Artist Meeting #2

Had another meeting with the potential artist for Magic in Dogtown. Hell, I could write a book just on the artist herself. She's that interesting.

I took eight pages of handwritten notes about the meeting. It was pretty productive. She gave me a sheet of "thumbnails" (tiny, rough draft drawings that could be the basis for something larger. Explaining them, she told me to think of what happens when you scroll your mouse over a link, sometimes a "thumbnail" version of the link or picture pops up), which were better than I'd even hoped for. She's going for a grittier, more urban look than I'd originally imagined, and it works.

Note to self: show up exactly on time for the next meeting. I was five minutes late to the first meeting, because someone gave me faulty directions. The artist didn't mention anything about it when we met, but when I was walking up to her I could see her furtively checking her watch. So I thought to myself, "Next time I absolutely must be at least five minutes early, for counterbalance."

Due to me miscalculating the time it would take to walk to the place... I showed up 30 minutes early. When she walked into the room, a carton of milk and container of mac n' cheese in her hands, to see me engaged in a conversation with a cute coworker, she was less than pleased. "You were late last time! I figured I would have time to eat first!"

Then, if I remember correctly, she proceeded to tell me how difficult it would be to eat in my horrifying presence to begin with. This is the same person who previously launched into a ten minute, graphic description of how she would destroy me and dispose of the body. Our admiration for each other knows no bounds.

So yes, the meeting went very well. The decision remains as to whether she should start working off of one of the thumbnails, or continue reading the rest of the novel before she reaches a final brainstorm. I'm fine with either option, but I'll have to discuss it with her... in a perfectly on time fashion, of course!

Stand-up.

Usually I get asked for spare change from about five or six times, at least, whenever I go out for a walk in the city. The homeless community seems to be growing each year. Some people I've seen for years, usually standing in the same spot day after day, and others seem to vanish into thin air after a few weeks. Instead of growing callous to it, it seems to get me more each time.

The same plea is voiced to me every time, normally a courteous, "Change please?" Or, "I'm hungry, man. Could you spare a little?"

The other day was different. I was walking down a busy street when I passed a bearded man in a dirty rain jacket. "I..." he began, halting. "Ehhhh I've run out of excuses," he said. "Could I have some money?"

"Sorry," I replied.

"I'm so broke I can't even pay attention," he informed me, matter of fact. People walking by couldn't help but laugh.

He reminded me of Mercutio, making quips even in a dismal situation. I heard him make a few more, but by the time I got home to write them down, I could only remember the first one.

Some people are larger than life, even when life strips them down and attempts to make them small. I've been asked many times why I would want to write a story based in a homeless community. The answer's simple, just walk around and you'll see.

Holy shit... my friend got published!

Yup, he did! Check it out on Amazon here. Buy it. Read it. I don't need to tell you to love it, because that'll come naturally. It's such an addicting read that you won't be able to help it.

One day I was perusing the closest Barnes & Noble when a book with a startling, hi-res cover caught my eye. I started paging through it, instantly entertained, when I was surprised to note that before I knew it, twenty minutes had passed. Yes... me, the least mathematically inclined person on the planet... had been ensnared by a physics book!

Wondering what author could have performed such sorcery, I checked the cover. No... it couldn't be THAT Aaron Santos, could it? I knew that guy! I checked the back flap, and yes, there was his picture smiling back at me. Holy shit... he got himself published!

I am so proud of him, you have no idea. This book is beyond cool. It's called How Many Licks: Or, How To Estimate Damn Near Anything. In it, he details formulas on how to approximate interesting problems. Like, you know in the movie Amélie, when she wonders aloud how many people are having an orgasm right that moment? Well, Aaron provides a formula with some humorous trivia on how to reach an actual approximation (hint: Amélie is waaaay off.) Other hypothetical problems he explores in the book are just as humorous:

How much would Spiderman have to eat each day to produce the webbing he makes in the movies?

What's the chance of meeting your Mr. or Mrs. Right?

How long would it take to eat the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters?

Which is more expensive: the NASA Probe or the subway in New York City?



You'll be surprised at the solutions he comes up with. I've been showing it around at work, and one of my employees has been quoting it every day since. Students majoring in mathematics have been loving it, and even the folks who study vastly different fields couldn't help turn page after page.

So seriously, check it out. You won't regret it.

And Aaron, I know I've told you before, but if you're reading this... congratulations! Your book kicks so much ass!

Two Faces

The other night I was running through Boston Common when I stumbled across a live, mini soap opera in action.

I was marveling how bright the moon was that night, like someone had just punched a hole through the darkness, when I heard it:

"YAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGHHHH!!!" An almost inhuman wail of rage and angst.

There were two girls, probably around eight years old, on bikes. One had stopped and was looking back over her shoulder at the other one, whose mouth was open in a perfect "O", her screams tearing through the night.

"RAAAAAAAAUUUUUGGGHHHHH!!!"

As far as I could tell, no one was hurt. An adult (the mother, perhaps) was walking towards the screaming child, speaking soothingly. The tiny human siren was just sitting on her bike, not moving, her head tipped straight back so that the out-pour of sound waves rocketing from her mouth could travel the farthest distance.

"YOU! HURT! MY! FEEEEEELLLLINNGS!!!" the girl wailed.

"I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings," the adult said. "I was just saying what you did was idiotic."

"WAAAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAA HAAAA HAAAAAAAAA!!! WAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!" the girl continued to holler.

I burst into laughter and crossed the street while her screams escalated behind me. She was roaring so loudly that her voice was gargling and growing husky from the effort.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that I wondered if I should feel bad about laughing at a crying child.

I guess people forget how powerful we feel things sometimes. Children don't seem to have any qualms with it, but adults? Forget about it.

A writer's job is to feel, though, or at least have the capacity to understand what makes people feel the way they do sometimes. I always picture a writer as an exposed wire out in the open, with the dangerous potential to react to the other currents buzzing around out there. In other words, writers have to approach the world vulnerable and defenseless. Otherwise, how are they going to be affected about it... so that they, in turn, can write about it?

This is why, among other things, I think criticism can be so tough for an artist. It's almost like they have to prepare two faces: a sensitive one for the world that they have to creatively interact with... and another, shielded face for when the work is critiqued and evaluated. It's tough to balance between the two faces, and to know exactly when to wear them.

So to the writers and artists out there: how do you navigate such a world?