Charles Dickens walks into a bar.
The bartender says, “What’s wrong, Chuck? You look glum.”
Dickens says, “I’ve got the worst writer’s block I have ever had. I can’t even think of a title for my book.”
Bartender says, “Bummer. Can I get you a drink?”
Dickens: “Yeah. Make it a good stiff martini.”
Bartender: “Okay. Olive or twist?”
Filed under Monday morning writing joke
Edgar Allan Poe — self-portrait
Was the famous author killed from a beating? From carbon monoxide poisoning? From alcohol withdrawal? Here are the top nine theories
By Natasha Geiling
Source: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/still-mysterious-death-edgar-allan-poe-180952936/#vV6aWAfTgq8vGGWu.99
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t was raining in Baltimore on October 3, 1849, but that didn’t stop Joseph W. Walker, a compositor for the Baltimore Sun, from heading out to Gunner’s Hall, a public house bustling with activity. It was Election Day, and Gunner’s Hall served as a pop-up polling location for the 4th Ward polls. When Walker arrived at Gunner’s Hall, he found a man, delirious and dressed in shabby second-hand clothes, lying in the gutter. The man was semi-conscious, and unable to move, but as Walker approached the him, he discovered something unexpected: the man was Edgar Allan Poe. Worried about the health of the addled poet, Walker stopped and asked Poe if he had any acquaintances in Baltimore that might be able to help him. Poe gave Walker the name of Joseph E. Snodgrass, a magazine editor with some medical training. Immediately, Walker penned Snodgrass a letter asking for help.
Baltimore City, Oct. 3, 1849
Dear Sir,There is a gentleman, rather the worse for wear, at Ryan’s 4th ward polls, who goes under the cognomen of Edgar A. Poe, and who appears in great distress, & he says he is acquainted with you, he is in need of immediate assistance.
Yours, in haste,
JOS. W. WALKER
To Dr. J.E. Snodgrass.
On September 27—almost a week earlier—Poe had left Richmond, Virginia bound for Philadelphia to edit a collection of poems for Mrs. St. Leon Loud, a minor figure in American poetry at the time. When Walker found Poe in delirious disarray outside of the polling place, it was the first anyone had heard or seen of the poet since his departure from Richmond. Poe never made it to Philadelphia to attend to his editing business. Nor did he ever make it back to New York, where he had been living, to escort his aunt back to Richmond for his impending wedding. Poe was never to leave Baltimore, where he launched his career in the early 19th- century, again—and in the four days between Walker finding Poe outside the public house and Poe’s death on October 7, he never regained enough consciousness to explain how he had come to be found, in soiled clothes not his own, incoherent on the streets. Instead, Poe spent his final days wavering between fits of delirium, gripped by visual hallucinations. The night before his death, according to his attending physician Dr. John J. Moran, Poe repeatedly called out for “Reynolds”—a figure who, to this day, remains a mystery.
Poe’s death—shrouded in mystery—seems ripped directly from the pages of one of his own works. He had spent years crafting a careful image of a man inspired by adventure and fascinated with enigmas—a poet, a detective, an author, a world traveler who fought in the Greek War of Independence and was held prisoner in Russia. But though his death certificate listed the cause of death as phrenitis, or swelling of the brain, the mysterious circumstances surrounding his death have led many to speculate about the true cause of Poe’s demise. “Maybe it’s fitting that since he invented the detective story,” says Chris Semtner, curator of the Poe Museum in Richmond, Virginia, “he left us with a real-life mystery.”
The nine theories include: beating, cooping (voter fraud), alcohol (related to cooping), poisoning (carbon monoxide or heavy metal), murder, and flu.
Wind whispers your name /
syllables ring with the chimes /
sweet, melodic hope.
Filed under Haiku to You Thursday, poetry by author
Read and write and do both regularly
by Joe R. Lansdale
Source: https://www.facebook.com/JoeRLansdale/posts/753873058055046
Joe R. Lansdale
A major rule of writing. Stop making excuses. You do have time if you want to do it. Sure, there are those rare exceptions. But nearly everyone has time. I worked two jobs and had time. Not a lot of time, but enough to get something done daily. If you have time to plop down in front of the TV to watch a Star Trek rerun, or what have you, you have time. If you can go to a job you hate, or at best tolerate, be on time and do it right, you should be able to find a few minutes a day to do something you really want to do. Even if you love your job and want to write, you can find time.
If you are going to take time off, read. That’s the most important tool to a writer. If you read you put fuel in the tank and you begin to better understand how stories are constructed. Once you lean how it works, or as best as anyone can learn how it works, then you can lose the rule book and do it anyway you like. You can make something new best when you understand something old. In other words, don’t mess with the structure of storytelling until you understand how it works, then you can successfully subvert it if you need to. A hard thing to grasp, but it’s true.
Put your ass in a chair in front of the world processor, typewriter, writing tablet, papyrus pages, what have you, and write.
Finish what you start. Sure, you can switch over and work on other things from time to time, but don’t end up with partials of this and pieces of that. Have a major project and finish it. When that’s done, start something new. While you’re marketing a novel, or if you’re far enough along to have an agent do it for you, start a new project to keep you from waiting by the telephone, mail box, email, for a response.
Work daily and at the same time if possible. If not, work when you can, but make it a habit. It takes a lot of hours before something kicks in as a habit. Set a time each day when you can work, and do it. It can be for whatever length of time you have available. If you can’t work every day of the week, try and work as many days as possible. Plan on four or five days at the least, seven if you can. Get up early on holidays and write a bit as a gift to yourself. Don’t let holidays spoil your momentum. Okay, you can take holidays off if you must, but be careful to stay in the zone.
Having a word count or page count can be useful.
Read the rest at: https://www.facebook.com/JoeRLansdale/posts/753873058055046
Filed under Writers on writing, writing tip, Writing Tip Wednesday
Everyone’s a critic — even man’s best friend.
Filed under cartoon by author, CarToonsday
A zombie and a vampire went out on a date.
Somebody didn’t have the brains to realize the relationship sucked.
Filed under Monday morning writing joke
24 Things No One Tells You About Book Publishing
Ten years ago, my first novel Prep came out. Three novels later, here’s what I’ve learned about the publishing industry and writing since then.
by Curtis Sittenfeld
Writing is only part of the mystery.
For the other eleven, go to: http://www.buzzfeed.com/curtissittenfeld/things-no-one-ever-tells-you-about-the-publishing-industry?bffbbooks
Filed under publishing, publishing news
Bradbury home during demolition. Photo by John King Tarpinian of file770.com.
What costs $1.76 million to buy and then gets torn down? What unassuming, even “ordinary” place was the 50-year home to a literary light of the 20th century? Somebody who has probably been read by school children for many years?
Answer: the what-is-now-former home of Ray Bradbury. Bradbury, author of novels such as Fahrenheit 451, The Martian Chronicles, and Dandelion Wine to name just a few, died in 2012. His home in Cheviot Hills, Los Angeles, CA, was put on the market and was recently purchased by an architect, who then razed it to make way from the architect’s home.
Details at http://www.latimes.com/la-me-before-after-ray-bradbury-house-20150116-photogallery.html, http://www.latimes.com/books/jacketcopy/la-et-jc-ray-bradbury-house-being-torn-down-20150113-story.html, and http://file770.com/?p=20397?michpun.
The architect, Thom Mayne, explains why he did it. His answers are at: http://www.mhpbooks.com/why-was-ray-bradburys-home-demolished-an-interview-with-architect-thom-mayne/
He says he had been looking for the right property in the Cheviot Hills neighborhood for five years when the Bradbury house came up for sale. At first, he said he and his wife were unaware of Bradbury’s connection to the house. He also said he was surprised by the lack of historical interest in the house.
Still, as a person who lives in a house over 110 years old and as a person who considers himself a writer, I find it surprising and saddening that this would happen. And all for the asking price of $1.76 million. I guess in LA that’s just the price of doing business.
Or as Sam Weller, author of Bradbury’s authorized biography, The Bradbury Chronicles, put it:
“I suspected it might be a teardown. Other houses in Ray’s longtime neighborhood of Cheviot Hills had been demolished. A few years ago, the house next door to the Bradbury residence was knocked down to make-way for a super-sized monstrosity. Much of the neighborhood is under siege by mansionization. Ray and his wife Maggie couldn’t understand why people didn’t respect the historical value of their sweeping old Los Angeles neighborhood. So I suspected this fate could well come to the Bradbury house, but I held out hope that its significance to imaginative literature might save it from the developers.”
–Compiled by David E. Booker. Opinions expressed are my own.
Filed under Ray Bradbury
[Editor’s note: usually my Photo finish Friday has a photo I have taken, but today, I am taking on off the Internet, along with the story. Below the photo and story is a poem “inspired by actual events” as they would say on the TV show Law and Order.]
Christian mom alarmed that school bus tail lights form ‘pagan’ pentagram
(Screen capture) The bus and lights in question.
by David Ferguson
A Christian mom in Cordova, Tennessee is worried that occult influences are lurking in her town and showing their presence in the unlikeliest of places, the red tail lights of local school buses.
Memphis’ Action News 5 reported Wednesday that Robyn Wilkins snapped a photo of the tail lights while she sat behind a bus in traffic. To her, the pattern of tiny light bulbs under each brake light’s red plastic lens looked like inverted five-pointed stars, which form the ancient symbol of the pentagram when enclosed by a circle.
“Anyone who fears a God, if not God and Jesus Christ, should be outraged,” the worried mother told Channel 5.
Pentagrams are a sacred symbol to various ancient faiths. Some Satanists and occultists have adopted it as their holy symbol, but other faiths use it as well.
Wilkins and other concerned parents have taken to social media to protest the brake lights, which they say constitute a sacred symbol emblazoned on a government vehicle.
“If you can’t put a cross on there, you cannot put a pentagram on it,” said Wilkins.
She believes the lights should be removed from the buses and replaced with a single red bulb.
The Shelby County School District declined to comment to Channel 5 about the brake lights.
To see a video report, go to: http://www.rawstory.com/rs/2015/01/christian-mom-alarmed-that-school-bus-tail-lights-form-pagan-pentagram/
***
Poem inspired by actual events.
I heart for Satan
by David E. Booker
I heart for Satan,
the Star of all consternation.
He sends me into shambles
when I see pentagramables
on buses near and far
even the one in front of my car.
My child rides that school bus.
It must be driven by one who lusts
for my child’s immortal soul —
O’ the future is foretold.
He’s lost to education
in this god-forsaken nation.
O’ when will it ever end
so that my life can begin again?
I heart for Satan,
the Star of my consternation.
It is Him I love to hate
and blame when my son self-relates.
His powerful stain is everywhere —
my whitewashing work cannot compare.
I heart for Satan,
the Star of my consternation.
Someday my child will move away
and then Satan and I can play.
Filed under Photo Finish Friday
Light flows from windows. /
Early riser greets no one; /
Sun is late – again.
Filed under Haiku to You Thursday, poetry by author
Booker's Blog 