Aside from being an (ah-hem) award winning novelist, I am unfortunate I do not make enough money to write as a career author. Holding down a “day” job is essential. Only difference is, my day job is a night job. Graveyard shift. We call it First Platoon. I am a Fire/EMS Dispatcher for 9-1-1. Thankfully, when there are no fires, work is not too busy. When it is not too busy, six of us (Fire Dispatchers) sit in what we call a pod (a circle) filled with 5 computer monitors, 3 keyboards/mice and phones, per station, and we talk. And the talk oftentimes is nonsensical.
Last night we discussed first dates. Being 42, divorced, and with three kids, dating is tough. First dates, tougher. Not being rich—perhaps borderline poor—the idea of trying to impress a woman on a first date is not generally doable. And for that matter, I thought, also not wise.
Way I see it, if you take a woman out to on an expensive night, big-bill dinner, and theater, and limo and shit like that – it’s misleading. Improperly so. Think about it. (And I truly believe this is not frugal, or downright cheap). If you take extravagant measures to show the young lady an amazing time, isn’t it then fair for her to assume each date thereafter is going to hold, at a minimum, equal expectations? I could be wrong. (Feedback and comments are most, most welcome).
Way I see it, (yes starting a second paragraph identically to the one above it), if the plan is dinner and a movie, going to a restaurant that is affordable is okay. Especially on a first date. (More expensive dates can certainly follow, on things like, special occasions). But it is not always financially practical to drop a lot of money on a date. And on a first date – let’s face it – there is always a 50/50 chance there will not be a second, a follow-up, a sequel. See what I’m saying?
Maybe that makes me a jerk. A cheapskate. A tightwad. But you know what? I’m okay with that. Perceive away. Judge. I prefer to let a woman know who I am. Who I am, is not money. Not even close. Why give the impression otherwise? Misleading, as earlier indicated, and in my opinion, should be seriously frowned upon.
The fact that I like Red Robin burgers got everyone laughing. At me. I thought, and said out loud, “I think going to Red Robin is a good first date. Good burgers, bottomless fries … I mean, yummmmm says it all.”
Yeah. Wrong thing to say. Think I’d of been okay just thinking it. The comments I received went as follows:
“It’s too ‘family restaurant’ styled for a first date. It’s all parents and kids.”
“Seriously, Phil? Seriously?”
“You don’t have to spend a lot of money, but certainly not Red Robin.”
“Red Robin’s a good first date if you’re a teenager…”
And, from that above sampling, I think you get the idea.
Other, equally affordable options were suggested. Some good. Some, personally, I rejected. But by the end of the discussion, I guess I learned a lesson. Two, actually. And what is the point of open forums if there is not, at least, one moral to a story … much less, two?!?
One. Don’t ever tell close friends the specifications of date plans, unless you are hoping to be talked out of them, humiliated, laughed at, or frustrated because trying to get your point across in a five to one situation is not humanly possible.
Two. Maybe talk with the person you plan to go out with. Get their input before making decisions. While a female likes to see the man make calls, it might work out better to actually ask for some general input. You never know – they may think a most wonderful idea involves good burgers and bottomless fries at your local Red Robin … Yummmmmm!
One last question: Is it okay to pull out a coupon when the bill comes??
As always, take care!
Phillip Tomasso
Pulse of Evil Book Trailer
Pulse of Evil For Sale
Other titles for sale for Kindle
Other titles for sale for Nook
The Molech Prophecy for sale on Nook/Paperback -- writing as Thomas Phillips
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
Table For One
Got an amazing email the other day. A publisher offering a contract for a YA novel I’d written. I forget how long ago I’d sent the query. Maybe close to eighteen months ago? About 6 months back they wrote me asking for a complete copy of the manuscript. I sent it. Nothing to lose.
Nothing to lose, because now – with this contract, I’ve officially sold the work three times. First time was in 2005. I worked with an agent then. She landed a nice deal. Got a healthy advance. It covered some bills with a small chunk left over to feed the family a nice dinner or two.
I worked close with the publisher’s editor and then the publishing company folded.
I won’t lie. Felt a bit devastated. It was a good size press. Hard not to get high hopes for my story. I envisioned awards and a shot at a bestseller list … maybe not the New York Times, but whatever.
Next publisher to offer a contract was a smaller, newer press. Just getting their feet wet. This was about two years ago. Again, I grew excited. I really wanted to see this title brought to life, and was thankful years later the work was still sellable.
The editor and I did not see eye-to-eye on some issues. They wanted too much changed. I refused to make those changes. Eventually, we’d reached a crossroads, and the contract was unfortunately, mutually, shredded. No hard feelings, other than the fact once again my YA novel would not make it to print (or eBook).
So. Like I was saying. The email came with a contract. Looked good to me. Talked about a paperback and eBook release. I’d already gathered endorsements from key people and a handful of reviews over the years. And now, I’m feeling pretty good. Pretty hopeful.
I posted about it on Facebook, Tweeted it once or twice. And . . . after work that night? I’d be off for two days. It was the start of my weekend. Can you imagine getting an awesome email at the start of your weekend? First thing you think, first thing I thought, was, “I’m celebrating.”
Right?
I’m going out. Karaoke! Eat some grilled and greasy food with friends! Do it up right. Not much of a champagne drinker, not when there is beer available, but hell, I tossed around the idea of buying a bottle.
Why not?
I’d sold the same book three times in 7 years. Same book. Three times. Seven years.
Third time’s the charm. I’ve heard that. You’ve heard that. It’s an old cliché. Third time’s the charm. It’s what I should call this post. Third Time’s The Charm.
But really, honestly … remember when I started this blog? I said I was not going to hold back. Posts would be honest and raw. I’ll admit I’ve done some holding back. And while honest, posts haven’t been as raw as they may have been medium rare. One main reason is I’ve found I have younger readers checking in now and then. And it is important me to be honest and as raw as I can be without being offensive. You may have noticed a blog-post or two missing. Pulled ‘em. Had to. Anyway . . .
This blog is not about selling a 10th novel (since 2000). It’s about the fact that my weekend (a Monday and Tuesday night) celebration turned out to be little more than drinking cans of beer from the fridge, watching Netflix and ordering a pizza (which covered many meals over the next two days).
You know why? Because divorce sucks.
I don’t miss my ex. Not at all. Please don’t misunderstand what I am saying here.
But—at the time—I actually enjoyed being married. Loved my family.
Still love my kids!
But when that got stripped away in ’07, battling life has been an endless and emotional strain. It really interrupts and interferes with, well … everything.
Even though my ex was never supportive of my writing, never understood why I wanted to keep selling stories I’d written, manuscripts I’d slaved over—why I wrote in the first place, when I did make a sale (regardless), or even when I finished writing a novel—we’d all go out an celebrate. Every time.
Pack the kids in the car, we’re going for dinner!
I remember doing that a lot in the 90’s when I was pounding out short-stories like mad. In ‘00, when my first novel sold, and ’01, twice in ’02 … and on and on.
I miss that.
Family. Closeness.
At first, I tried contacting a few friends; see if they wanted to go out. Most work day jobs, Monday through Friday, and don’t go out until the weekend – the real, normal, weekend; or they work opposite wheels from the one I work – so if I’m off, they’re working, and vice-versa.
Bottom line, at one point I stopped trying.
It turned out to be a tough weekend, despite being excited about a sale. It hit me, hard, the fact that I had no one special to share any of this with.
God forbid my mother or anyone in my family read this.
Eh-oh, oh-eh!
It has nothing to do with them. They were all very excited for the contract, and would gladly have celebrated the night (or entire weekend) with me. But listen, between us (sorry if you are reading this, Mom, Love You), but singing Garth Brooks karaoke with your mother – just not the same kinda fun, you know what I’m sayin’?
Is this post about selling a 10th novel in 12 years? I don’t know. Maybe. Or about selling a novel 3 times? Kind of, yes. Or is it about the fact that, even when it looks to someone else like someone has all their shit together, that looks are usually deceiving?
You know what I have to say to that, smile on the outside, my friends. Always smile on the outside. Because letting them see you cry on the inside – what good does that do? None. It does no good.
Take care, and keep an eye out. Got a two-part blog coming at you soon. It will be about writing, Not heart-on-the-sleeve stuff, promise. I call it, Writing Is Like Going To The Gym. Great title, right? Whatever J
I’m out …
Phillip Tomasso
Pulse of Evil Book Trailer
Pulse of Evil For Sale
Other titles for sale for Kindle
Other titles for sale for Nook
The Molech Prophecy for sale on Nook/Paperback -- writing as Thomas Phillips
Nothing to lose, because now – with this contract, I’ve officially sold the work three times. First time was in 2005. I worked with an agent then. She landed a nice deal. Got a healthy advance. It covered some bills with a small chunk left over to feed the family a nice dinner or two.
I worked close with the publisher’s editor and then the publishing company folded.
I won’t lie. Felt a bit devastated. It was a good size press. Hard not to get high hopes for my story. I envisioned awards and a shot at a bestseller list … maybe not the New York Times, but whatever.
Next publisher to offer a contract was a smaller, newer press. Just getting their feet wet. This was about two years ago. Again, I grew excited. I really wanted to see this title brought to life, and was thankful years later the work was still sellable.
The editor and I did not see eye-to-eye on some issues. They wanted too much changed. I refused to make those changes. Eventually, we’d reached a crossroads, and the contract was unfortunately, mutually, shredded. No hard feelings, other than the fact once again my YA novel would not make it to print (or eBook).
So. Like I was saying. The email came with a contract. Looked good to me. Talked about a paperback and eBook release. I’d already gathered endorsements from key people and a handful of reviews over the years. And now, I’m feeling pretty good. Pretty hopeful.
I posted about it on Facebook, Tweeted it once or twice. And . . . after work that night? I’d be off for two days. It was the start of my weekend. Can you imagine getting an awesome email at the start of your weekend? First thing you think, first thing I thought, was, “I’m celebrating.”
Right?
I’m going out. Karaoke! Eat some grilled and greasy food with friends! Do it up right. Not much of a champagne drinker, not when there is beer available, but hell, I tossed around the idea of buying a bottle.
Why not?
I’d sold the same book three times in 7 years. Same book. Three times. Seven years.
Third time’s the charm. I’ve heard that. You’ve heard that. It’s an old cliché. Third time’s the charm. It’s what I should call this post. Third Time’s The Charm.
But really, honestly … remember when I started this blog? I said I was not going to hold back. Posts would be honest and raw. I’ll admit I’ve done some holding back. And while honest, posts haven’t been as raw as they may have been medium rare. One main reason is I’ve found I have younger readers checking in now and then. And it is important me to be honest and as raw as I can be without being offensive. You may have noticed a blog-post or two missing. Pulled ‘em. Had to. Anyway . . .
This blog is not about selling a 10th novel (since 2000). It’s about the fact that my weekend (a Monday and Tuesday night) celebration turned out to be little more than drinking cans of beer from the fridge, watching Netflix and ordering a pizza (which covered many meals over the next two days).
You know why? Because divorce sucks.
I don’t miss my ex. Not at all. Please don’t misunderstand what I am saying here.
But—at the time—I actually enjoyed being married. Loved my family.
Still love my kids!
But when that got stripped away in ’07, battling life has been an endless and emotional strain. It really interrupts and interferes with, well … everything.
Even though my ex was never supportive of my writing, never understood why I wanted to keep selling stories I’d written, manuscripts I’d slaved over—why I wrote in the first place, when I did make a sale (regardless), or even when I finished writing a novel—we’d all go out an celebrate. Every time.
Pack the kids in the car, we’re going for dinner!
I remember doing that a lot in the 90’s when I was pounding out short-stories like mad. In ‘00, when my first novel sold, and ’01, twice in ’02 … and on and on.
I miss that.
Family. Closeness.
At first, I tried contacting a few friends; see if they wanted to go out. Most work day jobs, Monday through Friday, and don’t go out until the weekend – the real, normal, weekend; or they work opposite wheels from the one I work – so if I’m off, they’re working, and vice-versa.
Bottom line, at one point I stopped trying.
It turned out to be a tough weekend, despite being excited about a sale. It hit me, hard, the fact that I had no one special to share any of this with.
God forbid my mother or anyone in my family read this.
Eh-oh, oh-eh!
It has nothing to do with them. They were all very excited for the contract, and would gladly have celebrated the night (or entire weekend) with me. But listen, between us (sorry if you are reading this, Mom, Love You), but singing Garth Brooks karaoke with your mother – just not the same kinda fun, you know what I’m sayin’?
Is this post about selling a 10th novel in 12 years? I don’t know. Maybe. Or about selling a novel 3 times? Kind of, yes. Or is it about the fact that, even when it looks to someone else like someone has all their shit together, that looks are usually deceiving?
You know what I have to say to that, smile on the outside, my friends. Always smile on the outside. Because letting them see you cry on the inside – what good does that do? None. It does no good.
Take care, and keep an eye out. Got a two-part blog coming at you soon. It will be about writing, Not heart-on-the-sleeve stuff, promise. I call it, Writing Is Like Going To The Gym. Great title, right? Whatever J
I’m out …
Phillip Tomasso
Pulse of Evil Book Trailer
Pulse of Evil For Sale
Other titles for sale for Kindle
Other titles for sale for Nook
The Molech Prophecy for sale on Nook/Paperback -- writing as Thomas Phillips
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
To Be Thankful
While this blog has been used to rant, to promote, and to otherwise ramble, today I would like to write about being thankful.
I've been up since 3:00 AM. Unable to sleep, I watched TV. I played on the computer. I bought a new coffee pot. I wrote. I worked at submitting a short story to a number of magazines. And I contemplated ...
You will oftentimes hear people say, "Life is funny."
They don't mean funny, ha-ha. Generally, they mean, ironic. Sad. Mean. Evil. Yet, they express this by calling it, "funny."
Having failed out of college back in 1989, trying my luck then at community college and getting close to no where, I was able to land a job at Kodak. That job allowed me the comfort of getting married and raising a family.
Then life got funny.
After 19 years with the same woman, 15 married, I suddenly found myself divorced. Not living home with my three amazing kids. This was in 2007.
But the funny doesn't stop there. It gets down-right hysterical.
After 19 years with Kodak, I was let go. Down-sized. Unemployed. I had to give up the studio apartment I lived in, and move back home with my parents.
Yeah. Had to give up a studio. Doesn't that just have you in stitches?
Hard to feel thankful. Harder still not to just feel constantly depressed. Like giving up. Giving in.
In 1995, I had my first short story published. From there, I've gone on to sell nearly 100 short-stories and articles. I penned 9 novels. Two of them won small-time awards.
I did newspaper, magazine, radio and television interviews. I held book signings at over 100 bookstores throughout New York, Pennsylvania, Florida and Indiana. I've been flown first class, had limo drivers, and been treated like a celebrity.
For nearly three years I've been working for the city as a Fire/EMS dispatcher at 911. It's a good, steady job. We're growing. Not shrinking. There is stability with the position. And I am thankful.
My newest novel, PULSE OF EVIL, was just released. It is my ninth. And I am thankful.
But a job, a writing career -- thankful as I am -- are nothing compared to my kids. My family.
Three kids. Teens. All of them.
I am thankful for them. For their health. That they are in my life -- that they want me in theirs. That we are close. That we hug and kiss hello, and goodbye. That we laugh, and talk, and share. That we text and call and see each other often.
I am thankful for my entire family. For parents that are supportive and always there when needed. For brothers and a sister who would do anything for me, and for whom I would do the same. I am thankful.
Life is far from funny. It is unfair and dark at times. It is stormy and violent. Depressing and despairing.
It is important ... no, no ... vital -- it is vital to see the good, to find the worthwhile, to value the relationships that we have.
They can end at any moment.
Be taken from you. Stolen. Stripped and shredded.
It is vital to love. To move forward. To forgive, and forget.
To let go...
It is vital to remember why you are important to someone else -- just as "they" need to know how they are important to you.
There is a purpose behind this blog. A driving cause. It's crippling for me to think about it. And at this time, it is not necessary for me to explain the background. The words above are true. Harsh. Bitter-sounding, but true.
I may hate where I am. Forty-two, divorced, living in an apartment a few miles from my children (yes, I was able to move out of my parents' house after a while and get back up on my own feet -- for which I am thankful).
I don't sugarcoat things. I smile. I always try to smile. I don't say stupid shit like, "There is always a silver lining." That's bullshit. Not true.
But there is always hope.
Hope, and reasons to be thankful ... thankful for something.
Search your own hearts. Find the things you are thankful for -- and make sure your feelings are known. Make sure. Don't let regrets fill the space inside your heart.
. . . thank you for letting me get this out.
Sincerely,
Phillip Tomasso
Pulse of Evil Book Trailer
Pulse of Evil For Sale
Other titles for sale for Kindle
Other titles for sale for Nook
The Molech Prophecy for sale on Nook/Paperback -- writing as Thomas Phillips
I've been up since 3:00 AM. Unable to sleep, I watched TV. I played on the computer. I bought a new coffee pot. I wrote. I worked at submitting a short story to a number of magazines. And I contemplated ...
You will oftentimes hear people say, "Life is funny."
They don't mean funny, ha-ha. Generally, they mean, ironic. Sad. Mean. Evil. Yet, they express this by calling it, "funny."
Having failed out of college back in 1989, trying my luck then at community college and getting close to no where, I was able to land a job at Kodak. That job allowed me the comfort of getting married and raising a family.
Then life got funny.
After 19 years with the same woman, 15 married, I suddenly found myself divorced. Not living home with my three amazing kids. This was in 2007.
But the funny doesn't stop there. It gets down-right hysterical.
After 19 years with Kodak, I was let go. Down-sized. Unemployed. I had to give up the studio apartment I lived in, and move back home with my parents.
Yeah. Had to give up a studio. Doesn't that just have you in stitches?
Hard to feel thankful. Harder still not to just feel constantly depressed. Like giving up. Giving in.
In 1995, I had my first short story published. From there, I've gone on to sell nearly 100 short-stories and articles. I penned 9 novels. Two of them won small-time awards.
I did newspaper, magazine, radio and television interviews. I held book signings at over 100 bookstores throughout New York, Pennsylvania, Florida and Indiana. I've been flown first class, had limo drivers, and been treated like a celebrity.
For nearly three years I've been working for the city as a Fire/EMS dispatcher at 911. It's a good, steady job. We're growing. Not shrinking. There is stability with the position. And I am thankful.
My newest novel, PULSE OF EVIL, was just released. It is my ninth. And I am thankful.
But a job, a writing career -- thankful as I am -- are nothing compared to my kids. My family.
Three kids. Teens. All of them.
I am thankful for them. For their health. That they are in my life -- that they want me in theirs. That we are close. That we hug and kiss hello, and goodbye. That we laugh, and talk, and share. That we text and call and see each other often.
I am thankful for my entire family. For parents that are supportive and always there when needed. For brothers and a sister who would do anything for me, and for whom I would do the same. I am thankful.
Life is far from funny. It is unfair and dark at times. It is stormy and violent. Depressing and despairing.
It is important ... no, no ... vital -- it is vital to see the good, to find the worthwhile, to value the relationships that we have.
They can end at any moment.
Be taken from you. Stolen. Stripped and shredded.
It is vital to love. To move forward. To forgive, and forget.
To let go...
It is vital to remember why you are important to someone else -- just as "they" need to know how they are important to you.
There is a purpose behind this blog. A driving cause. It's crippling for me to think about it. And at this time, it is not necessary for me to explain the background. The words above are true. Harsh. Bitter-sounding, but true.
I may hate where I am. Forty-two, divorced, living in an apartment a few miles from my children (yes, I was able to move out of my parents' house after a while and get back up on my own feet -- for which I am thankful).
I don't sugarcoat things. I smile. I always try to smile. I don't say stupid shit like, "There is always a silver lining." That's bullshit. Not true.
But there is always hope.
Hope, and reasons to be thankful ... thankful for something.
Search your own hearts. Find the things you are thankful for -- and make sure your feelings are known. Make sure. Don't let regrets fill the space inside your heart.
. . . thank you for letting me get this out.
Sincerely,
Phillip Tomasso
Pulse of Evil Book Trailer
Pulse of Evil For Sale
Other titles for sale for Kindle
Other titles for sale for Nook
The Molech Prophecy for sale on Nook/Paperback -- writing as Thomas Phillips
Sunday, March 11, 2012
The Hunger Games Trilogy
I will admit, despite her being a best selling author, I have never heard of Suzanne Collins. My 19 year old son, who rarely, if ever, read anything started reading The Hunger Games as a download on his smart phone. In weeks he had read three novels. All by Collins, all part of this Hunger Games trilogy. He kept telling me, "Dad, you have got to read them."
I am not opposed to reading Young Adult novels. Quite the contrary. I read plenty of them. Both best selling series, and individual titles (which include, naturally, the Harry Potter saga, and Twilight epidemic). When I saw my boss at work reading them, I thought -- there's gotta be something here. I mean, I looked the book up. I read the synopsis. And while it sounded so-so, I wasn't compelled.
Online I read the first chapter of the first book. It did not move me, immediately. I had a general sense what the story was, or so I thought. I kept picturing the popular short story, The Lottery. And, well, for the most part, it is comparable.
However, there is a lot more depth and character enrichment. As there should be. One is a short story. The other, a trilogy.
What I did then was order all three books on-line. (While my own novels are now mostly available for Kindle, I do not own a Kindle or Nook. And do not prefer reading books that way. Even though I have Kindle and Nook software on my iPhone, I cannot even for a moment understand the desire or need to read an entire novel on my cell...but that's just me, I guess. Old fashioned).
I found I could not wait for the books to arrive.
I am not going to summarize any of the stories in this blog. Way I see it, if you haven't heard of this best-selling trilogy, or at the very least, seen trailers for The Hunger Games movie due out in theaters in a week, then my taking you through the stories in a blog is pointless.
In hours I devoured the first book. At Christmas, my three kids and I became archers. When I say archers, I mean I invested in bows for the four of us. Joined a range where we can shoot target practice up to 30 yards. A wonderful indoor facility. We are not hunters. At all. Not sure I could shoot a deer, or even a turkey--unless survival depended on it. But the game of archery, the skill behind it, is challenge enough! We love it. Ah, but I digress. Where was I . . .?
I devoured the first book in hours. I think I felt a connection to Katniss and Gale. If, at first, for the simple fact that they hunted using the stealth of bows and arrows. But quickly, and I mean quickly, cared about them as characters. Especially Katniss.
Katniss, in my opinion, is the exact opposite of Bella.
You know who Bella is, right?? Please, do not make me explain.
Bella is the polar opposite of Katniss. The opposite end of the rainbow. Thank God.
While I suffered through Bella's teenage angst filling chapters with endless whining, Katniss compelled me to continue reading because of the abundance of strength, despite natural fear.
The three books caught me by surprise. Each ending left me wanting more -- having not guessed the final direction the books would take.
While Suzanne Collins was someone I never heard of, I know her now. She writes in a simple fashion. Despite a complex plot filled with politics and levels of altered states, it is easy to follow. The picture she paints with her words is crisp and concise.
I have not seen the movie(s). But will. I only hope they are not destroyed the way I felt the Twilight movies desecrated the novels. Already, however, and sadly, some of the characters casted in the film are so far off from what my imagination imagined ... it is going to be difficulty for me to fully enjoy the movie. For example, Rue. The actress portraying Rue -- not what I pictured. At all.
Alas, the book is always better than the movie.
My recommendation -- at the very least, read The Hunger Games before seeing the movie :-) But, hey, that's just my humble opinion. A lot happens in the book. And I can't believe the movie will express it all or as eloquently as Suzanne Collins did in her novel1
Enjoy,
Phillip Tomasso
Author of Pigeon Drop, Johnny Blade, Adverse Impact, Convicted, Third Ring, Tenth House, Mind Play -- and as Thomas Phillips, The Molech Prophecy
I am not opposed to reading Young Adult novels. Quite the contrary. I read plenty of them. Both best selling series, and individual titles (which include, naturally, the Harry Potter saga, and Twilight epidemic). When I saw my boss at work reading them, I thought -- there's gotta be something here. I mean, I looked the book up. I read the synopsis. And while it sounded so-so, I wasn't compelled.
Online I read the first chapter of the first book. It did not move me, immediately. I had a general sense what the story was, or so I thought. I kept picturing the popular short story, The Lottery. And, well, for the most part, it is comparable.
However, there is a lot more depth and character enrichment. As there should be. One is a short story. The other, a trilogy.
What I did then was order all three books on-line. (While my own novels are now mostly available for Kindle, I do not own a Kindle or Nook. And do not prefer reading books that way. Even though I have Kindle and Nook software on my iPhone, I cannot even for a moment understand the desire or need to read an entire novel on my cell...but that's just me, I guess. Old fashioned).
I found I could not wait for the books to arrive.
I am not going to summarize any of the stories in this blog. Way I see it, if you haven't heard of this best-selling trilogy, or at the very least, seen trailers for The Hunger Games movie due out in theaters in a week, then my taking you through the stories in a blog is pointless.
In hours I devoured the first book. At Christmas, my three kids and I became archers. When I say archers, I mean I invested in bows for the four of us. Joined a range where we can shoot target practice up to 30 yards. A wonderful indoor facility. We are not hunters. At all. Not sure I could shoot a deer, or even a turkey--unless survival depended on it. But the game of archery, the skill behind it, is challenge enough! We love it. Ah, but I digress. Where was I . . .?
I devoured the first book in hours. I think I felt a connection to Katniss and Gale. If, at first, for the simple fact that they hunted using the stealth of bows and arrows. But quickly, and I mean quickly, cared about them as characters. Especially Katniss.
Katniss, in my opinion, is the exact opposite of Bella.
You know who Bella is, right?? Please, do not make me explain.
Bella is the polar opposite of Katniss. The opposite end of the rainbow. Thank God.
While I suffered through Bella's teenage angst filling chapters with endless whining, Katniss compelled me to continue reading because of the abundance of strength, despite natural fear.
The three books caught me by surprise. Each ending left me wanting more -- having not guessed the final direction the books would take.
While Suzanne Collins was someone I never heard of, I know her now. She writes in a simple fashion. Despite a complex plot filled with politics and levels of altered states, it is easy to follow. The picture she paints with her words is crisp and concise.
I have not seen the movie(s). But will. I only hope they are not destroyed the way I felt the Twilight movies desecrated the novels. Already, however, and sadly, some of the characters casted in the film are so far off from what my imagination imagined ... it is going to be difficulty for me to fully enjoy the movie. For example, Rue. The actress portraying Rue -- not what I pictured. At all.
Alas, the book is always better than the movie.
My recommendation -- at the very least, read The Hunger Games before seeing the movie :-) But, hey, that's just my humble opinion. A lot happens in the book. And I can't believe the movie will express it all or as eloquently as Suzanne Collins did in her novel1
Enjoy,
Phillip Tomasso
Author of Pigeon Drop, Johnny Blade, Adverse Impact, Convicted, Third Ring, Tenth House, Mind Play -- and as Thomas Phillips, The Molech Prophecy
Friday, September 23, 2011
1408
A while back I rented Stephen King's 1408.
At the time, I lived alone. Studio apartment. It was late at night when I started the movie. The beginning was creepy. Made my skin crawl. I had to shut the movie--figured I'd never get to sleep, not with the lights off, anyway.
The next day, when it was still light out, I finished the movie. And although it continued to creep me out ... something else happened.
The secondary story became more apparent. That's what a good movie, a good book contains. A secondary story. 1408 had one I did not expect.
See, the movie is about this writer. He visits haunted hotels, and sleeps in haunted rooms, and writes books about the experience.
When he is more or less dared to stay in a New York hotel, specifically in room 1408, it is the first time he ever encounters anything truly paranormal. Usually his writings uncover fakes and frauds. But this time, in room 1408, all of that changes ...
What the "ghost" does, however, is show the writer flashes from his own past. Which, who has a past that isn’t scary as hell, especially when confronted by it in a strange and isolated hotel room?
And it was this writer's past that just wrecked me emotionally.
See, the writer was married. They had a young daughter--this pretty little girl of maybe ten. Without much detail, we learn that the young girl is sick, dying, and eventually, died.
This guilt of not being able to do more to save his daughter ruins the writer's life: he leaves his wife and buries himself in his work. His writing. But the haunted room brings clips of his daughter to the forefront.
And at one point in the movie--she is there, in the hotel room with him. She tells him she loves him, that she wants to be with him and with mommy.
I kept expecting her to change into some horrid creature. Like the child monster that crawled out of the television set in The Ring.
That never happened.
Instead, he hugs his daughter, tells her everything will be all right. He assures her that this time, this time, they can stay together.
And then without warning, she dies in his arms. She just goes limp. Lifeless...Her head dropping, eyes closed. And she is dead. Again.
He lost his daughter a second time.
The point of this blog is personal. I'm divorced. Didn't want to be. But there was nothing I could do. There was no saving the marriage.
I have three kids. They are my life. My world. My everything.
And though I live only a handful of miles away from them, and though I get them every other weekend, and one day during the week, and see them at school and sports events ... I can't help but feel, sometimes, like they have died. Or that I have.
The loss I feel is that great. The pain is that powerful.
And what is worse, at the end of each visit with them, when I take them back to their mother, I feel like they are dying on me a second time, or that I am. Every time.
It never gets easier.
Can't imagine it ever will.
I was that writer. John Cusack's character. Helpless, as I watched my kids slip out of my life. Lifeless am I each time I take them back to their mother ...
So, Cusack writhe’s in agony over the loss and second loss of his daughter -- I was overcome with such emotion. I cried. I sobbed. It was uncontrollable. It lasted for what felt like forever.
It was a horror movie. Supposed to be scary.
And instead, to me, it was the saddest movie I'd ever seen. The realest movie. The rawest.
There is no real point to this blog.
Just that, to overcome the gloom and depression I feel, that constantly sinks in, I thought I needed to write out my feelings. I know other people who have gone and are going through this. And while we all work to deal with such “loss” in our own ways, dealing with it is exactly what we struggle to do—whether people who have been through it can comprehend the constant pain, the overwhelming emptiness—or whether they can’t. It is so real.
There is not a day, not a single day that I don’t think, “Holy shit, I hate my fucking life! I fucking hate it.” I go to work. I smile. I get home, and I almost can’t stomach the thought of an hour alone. Without my family. I do it though. Day in. Day out. For the last five years—and I do my best not to dwell on missing so much from their lives that I am more a stranger than a father. That when I go to bed at night, I am not comforted, because they are not in the bedrooms next to mine. Or when I wake up, I do not get to see their faces. Or when I get home, they are not there to greet me.
At the time, I lived alone. Studio apartment. It was late at night when I started the movie. The beginning was creepy. Made my skin crawl. I had to shut the movie--figured I'd never get to sleep, not with the lights off, anyway.
The next day, when it was still light out, I finished the movie. And although it continued to creep me out ... something else happened.
The secondary story became more apparent. That's what a good movie, a good book contains. A secondary story. 1408 had one I did not expect.
See, the movie is about this writer. He visits haunted hotels, and sleeps in haunted rooms, and writes books about the experience.
When he is more or less dared to stay in a New York hotel, specifically in room 1408, it is the first time he ever encounters anything truly paranormal. Usually his writings uncover fakes and frauds. But this time, in room 1408, all of that changes ...
What the "ghost" does, however, is show the writer flashes from his own past. Which, who has a past that isn’t scary as hell, especially when confronted by it in a strange and isolated hotel room?
And it was this writer's past that just wrecked me emotionally.
See, the writer was married. They had a young daughter--this pretty little girl of maybe ten. Without much detail, we learn that the young girl is sick, dying, and eventually, died.
This guilt of not being able to do more to save his daughter ruins the writer's life: he leaves his wife and buries himself in his work. His writing. But the haunted room brings clips of his daughter to the forefront.
And at one point in the movie--she is there, in the hotel room with him. She tells him she loves him, that she wants to be with him and with mommy.
I kept expecting her to change into some horrid creature. Like the child monster that crawled out of the television set in The Ring.
That never happened.
Instead, he hugs his daughter, tells her everything will be all right. He assures her that this time, this time, they can stay together.
And then without warning, she dies in his arms. She just goes limp. Lifeless...Her head dropping, eyes closed. And she is dead. Again.
He lost his daughter a second time.
The point of this blog is personal. I'm divorced. Didn't want to be. But there was nothing I could do. There was no saving the marriage.
I have three kids. They are my life. My world. My everything.
And though I live only a handful of miles away from them, and though I get them every other weekend, and one day during the week, and see them at school and sports events ... I can't help but feel, sometimes, like they have died. Or that I have.
The loss I feel is that great. The pain is that powerful.
And what is worse, at the end of each visit with them, when I take them back to their mother, I feel like they are dying on me a second time, or that I am. Every time.
It never gets easier.
Can't imagine it ever will.
I was that writer. John Cusack's character. Helpless, as I watched my kids slip out of my life. Lifeless am I each time I take them back to their mother ...
So, Cusack writhe’s in agony over the loss and second loss of his daughter -- I was overcome with such emotion. I cried. I sobbed. It was uncontrollable. It lasted for what felt like forever.
It was a horror movie. Supposed to be scary.
And instead, to me, it was the saddest movie I'd ever seen. The realest movie. The rawest.
There is no real point to this blog.
Just that, to overcome the gloom and depression I feel, that constantly sinks in, I thought I needed to write out my feelings. I know other people who have gone and are going through this. And while we all work to deal with such “loss” in our own ways, dealing with it is exactly what we struggle to do—whether people who have been through it can comprehend the constant pain, the overwhelming emptiness—or whether they can’t. It is so real.
There is not a day, not a single day that I don’t think, “Holy shit, I hate my fucking life! I fucking hate it.” I go to work. I smile. I get home, and I almost can’t stomach the thought of an hour alone. Without my family. I do it though. Day in. Day out. For the last five years—and I do my best not to dwell on missing so much from their lives that I am more a stranger than a father. That when I go to bed at night, I am not comforted, because they are not in the bedrooms next to mine. Or when I wake up, I do not get to see their faces. Or when I get home, they are not there to greet me.
The pain is real. The emptiness crushing. You get this, or you don’t. I guess that’s all there is.
I am more messed up than ever imagined, than anyone should ever be.
Enjoy your Friday.
--Chase N. Nichols
Hey, follow me on Twitter, or don't. You know what? I could care less.
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