Category Archives: Invisible Ink

Steampunk, Antiques & My Personal Celebrities

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Steamjunk on its way to Steampunk

Three times a year, the sleepy little New England town of Brimfield, Massachusetts mushrooms into an antiquing mecca with an international draw. The Brimfield Antique Market boasts 22 separate fields featuring over 5,000 vendors. The sellers converge from all over the U.S. to peddle items ranging from chipped glassware & bits of metal junk haphazardly displayed on  muddy tarps to high-end 17th century English furniture staged beautifully in showroom-style vignettes.

The estimated traffic is over 250,000 visitors per show. That’s a quarter-million antique hunters!

Like the vendors, the shoppers come from all over. Their taste has the same vast range as the items being offered. A lot of folks swoop in from the nearby cities of Boston, Philadelphia and New York. In addition to the American set, I have personally sold to clients from Canada, England, Switzerland, and Japan. These foreign buyers often target Brimfield in search of those unique items they’re itching to get their hands on.

While the majority of the shoppers and dealers are what one could term ‘ordinary folk’, with that many people amassed in one locale, there are also a good number of characters. Dudes in kilts, slave boys in leather hot-shorts, mod ladies, shirtless wonders sporting their own built-in sweaters, steampunkers, etc. I saw quite a few models for the characters in my novel-in-progress, Phreak Show.

Danielle Hinton – The perfect model for Twiggy

One girl in particular was the perfect fit for Twiggy. I pitched my novel concept, shared my character sketch, and asked if I could snap some photos for reference. She is a fan of both fantasy & steampunk, and graciously obliged the rambling request of a stranger. Danielle is a fantastic lady–you can just feel the fabulousness oozing out of her. Check her out on Etsy http://www.etsy.com/shop/ConstantlyAlice & Facebook http://www.facebook.com/ConstantlyAlice. Also, I’m pretty sure I have added another pre-publication sale of Phreak Show to the list. 😉

Celebrities also slip into the mix at Brimfield. A few big names are frequent shoppers. Tommy Hilfiger and his crew often swoop in placing tag after tag on items they’re interested in. [Making the dealers quite happy.] There were rumors that Barbara Streisand was at this last show. I personally wouldn’t be all gushing to see her pass by, but I sure ran into a lot of people that seemed more interested in hunting her down than searching for an antique to purchase.

I did meet and interact with two celebrities-of-sorts which are more inline with my personal interests.

First was Evan Michelson, co-owner of the NY shop Obscura, cohost of the show “Oddities”, and lover of all things weird & macabre. My partner and I went with a Fun Haus theme for this show. Over the last two months, we focused on collecting circus & carnival items, medical & funerary equipment, anatomical models, and both animal and human specimens. Evan was in our booth three different times chatting with us. She purchased 4 items from us and gave us a verbal pat-on-the-back with, “You guys have really great stuff.”

Between visits, Micah said, “We should get her autograph.” I talked the fanboi off the ledge and convinced him not to badger the poor woman. Evan likes creepy things, but I’m pretty sure gushing fanbois are excluded from her must-have list.  In exchange for his reserve, Micah got to assist her by carrying some items and escorting her to her vehicle. On the trek, Evan shared some insight into her personality and how the show has affected her life. So, instead of a restraining order, Micah got a bit of personalized interaction with Evan.

 

The second celebrity  I met and chatted with at length was Bruce Rosenbaum. If you’re into steampunk–and you don’t know this name–then rectify this at once. These links will help: http://www.modvic.com/ & http://www.facebook.com/ModVic. It may be overkill, but I consider him the reigning godfather of the Steampunk movement. We talked about steampunk in general, where Micah & I are heading with our design company, my Phreak Show concept, and random other topics. I showed him the YA Steampunk I was reading, The Girl in the Steel Corset. It turns out he personally knows the author, Kady Cross. At the end, we exchanged business cards and he told me to get in touch with any questions along the way or if we come across any items he may be interested in.

It was great to meet these folks. Especially at the juncture where Micah & I have set a new aesthetic & philosophical course for our business. We are calling it “Victweirdian”. Think: Steampunk furniture, lighting, accessories, clothing, jewelry, and art mixed with oddities that would be included in a cabinet of curiosities. Our shopping and brainstorming for this new venture have already begun.  The leading photo of this post shows some of the ‘Steamjunk’ raw goodies. Stay tuned over the coming months to see how Lucah transforms them.

One piece I’m really excited about is a Victorian ‘Fat Jiggler’. You know–the shaking machine with the belt which supposedly shimmies all your fat off… Well, I found one with a great trapezoidal cabinet design. The belt has been removed. With a little tweaking, tuning up the motor, and the addition of some metal arms and implements–Lucah will have its first automaton maid.

If I Was A…

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This dude totally shaved his beard

 

I’m not really sure why, but my brain was firing with randomness earlier this evening. Not that this is anything new.

I started a Tweet session where I just let this urge run wild. Here’s what it turned into.

ZOMBIE
If I ever become a zombie, I hope I’m the fast kind–not the slow, pathetic kind. Oh! And no maggots. They’d distract me too much. 
Also, if I ever become a zombie, I hope I don’t eat any of my friends. I hope I’d be a good enough friend to still be nice. You know? 
If I ever become a zombie, I think it’d be cool to “pretend” like I was still alive. Take baths, fix my hair, order stuff online. 
If I was a zombie, and I was eating live people, I wouldn’t also want to be considered a cannibal. It’s not the same. And that would hurt. 
If I was zombie, I’d still want to eat sushi & chocolate & tomatoes. Not just brains. That would get so old so quick. 
If I became a zombie, would I *know* it wasn’t always so? Or would I just be like: ‘Oh–I’ve always been this way. Can’t change who I am.’? 
If I become a zombie, I want to be able to climb trees. & be arrow-proof. & maybe teach the other zombies language skilz besides grunting. 
Also, I’d like to be the zombie to begin peace negotiations with the homo sapiens. The world is big enough for more than 1 humanoid species. 
But I don’t want to be like Zombie King or anything. That’d be a lot to deal with. I’d just wanna try to be helpful and not scare the humans 
 
SASQUATCH
If I was a sasquatch, I’d need a lady-in-waiting. I could brush most of my hair, but some would be out of reach. Even with my long arms. 
If I was a sasquatch, I’d definitely wear a shirt. Maybe pants, too. But definitely a shirt. 
If I was a sasquatch, I’d donate all I could to Locks of Love. I would hope others would do the same for me if I was in need. 
If I was a sasquatch, I wouldn’t hide all the time. I mean, if I was photogenic, I would totally do a photo shoot for People or NatGeo. 
I’d like a nice condo if I was a sasquatch. The forest is cool and all, but I bet it gets lonely out there sometimes. 
If I was a sasquatch, I’d go trick-or-treating. That way I could get close to people and they wouldn’t shoot me. 
If I was a sasquatch, I would do Chewbacca impressions at parties. And maybe play bartender. If I had a big hairnet or a trench coat. 
If I was a sasquatch, I bet it’d be pretty easy to get product endorsements. Maybe for like haircare, ski equipment, and probably Gatorade. 
If I was a sasquatch, I might stay in the woods, though. Maybe become a Christmas tree farmer or a Park Ranger. But not a lumberjack. 
 
UNICORN
If I was a unicorn, I’d be the kind with a beard. I’d probably braid it, or wear a little barrette in it. A red one. No sparkles, though. 
If I was a unicorn, I’d want a brass tag attached 2 my horn. It would say: If you kill me, my magical horn will dissolve. It’s not worth it. 
If I was a unicorn, I would sneak into a zoo and only let little kids see me. And maybe sad people. yes. The sad people, too. 
If I was a unicorn, I’d grant wishes for sure. But not in the country or suburbs. In the city. Where folks wouldn’t’ expect me to show up. 
If I was a unicorn, I would eat all the bombs. 
If I was a unicorn, I’d want my mane to move all the time. Even when there was no wind. And I’d blink really slowly and almost grin. 
Also, if I was a unicorn, I’d roll around in clover and whinny. But it wouldn’t sound like a horse. More like a little girl giggling. 
If I was a unicorn, I’d be playful. Like riding around on tricycles and maybe doing the Moonwalk at the Super Bowl half-time show. 
If I was a unicorn, I’d heal people of cancer. But only if they were brave enough to climb on my back. And believe. 
If I was a unicorn, I’d like to do a reality show with a bunch of meanies. I’d teach them lessons along the way, & refuse to take the money. 
Lastly, if I was a unicorn, I’d invite all the sasquatches & zombies over for tea. And we’d tell jokes and play games and hug a lot. 
 
The End. 

Out of these three beings, I suppose I would most like to be the unicorn. Maybe that’s a cop-out since they have the best reputation going in. The main reason I’d pick the unicorn is because it’s all magick and stuff. If I could be this kind of cancer-healing, bomb-eating, moon-walking unicorn–I’d choose it in a heartbeat. Still, much love to the zombies and sasquatches. [Or is the plural also ‘sasquatch’? If I ever become one, I’ll find out.]

Invisible Ink

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This is my 100th post on this ol’ Write Frame of Mind blog. I figured maybe it ought to be special or some such. I didn’t think about it much, but just let my subconscious play with the idea for a day or two.

Here’s what it came up with:

I’m a hands-on kind of guy. When I create art, I like it to have an interactive element. I’m self-employed, and my company’s specialty is upcycling unuseable vintage & antique items to make them functional. You know, so you can interact with the pieces in tangible ways. I am also a teacher at heart. Any chance I get to fulfill this role, I try to incorporate interactive elements into the process. Want to know why? Because doing something helps make the lesson unique and memorable.

Peppered throughout the posts on this blog are snippets written in Invisible Ink. You’ll have to highlight the hidden section in order to read it. Go ahead. Give it a testrun by dragging your mouse over the “blank” area right below this line.

See? Invisble Ink nested within a post. Nifty, eh? Thanks for the idea, Mr. Subconscious.

So, if you’re up for a scavenger hunt for random thoughts sprinkled across this blog, I’ve made it easy for you. See the “Tags” over there?
<—————————-
There is one titled “Invisible Ink”. It will lead you to most [but not all…] of the secret messages.

From this point on, I will continue to hide these Invisible Ink messages within each new post. I will no longer use the “Invisible Ink” tag. You’ll just have to remember to hunt for the sneaky little message yourself.

Enjoy the scavenger hunt!

I’ll try to make the Invisble Ink messages entertaining, straight forward, and perhaps uber-personal. This is my gift to you. A bit of interactive reading. A peephole into the blog author’s soul. Or something. You’re welcome. And you’re worth it. I love you more than I love guyliner.

The Next Novel: Phreak Show

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My peaceful breath-between-novels has been released. I’m sucking in the freshness of a new premise exploding with heaving, huffing, puffing, oxygenated life.

Here we go. Again.

It’s always a toss-up for me on how much of a premise–how many specifics–I should divulge to the world-at-large. I’m torn. Of course, I want to share ALL THE IDEAS. I want to gush about the nuances, the love quadrangles, character motivations, the twists and turns, the specific tidbits which make my world & story unique. But, then the fear kicks in.

What if somebody steals my gems? What if a writing thug ganks my ideas and appropriates them as his/her own?

So, I share just enough to tease. Reveal pieces of the puzzle which—hopefully—entice others to ache for more.

{No, this isn’t as streamlined as a pitch should be. It’s more like slightly connected thoughts. Bear with me.}

Phreak Show  is a YA Fantasy. It is set in the Last American Sideshow–an anachronistic Victorian subculture existing within, and clashing against, modern-day society. The phreaks are everyday teens who have been enslaved by the mysterious Phineas Maestro. The main character, kick-ass sixteen-year-old Tera, is tricked into transforming into one of the exhibits. Living, working, fighting, and finding love with the other phreaks leads her to discover how they can all break free from Phineas’ imprisonment.

Their own warped self-images have created the personas of Blubber Girl, Gemini the Two-Headed Boy, The Abominable Snowwoman, and the rest of the oddities.  If Tera can control her unique phreak manifiestation as a WhatIzIt, she can help the others face their fears and release themselves from bondage. With more internal baggage than the spoiled Lil Diva lugs around, Tera will have to confront her own effed-up issues before she can begin to help the others. But being comfortable in your own skin is tough as shit. Being a phreak isn’t about looks, it’s a frame of mind.

I have started a few Pinterest boards for collecting visual references for Phreak Show. Some of the descriptions give further clues to the characters and the world I am building.

http://pinterest.com/gypsyluc/

Take a peek for a few more scrumptious, teaserly morsels.

We have all felt ostracized & marginalized at some point in our lives. Some more than others. In a former life, I was a Youth Pastor. [I know, right? Crazy!] The leaders of one employing church in particular wanted me to chase after the athletes, the popular kids, the rich kids. In their minds, if we could get these types involved, others would follow. Frankly, I thought that was pompous, ungodly bullshit. So, I went with my heart. And this heart of mine roots for the underdog, kids from the wrong side of the tracks, the dirty, the broken, folks who are rough around the edges. The result: I ministered to sk8ers, emo kids, regular Joes & Janes–anyone who desired interaction. I still get Facebook messages, emails & phone calls from these kids–now grown–telling me how much I affected their lives… Long live the underdogs.

Letting Off Some Steam

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It seems like I have been writing nonstop since Oct 2010.

You can guess the next line, eh?

I have.

If you’re a writer, you know the drill: brainstorm, organize thoughts into coherency, draft, revise, seek  feedback, more revision, more & more revision, query, wait, perhaps even more revision, sigh, wait, sigh, repeat. This has been my life for twenty-one months straight. Yeah, I’ve slipped some other things in, but one of those ^ stages has always been ticking like a loud-ass clock in the background.

Officially, I suppose the ‘brainstorm’ part is still going on. My mind sporadically drifts into wondering, dreaming, and pre-writing my next novel. But, it is in that fun place where I can let it run if I like. There is no self-imposed deadline hanging over me. There is no pressure related to this process. If it happens, Yay! If I don’t think about it for days, So what?

Today, that writer-limbo-freedom allowed me to let an idea (which did not involve writing) come to life. I was in the midst of another task in the studio, saw some old clock parts I picked up a while back, and started making steampunk glasses. Uhhh, random. But since I didn’t have the threat of Author Lucas yelling at me, I started tinkering.

Here are the results:

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Today, I created an unexpected something on the spur of the moment. It wasn’t a piece of flash fiction, a poem, another chapter’s worth of edits, or any other writing related thing. [Well, I say that…but here I am blogging about it. And–the novel brewing when it wants to, does have a steampunk element…] Oh hell, whatever. I spontaneously created and had a helluvalotta fun doing it.

Now to sew up a brocade waistcoat to go with the glasses…

In High School, I was the ‘Artist’. Won a lot of awards for my art. I had an art-arch-nemesis, though. We were friendly, but quietly competitive. We silently assessed one another’s work, secretly envied one another, and cheered one another along with a respectful jealousy. One County Student Show in particular, I took 2nd place in acrylic. He got 1st & 3rd–sandwiching me with his entries. We never gloated or pouted. We simply nodded and congratulated one another. I haven’t seen him for 18 years, but we are ‘friends’ on facebook. Every now and theI troll his page…

I’m Just a Bill

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I am quite thrilled to say that the agent/publisher response to my third novel, FREEBORN, has been far and away better than for my first two novels. That tells me I am learning more of what it takes to grab and hold their attention through pitching and actual writing craft.

That last statement sounds like agents & publishers are my market, my audience. They are not. The buying public is.

But agents are pivotal in the process of getting my words to that market. Agents are partners and advocates. They’re often called gatekeepers–those who hold the keys to the magic portal through which a manuscript must pass in order to become a book. (I’ve noticed some agents don’t like that term for some reason???)

That thought dredges up a random song from the depths of my lyric-infested head. An old Schoolhouse Rock tune. Sing its catchy educational glory with me.

I’m just a bill.
Yes, I’m only a bill.
And I’m sitting here on Capitol Hill.
Well, it’s a long, long journey
To the capital city.
It’s a long, long wait
While I’m sitting in committee,
But I know I’ll be a law someday
At least I hope and pray that I will,
But today I am still just a bill.

In this sense, I suppose agents are a lot like Congress. My manuscript will remain just a bill until an agent decides it is worthy to become a law.

Since I’m having more fun than you can imagine with this analogy…I suppose that would make the head of each agency the Senate. Even if Congresswoman Agent likes my manuscript, she will have to pass it through Senator Agency Head for a second approval. If all is a go, then my lowly manuscript will be on its way to becoming a full-fledged book.

It’s a long, long wait while I’m sitting in committee.

Then there is President Publisher towering over the paperwork with a veto stamp in hand. My poor little bill can get rubber-stamped, kicked back, and remain an unrealized idea. Damn bureaucracy!

Like Bill, I’m sitting here on Capitol Hill.

I know I’ll be an author someday
At least I hope and pray that I will,
But today I am still just a bill.

 

With complete contrition for getting this song stuck in your head for at least a day, here is the YouTube link to help you dig out the earworm.
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=7266360872513258185

Be sure to check out all the Grammar Rock subgenre of videos, too. Chalk it up as “an online writing course”.

What is it about Schoolhouse Rock? I just dig it. Yes, part of it is the artwork, but mainly it’s the songs. Let me tell you about one of my favorite musicians. Mike Doughty. He is solo now, but I was initially introduced to him when his old band Soul Coughing opened for Dave Matthews waaaaay back there in the past. My frinds hate him: his voice, anunciation, music–all of it. Too bad. Suck it up. BTW, he has a remake of Schoolhouse Rock’s “Three is a Magic Number”. When I’m feeling capricious, I can put that song on and just watch the shoulders tense as eyes roll with disdain in there sockets. Not that I would ever be capricious…

An Agent’s Clarification on High Concept

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Thanks to the Twitterverse, I now have a better understanding of the publishing term “High Concept”. Agent Michelle Witte of Mansion Street Literary Mgmt was kind enough to stop by the blog, and then engage in a little conversation via Twitter. As with all Twitter communication, we had to condense our discussion into spurts of 140 characters or less.

Consider this post as an addendum to Pub Talk: High Concept, Very Nice Deal and Pre-empt .

Did you note that little red box? Of course there had to be a typo since I was chatting with an agent. Alas, Twitter doesn’t allow second drafts.

Much thanks to Michelle for taking the time to unpack the “High Concept” term for me (and my readers). I have found her to be very open and willing to connect in intelligent conversation about writerly things. 

Speaking of which, Michelle Witte is not only an agent; she is also an author. I totally ganked this from the agency’s website.

In her spare time she writes on a variety of topics and genres, though her great love is young adult fiction. Her first book, The Craptastic Guide to Pseudo-Swearing, will hit stores on June 26, 2012.

Swan in a Ditch! That’s only three days away!

Buy the book
Visit the websites
Buy the fonging book
Follow Michelle on Twitter @michellewitte [that’s 2 “l”s, 2 “t”s, but only 1 “h”]
Did you buy Craptastic yet?

I could be wrong, but that sounds like a High Concept title to me.

There are a few lit agents I DM with on Twitter from time to time. Being an aspiring author, it is great to have contacts I can hit up with my questions and curiosities. Unless they bring it up, the conversations are never about my own writing. We discuss the industry in general. Well, that, and random crap that has nothing to do with anything other than two people chatting. I like that. 

There Is No [Damn] Spoon

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“Do not try to bend the spoon. That’s impossible. Instead, only try to realize the truth.”

“What truth?”

“There is no spoon.”

“There is no spoon?”

“Then you’ll see it is not the spoon that bends; it is only yourself.”

Most of the time, it sure feels like there is a spoon to bend–a massive titanium spoon with a stubborn streak. And that sucker wants to remain as it is. Unbent. Then there are the times when said spoon seems to actually morph, bow, twist, and submit. But, according to Spoon Boy, it’s not the spoon which is bending; it is me.

Two more Pitch contests have come and gone. The stubborn spoons of 3-2-1 and Super Intern are still marvelously straight. I won’t toss them into the garbage disposal, though. Instead, I’ll tuck them away in my silverware drawer of attempts made.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, here are the current stats for contest entries, requests, and queries:

Contests –  Entered: 6     Outstanding: 1     Wins: 3     Losses: 2 [I can tie it up!]
Requests – Submitted: 5   Outstanding: 5
Queries –    Submitted: 3   Outstanding: 3

So, my calculations bring the total number of Outstanding opportunities to 9. [Please, double-check my math for me.] I do indeed believe these are “Outstanding Opportunities” in the best sense of the phrase.

The truth of the matter is that–in order to be successful in my writing endeavors–it is I who must bend.

Freeborn’s pitch has been tweaked and honed at every stage of feedback. The manuscript has gone through multiple revisions, 2 critique partners, and 6+ beta readers. I am anticipating feedback from the requesting agents with the possibilities of either “I want you!” or “Please revise & resubmit using my amazingly specific comments as a guide.” I refuse to accept the idea of form rejections.

After all, there is no damn spoon.

I am always a little wary of using ‘profanity’ in a post. Anywhere online, really. There are folks from early epochs of my life who [I’m sure] are appalled by my use of ANY profanity. We change over time. This is fact. Funny how folks from your past–people you never interact with anymore, people who have no authority over you–can still cast their heavy shadow over your life. I’m trying to shake it off. But sometimes I still feel like a kid caught smoking behind the barn.

Transmission

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I have been away for a bit. My trip to Massachusetts was a mix of ups and downs. On the way there–with a van and attached trailer full of stock–the transmission went out. Outstanding. My partner and I were in the middle of nowhere in the lower tier of NY state. We crested a hill with that Ford pulling for all she is worth. Then as we rolled over the apex, the engine sounded really strange. I coasted down the hill, and when I pressed that little skinny pedal to ascend the next incline–nothing,

We pulled over with semis speeding past us. And, of course, it was raining. My partner called his insurance company’s roadside assistance to schedule a tow. The rep’s advice: “Since I am in Ohio and you are in New York, I really can’t help you. I would suggest you hitchhike to the next exit and try to get help there.”

Really? Hitchhike?

Next, I called AAA. Here’s the help I received:

“Your policy only covers your vehicle–not the trailer.”

“So, we are just supposed to leave it on the side of the interstate with all our stuff in it?”

“Your policy does not cover the trailer.”

“You’re really not helping me at all. I’m really in a tough spot: I have a deadline I’m trying to meet, my van is busted, and I do not want to leave a trailer full of expensive items randomly perched on an incline on the side of the interstate.”

“When the towtruck arrives, you can ask them for a quote to tow the trailer.”

“How far away is the towing company?”

“Twenty miles.”

Thanks. That’s a lot of help. Wait for them to travel across the wilderness, and when the guy finally makes it here, I’ll ask him about towing the van back the full twenty miles, and then, while I’m trying to locate a transmission shop, go back and pick up the trailer for another hour (at least) roundtrip.

So how did it turn out? We ditched all the amazing advice and helpfulness, and forced the van along at 30 mph in the shoulder for six miles to the next exit. I quess we could have hitchhiked instead–an Amish horse and buggy passed us in town, afterall. ‘Town’ may be the wrong term. Perhaps ‘village’ would be more accurate. The fellow at the only garage added some transmission fluid. Ummm, no help, but thanks for the thought. He suggested we drive to the next town over. “It’s bigger–only twenty miles away. Just take it slow.”

Like we had a choice.

We made it to Jamestown, rented a U-Haul, swapped out the goods, located a transmission shop, and snuck the van in at 4:55pm. No rush at all–we still had five minutes to spare before he closed for the day. The mechanic estimated that he would have the van ready for us five days later on Friday. That was perfect since we were planning to continue on to our destination to set-up at the antique show and would be returning the following Monday.

During the show, the call came. “It looks like I won’t be able to even start working on the transmission until Monday.” Excellent. We would love to stretch the nightmare out even further. I mean, you only had a full week to take care of it. Why should a transmission shop owner in Podunk, NY rush to get a pair of stranded, weary travellers back on the road? It’s not like we are now paying a daily rate for both a U-Haul truck and trailer. It’s not like we are being charge seventy-nine cents per mile. We would love to add the cost of a new transmission and lodging in Nowhere, USA to the expenses.

Then, another call. “Well, it looks like I mightget it done by Tuesday close-of-business.”

[Insert more sarcasm here].

 The show was a success. Normally, we would be home Sunday night. That plan was thwarted so we had two options. Cry and moan and whine about it, or squeeze some juice out of the situation and make some lemonade. We chose the latter. We took our time loading up and stayed an extra night in Massachusetts. On the way back, we hit some sweet antique shops we would never stop at if we didn’t have days to spare. Oh, and–maybe–we stopped at a casino and hit the blackjack tables. Maybe… We intentionally paid more than we normally would for a hotel so we could score one with an indoor pool. Lemonade.

During dinner Monday night, the mechanic called to tell us that the van was repaired and ready to go. Sweet. Finally. We enjoyed some swimming and a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed as opposed to the slowly deflating air mattress we spent the prvious week sleeping on. On Tuesday morning, everything went uber-smoothly as we picked up the van, moved the contents from the U-Haul into it, hooked up the trailer and headed home with a sparkling new transmission.

So, what does this story have to do with ‘Writing”? Nothing really. It’s just one of those things I needed to put down in black-and-white so I can look back on it in a year. In the meantime, I’m hoping to incorporate hitchhiking into my work-in-progress. Plus, I found a new go-to plotline when I need some added tension in a scene: Worthless advice from those who should have the answers. In my this little autobiographical excerpt of mine, this led to taking charge and figuring things out without the help of the great and powerful Oz. And the MC made it out all the better for the experience.

I am a mechanical idiot. I’m not into hot rods, or motorcycles, or guns, or any of that butch, manly stuff. I like thinking and poetry. I like weird movies and dying my hair. I’m good at creating things. I can cut stuff up, reassemble it, and make something new and beautiful from the parts. I once tried to change the oil in my old Jeep Comanche. Took me like 6 hours of sweating, cussing, and ruining a pair of cooking tongs from the kitchen…Forget that shade-tree-mechanic crap. I gladly pay the $20 to keep my non-butch self out from under a vehicle.

Fog

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When I was a kid, waiting for the bus in the morning, I would see the denser fog farther down our street. So I’d run down to it so I could see what it was like in that thick, cloudy part. But–every time–when I made it to the patch, it looked exactly like the place I had started. Only then, that old spot was thicker. Of course, I understand the whole thing now, but back then I was perplexed.

In elementary school, I had nappy hair, too-big adult teeth in my child mouth, and tons of freckles. My mama called me “Benjie”–a shortend version of my middle name. Of course, when the “Benji” movies came out, this wasn’t such a good thing…I switched schools a lot because we moved around so much. With a new community, house and school in 4th grade, I reinvented myself as “John”. I’ve had a few other reinventions since then. Lucas isn’t even officially my name, but it’s what I currently go by.