one of. This is a story I almost used for one day, but pulled it back at the last moment and went in a whole different direction.

I am not promising these features every day. How often over the course of the week really depends on my work at school and practicum and my other freelance writing. How intense it gets as the days go by will really determine how often I have something new on the site. But keep an eye on my Twitter and/or Facebook and I’ll give you a heads up when I’ve got something new up. And feel free to follow any of my other writing endeavors at the meantime at Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press, set to debut shortly although information may be available before then here. And, as always, you can reach me at tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com.

For now, though, I am taking a week off to recharge. I’ll be posting amusing pictures that I come across on the internet (the first is below), but no written content, for seven days. Then, I’ll charge back, rejuvenated and ready to roll.

See you then.

And enjoy the cantankerous ant eater below.

(Oh, and extra points to anyone who can figure out what this post's title is referencing.)

What's he so mad about? Being an anteater is awesome.

January 31: National Holidays

Letter: S

CD Number: 14

Track Number: 7

Song: “National Holiday” by Spymob off the album Sitting Around Keeping Score

Listen to it here

A man, Rob, stands several feet away from a girls youth soccer game, near a group of trees. He is by himself. In the distance, the bleachers filled with parents are visible. A loud snap of clapping is heard.

ROB (whooping and spinning towards audience)

Did you see that?! Top corner! Wooo! That’s my little girl. Number two! Man…that was great!

Pushing hair back on his forehead, puffs out his cheeks. He looks sad and a bit lost for a moment.

Huh? Oh why am I back here? Well, strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to be here. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I am breaking the law or anything—

Aside to self

At least… I don’t think I am. I really ought to ask my attorney about that.

Back to audience

—it’s just her mom and I just got divorced a bit ago and this is her weekend. We both agreed we shouldn’t “show up” during each other’s weekends. We said it was because it might confuse Betty—Betty’s my daughter’s name—but I think it was really because we both know we still can’t be in the same area without getting in a fight.  I mean, really, confuse her? Our daughter has a bit more smarts than that.

He turns back to the game for a moment.

I never even knew she wanted to play soccer until she gave me her schedule. Her mom and I agreed to not make decisions about big stuff without consulting one another, but I kind of gave a blanket ok for physical activities. Kids spend too much time in front of the TV today, you know? Don’t get me wrong, like all right thinking Americans of my generation, I hate soccer. But if Betty likes it, I’m onboard. I wouldn’t even have hesitated to say yes, but—

Turns back to the audience.

Look, even when you agree with the choice, you don’t want to be left out. My wi—ex-wife and I have shared custody, but shared custody is really a fiction. It sounds nice, but short of living right next door to one another it is unworkable. There’s the custodial parent, and that’s Terri, and there’s the non-custodial parent and that’s me. For the non-custodial parent, divorce is a series of reminders that you are the one of the outside. So, yeah, I would have been fine with Betty starting soccer. It just feels lousy to never have had a chance to say that.

Kicks at the dirt a bit, shakes head.

Like today. If I didn’t sneak out here to see her, I’d miss this. That’s why us non-custodials get a reputation for pandering to our children. Every visit has to be an event. When you can only see your child a relatively small amount of time each week, you better plan more than just letting them read chapter books in their bedroom, you know?

So, you are stuck in this shitty position, right? You don’t want to be like every divorced parent ever and spoil your kid, of course. You want to be as normal a parent as ever, keep things like they used to be.

For instance, her bedroom at my new house is almost exactly like the bedroom at what used to be our house and is now just my ex’s. But it’s not exact. Glidden discounted the green color we used to paint Betty’s bedroom so I had to go with an Olympia shade that was close, but not the same. Her comforter is a hand-me down Toy Story comforter from my oldest nephew. You can’t get it anymore, so she has a Toy Story 3 one in my house instead. And so on. It’s normal, but not. I keep worrying that she sees my house like that guy saw his son. It’s the Diet Coke of homes; almost home, but not quiet.

That gets at you. And you start to feel if you act the same as always, do the same things like before, you are kind of being…well, lazy, I guess. When I was around all the time, we’d maybe see a movie once a month, go to a museum or a zoo every couple of months, go to the beach two or three times over the course of the summer. The rest of the time, we were doing chores or reading or watching TV or visiting grandma or…normal stuff. The stuff that fills in the space between the cool things in life.

With Betty not living with me though, we don’t have time for that stuff, we only have time for the cool. And that sounds great. You finally have a chance to be the fun parent!

Visibly shrinks, looks sad again.

The thing is though, when you aren’t doing the cool stuff, that’s when you get to know your kids. If Betty and I hadn’t spent all day at the petting zoo, maybe I wouldn’t have spent all of dinner peppering her with questions about what she had done last week. And if I didn’t do that, maybe, eventually, we would have naturally ended up talking about sports. And then I’d know she wanted to play soccer.

Instead, you have to do everything at once, know everything at once and you miss the little things. At least it seems to me that’s how this is going.

  So, what do you think? Enjoy it? If so, feel free to follow me on Twitter (@UnGajje) for various bon mots and links directing you to the newest updates on this site as well as my other various writing gigs (Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press, set to debut shortly although information may be available before then here). If not it was not so enjoyable for you, feel free to tell me that too. And still check me out at all those things above. One of them you are bound to like more.

Feedback or questions? Offer them up here or drop me a note at the aforementioned Twitter account, tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or Facebook.

This is the end of January, but it still worth coming back tomorrow to see where we go from here. Because, believe you me, there is more content to come.

January 29: Living Well is the Best Revenge

Letter: R

CD Number: 26

Track Number: 21

Song: “Living Well is the Best Revenge” by R.E.M. off Disc 1 of the album Live at The Olympia

Listen to it here

If you were to ask Lee Newsome to describe himself honestly, the first three things he’d tell you would be “hard working,” “intelligent,” and “lucky.” It would not be until the fourth one that he’d have warmed up enough to admit that he also “took rejection very, very poorly.”

Perhaps no one knew this as well as Juliet Turner. Juliet had the distinct honor of being asked by Lee to go to something called the Winter Dream Dance their senior year. Unfortunately, she told him, she could not because her parents had planned some trip out of town. While she was super disappointed about it and reminded them of the dance, they would not budge. Lee was disappointed, but understood. Parents, who can get why they do what they do, right?

Except, of course, she was lying. She thought Lee was nice enough, but a bit nerdy and not really her type. So she certainly did not want to go with him, but could see no reason to break his heart either. So rather than make the tough choice of gritting her teeth and going anyway or just be upfront in saying no, she opted for the little white transgression. And, under most circumstances, the story would have ended there. But high school is not most circumstances.

Juliet had to tell her friends that she couldn’t go to the dance now and explain why. One of them, Cheryl Peran, thought it was mean and it bothered here. It bothered her so much, in fact, that she let it “slip” to Lee during French class a few days later. While to this day, she swears it was a subconscious mistake, it was, in reality, calculated.

Lee, however, did not seem to react. He never confronted Juliet, never even mentioned it to his friends. He just nodded to Cheryl, thanked her for her honesty, and turned back to the front of the room. Thus, it seemed, Juliet’s little lie, even after being revealed, amounted to nothing at all.

Except, of course, Lee was only pretending to be fine with it. Inside, it ruffled him quite a bit. He knew he wasn’t cool, but he thought he was likable enough and, truth be told, attractive in a slightly above average sort of way. But this news…it tossed him upside down. He spent six months like that; sad, sick to his stomach, sure he was unlikable and unattractive. And then his college roommate introduced him to a little something called tequila. And tequila, in turn, introduced him to a sophomore field hockey player. Thus, as has always been the case, with the judicious application of booze and a stranger, Lee found some confidence.

With that confidence, Lee became angry. How could she lie to him?! What gave her the right to be so mean?! The anger sparked creativity and next thing he knew, he was standing in front of a mailbox, sending her a letter. In the letter was a picture of the field hockey player, whose name turned out to be Francine, looking stunning in her outfit from the night before. He did not sign it, he did not write anything in it. He just mailed Juliet the picture.

And it felt great.

So great, in fact, that next month, he sent her another photo of Francine, now officially his girlfriend, and a newspaper clipping about him having been named to the school’s debate team.

And that felt even better.

So, every month since then, Lee has sent Juliet a letter containing artifacts of his life that stress how great things are going for him. Sometimes, he feels a little playful and he creates a theme for the year. Last year was money and featured clipping of his stock portfolio, his various accounts, the value of his properties, that sort of thing. This year is all about vacations; each envelope is full of picture of him and his wife, Francine, on the beaches of Maui, or cruising the Bering Strait, or enjoying French cuisine in Carmel, CA. He still has not decided on a theme for next year. Maybe it’ll be kids, since his are cute and good at school and last he heard, Juliet was still single and childless. Or maybe next year can be the year he stops. After all, he has made his point, hasn’t he?

On the other hand, just the thought of sending the next letter makes him smile. Ear-to-ear.

So, what do you think? Enjoy it? If so, feel free to follow me on Twitter (@UnGajje) for various bon mots and links directing you to the newest updates on this site as well as my other various writing gigs (Marvel, Complaint of the Week at the Living Room Times, and New Paris Press, set to debut shortly although information may be available before then here). If not it was not so enjoyable for you, feel free to tell me that too. And still check me out at all those things above. One of them you are bound to like more.

Feedback or questions? Offer them up here or drop me a note at the aforementioned Twitter account, tim[dot]g[dot]stevens[at]gmail[dot]com or Facebook.