Just taking a quick peek at the old neighborhood. I must admit the quiet is deafening. I hope you are well. I have said hello to a few of the original gang, but now I'm bouncing for good to a new platform. Check out my Irregular blog at munkdavis.com. Would love for you to stop by and say, "Hi."
The big news... I've retired from the day job and am now focusing on my writing. My first book is scheduled for release this year.
"Piss on the fire, call in the dogs, head it on back to Bowlegs."
Munk needs to focus less on blogging and more on noveling. This post, therefore, is the last you will see posted on my blog for what may be a very long time, years even.
Yes, of course I will miss your comments. And yes, of course I care. I will try to stop by your places from time to time, I promise. Please stop looking at me that way, yer breakin' my heart. I just can’t keep blogging right now guys, my family and work justifiably take the lion’s share of my time, and the truth is, Booker is in trouble—he needs me.
Where zombies and werewolves all come to the dance
Dramedy, comedy, horror, and gore
Mystery, history, tales of yore
Yoga, Pilates, organics, and health
Follow my teachings and find instant wealth
Home repair? Don’t despair, fixed in a jiff
I’ll write you a book about making it stiff
Fantasy’s fun... but don’t write on a lark
You first must decide if it’s light or it’s dark
For lollipop-fairies might get quite a start
From leprechauns dining on unicorn heart
Pay homage to comics; no longer cartoons,
with mutants and heroes and high school buffoons
Now graphical novels sell fine-art with type...
Is the art any finer or is it just hype?
I once knew a bloke, who called sci-fi a joke
And said later Han Solo was his kind of folk
And what of the man who “pays thrillers no mind”
But thinks Lisbeth Salander is so very fine?
By now you must know my tastes are diverse
It’s less about subject and more about verse
I can cozy with spies or golems or ghouls
As long as the teller sticks to some rules
Character, plotting, and scenes are a must
As are pace and the voice of an author I trust
And though some may define me a maudlin mope
I just can’t do themes with no glimmer of hope
So write genres you love, and love what you write
Mix 'em and match 'em, let stories take flight
Throw three in a blender and give 'em a spin…
Say….
an epic-gay-western with magic thrown in?
Munk’s Opening line,
With the brim of his ten-gallon Stetson pulled low on his brow, Jake’s blue eyes glistened in the residual silver light—a mumbled incantation and the deed was done.
Munk's "Opening Line" is yours to keep, use it. Munk
And lest you consider what I write poetry...
This week’s music: Joe Pug...an old soul in a new vessel... Hymn 101
I am willing to do most anything in pursuit of a noveling career: writing, reading, reviewing, revising, kissing ass, querying, blogging, tweeting, social networking, anti-social networking, white-lying, dark-magicking, or simply munkeying around, I’ll do anything short of bold face lying, stepping on my fellows, or sacrificing my family’s needs.
I am dedicated to having a writing career: I therefore write, read, review and revise my work while blogging and tweeting to build a platform and never losing sight of my family's needs.
In order to create a better experience for my readers, I write, read, review, and revise my work. Blogging and tweeting are also important. As always, my family comes first.
I am willing to do what it takes in pursuit of becoming a better writer, husband, and father. I'll try to blog
Compelling stories, compelling lies. I love my family. blog
Create the unforgettable. Love thy family. blah
Love thy family, love thy writing.
Love thy passions.
There... that’s better.
What are your priorities?
Munk's opening line The depths to which Lucifer fell, can no more be judged by meters or miles, than his hell can be measured by mercury's rise.
Munk's "Opening Line" is yours to keep, use it. Munk
Susan Kaye Quinn gave me a nod this week and here's a hearty nod back... she has a book release planned for November 1... Open Minds is the first title in the Mindjack Trilogy... I'm ordering one. Are you?
This week: rock as it was meant to be rolled.
Bob Seger, Get Out of Denver (Baby Go)
Up walked a Baptist preachin' southern funky school teacher... (I think)
I was at the gym on Monday. I was going big and not going home, pumping iron, tossing weights, maxing out, gettin’ ripped, and building mass… well I was at least drinking my electrolytes and watching other folks do all that when the DJ came on the radio and called me out. He spoke to my soul.
A retro-DJ with no relation whatsoever
to the DJ in my story.
“Yesterday,” he said in his radio voice, “was 911 and I had a few hours for reflection as a good friend of mine died last week and I attended his funeral. I stood in the sun and considered all of the wonderful things said about the man. How he was gracious and giving, and how he’d be missed. I asked myself then,”—the DJ went on—“as I ask myself now… why do we wait? Why don’t we tell people how we feel about them today, rather than wait until they are gone? For you folks listening, go tell someone how much you appreciate them today. Tell them how you value their friendship. Tell them you love them. It is important that we say these things when we feel them, so don’t hesitate. Go do it now… or not, if you don’t want to.”
Or not, if I don’t want to?! …What the hell? No, no, no Mr. DJ man, no! You just dropped your conviction on the way to your point. You had me. I was poised and ready to go hug a big sweaty workout buddy when your conviction just up and lost its balls.
Imagine the hangover if JK Rowling’s grand plan of “love conquers all” cruised into the wrong bar and got all staggery-drunk on magic? Or if Dorothy and the Tin Man and the Lion and the Scarecrow learned that to find their respective home, heart, courage, and brains, they just need apply for a VISA gold card (because everyone knows that The Emerald City doesn’t take American Express)?
C’mon folks, all of you DJs and writers and anyone else with a story… get yourself convicted.
How is your conviction going?
Munk’s opening line…
Upon careful examination of the ape’s dead caterpillar, Mynce knew the real culprit was a small, left-handed child, three to four inches in height, and proficient with mint-waxed dental floss.
Munk's "Opening Line" is yours to keep, use it. Munk
Today’s music is dedicated to TJ Riles and Jayne, both of whom I expect are future (or current) fans of the Avett Brothers, I am not choosing the most accessible cut from the bro’s Emotionalism CD, but I love this song because of its breadth, its banjo (yes Jayne, the banjo takes stage-center), and its obvious pop leanings (think Pet Sounds gone Americana). God only knows… Paranoia In B Flat Major.
Last week I discussed my love for “place”. This week I will discuss my love for details, which in turn, adds to place and often teaches me new things. Trivial things sometimes, but interesting to me. I love learning. I love reason. In a nerdy way facts connect me to the universe. Jon Krakauer knows climbing, Herman Wouk is a military geek, and Laura Hillenbrand loves horses… and it shows. I can see, feel, and smell their worlds and characters.
Examples:
"I’d gained nearly seven hundred feet of altitude since stepping off the hanging glacier, all of it on crampon front points and the picks of my axes. The ribbon of frozen meltwater had ended three hundred feet up and was followed by a crumbly armor of frost feathers." Jon Krakauer, describing his ascent of The Devil’s Thumb in Alaska from, Into the Wild. (Meltwater and frost feathers? Are those his own word combinations? Bully, bully, Mr. Krakauer)
"Charles Howard had the feeling of a giant onrushing machine: You had to either climb on or leap out of the way. He would sweep into a room, working a cigarette in his fingers, and people would trail him like pilot fish. They couldn’t help themselves. Fifty-eight years old in 1935, Howard was a tall, glowing man in a big suit and a very big Buick." Laura Hillenbrand, Seabiscuit. (Note that among all of these descriptors, somehow Ms. Hillenbrand is able to "tell" us that "They couldn’t help themselves" and yet it comes off looking like a "show". Get it?)
"The focus of Willie’s mind widened beyond the plank now and took in the quarterdeck of the Caine. It was a place of noise, dirt, bad smells, and thuglike strangers. Half a dozen sailors were clanking at the rusty deck with metal scrapers. Other sailors were walking past, cursing under crates of cabbages on their backs. One man in a welding mask was burning a bulkhead with a crackling sour-smelling blue flame. All around were patches of new gray paint, patches of old gray paint, patches of green prime coat, and patches of rust. A tangle of snaky hoses, red black, green, yellow, brown, lay all over the deck. The deck was covered with orange peel, fragments of magazines and old rags. Most of the sailors were half naked and wore fantastic beards and haircuts. Oaths, blasphemies, and on recurring four-letter word filled the air like fog." … Herman Wouk, The Caine Mutiny. (If you haven't smelled The Caine Mutiny, it's time for you to do so. Don't be put off by the length of description here, the book is a character piece and in this scene Willie is entering his new world, much to his chagrin.)
Munk's opening line:
The boat was powered by the souls of frogs.
Discuss, Munk
Please fall into this week's music... Fishing Blues by Taj Mahal, it's like one last breath of summer.
And thanks go out to TJ Riles... for being cool. Go GB.
