Busted!

I've been neglecting my blog, and I fear that it will soon be taken away from me by some gov't agency that's responsible for blog protections services or something like that.

There's just so much going on, and it's been summer time, and I've just let it go for a little while. I've got tons to say, and I'm going to start saying it again soon. Thanks for being patient with me. I've been bad. But soon I'll be good again.

Must go watch the last half of the ballgame. Talk to you again real soon! Promise.

G

Facing Facebook: Yet Another Sign of the Coming Apocalypse

Okay, I did it. I signed up for a Facebook account. For months now, I've been answering "leave me alone" to the question "So, are you on Facebook?" I've been inundated with requests for well over a year now, and it was becoming a badge of honor for me that I just politely declined all such suggestions.

I can't say that I gave in to peer pressure. That wasn't it. I guess I wasn't ready to see the wonders of Facebook and the glorious worlds that it would open up for me. And I'm still not ready to admit that I was wrong. But I am ready to admit the possibility that I may have been mistaken. But I'm waiting to see. Sort of like the jury in the Conrad Black trial. They came back to the judge and said, "We can't decide." I love the judge's response: "Get your ass back in there and decide!" Seems the United States of America has more than one "decider"--besides the big guy, I mean. George W. I wonder is he on Facebook? I should check and, if he's there, maybe give him a poke. God knows, he could use one.

I won't go into my reasons for not joining Facebook until now. I guess I just considered myself too busy or whatever. I guess we all are, for that matter. It's all about making and keeping connections, or re-connecting with old friends, from what I understand. Okay. I'll buy that. But, as with so many things, I am a skeptic, but I am willing to see the light. If Facebook performs wonders for my social life, such as it is in its current state, then I am willing to admit I was wrong about it and I will buy the snake oil, I will drink the Kool-Aid, I will salute the flag, and I will kiss its ring.

It reminds me of the whole Star Wars phenomenon. I was a kid when it came into the theatres for the very first time, but I didn't see it because I wasn't a sci-fi fan. Everyone kept trying to persuade me to go because it was the newest and coolest thing that I "just have to see." I resented the pressure, so I never went. I stayed home and watched the radio. Sometimes I even turned it on. Then there was The Empire Strikes Back and The Return of the Jedi. Never saw either one until I was in my late twenties. Finally, after years of mental abuse by friends and family, all clamoring: "But you HAVE to see Star Wars? How can you not?" Resistance was futile, I guess, because I gave in and rented it on home video, and you know what?

I didn't like it.

Everyone raved about Yoda as the great philosopher. But all I saw was a cute muppet who spewed dimestore philosophy to the starving masses who had never heard such "wisdom" before. George Lucas was using Yoda and Obi Wan Kenobe as mouthpieces for a string of philosophical pearls that he knew would keep audiences coming back time and again.

The sad part is, I did. When Parts I, II, and II came into the theatres, I went to see each of them, even though I grew increasingly disenchanted with each one. Critics raved how the final film in the series was the best one since the first one.

I didn't like it. Hated it, in fact. Barely sat through it all without walking out. (I've never walked out of a theatre while the movie was still playing. Unless I had to go the bathroom, of course.)

Anyway, so I tend to be a johnny-come-lately. I rented the Godfather I and II a few years ago and fell asleep--through BOTH of them. I was just tired. No commentary on the movies there. And it wasn't that I'd been avoiding the Godfather trilogy for any great philosophical reasons. I just never got around to renting it.

So now there's Facebook. After I'd successfully avoided MySpace for a couple of years, there's a new e-kid on the block. We'll have to see how it goes.

I'd say I'll give it a try, but as Yoda knows: "There is no try, only do or do not."

So I did. Anyone care to tell me why?

G

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

I've been away for the past couple of weeks, spending some time beyond the overpass. I finished the first draft of my novel, Darwin Day, just before leaving and I'm pleased with it so far, but I'll be able to tell a lot better once revisions are complete. That always makes the difference.

My wife and I spent some time Twillingate, visiting her sister, and we had a great time, as we always do together. Saw tons of icebergs, flora and fauna, roamed the hills and beaches, and just relaxed. For me, it's probably the first time I've relaxed that much in nearly seven years, before the Ph.D. program began. Its a hard thing to describe. Something about the central part of this province is like heaven to me--just getting outdoors and not having so much traffic and noise around me all the time. It's like going to another planet...a better planet.

There's lots that I like about St. John's--mostly the bookstores, coffee shops, and movies. But I sometimes think I could give all of that up for a house and some land far from the madding crowd, somewhere in central Newfoundland.

We took the early morning ferry to Fogo Island and spent the day just beating around there. Stopped at a bakery for some tea, homemade toast and partridgeberry jam. Drove around the island, just looking for places to stop, chat for a while, take some pictures, and, if possible, get into a bit of mischief. A life without mischief, you see, is hardly a life at all. And harm to none, of course, as the wiccans say. My favorite spot was this fairly secluded sandy beach. There was a light breeze blowing, with no people around, and we just walked, ran, and acted like children for an hour or so. Beaches turn me into a different person; that's probably the best way to describe it. No more grading essays, reading books, using computers, or talking on telephones. If there is a heaven, I'm pretty sure it doesn't have any of those things, especially the latter. Heaven would have books, of course, but only good books--the kind that you read because you want to or because you really enjoy them even if you didn't think you would. It wasn't a really warm day (surprise!), but I did manage to roll up the legs of my jeans and run like mad into the freezing cold, late-June water, and then scramble even more madly back to the shore. My feet felt all tingly and clean for the rest of the day. Hard to explain unless you've done it.

Right after we'd returned from Twillingate, we went out to Harbour Grace for the wedding event of the century. Had an even better time than I thought we would, danced a helluva lot, and partied till the late hours. In a respectable way, of course. There's something strange about family gatherings though. There's all of those expectations about how you should act, what you should say, how you should be. And--I don't know why--but I always seem to break all of those rules without even trying. (Okay, sometimes I try, but not always.) Somehow, I end up enjoying it all in spite of myself, mostly by trying not to take any of it too seriously even though most of the people (muggles, I guess you'd call them. Or adults who forget what it's like to be young and irresponsible, in a good way) want you to take it all way too seriously.

I'm glad to be back home, though. Probably heading out again sometime soon, but can't say where or when. It's just one of those summers. I'm mostly just working from home, not paying attention to any kind of schedule, going wherever the wind takes me. Been regimented for too long.

Now if the weather would only turn to summer and stay there for a couple of days....

Hope you're all enjoying a nice break too.

Gerard

Summer So Far Away

So, today is the first day of summer. It’s the kind of day that makes me wonder why I live here. I remember, before I left Nova Scotia to return here a few years ago, it was near the end of a streak of 40 straight days of sunshine and temps in the thirties—that’s EVERY day beginning in early June. And it was still sunny and warm when I left. Even the winters were warmer and sunnier. And we haven’t seen the sunshine in nearly a week now. A couple of weekends were really nice—just the way summer should be—but you can never take that kind of weather for granted here.

I mean, I do appreciate where we live. Whenever I grouse about the crappy rain, drizzle, fog, and cold some optimistic soul always points out that it could be worse—we could be getting the massive hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, smog alerts, and brush fires like they get in those places with warm weather. Yes, they’re right, although sometimes I’m not so sure that we won’t be getting those things in the next decade or so. But for now, I concede that our weather isn’t that extreme, and that’s something I truly am grateful for.

My wife and I lived in British Columbia about nine years or so ago, though not for very long. We were enticed out there by well-meaning relatives who kept telling us how mild the winters were. Well, on the fifteenth of November that year, we were moving to a new apartment…and it snowed, and snowed, and snowed. 100 centimetres! And I didn’t own snow boots or wool socks. Most snow they’d seen in decades apparently. Then a week later: another 100 centimetres, and twice more around Christmas time their were massive snow storms. They had to close roads and call in the army to get the highways and byways cleared. It took weeks.

I recall one day in late February waking up one morning and seeing the sun shining in through the kitchen window and realizing: it’s the first time I’ve seen the sun since mid-October of the previous year! That’s a mighty long time without even a glimpse of the sun. It had rained continuously whenever it wasn’t snowing, with only a few cloudy, rainless days in between.

The best weather in B.C., besides the hot, muggy weather of August and September (which I absolutely love and wish we could import) was the lightning storms. They were just spectacular. We lived in the Fraser Valley, in a third-floor apartment, so you could not only hear the thunder roaring and rolling from mountain to mountain, but you could also watch the chain lightning get caught in this bowl of rock, just zinging back and forth, lighting up the sky and everything beneath it. I recall standing out on the balcony, overlooking the downtown, the rain pouring down in sheets, and the thunder and lightning like nothing I’d ever seen before. Just incredible. Almost as great as the total lunar eclipse on the night of the full moon in October. Almost as spectacular as the Fundy tides of Nova Scotia that roll in so fast it can take your breath away or the harvest moon setting over the apple orchards in the Annapolis Valley, the sky painted orange, black, and red, like something out of an Old Testament movie.

I guess, when I think of it, it’s the sameness of the weather here that I love and hate at the same time. I like difference, have never been fond of stagnation. But we have entire weeks of RDF. Granted, I wasn’t fond of the constant threat of earthquakes in B.C., and in Ontario, there was the occasional tornado (one took off the top of a church) and drive-by shootings a few miles away (which, in a strange way, is weather-related because most of the real wackos like warm weather).

Weather like this—on the first official day of summer—always makes me wonder if we should be on the move again, to somewhere warmer. But then I think of all the times when we were living elsewhere, and I would have given anything for a whiff of salt air or a glance of Cabot Tower or the Atlantic Ocean. That’s usually enough to make me appreciate being back here. I think of all the people who wish they could be here, but have little choice but to go away to find work. Then I think, a little cold weather is not so bad, even in June.

And pretty soon, it really will be summer. Any day now. Yup. Any day now.

GC

The Sound of Singing!

It’s the anniversary of the day I was born, a.k.a my birthday. I’m not overly fond of this day, for some reason. I was going to go on a long diatribe about the (in) significance of birthdays, but instead I wanted to talk about music. (Oh, and it's not that I hate birthdays or celebrating or aging or any of that. I guess I just don't like the expectations that go along with being the centre of attention in that way. Also born on this day: Mark Wahlberg, Cam Neely, Bjorn Borg, and Joe Clarke. What a strange collection of Geminis). For the record, on this day in 2007, I am aghast at the state of the world: Paris is in jail, Lindsay and Britney are in rehab, Anna Nicole is dead, and Canada is nixing on its Kyoto commitments. New Orleans is sinking, and the dollar is rising through the roof. Seven signs that the apocalypse is nigh?)

Anyway, one of my many hobbies, pastimes, interests, wastes of time, ways of fooling around, or whatever you want to call it is downloading music from iTunes. I don’t pirate music (except when someone generously gives me a CD mix or something like that) because, as a writer, artist, and former musician myself—who knows other writers, artists, and musicians—I understand what it means to value the work that someone does. Sometimes, the best way to show that you value someone’s music (or book or whatever) is to pay for it. I know—not very utopian of me. I always thought I was a socialist at heart, but I don’t think that everything should be free. I just think that stealing is wrong, period.

Anyway, enough preaching (I’m just not in the mood today)—just thought I’d throw a few of my latest favorite downloads at you, just for fun:

1. “Working Class Hero”—Green Day. It’s a remake of a John Lennon song from the seventies, but I love what they do to it. Billie Jo Armstrong’s voice is perfect for this song. It gives me chills every time I hear it. He’s so righteous and angry in a way that you rarely heard in such a melodic, poetic way. Most of the anger and self-righteousness you hear on radio these days lacks melody and/or poetry. Hip-hop bores me to death. Metal has no melody. Mostly just primal screaming, which is therapeutic for some, I suppose. Just not me. I like my songs to sound like songs and singing to sound like singing.

2 . Lucy Kaplansky. Who???? Am I the only person who’s never heard of this person. I was at Starbucks one day and they were playing this version of Dylan’s “It Ain’t Me, Babe” (also once covered by Johnny Cash), and the voice is just this beautiful, haunting, expressive female. I went home and searched iTunes for who’s done a cover of that song recently and came up with Lucy Kaplansky. Turned out to be the same one. I liked it so much a downloaded a couple more of her songs. She’s richly talented. I might buy more. (FOLKIE WARNING: I am a huge fan of the female voice, as opposed to the male voice. Especially just a girl and a guitar. Or a piano. Or a banjo. Okay, just kidding about the banjo.) (Oh, unless it’s those Dixie Chicks—love ‘em.)

3. “Top of the World” by the Dixie Chicks and “Not Ready to Make Nice” by the Chicks. They play their own instruments extremely well, and they write articulate, poignant, catchy songs. What’s not to love? Oh, and they hate George W. Bush! I mean, how perfect is that? "Top of the World" is one of my favorite songs of the past three years, just as Lucy Kaplansky is my new favorite singer for the next three weeks.

4. “Space Oddity” by David Bowie. One of my favorite songs of all time. It’s just downright spooky…to me, anyway. How did I get by without having this song in my collection all these years? That’s what iTunes is for.

5. “Tom Sawyer” by Rush. Deadly song. Fantastic lyrics. Possibly their best melody. I was never what you call a huge Rush fan, but when I was writing my short story “Exit the Warrior,” the main character turns on the radio and this song was on. So I had to go listen to the song, and that’s where the title of the story comes from. This is a great song for running, working out, or just listening to. It's just pure rock, with a bit of a roll.

That’s only four out of the two or three hundred songs I’ve got on my mp3 player at the moment. I plan to download a few more over the weekend, and I’ll let you know what I come up with.

Oh, and they’re not necessarily recommendations. It depends on what you like. But it might give you some idea where my head is at. Scary thought.

Have a great day even if you didn’t have a birthday.

GC

Awards and all that Jazz

I’m not going to pretend that awards don’t mean anything. I''mpretty sure that they do. But I think it’s worth looking into what they really mean.

Saturday night, I picked up a literary award at the 55th annual provincial arts and letters awards gala in the short fiction category, for my short story, “Exit the Warrior”(excerpt at http://www.tcr.gov.nl.ca/artsandletters/winning_entries.htm). Every year, I make it a point to enter this competition for several reasons. One is that it’s probably the most prestigious literary award in the province. Without exception, every major author from Newfoundland has won several of these awards for fiction and/or poetry: Kenneth Harvey, Lisa Moore, Wayne Johnston, Michael Crummey, Tom Dawe, Kevin Major…and the list goes on and on. It seems that if you want to be taken seriously—better yet if want to take YOURSELF seriously—as a writer in this province, you’ve got to prove you can make it in the arts and letters competition first. It’s a real proving ground, it seems.

And it’s true. The competition is fierce, simply because the prize money is incredibly good ($1,000) and therefore all of the best writers in the province, or most of them at least, enter the fray. I’m sure that some of them don’t (not every year anyway), but sooner or later they all do if they still live here. So you get a chance to judge yourself alongside some of these heavyweight authors. I’ve won four of these in the past seven years, including the big award, the Percy Janes First Novel Award (for an unpublished manuscript) and every time I try and put it in perspective: what does it really mean? Does it do anything for you to win awards like this?

They are prestigious, without doubt. They can make you feel good, definitely. It’s nice to be seen and nice to win some money, and nice to prove to yourself that you’ve got what it takes. As I said, I test myself every year: in January or early February, I challenge myself to write a new short story. That’s it. That’s the challenge. Just knowing that I have a deadline to meet and that what I write has to be good or it won’t make the cut gives me the incentive to just write something. That, as I’ve said before, is most of the battle won when it comes to successful writing.

When a story actually wins, though, that’s a whole different story, so to speak. Each of these new stories, especially the ones that have won awards, are part of the ongoing short story collection I’m writing, and just the fact that they’ve done so well already gives me confidence that they’re good. You need that if you’re going to approach a publisher with a proposal.

Anyway, my favorite part of the awards gala, believe it or not, is NOT picking up the award and shaking hands with the minister of tourism and culture (although he seems to be a nice guy). No, my favorite part has to do with the other people involved, especially the young ones. As soon as I learned two weeks ago that I was invited to the awards ceremony (which means you’ve won an award), my second thought—right after, COOL! I won—was that I was going to be in the privileged position of sitting in on one of the best nights of entertainment around. In the junior category, there are young people from all over the province, including as far away as St. Anthony and Labrador, who came all the way to St. John’s for this night. And many of them read from their winning entries or played winning musical compositions. And their talent is staggering. With many of the writers, I found myself thinking that there is no way that I could write that well at the age of thirteen. Forget it. And the musical performers were amazing. I was just enthralled for the entire two hours. As I said to my wife, who was with me, when you look around at all the talent, you can’t help but feel that you’re in the presence of greatness, in the sense that there is so much ability and it is so special and makes you feel so good about the people you’re with and the place you come from. As far as I know, this competition is unique in Canadian arts, and it’s one of the few things that J.R. Smallwood did right.

It was a great evening also to get the chance to see and talk to some people in the arts community that I either know or don’t know and rarely get a chance to see. It can really make you feel, as a writer, that you belong. And that’s all a part of actually belonging.

There’s other news about my writing, but I’ll share that next time. I’m tired of talking about myself—a topic I grow weary of pretty quickly.

Oh, and what do awards mean? It means you’re doing something right. Now it’s time to go back to work. That’s what it means. Because, in the end, it’s still about the work itself—the writing and the privilege of being able to do that and, occasionally, if you’re lucky, you get told that what you’re doing is worth something.

G

Summer?!

It's finally here! What a glorious few days we've had. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and I've got a song in my heart, metaphorically speaking of course. I've even managed to get out jogging these past couple of days. I'm not one of those cold-weather joggers that you see all bundled up, with their steel-belted running shoes, toques, and snow suits, trekking along Elizabeth Avenue in the freezing wind and below-zero temps. Forget it.

I love running. I always have, really. Since my late teens, I've loved stepping into my shorts, a t-shirt, and running shoes and hitting the pavement...although in recent years, I prefer the soft ground. It's just easier on the joints. Not as much chance of shin splints. I even met my wife at the end of a long jog up the afore-mentioned Elizabeth Avenue. It was a sunny, warm evening in early September, a lot of years ago, and I got a call from my best friend, asking what I was up to. A friend of his was in town, and since I was getting ready to go running, I ran the six miles or so to his place and met this beautiful young girl of eighteen who stole my heart. I was nineteen at the time, so it was legit. We spent the whole night talking and four years later, we were were married.

There's something about running that I've always loved. It's the fast movement. Pushing the body to go for as long and (sometimes) as fast as it will go. But it's more than the exercise. I've never been crazy about exercise for it's own sake. But I find that running is meditative. It's almost like a trance. Nowadays, I carry my mp3 player and listen to my special "Running Man" folder, with all kinds of cool songs on it. But when I reach a stretch of the path that runs alongside a pond and is sheltered in trees, with hardly a breath of wind, I switch of the music and listen to the sounds of nature. It seems sacrilegious to do otherwise. I meet a lot of the same people on my journey, so it's become somewhat of a community--lots of friendly faces, smiling and waving. But there's lots of entertaining stuff to see too. Occasionally, I get a squirrel crossing my path. Lots of bright colored birds swoop down right in front of me. Yesterday I saw two beautiful, speeding finches. They tend to fly ahead just a bit and stop, wait for me to catch up (or so it seems) and then they fly off again. One time last year, there was this great big monarch butterfly that stopped in the path in front of me. When I stopped and bent down, holding out my hand, the butterfly flew right into my palm and stayed there for a couple of minutes. Those kinds of things are part of what I love my about jogging. It's the outdoors, the adrenaline rush, the exercise of course, the people, and the staying in shape after a horribly long winter.

As I said, I can't run in cold weather. I won't. So I've been waiting...and waiting. I've gotten out a few times this spring, but there's nothing like that first time I can shed the track pants and sweat shirt and just go in shorts and t-shirt. It's like a rush of freedom.

So I went out yesterday and today, and just loved it. In between working on my novel, of course. The end isn't in sight yet, but it's getting there. The running actually helps clear my brain. Sometimes, I think up plot points and ideas for characters while I'm out there.

Any other runners out there? I'd love to hear from you!

Gerard

Over the years

Spiders, Apes, and Me

I saw Spidey 3 over the weekend and mostly I enjoyed it. The usual stuff was there: Tobey and Kirsten, lots of leaping and swinging (all good, clean fun), thrills, chills, and spills. The special FX are awesome, as usual, though I’ve heard some hard-to-please critics say that there’s nothing new—which is a real problem for me, I have to say. Why must there always be something new? I mean, sure, it would be nice, but it doesn’t seem like a valid criticism to me to say that this movie pushes boundaries, visually, that other movies don’t even dare attempt, but it doesn’t outdo itself. It’s like saying Wayne Gretzky scored 80 goals one year, but, like, he didn’t score any on his back or while flying through the air and knitting an afghan. Good is good. If you feel like you’ve seen it before then, well, geez, buddy: it’s Spiderman THREE! Did you not read the movie poster? It’s a sequel. Read: more of the same.

Anyway, was the movie any good? I’d give it a 77 (those of you who know my grading system will appreciate what that means—it’s not good enough for an A, but it’s still really enjoyable). It is a bit long. There were several fight scenes that just seemed repetitive and pointless and could have been shaved by a minute or so each. I liked all of the characters, but there were just too many conflicts going on at once. If they had removed the one with the Sand Dude, then the movie would have been tidier and probably gotten better reviews. They just went for too much, possibly for fear that there wouldn’t be a fourth movie. There could be another Spiderman movie, and I would definitely go to it. But given the cool reception from critics on this one, it’s unlikely Sam Raimi will want to climb back up on that particular horse for a while, if ever. I’d definitely recommend seeing this one, though, if you’re near a theater. Big screen is always better for any almost any kind of movie. You know what they say: go big or go home. The do say that, don’t they? Whoever “they is”.

Speaking of monkeys (I’m sure someone was), I read on the weekend that Austrian activists are seeking human rights for chimpanzees. That’s hilarious. First of all, they must already have the right to vote. Otherwise, how would George Dubya Bush be elected president? TWICE! Or what hope would Stephen Harper have for a majority government in the next election. Giving monkeys the right to vote is the obvious way to go if you’re a right-wing politician. It’s guaranteed votes. That is, until the monkeys are given the right to an education, which only makes sense. What good are rights unless you’re educated on what those rights are and how they should be used. Once monkeys learn to read and think for themselves, the Republicans and Conservatives might find themselves out of luck once again.

How much time do these activists have on their hands anyway? Not only in Austria, but in Brazil, and several other countries are considering this as well. I understand that they don’t want to elevate chimps to the status of people (at least not most people). They say that they just want to make sure the apes are free from torture and killing, or whatever else science does with them.

I mean, realistically, when you look at them, don’t they look like little people? Those big eyes that look like they’ve seen too much, like they could be your best friend if only you’d give them a chance. Of course, they can’t talk and, as far as we know, they can’t read or think or figure out a Rubik’s Cube. Granted, I have days when I can’t do any of those things either. I’m sure we all do.

While we’re at it, I think we should grant monkeys the right to legal abortion. We should also give them fishing licenses and the right to bear arms. They have the right to defend themselves too. In fact, if this goes through, it might eventually come down to human rights versus chimpanzee rights: if a person hurts a chimp, how will the person be punished? A fight to death, maybe. Or a bake-off. Or maybe a challenge to a banana-eating contest.

But wait a minute: don’t we already have animal rights? Can’t people already be prosecuted for animal cruelty? I don’t know for sure, but it seems to me that the Western World already protects critters as much as possible.

Giving them rights under the law just seems to be taking things a bit far. But that’s just my opinion. I’m sure Amnesty International will shift its focus accordingly. Leave people to fend for themselves: we’ve got chimps who are misunderstood, seals who barely have a say, and mosquitoes who are facing genocide at an alarming rate in many so-called civilized countries. Who speaks for the humble mosquito?

It’s not that I condone cruelty to animals. I don’t. I love animals, especially furry ones that don’t look at you as if you were food. And I do think we need laws to protect them. But to extend “human rights” to that which is clearly not human seems nonsensical. We are the only species which has the ability to effectively legislate itself right out of existence. Why? Because we are the only species with the ability to understand the difference. If you change a monkey’s rights, it doesn’t know and doesn’t care. If you change the definition of a human, then we all know and feel it. It would seriously damage our sense of identity and distinction. Are the animals progressing at our expense? Are we progressing so that we embrace all as one? Or are we too smart for our own good?

It’s enough to make you feel like an endangered species some days.

Gerard

Spiderman, Spiderman...

Does whatever a hmm-hmm can. I can't use any more of the lyrics than that without the expressed written permission of the songwriter or his/her agency.

But I'm going to see the movie tomorrow and I'm completely stoked for it. I've watched the first two in the series again lately in preparation. Not that I'm a complete spidey-geek or anything. I've never owned the spidey leotards or tried to climb walls (lately). I haven't worked for a newspaper (more than once) and I don't go around quoting lines from the movie (mostly because there aren't any memorable ones).

I just love a good popcorn movie, that's all, and I'm a huge fan of both Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst. Plus, it's the first big blockbuster movie of the summer season, and that helps me daydream about warm weather and lazy days. I'm also looking forward to Shrek The Third and Pirates III, as I think most people are. Shrek is just funny as hell, and even though Pirates II was a bit of a mess, I still enjoyed watching Johnny Depp be Captain Jack Sparrow and watching Keira Knightley just be, well, Keira Knightley. She does it so well, and she's a fine actress too.

But there's more than that to look forward to (or maybe I just love the movies way too much). There's The Bourne Ultimatum, which I'm sure I'll have to rent again in December just so I'm not left confused forever about the plot. Ocean's Thirteen (yawn). No Julia Roberts or Catherine Zeta-Jones. But I'll go anyway because Clooney and Pitt crack me up. Die Hard IV (there might be terrorists! Ya think?). I'd also like to see that quirkey "Waitress" movie with the actress from Felicity. Can't remember her name. But it looks interesting. I'm just lookin' to be entertained. Nothing too deep for the summer months. My brain's on vacation.

I admit I'm a sucker for the big Hollywood motion picture, more so than the smaller, edgier independent films. I'm not sure why that is. Maybe I'm just shallow. Or maybe I just like a story with a beginning, middle, and (preferably a good) ending. Criticizing Hollywood is fashionable, of course, and it's certainly not politically correct to admit that you actually enjoy anything that comes out of there. But for every dreckish movie that comes out of that process, there's the occasional gem. You've just got to take the bad with the good, that's all. Or at least, that's what I choose to do.

So my seat is reserved for the summer, and I'll let you know what I think (without giving spoilers though--I hate those), for what it's worth.

Great, now I've got that song going through my head. Brain worm.

Gerard

Blue Moon

It's been a week of steady writing and the occasional foray out into the world, but really not much else to report lately. My novel, Darwin Day, is coming along nicely. It's at 138 pages now, or something like that. Once a novel gets past the 100-page mark, then I feel like it's finally, definitely going to get finished. The characters finally feel real to me now, as if they were real people, just waiting to tell me their story as it happened. I don't like to manipulate my characters by making them do things that I would like them to do. The story will feel more organic and less contrived if I just let them do the talking and the thinking while I just do the typing. Any time I've done it the other way around, it just ends badly. I've tried that with short stories and with some novels I've never finished, and those stories never quite seem genuine or successful to me. They never publish either, not surprisingly.

But I do have a good feeling about Darwin Day. It's about a young man who returns to his hometown for a summer weekend festival and winds up dead. Mostly, it's the story of his girlfriend, Bridget, and his friend and mentor, an old man named Francis Minnow--both of them have seen his ghost, but aren't sure what to do about it, especially since the town is filled with possible suspects, including both the dead boy's father and best friend. Death makes for strange bedfellows, you might say, because nothing will bring people closer together than the death of someone they both loved. But nothing will drive a small town apart more than a suspicious death.

Anyway, that's the gist of it. It'll be fun and funny, but serious and poignant at various times. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll hurl.

But first I have to finish it, which is why I haven't been blogging much lately. I'll try to do better in that regard in the coming days, though.

At least the weather's getting warmer. I think it was seven degrees today. Wind chill factor of minus four.

I love summer in Newfoundland. Oh, and not only is there a full moon tonight, but another one at the end of the month, making that later one a blue moon. So if you're going to do something special that you rarely get the chance to do, that would be the day to do it, just so you can say to someone, "Geez, I only do this once in a blue moon." Or not.

Gerard