Coppa

After months of waiting, Coppa has finally opened its doors.  I was lucky enough to find myself there just a few hours after they had announced they would be opening one day early, on Tuesday.

An unassuming little place in the South End, as I was begin seated, Chef/Partner Jamie Bissonnette throws me the sign of the horns while his wife Courtney, the General Manager, slings drinks from behind the bar while directing traffic and chatting up the bar customers.

I've been waiting for this for a bit.  Ken Oringer, Jamie and Courtney made Toro the best place in town for tapas, and I couldn't wait to see what they did with Italian.  I was especially excited about a rumor I'd heard that they were doing a bone marrow and oxtail pizza.  And, holy shit, The Blue Ribbon nearly slayed me. Braised oxtail, mozzarella, tomato, bone marrow, and horseradish tried to take me down in fatty, rich texture and flavor.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.  We started off with the Buratta and bresoala, which were fresh and perfectly seasoned with sea salt.  Having sampled the cured meats Jamie was working on at Toro, I jumped right on the salumi section of the menu with the duck pastrami.  Smooth, smoky and perfectly sliced on the antique hand slicer behind the bar, this was the shit.

And the pizza.  Fucking hell.  Enough said.

The wine list is filled with some awesome italian stuff, but my favorite part of the drink list was the Pony Farm (5 Miller High Life 7oz bottles) and, of course, Schaefer in a can.

Good people, good eats, good atmosphere, good times.

If you've got an hour to kill and $20 in your pocket and don't want to have to shell out big bucks (which you won't anyway) to taste what Coppa has to offer, get a drink and a stuzi at the bar and call it good.

I can't wait to sample the rest of the menu and knock into the cocktail menu.  To give you a quick idea, the restaurant kicks as much ass as the website - Coppa.

Go.

Eat.

Enjoy.

Survival of NaNoWriMo

I did it.  I won.  I am officially a winner.  To date over 10,000 are 2009 NaNoWriMo winners.  For those who don't know - if you finish the contest and write 50,000+ words in one month and call it a novel, you win.

My grand total word count was 50,198.  Every sentence seems to me to be worse than the last.  I never fully fleshed out the lead character or gave him a solid and convincing back story.  My plot was all over the place and from time to time my 'prose' turned into what could be called 'babble'.  But the best part is - I don't care.

I really don't.  As much as I would like to have come out of November with a stunning and polish work of art, I don't care.  I wrote it.  Hell, I finished 18,000 over the past three days and didn't go blind in the process.

This past weekend, I ate a lot of turkey, passed a lot of gas, and wrote a lot.  Oh, and I slept.  I made sure to get lots of naps in.  In fact, one of the first things I did upon finishing my NaNoWriMo project was take a nap.

And it felt good.  Really, really good.

Next year, I will do some fleshing out and outlining prior to sitting down and vomiting up words.  I will try to stay ahead of the game the entire time instead of just the first two day.  I'm sure I will attempt to do quite a lot of things, and one of two of them may actually be completed.

To all other NaNoWriMo 2009 winners - congrats.

NaNoWriMo - Week One

Today is the seventh day of NaNoWriMo 2009 and there have been some hits and misses thus far.  I've just his 10,000 word (1/5 way there) and have finally fleshed out my main character enough to know how he reacts to being abducted and kicked in the ribs.

So I've go that going for me.

In the meantime I'm occasionally keeping track of what's going on in #NaNoWriMo land on twitter.  A small selection of my favorite posts so far:

I think my MC might just have decided he's got a tattoo I didn't know of. #nanowrimo
@lyonza

#nanowrimo excuse no.84: My characters have taken out a restraining order against me.
@namott

I just figured out how to NOT write a sex scene XD #nanowrimo
@darknessdescend

I kind of hate all my characters... #NaNoWriMo
@yabtest

heh. Trying to write while feeling sick leads to some rather, um It-made-sense-at-the-time ideas.
@snazel

1K op een uurtje, ik ben tevreden. Straks verder schrijven #nanowrimo nu "even" eten maken, spaghettisaus voor drie dagen - @lilkim8

Now? I have the ghost of a dead headmistress haunting my MC because they doodled a phallus on her portrait in school #nanowrimo #nanolondon - @jayintheclouds

Back to the grind.  For all you out there looking to hit 15,000 words by Monday - good luck.

Review: Tree of Smoke by Denis Johnson

I listen to audiobooks as well as reading the physical pages.  I have not gotten much into ebooks, but that's probably because I don't own a Kindle, don't plan on owning a kindle, and I'm not sure I would like to use it at all.  I prefer to do my reading on something that won't short circuit if I fall asleep and drool all over it.

So back to the audiobooks.  I have gone through countless through the year thus far, from Dan Brown's Digital Fortress (I would only recommend this to the 17 hardcore Dan Brown fans out there.  The man can imagine a compelling plot, but the writing itself is shit for the most part and does not give the reader any credit) to John Grisham novels - I think I've completed nearly everything that hasn't been turned into a movie.

Recently I picked up Tree of Smoke from the BPL, having attempted to read this book in hardcover about a year or two ago when it first came out.  It was a tough one to get into at the time for me and I dropped it.  The audiobook, read by Will Patton (Armageddon, Gone in 60 Seconds) was much, much better.  I've always liked the way Johnson does everything.  His writing is superb, from Jesus' Son to Fiskadoro to a few short plays I've seen in McSweeney's.  And to be accompanied by Patton's performance really made this audiobook work.

The book itself, is set in Vietnam.   Being much too young to have experienced the war the way so many others had, I've studied the war.  I've read everything Tim O'Brian has written about Vietnam since I was first made to read The Things They Carried and carried my way forward through all of the post-war novels which I felt were equally as good.  I've watched Apolcalypse Now far too many times and still occasionally run quotes from it in my head at random.

But Tree of Smoke is not about that Vietnam.  There is no constant firefight keeping the troops on their toes.  For the most part, there are no troops.  The lead character is Skip Sands, a CIA operative who is tasked with intelligence sorting and gathering, though the tasks he is.  Skip's uncle, known as The Colonel, is described as Coppolla's Kilgore about another decade down the line and with vast amounts of knowledge from Langley.

The story is one of the human condition in an environment as throuroughly fucked up as Vietnam was.  Johnson writes truthfully from every angle.  From the locals, to babyfaced troops fresh from training, to VC double agents, to CIA assholes running what amounts to a version of Internal Affairs, to the women who were left at home in the square states while their sons went to fight, Johnson tells the version of the truth he sees and leaves room for what he didn't want to write about.  He doesn't lead you into a determination of a character through dialogue and action - he allows the characters dialogue and action to flow in a way that forces to you to try and work out the motivations and end goals. 

There is no spoon-feeding here, you've got to want to figure these characters out.  And in the end, I'm not sure I was able to.  The story ends in a far more realistic way than anything about Vietnam that's ever been in a movie - where these characters end up, how thier lives are ended or allowed to continue.

I'm already ready to read Johnson's newest book Nobody Move.

Oh yeah - for those of you who aren't familiar with Denis Johnson's work (and seriously - why not?  Pick up Jesus' Son and read it cover to cover tomorrow.  Shouldn't take you more than an hour or two) and are more concerned about what Oprah or Good Morning America are suggesting you read - Tree of Smoke did win a National Book Award.  So it's got that going for it, which is nice.

National Novel Writing Month - Closer Than You Think

Once again I have commited myself to National Novel Writing Month.  Just as it sounds, it is a challenge to write a 50,000 word novel from November 1st to November 30th.

As a note of disclosure I failed last year.  Miserably.  Really, it was quite a poor attempt and I'm a bit embarassed to only have reached 15,000 words.

This year I'm taking a different approach.  I'm telling everyone.  Lots and lots of people will know what I'm doing for the month of November, will hopefully ask how it's going and will make fun of me and poke me with sharp sticks should I fall short again.

You can learn more about NaNoWriMo or check out my progress here. (it's going to be at 0 words until November, so back off until then!)

"Rubes, Rakes, Rogues & Roustabouts" now available on Amazon

Although I am a huge supporter of IndieBound and all things independent, the decision has been made to put the book on the evil Amazon. I made this decisions simply by stating the obvious - I'm an independent author who needs max exposure for his product.

The price on Amazon is the same you will find on my site, the only difference being that I have not signed all of the Amazon copies and if you order from them you don't have the opportunity to get potentially strange items included in your package.

Now that the book is in distribution I am working on getting it into all New England independent booksellers and eventually it should end up on IndieBound, where I will promote the hell out of it much more furiously than telling people to go to Amazon because "Rubes" qualifies for FREE Super Saver Shipping. Which it does.

In the meantime - buy my book on Amazon, because it's the right thing to do.

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Side note (or more accurately, bottom note - but that sounds dumb): If you have a book review blog, or happen to be a reviewer for the New York Times, please contact me with your info for a free copy. If you pretend to be a book reviewer and just want a free book, I will take your information and sign you up for several things barnyard related you may not wish to have delivered to your house.

Hit & Miss in the World of Self Publishing

My first attempt at self-publishing came during an alcohol and type-writer fueled haze. I was working a second shift job, getting home around midnight and having several hours in my tiny studio apartment alone.

That is to say, my first attempt at self-publishing had nothing to do with self-publishing. Once my novel of sorts, Making News, was complete (in my mind, at the time) I proceeded to receive rejection letters from nearly every major and minor publishing house in the US. And a few in Canada. And maybe one in the UK.

Then I learned about self-publishing. I was living in Monument Square in Portland, Maine at the time, and directly across the square was Longfellow Books, a kickass little store if there ever was one. I spend a lot of time flipping through the books, trying to figure out what made a book a book, how authors were able to hook into the publishing world.

I found a lot of shitty looking books by local authors (self-published books of poetry and woe-is-me fiction) and I thought to myself, "Self - you can do that. At least you can't be any worse than these folks."

And I wasn't. I wasn't any better - but I certainly wasn't any worse.

In retrospect, the book wasn't ready and I didn't care enough to promote it because I knew it wasn't ready, I just wanted to have something I could put on a book shelf and say, "I did that."

I have since learned quite a bit more about all sorts of publishing - online, magazine, on-demand, mini-press.

I see a lot of potential in this thing called self-publishing. With tools like Twitter, Facebook - fuck - the entire fucking Internet, there isn't a place an author can't get to. Working into the Book Expo or a large city book festival may take a little work, but the book wasn't written without any sweat, and it sure as hell isn't going to sell without any.

I'm waiting for IndieBound to create a self-published author section (the indie of the indie) but all in good time, I guess.

My most recent book project, Rubes, Rakes, Rogues & Roustabouts started out as some pictures I was going to hang on the wall. It became it's own beast, morphing into some humor and typography-driven thing. While I was writing it and putting it together, I kept a list of all the ways I would market the book.

That's how this was different - I didn't think of a publishing house touching this one. Besides the fact that it's too difficult to categorize, review, or get into a bookseller, I just wanted to do it myself.

I designed the whole things, scrapped half of it and redesigned it again. And I loved every minute of it. I used some crowd-sourcing for cover ideas and content.

The future of self-publishing is not the authors with a desire to do it themselves, the future is having the full plan before word one is written. Writing is such a solitary venture by necessity, but by getting the word out that you're working on something, people want to know more about it. Let them interact. Let them engage you while you're engaged in your writing.

What do you think about self publishing? Let Backward Books know here.

My Day in Jury Duty

5:30
Alarm. Snooze.

5:35
Alarm. Snooze.

5:40
Alarm. Awake. Make coffee. Shower. Dress. Eat a nice big ham egg and cheese sandwich.

6:50
Leave house early to ensure I'm not late. Don't want to be held in contempt.

6:52
Caught Red Line right off the bat.

7:03
Caught Green Line. Station smells like bleach and puke - both fresh. I hate the Green Line.

7:06
Emerge at Government Center a full 54 minutes early. Super.

7:25
After circling the Superior Court buildings and attempting to get in through the wrong entrance, I am on the second floor sitting on a bench staring at the Jury Pool room (218) that isn't open for another 5 minutes.

7:31
Entered room. Think airport seating without being able to watch planes take off.

7:33
Fully processed as a white male. Why do they have a second question asking if you are Hispanic? Wasn't that covered on the first round?

7:40
Mousy little book woman seems to be approaching everyone, hoping for eye contact. I think she needs a friend. I do not wish to be her friend.

7:42
Woman in tiny fedora checks in. I want to say she is an organ grinder, but I have no proof.

7:43
I think the court officers are sexting each other.

7:50
First pair of skinny jeans arrives. This girl needs to eat about 17 cheeseburgers.

7:55
Just realized that besides arriving with a piece of paper with my name on it, I have not been asked for any form of identification.

8:01
A nun has arrived. Sally Field/Flying Nun type of nun. What the hell is going on here? Am I on TV?

8:17
Wondering why, when your choice is six empty seats, you would choose the seat directly next to me.

8:31
It's instructional video time! Video has a lisping judge and the rest of the cast reminds me more of Night Court than Law & Order. Wondering what John Larroquette is doing these days.

9:05
Judge comes down to address the room of approximately 200 people. She says 'duty' a lot and somehow compares jury duty to 9/11 heroes and soldiers in Iraq. I see where she's going, but there's not enough glue in the building to make this one stick.

9:25
We get a break! I've been sitting here for two hours, so I could probably use one. Supposed to be back by 9:55 for first call to court.

9:28
Enter 'break room' to enjoy a taste of water and look around. Three tables facing the walls with a handful of broken chairs. Lovely.

9:29
Leave 'break room' and take my seat.

9:55
Court officer no where to be seen.

10:05
I may have passed out for a minute. My head did the neck-snap thing. No announcement.

10:30
Announcement made! Apparently, nothing is happening. Officially, the first party and the second party in the first case on the thirteenth floor have reached an agreement and....there will be no need for any of us.

10:37
Guy next to me starts mumbling to himself. Words I can make out, "...bullshit...waste of time...clairvoyant...jelly bean...spectroscopic...work...fuck..."

10:44
Guy next to me asks if it's okay to drink coffee in the room. I tell him to ask the folks with the pretty badges. He does not seem to like my answer.

10:46
Bathroom break.

10:48
Walking around the banks off elevators I notice that the man in the skull and crossbones sweatshirt has a haircut not unlike Warchild's haircut from Point Break. He is wearing one red shoe and one black shoe. We do not speak.

11:11
Someone farted. It wasn't me.

11:30
Second break! Since I'm still wandering in front of the elevators, I take my break sitting down.

11:35
Man four rows back snores himself awake.

11:59
Announcement made that there is a case.

12:02
My number is called (93).

12:05
Enter the tallest elevator I've ever seen. At least 20ft high. Should have gone for width, since there are twenty people crammed in here.

12:07
Sshhh...court is very quiet.

12:09
Another round of jurors come in. I count 75 of us total. This bench hurts my butt. At least 15 people have to stand.

12:11
Judge comes in, does her deal.

12:12
Selection, or 'panelization' begins. My seat is still uncomfortable.

12:34
The ceiling looks shitty. Could use another coat of paint. The walls are nice.

1:10
Final juror accepted. We all shuffle out.

1:16
Informed by the court officer that I am free to go.

1:19
The lobby smells like more farts.

Happy Friday

It is that day at the end of the week that causes much fantastic frolicking across this great land of ours, and I have a sneaking suspicion I should have a post here consisting of various whatnot I like.

Maybe you'll like it too.


Acme Cocktail Company

My friend Marty is back from his summer hiatus and the Acme Cocktail Company is now in full swing. Check back often to see what he's got to say on everything from health care reform to mint juleps.

Still wondering what he thinks of who Legal Seafoods hired to shake out drinks at the Harborside location that may be built by 2020. Marty?


Island Creek Oysterfest

I will be attending this event tomorrow afternoon and will update you on the food and fun.


Taxidermy

Because sometimes a stuffed squirrel says it all.


Drunk Man Throws Jellyfish at Teenagers

Without a doubt the best news story I have found. You have no idea how pissed I am I didn't think this one up.


Boston Book Festival

It's the first. Hopefully the first annual. John Hodgman and Tom Perrotta are MCing this shindig. I'm glad I have a month and a half to figure out my guerrilla marketing tactics for Rubes, Rakes, Rogues & Roustabouts. There is a possibility that it will have a juggling monkey, so be sure not to miss it.

If you are interested and will be in Boston on October 24th, the event is free, so contact me and we can storm the gates in proper fashion.


Writing

You know - that thing I should do more of. Well...looks like I have no immediate plans for Sunday, so I will finally site down after too long and make time to make up stuff.


Final Word

As always, if you are looking for a project to collaborate on, or have an idea you feel is pretty kickass and want to pursue it further, shoot me a line.

Bits and More Bits

Rubes, Rakes, Roges & Roustabouts available for purchase. Several copies sold so far - working on wholesale marketing.

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Working on rereading McSweeney's 16. I really love Mudder Tongue by Brian Evenson and There Is No Real Name for Where We Live by Hannah Pitard. Two stories with (for entirely different reasons) fabulous words woven together.

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Just tonight I have signed up to collaborate with ACME Cocktail on a new project that will, for now, be untitled. Once we flesh the little bugger out, that may change.

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Even though I made fun of it at first, I must admit I have consumed more than one Budlight Lime this evening.

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I'm excited about a new publisher in Brookline launching in October. Madras Press. Can't wait to see what they have to bring to the party.

Rubes, Rakes, Rogues & Roustabouts

The time has come for me to officially release Rubes, Rakes, Rogues & Roustabouts. The concept came to me while looking at old archived photos and wondering what the stories were behind the faces.

Rubes, Rakes, Rogues & Roustabouts is a picture book for adults. Not an adult picture book, which is something else entirely.

Go to http://nickseagers.com/rubes and check out a sample. All copies are signed and can include customized text for the price of a delicious candy bar.

During this pre-order period, all copies are $10 which includes all shipping, handling, and bar tabs. Please email nick@nickseagers.com for wholesale inquiries.

The Tale of the Doughnut and the Éclair

Taped to my bedroom door is an aerial photo of Vernon, ME. It’s one of Taff’s flyers from the Society of Concerned Citizens to Thwart Evil. In black marker over the tree line, it reads, “We need to talk, Albert.” She must have been watching those anti-drug commercials like that time she kept frying all those eggs and made the house smell like farts for two weeks. That was when Michael and I decided that our folks were cracked.

So I try to track her down so I can get whatever this is going to be over with. It took several years, but I had finally mastered the art of talking with Taff and Dow. The key was to pay close attention to tone. The words themselves were usually trivial and confusing – even awkward – watching them trip over the easy subjects and plow through the rough ones. When the tone of the conversation goes up, you start nodding, with your head tilted just so. When the tone gets low, drop your head to the table and stare at the grain of the wood until the voices stop altogether. Then say, “I know. You’re right. I’ll try to work on that.

God knows what Taff wanted to talk about this time. Let it be something simple, like she finally wants to tell me she and Dow really are going to pay for college and I shouldn’t worry anymore. Then a pat on the head, or a hug or something and I can go to Chip’s party and get messed up.

Taff was in the dining room, heels up on the table, finishing up a call. “Sounds good to me. Great, great. Okay, Thomas, I’ve got to go. We’ll speak soon.” Her legs swing down to the floor. She smiles when she looks at me, only it’s the same way she smiles at a prospective client. “Okay, Thomas,” she says into the phone. “Have a nice day.” She hangs up. On the table she has her laptop and folders and flyers and pamphlets and a box of pastries for her next rally. I had nabbed the only jelly earlier. She pulled me down here because I stole a donut?

“Albert. Good morning.” Her palm makes a slow turn off to the side.

“Morning.”

And she smiles again, this one a little too forced. In the other room you can hear the host of a fake talk show talk about a book that shows how to make compost in fourteen days, guaranteed or your money back. Dow must be asleep or otherwise sedated.

“I know this may be a little late, but your dad and I talked about it. We want to do it. We –“ Taff turns and yells into the other room, “Dow! I said we need to do this together. As a family.” Her words are tight and clipped, then soft again. “I scheduled some time today to talk to you about something…something important. Since you’re going on with your life, leaving everything you’ve known so far, you’re going to need some information about sex.”

Oh, God. “Sex?”

“Yes. Intercourse. Conception. Contraception. Overpopulation.”

“Yeah, um, I know it all. They teach it in school. I’m all set. They do the whole guy stuff and girl stuff and how they fit together and all that”

“You don’t say?” Taff turns to face the living room. “Dow! In here now, please!” She turns. “I swear your father has selective hearing.” Taff is an expert about judging tone.

Dow slumps into the room, remote still in his hand. He moves it to the breast pocket of his pajamas and sits down, hands in his lap. “Yeah? We’re doing this now?” His eyes are still glazed over from staring at the screen. Toll-free numbers are written in different colors on his right hand up to the wrist.

Taff takes a deep breath. “Now, I know you guys, you teenagers, are running around, excited,” Dow laughs, “and I want you to know that if you have anything you ever need to talk about, I’m here. Your father is here. We will listen.”

“Thanks,” I say, about to get up.

She opens the box of pastries, and takes out a powdered donut and an éclair. “For our purposes, today, the éclair represents a man’s penis, and the donut represents a woman’s vagina. Ok?”

My eyes close. This can’t really be happening. At least they aren’t doing it in public. Jesus. At some fundraiser or down at the diner, that’s when I would have prayed for execution.

“Now,” Dow clears his throat and jabbers on. “When a man and a woman are in love and get married and have been married for many, many years, they are allowed to have sexual intercourse.”

“Many years?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Wasn’t Michael already born when you two got married?”

Taff ignores me. “Now, the éclair is placed inside of the donut repeatedly, in a thrusting motion.” She’s trying to fit the éclair into the tiny hole of the donut, but she’s only succeeding in getting powdered sugar all over the business end of it.

“Please don’t say thrusting,” I beg.

“Sorry, dear,” she says. “Okay, now, when stimulation has reached its desired effect, called climax or orgasm, the éclair will shoot its vanilla cream into the middle of the donut and this is how babies are made.”

From where I can’t see, Dow pulls out a condom and starts opening it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s going on here?” I ask. More blood rushes to my head than during my last kegstand.

“We just wanted to be sure you understood how safe sex can help to extend your life,” Dow says. “Remember, Albert, safe sex isn’t just up to the girl. Whether your chosen partner is on the pill, the patch or trusting the day-after thing, it’s still your responsibility to wear a condom.”

Dow’s hands are covered in chocolate and the vanilla filling of the éclair, none of it fitting into the condom. He gives up and starts to knock the smashed pastry against the too-small hole of the doughnut, sprinkling powdered sugar all over Taff’s literature. “This is how-“

“Please. Stop,” I said. “I’ll clean. I’ll re-shingle the roof. Anything.” My eyes were nailed shut so that when the nightmares of this embarrassment came, there would only be audio. But they pop open anyway.

“Now, there are many options for birth control. I think it’s important you know all the options. Getting a sexually transmitted disease is like having your neighborhood taken from you. If you do the proper research and take precautions, the odds are drastically decreased.” Taff pulls a list from her pocket. “There’s abstinence, of course. Most effective. A woman can use the shot or patch or pill or diaphragm. Think about sterilization. The ways your father and I used,” she looks across the table, “Dow, do you remember how naïve we were? We used the big three before having – well, children. There was the rhythm method, coitus interruptus, and we even tried non-vaginal sex.”

Toss me into a lava bath and burn it all away.

Taff takes the smashed éclair penis from Dow and bites the head off, chewing and smiling. “So. I know that’s a lot of information to toss at you all at once, but I’m sure it will sink in. Any questions?”

Can’t move. Can’t speak. Praying for blindness so I never again have to see anything like that. Dow has retreated back to the glow of the television, and Taff’s back on the phone, talking to Mr. Detmer about speaking at the rally as a local merchant. What she calls ‘voice of the community.’ Trying to save this hell we call life.

Making a mental note of what I need for tonight, I get up from the table. Taff smiles and waves and smiles again and my stomach twists a little and I duck around the corner fast in case some doughnut comes up.

Ways I Keep From Writing

Over the past few weeks I've been telling myself to get up, get out and get writing. Hasn't worked out too well for me lately though, so in an effort to procrastinate even more I have compiled a short list of ways I keep from writing.


Planning

Possibly my biggest downfall. I should have figured out by now that planning to write is like thinking about jogging (which I will expound more upon in my next post: Ways I Keep From Exercising).

I wonder if there is a way to calculate all of the mental energy I put into planning about writing?

In the end, all I have succeeded to do is rename the curse of 'procrastination' into the chore of 'planning'.
Note: I'm really good at this one.


I Got Stuff To Do

What a steaming pile of dung this one is. But to be honest, I'm a busy person. I mean, c'mon - I stop at the grocery store, I go to work, I gas up the car, I do the laundry, I was the dishes, I go out to dinner with my wife. Then again, so is everyone else.

I guess I just need to get the fuck over it.

I'm always telling myself to to keep writing down all of the characters and events that pop into my head, like the top heavy woman I saw at the grocery store who wore a D.A.R.E. t-shirt and tasselled leather booties who was pushing a shopping cart full of eggplants and chocolate chips and the whole time I'm praying she drives the Prius in the parking lot with the flame paint job.


Writer's Block

See: Planning


Blogging

I know, you're shouting at me from over top your frothing cappomochalattegrande and you're saying that writing a blog post still counts as writing. In the back of my head where the little people are constantly muttering at me to get off my duff and just put pen to paper already, blogging doesn't entirely count. It's something to do, the way flipping through the channels for an hour looking for something to watch is something to do.


Surfing

A lot of time is spent investigating the interwebs for ways to keep from writing. For the most part I succeed at this. I find insane grilled bacon-wrapped-bacon recipes or videos of kids dancing in a hilarious way on the rug in their den.

Once in a great while I come up with something that thwarts my procrastination and gives me quality ideas that edge me in the right direction.

Like this.

New Site Design Launch

While I hash out a few shipping errors with the good folks publishing Rubes, Rakes, Rogues & Roustabouts, I have taken the time to redesign my site, NickSeagers.com. Took down much of the clutter and nonsense and I'm quite happy with what's going on with it. Drop me a line and let me know what you think.

Rubes, Rakes, Rogues & Roustabouts Update

Yes, I agree - it's been far too long since I've posted anything.

I would like to thank everyone who took the time to give me some feedback on my new book project, Rubes, Rakes, Rogues & Roustabouts. You know who you are, and those who don't should check the ID in your wallets.

As I sit here this morning in my over-caffeinated living room trying to put off putting the final touches on the book cover (what the hell is the back of this thing supposed to look like, anyway?) and making plans to launch the book by the end of August, I feel a need to share.

And share I shall.

Below, please find a few samples of what this bad boy is going to look like. Keep an eye out for special deals once the launch occurs - I'll be putting up sale links whenever the voices in my head tell me to. Got feedback? Want to be added into a super-secret society where you will eventually get free stuff as soon as I figure out what that free stuff will be? You can shoot me an email at nick@nickseagers.com, find me on Twitter @nickseagers or go to NickSeagers.com, fill out the form and let me know you're interested.

Crowd Sourcing Book Covers

You want to help me design the cover of my new book?

Keep in mind, this is not a novel.

This is not a non-fiction book.

This is not a crossword.

This is a collection of fictional truths attached to pictures of folks that have more than enough stories to tell. Unfortunately, I don't know what those stories are, so I had to make up my own.

Gimme a hand here:

Open Letters to Recently Deceased Celebrities

Dear Michael Jackson,

I loved you when you were black.

Yours truly,
Nick

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Dear Farrah Fawcett,

I am truly very sorry. No one deserves to go like that. You will be missed.

Yours truly,
Nick

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Dear Billy Mays,

I WILL MISS YOUR SHOE-POLISH BEARD AND SEEING YOU IN THE WIND TUNNEL ON THE 'MIGHTY PUTTY' COMMERCIAL. REGARDLESS OF WHAT THE CORONER SAYS I BLAME VINCE SHLOMI'S JEALOUSY FOR YOUR DEATH.

(if you're reading this and you don't get why that's all in caps, you don't treasure Billy the way I did.)

Yours truly,
Nick

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Dear Ed McMahon,

Star Search was the bomb.

Yours truly,
Nick

Beat the Reaper

Like books? Read this one.

Like amazing characters and plot? Read this book.

Like knowing there are worse hospitals than the one you got your head stapled shut in? Read this book.

Josh Bazell does it right with his novel Beat the Reaper. The simple fact that he wrote this while doing his residency makes me not ever want to sit on a paper covered table with him and simultaniously makes me want to follow him on rounds.

Tough economy getting you down and can't fork over the dough for a new book? There's this thing in your town called a library. Use it.

Boston Phoenix Gets It Done

I have been hopeful that the journalism for the Boston Phoenix (and Portland Phoenix by extension) would become steady and constant. With the front page article in the most recent issue (5/28/09) they get it done. Legalize Pot Now delves in to not only the most recent battles of the speed bumps decriminalization and legalization advocates have experienced.

While the story fell slightly short of the goal line in my opinion by not exploring the possibility that since Mexican drug traders make up to 75% of their profits from illegal marijuana sales, there may be some extra pressure being put on those in power to keep marijuana on the books. Extension perhaps more for a book on the subject (there are many and I'm sure many more to come) but it was the cutting edge of the article I craved.

Mike Miliard did a great job at getting to the heart of the story and gave good supposition for what to expect in the future.

Whathaveyous Of The Week

Plans coming to fruition...everything congealing like a nice soft cheese.

And verily I say unto you: If I speak gangsta to my fish is that, in fact, animal abuse or just an obscene hobby?

Short list of great whathaveyous from the week:

Steal Our Ideas
Jay Walker (yes, his real name) on the world's English mania

Digging For Dirt just got added to my to-read list.

Things Magazine

F My Life - Sample:

Today, I was standing around looking out the window at work when it became really dark and windy and started to pour. I watched a shopping cart fly across the parking lot thinking how funny it'd be if it hit someone's car. It hit mine. I need a new headlight. FML

And finally, a classic. Makes me want to play pool by the pool.

Tired of hearing me talk about 826? Tough shit.

One good design for @826michigan. Really digging the typography I hit up the 826 with.


And another idea I put together for @826national


Got some spare time in your day? Donate it.

Got some spare change? Donate it.

Got some perfectly good pens and pencils in your office that you will never, ever use, because you know you only use the one kind - you've always used that kind - and you already have plenty of them to begin with. I mean really, how many pens do you actually use up in a year? Maybe a dozen? Maybe? If you don't keep losing them. If you've got 'em (and anything else you think might help a kid learn) donate them.

A recount of the past few weeks is in order. After this there will be a much more cohesive plan toward this blog. I'm feeling a new direction, a new focus, shooting through my fingertips to your inverted retinas.

Let's begin:

On Saturday, April 25th I was married to the beautiful Carol at Gibbet Hill in Groton, MA

After no sleep for a day or two and several plane rides down to Central America we landed in Costa Rica and began a week of hammock naps and pinto. And pina coladas....and more pina coladas.

On our second morning in Manuel Antonio, during the iced coffee portion of our show, we saw monkeys taking over the jungle outside of our place. Chewing breakfast bananas and mangoes, one monkey became a bit too frisky and decided that coming in to get a closer look was a good idea. This picture of our friend was taken after I told him that coming onto our porch was a bad idea.

He approached carefully atop the roof, the sneaky ninja that he is, and swung down over the edge to say hello.

"Monkey, no." I said, bracing my bride back toward the safety of the door. I soon realized that the monkey did not speak English as well as I had hoped - not nearly as well as most of the bartenders in the area. This was a Costa Rican monkey, and thus I needed to speak to him in his native tongue.

"No, mono! No!" Seemed to do the trick. He went next door to see what was going down over there.

While we were away, the media terror that is swine flu attacked the sensibilities of all around. Coming back into the states from Central America I was sure we would have a hard time at immigration in Miami. The several people in San Jose wearing face masks confirmed this.

Having sourced out a pharmacy in San Jose which sold prescription allergy medication by the pill (for which I had no prescription) I made sure neither I, nor my beautiful bride would give so much as a sneeze or cough on our way back to the Northeast. Although I had a sneezing fit at Miami International, luckily we were already cleared.

We are now safe and sound in the comfort of South Boston and life is working on getting back into a rhythm. Thank you to everyone who lent a hand in the ceremony and showed up to help us celebrate.

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I've talked several times about all of the good things that 826National and the rest of the chapters do for kids and now they've let me become part of the help. While I am an approved volunteer for 826Boston, I find it difficult to make it into Roxbury at a time during the week when i would have the ability to work with the kids.

I sent some emails. Actually, I sent all of the emails I could to every 826 chapter, asking if they could use a hand with some design work ffor their Twitter pages. The way I'm seeing social media evolving, it may be the absolute perfect tool for non-profits. The only overhead they really have is time. So I lent a hand and designed backgrounds for 826LA and their store, the Echo Park Time Travel Mart.

I'm also currently working on a similar project for 826michigan. It's a robot thing - you wouldn't understand.

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Random cool shit:

What's a BBQ without bacon-wrapped-bacon? A crappy BBQ.

Fish Slaps A Baby: Missing Dodgeball

Student suggest building organic wall to contain the ENTIRE Sahara Desert. (That's really, really big for those who don't know.)

Smashing Magazine: 40 Stunning & Creative Graffiti Artworks

20 Of the World's Most Kickass Libraries

FOOD, Inc. (poached from Acme Cocktail Co.)

From the back shelf - the Arcata Eye :: Police Log

The Literary Internet, Typography, Lists and What Inspiration Smells Like

How do I begin? How can I just jump into something as messed up as the way my brain is running right now? A long day of learning about...everything. Everything I can. Today was one of those times where you sit back and realize just how massive the Internet is. Perhaps more introspection because I'm at the point in Malcom Gladwell's Outliers which describes the 10,000 hour rule and how Bill Gates and Steve Jobs are both prime examples of the right person being in the right place at the right time.

In short: if you want something and the opportunity to get that something arrives, all you have to do is be willing to put in 10,000 to master it. Easier said than done. But if you really want that something, you will take the time needed to understand each and every aspect of it.

Today was one of those days when I hit the pause button on my 10,000 hour countdown. I have several book ideas swimming through my noggin currently -- one that (so far as my imagination is concerned) is complete and perfect so far as it can be. Instead of expanding on that particular project, or any other, I went surfing today. Below is just a sampling of what I found that I have the sudden need to share with you.

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Three TED talks I found particularly engaging. If you have not experienced what this site is, let me break your cherry here.


The Future of Sound


Why Typography Fucking Rocks


A Story In Few Words


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Lists of a Random and Not-So Nature:

13 Most Baffling Book Titles

6 Writers Who Accidentally Crapped Out Masterpieces

List of Banned Books and History Thereof

Top Ten Songs -- Vagabond Charlie Edition

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Haven't read Junot Diaz yet? What the hell are you waiting for?

New to social media and want to learn not just what it is, but how in the hell it can help your business? This is the book for you.

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Finally I would like to talk about inspiration. Perhaps today didn't turn out to be such a write off when I look back at it. I exposed myself to several thousands of thoughts and ideas, some new and some revisted. I may very well have added several hours to my 'research master' total.

A question that popped into my head recently is, "What does inspiration smell like?" Very much an abstract thought, but on the fly I created a quick list of what does it for me today. Egg rolls, new shoes, the creased spine of an old book, bacon, paint, lawnmower exhaust, beach breeze, and 3 o'clock in the morning.

What does inspirations smell like to you? @nickseagers nick@nickseagers.com

Ahhh...tis Easter

Ahhh...tis Easter.

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The other day a German woman, for reasons yet to be explained, jumped into a polar bear habitat at the Berlin Zoo during feeding time. She was, of course, mistaken for food and bitten until the staff hauled her out. Had they not been able to haul her out, the staff would have been forced to shoot the bears. It would seem easier to shoot the woman, no? The link above was selected primarily because there are no pictures. I've got a lot of dark thoughts, but I still don't want to see a bear try to eat a screaming woman - that's one toke over the line.

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For those of you who are not familiar with 826 National, 826 Boston, or any of the other chapters, GET WITH THE PROGRAM. What 826 does for kids should be touted from every rooftop in every city. They provide after school tutoring, writing workshops, and most importantly a place where imagination is fostered and encouraged, as opposed to the majority of the schools these kids go to.

Got some extra cash laying around? Donate it. Spare computer parts? Office supplies? Stamps? Donate it. Each chapter has different needs, so check out their respective websites to see what is needed.

I just dashed off (read: copy/pasted) emails to each chapter and 826 National offering my services to help spread their good word through Twitter. Awaiting responses.

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News rundown:

Medical Marijuana is gaining acceptance

Glenn Beck is insane....again

Fast and the Furious is sucking out movie executives brains

Project: Untitled

A sneak preview of my new book project.

These people have stories and I have an uneasy desire to tell them. The tales they tell me are not what necessarily happened, it is what they may have had a drunken wish to tell the stranger next to them halfway down the parade route.

One thing they do not have is a collective title. I have had several thoughts on the topic, but I want to hear yours. Throw your best concept at me, and anything else you've got while you're at it.

nick@nickseagers.com

Making News Preview: Chapter Two

You live in Maine. Portland, Maine. According to our weather expert today will be partly cloudy with a chance of showers. You turn on the TV one day, wondering what sorts of things have been going on. You see the usual; lobster stuff and lighthouse stuff and the ever-present threat of snow. You see all this and you hear every word pass from the teleprompter to me to the camera to the cables to the satellite dish to the cable company to the wires in your TV.

And then you change the channel, because it’s the same thing everyday. This isn’t Chicago. This isn’t D.C. or L.A. or Houston. Portland’s cobblestone streets don’t have a million people living above them stacked one on top of another. Portland doesn’t have a professional sports team or a subway system. You won’t find anything like Girls Gone Wild in Portland.

You will find me. My name is Apex O’Neil and I’ll be back after the break. I’m the anchorman for Channel 3 Action News. We came second in the last ratings poll. We’re almost number one. I don’t want to sound conceited, but it’s because of me.

My name isn’t really Apex O’Neil.

When I changed my name, it wasn’t to hide, to become someone else so I didn’t have to be the person I once was. It wasn’t to separate this life from the old one. Not at first. It’s just that the name sounded better and showed up on screen brighter and I really wanted to work my way out of the editing room. A new name could help me with that.

It all snowballed from there.

Maine’s initials can make everything so easy. You can do a story about caring for ME. A story about the best of ME. Loving you, loving ME.

You’re just another talking head in a pile of other well-groomed talking heads, channel after channel, and you have to show the audience you’re worth their time. You know you’re the best, but now you have to show them.

The trick is to make the story as important to the viewer as possible. Adding one line can spice up even an innocent story about rising heating oil prices. “This could happen to you.”

I once had a loving daughter and wife, both of whom adored me, and the feeling was mutual. Then I got this new job, sitting behind a news desk, after months of being a crappy correspondent and the next thing you know days and weeks and years go by. Now my wife is my ex-wife. My daughter might as well be my ex-daughter since the only time I see her is when I’m driving to a store to buy her things.

I’m not deaf. I know people talk behind my back because the only music I listen to is The Police, Phil Collins, Wham!, ZZ Top and Blondie. When people tell you that the eighties died along with My Little Pony and Strawberry Shortcake and Teddy Ruxpin, don’t believe them. When I’m comparing current events to the fall of the Berlin Wall or Black Monday and people roll their eyes and walk away, they are only jealous because I am so smart.

To be a news anchor: You want to major in mass communications and journalism. You want to be well versed in political science, sociology, psychology and anthropology. You need to have the ability to show grace under pressure, all the while showcasing the human experience. It helps to volunteer at the scene of a natural disaster.

Add an eyewitness statement to your news item and some official sounding jargon from any law enforcement professional, or anyone in a uniform or white coat, and you’ve hit it. If you can’t find an authority figure to talk about what happened, create a montage of clips from stories you have covered in the past and make sure your voice-over mentions that this is a growing trend.

Trust me, the video archive will be your best friend.

I remember the day my daughter Julia was born. A soft little white mass wriggling in my arms, looking all around at everything but me, tiny hands clenched in fists. I’d wanted to name her Punky or Tron, but Shelly would have none of it. Not much has changed in fourteen years. Julia’s hands were still clenched in fists. Her eyes still refused to meet mine.

Shelly, my wife, my ex-wife, she might be the same, I didn’t really know. I hadn’t been able to reach her for the past four years due to the fact that I didn’t call her or return any of her emails.

Every season in New England the names change but the story stays the same. The Celts, the Sox, the Pats, the Bruins.

You can add to a boring weather forecast by bringing in a Special Guest Meteorologist once a week. When at all possible, let your co-anchor introduce your next story as something that no concerned citizen would miss. No one wants to admit they aren’t, or might not be, a concerned citizen.

Slow news day? Find something trivial, some near-brush with death and report on that. People, meaning the public, are always looking for the next best thing, or the next thing to scare them. So make sure you say “The accident was luckily avoided, but who knows what mayhem may have ensued had it not been.”

You’re born, you go to school, go to more school, then more school. Then one night you meet a girl at a bar and you’re married. You have a kid and a career. One day you turn around and all that’s left is your career. Turns out your wife took your daughter and ran upstate to Orono.

Before the break at the half-hour mark you’re going to want a feel-good, smiley, happy, warm, cuddly story so that viewers don’t feel as if their lives and their city are being flushed down the same toilet. Even though they are. You do not want them to change the channel. If they are watching you at the break, you have to make certain that when you come back they will still be there.

You have to tease your viewers. It works great for Catholic schoolgirls and strippers, so why not local news?

Through my earpiece I’ll hear something like, “Coming up after the break, a story from Bill Branson. It’s information every caring parent can use. Don’t miss it. Coming to you from the station that brings you more top-of-the-line broadcasting than any other. Channel 3 Action News with Apex O’Neil.”

Then they’ll play a few commercials about upcoming news reports for next week. Then they’ll play spots for whatever lame reality show or cop drama immediately follows us.

My face is symmetrical, so it’s fair to say that I’ll always have a job.

There are a few things I have learned from being in the news business. Never apologize. Never say you’re sorry. Never say thank you. Never, ever. Unless a camera is on you.

Here I am, powder fresh from the makeup room and I’m saying, “The National Council on Health announced that the cholesterol in eggs is bad for you. Especially the egg yolk. Something about too many high-density lipids.” Things like that made my head spin.

I would say that I got paid to know this stuff, but that’s not exactly true. It would be more accurate to say that I got paid to look stuff up and then read stuff from a screen. You’d think that in a city with 320 miles of streets bigger things would happen more often.

It’s the way the world works. When I talk, everyone listens.

“There was a City Council meeting today to discuss the current issues facing Maine voters. A large group of local voters have turned out in support of the Yes on 5 campaign.” Practicing in my dressing room mirror, I was trying to get the emphasis correct by raising an eyebrow at varying times.

I was on the steps of City Hall earlier that day and had asked a few people what the ballot question was in reference to, and what sort of actions they were prepared to take in order to gain more support. No one knew. We ended up getting a shot of the crowd walking in circles, chanting and everyone’s eyes were shining in the camera’s glow. A ring of deer caught in the headlights but still able to move.

“That’s crap,” my boss said. My boss was Mr. Sebring, and since Mr. Sebring was the only person authorized to dish out creative control of anything, I listened to him.

“Not one person knew anything? I thought it was about parking zones. They didn’t tell you anything, O’Neil?” Mr. Sebring rubbed his thick knuckles back and forth over the top of his head, covering and uncovering the birthmark on the center of his blank dome. It was shaped like a famous mouse’s head and there was a pool at the station about whether or not it was really a tattoo gone wrong.

His face was a field of canyon creases. The skin around his eyes rippled like foil and when the light hit right, half of his face would be covered in lines of shadow.

“Sorry sir, what?” I turned and showed him my what could I do look.

“Never mind. This is how it’s going to go tonight. We’ve got a minute-twenty of a motel fire via remote broadcast followed by forty-five seconds of Humane Society dogs barking. You go on at the eleven minute mark with twenty seconds of what’s coming up later, then a minute and a half of Karen’s cancer survivors, then another break, and then we’re cutting to Karen’s coverage of the Potting Soil Festival.” Mr. Sebring looked down the hall, following the trail of Priscilla, the new girl in makeup.

“Another cancer survivor story?” I threw my hands in the air. “That’s the second one this month.”

“Well, our audience research report shows that’s what people want. The last cancer broadcast brought up our audience share to even with Channel 11. People want to be scared and hopeful at the same time. It gives them a sense of drama. Besides the fact that Karen’s rating went up two points during that period, and still has yet to decline, while your rating is down three points from last month.”

“How am I supposed to raise my rating with stories about cats and dogs?”

“That’s something you’ll have to take up with the news director, whoever it is this week. There have been so many that I’m losing track. I’ve got some people putting together a concept analysis report. Hopefully that will raise our market share and bring the news division of this network toward some respectable numbers.”

“What’s our key demographic?” I could feel my right eye twitching, so this conversation would have to end before I lost it completely.

“Don’t worry about that. Worry about your Q level and how to raise your audience share. You need something big. If your rating doesn’t improve in the next three months, we’re going to have to sit down and have a serious discussion. If your rating starts to drop, we’ll be having that chat sooner. Do you follow me?”

“When you put it that way.”

“Good. I’ve got to go. Sharp tie.”

Shuffling away, jacket flared out like a cape, hands on his hips, he looked like the impossible superhero. As Mr. Sebring turned around the same corner Priscilla had, I wondered why I wasn’t offered the Potting Soil Festival story. Was I not the anchor at the news desk? If there was a big story like that, I wanted to go.

I was shafted on the Kite Festival. They gave that one to Karen too.

Was my hair too shiny? I kept it cut short, but not too short. It had a slight gray highlight, but not too slight and not too gray. It was a little more than a hint but not enough to be called salt-and-pepper. I walked a fine line. I’d have to check the tapes at home to know for sure.

If things had worked out the way my ex-wife had wanted, I would be sitting in a cubicle somewhere, calculating figures and adding the sums of two columns like a good little boy.

To look my best, I relied on Priscilla to make me newsworthy. She took the shine from my face and gave me enough powder to cover the stubble that started to grow two hours after I shaved. Priscilla plucked my eyebrows and straightened my tie and made certain that all of her mistakes ended up on the little paper bib around my neck instead of on my crisp, white, professionally pressed shirt.

Priscilla was new. Sometimes it takes a few weeks for someone to be broken in properly. We’d had seven makeup people in the past year. Some men. Some women. Some professionals. Some were just hoping they one day would be. All of them quit because they realized that the mistakes they make reflect poorly upon themselves, the station, and most importantly – me.

You have to teach these people that life is not a highway. There are rules and regulations and corrective measures and weights and balances connected to the way that makeup brush hit my face. This was not a playground, this was a business, and my image was the only factor that mattered.

Granted, a feature on dirt or kites wasn’t going to win an Edward R. Murrow Award for Overall Excellence, but at least it was something. Until people got their act together, I was going to be the Susan Lucci of Portland.

Opening Day...er...or not

The rain in Boston today was severe enough to postpone the first official game of 2009. It will be Tuesday then. Until that time there are a few things I'd like to share:

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The Ebonics Primer at Dolomite.com has a handful of politically correct words for any social occasion. They also have various holiday music and other tunes to help you get your lady in the mood. A must have for anyone serious about entertaining.

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Happened upon an oldie but a goodie this evening: Sneakers. Robert Redford, Ben Kingsley (pre-sir), Sidney Poitier, James Earl Jones, River Phoenix and Dan Aykroyd. From computer espionage to pass phrase encryption to conspiracy theorists, this film shows what the Internet was in 1992 and what some people still wish it could be.

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Fuck it. I don't care how much I plug this place - it's too good. The Hen House.