Journal of Fear and Hope (2014)

Face the Strange
November 13, 2014

Two nights ago I had a disturbing dream. I kept finding silk cocoons attached to my fingers. I pulled them off, but more took their place. Then I noticed a lump in the palm of my hand. I slit open my palm and ran a pen lengthwise across my open hand. Hundreds of eggs poured out, all stuck together in a viscous fluid, followed by a long, yellow caterpillar. It had been living and laying eggs underneath my skin.

I don't know where the dream came from. I read a short story about a boy who finds and hatches a giant cocoon. But that was a week ago. Did the story lay dormant in my brain then unfurl into that hideousness? Maybe there's a story of my own in there somehow. You meet a man who's nice but a little off, and he turns out to be full of insects. They shed their disguise and flit off in a swarm. No, that was in that Will Smith movie. Space Jam I think. Or was it a Tom Waits song? Anyway, it's been done. Maybe my dreaming self is a thieving hack.

I once had a box of Raisin Bran that someone gave me. I hate Raisin Bran but couldn't bring myself to throw away food. So it sat in my pantry for months. I started seeing little worms on my kitchen floor and counters. Usually they were dead, occasionally not. Then I noticed a dozen or so cocoons on the ceiling. I eventually tracked them to their source: that box of cereal. It was full of worms. That was about thirteen years ago. Now this dream.

Is there any meaning to my dream? Any lesson or inspiration to take away? Was it just a just a nightmare and nothing more?

Maybe what I need is a metaphor. The eggs are ideas. Developing just under my skin. All that potential, growing within. Till one day I spin perfect threads from my fingers. By which I mean I write great stories, or I become Spider-Man. I'll take either.

It's Better in the Dark
November 5, 2014

On Halloween, we took our great nephew Anthony trick-or-treating down Earle street, which is the street for Halloween happenings in our town. At one house, folks were playing music on their balcony. I don't mean they propped speakers in the window and turned on a spooky sound effects CD. They hauled out an electric cello and a PA and sang cover songs while a woman juggled and ate fire. When we approached, they were belting out a Dio song. Anthony wanted no part of it. I tried to urge him forward, but he refused. Apparently, in his two years of life, he never once felt like a rainbow in the dark.

Almost every house on Earle street goes all-out decorating. But they've never come to any consensus as to the severity of their decorations. In one yard you'll see an inflated Mickey popping whimsically out of a pumpkin, and the house directly next door will have bodies hanging from the trees. That made for a rather uneven journey as we dodged zombies in between pockets of inflatable safety.

But Anthony persevered, got lots of candy, and when the sun went down and darkness hid most of the frightening decor, he started singing to himself. I'm going to pretend he was singing about how the sight of lighting always brings him down.

My Heart Runneth Over
October 29, 2014

These last couple of nights of comedy have been amazing. Monday was the No Expectations Halloween party, which I can only describe as Double Dare with nothing but physical challenges. I and others had our beautiful faces creepy-painted while we performed, others were pelted with tiny beach balls to simulate the old Vaudeville trope of having tomatoes thrown at you, there was a full-body toilet papering, heckling from god, comedy in complete darkness, comedy delivered by proxy. All amazing and special.


Last night's Nerd Quiz Live! was just the best. I sent thanks on Facebook to the comedians and audience members who were there. They had a great time, and it made me feel very proud.

I switched up the format a bit for the quiz, focused more on actual trivia rather than esoteric, arcane knowledge. It was a huge improvement. The show was tight, light, and fast. And our audience participation and retention was the best it's ever been. Craig Holcombe, who's been on the show every time and has helped so much with promoting (something I have no aptitude for), feels the show has the potential to take off. I feel the same way, especially in this format. I feel really great about Nerd Quiz Live! and look forward to more next year. We will definitely have a podcast, and we may have special guests. Onward and upward.

Among the Living
October 22, 2014

Have you seen Monster Squad? It's a fantastic movie from the 1980s that pits all the major Universal Studio monsters against a ragtag bunch of kids (similar to The Goonies). The film is most famous for the line "Wolfman's got nards." But the moment that sticks in my mind is more subdued. The kids, who call themselves the monster squad because of their mutual love for monster movies and fiction, meet a Scary German Guy (his actual name in the script), who astounds them with his own knowledge of monsters. A kid says, "You sure know a lot about monsters," and he shows them how he came to his knowledge. He rolls up his sleeve to reveal the numbers tattooed on his wrist. It's a beautiful little moment, tucked away amid the monster fights, explosions, and special effects. It reminds us--in a story where Dracula recruits a mummy, a werewolf, a gill-man, and Frankenstein's creation to take over the world--that monsters are real and walk the earth.

Of course, the real monsters are far more frightening than the ones on paper or celluloid. Michael Myers is a killing machine, but goddamn it we live in a world where people rape babies to death. Give me vampires and werewolves any day. Give me hordes of zombies and swarms of flying monkeys. Give me Hannibal Lecter or Pennywise the clown. I can always press pause or close the book.

I see horror fiction as an inoculation against the real brutality and evil in the world. Read a little Poe, and you can make it through the daily news. When you read about Jack Torrance terrifying his family in The Shining, the true story of a man holding three women as sex slaves for ten years won't send you immediately into the fetal position. And maybe horror stories prepare us to actually tackle the real world monsters. If the prince of darkness can be bested by a sharp stick or a ray of light, then maybe the freak with a butterfly knife won't be so bad.

But come on, real life bad guys, do us a favor and at least look like the monsters you are. Put on a mask or a cape or something.

Against the Run of the Mill
October 15, 2014

This is the first page of my notebook:

Things I Will Never Do On Stage

• Make a "pussy" pun
• Thrust my hips to simulate sex
• Pretend to accidentally drop or unplug the mic
• Treat the mic as a penis
• Hit myself with the mic
• Ask who uses Facebook or Twitter
• Compare being on stage or doing comedy to having sex (again)
• Read from notes
• Say "That's my time"
• Discuss being pulled over by the cops
• Reenact a drunk test
• Pretend to receive a call on my cell phone
• Make a "minor/miner" pun
  
• Compare Valentine's Day to prostitution (again)
• Make a "sweating like..." joke
• Berate the audience for not laughing

Some of these I discuss in my Open Mic Manifesto and some others are reflective of actions and premises I would see ad nauseum at shows. I think I've managed to evade all these things since I put them on the list. Today, I'm adding one more promise.

• Give a half-assed set when the crowd is small

Sometimes because of a holiday or bad weather or a ballgame or just some unaccountable trick of fate, the audience is small. Or I go on stage late after most of the crowd has trickled out and gone home. It feels lonely up there. In the dark, you see nothing but three rows of empty chairs. Any laughter you get is bound to be slight. It's tempting to give the bare minimum of a performance. Why waste all that energy on such a little group? But if they have a crappy time and leave feeling short-shrifted, they may never come back again, and they might tell their friends. I once did stand-up for exactly three people, and the last Nerd Quiz Live! show dwindled down to only two. But I tried to send those few home feeling good about their time out. That's how you win fans. I know I could certainly use a few more.

The Sun is the Same
October 8, 2014

I think a lot about time. The universe has been here for billions of years and will stretch on for billions more, but we only get the tiniest fraction of a blink to experience what we can on this little blue speck. Who's to say what's a waste of time, when our actions won't amount to a hill of beans in the cold void of space? Sure, Shakespeare made a lasting mark on our culture, but what does that mean to the sentient ooze a few galaxies away? Is writing plays really more important than nose picking? Are symphonies any better than selfies?

I guess it depends on who's answering the question. The universe doesn't care if you spend your days curing cancer, painting chapels, or playing with your own poo. It will kill you and recycle your atoms just the same. But you care. Don't you? You probably should. You try to enjoy your brief life and leave something of worth behind or at least make some positive impact on on someone else's life. Sure we'll all be vaporized when the sun goes nova, but right here from start to finish, we try to be worthy of the time in between. Because it may be short but it's amazing. Isn't it?

Much Ado
October 1, 2014

Last night we delivered Nerd Quiz Live! 6 to an audience of 6, then 4, then 12, then 2. The audience briefly numbered 12 thanks to a group of college cheerleaders who wandered in during my stand-up set, all carrying huge lattes and chatting loudly. The first words they would have heard me say when they entered, had they been paying attention, were, "Once upon a time, there was a pornstar." That requires a much longer explanation than I have time for here. I wanted to talk about the girls.

They were definitely in the wrong place, and I knew they wouldn't stick around long, especially once the actual quiz began and we started talking about chess-playing robots. But while they were here, we had fun with them.

I got one girl to admit that the nerdiest thing she ever did was watch Star Wars. Once. And I blamed their kind (cheerleaders) for waking us up at Governor's School so many years ago. Seriously, after staying up all night writing and discussing poetry, you do not want to be awoken by half a hundred perky teenagers yelling "Ready! Okay! We've got spirit, don't you wanna hear it?"

Camilo teased them about taking selfies during his set. "Glad to see you're paying attention to what's important."

But Fray had the most fun with the gaggle of self-absorbed girls. He took the mic with the intention of doing material but immediately decided they wouldn't listen. So he made them squirm. He hit on them, asked one for her phone number, all in fun of course. He had a great time. It was fun for me to watch a comic throw caution to the wind and lay into his audience, not flinching, not letting up.

Of course, there wasn't much danger in losing them. They were never really there to begin with.

The Only Thing We Have
September 17, 2014

The one piece of writing advice I hear again and again is "Write what you know." All the writing books say it. All my teachers told it to me. Don't set your story in Paris if all you know of the city you learned from Looney Tunes.

Unless you're writing for Looney Tunes.

It helped me focus. In high school, I wrote about high school students. As an adult, I wrote about adults acting like high school students. A few things hit the mark and felt strong, but not many.

Then I added this to the mix: "Write about about your own hopes and fears." It was like a shove into baptismal waters. This was what I was doing wrong. I was trying to write what I thought a fantasy novel should have, trying to include the list of necessary ingredients to make the story everyone expected. But I wasn't excited by the words. I wasn't invested in my own stories. Then I opened a Joe R. Lansdale book, and he gave me that advice. He said the first story that truly felt like his own and not just a simulation of one of his heroes was when he decided to write about what scared him on a personal level. So that's what I've been doing. I've been writing about my own fears and hopes. I have a story about a father who disappoints his son, about a woman who hides a painful truth from her adopted child, about a man who loses his love, about a writer who learns he's not as good as he thought, about a world that one day just stops working as it always had and offers no explanation for the change. And I've learned a few things since I wrote my first story in the first grade. I've experienced and visited and celebrated and lost more than I ever expected, and I have used those experiences to decorate my heart. And I have listened to the fear that whispers at night, not from the shadows beyond my window, but from within.

What do you know? What do you fear? What do you want? Answer in the form of a fiction.

Right to the Beautiful Part
September 10, 2014

I was on my lunch break last week, sitting in the cafe of a Barnes and Noble for my daily writing. Just in front of the cafe is a row of armchairs, and in one of those chairs was a man. I couldn't see him, but I saw his adult daughter, who had Down Syndrome. She had some money and was trying to decide what she wanted to buy with it. At first she picked up a craft kit and said she would get it because it wasn't expensive. He looked at it and said something that changed her mind, so she put it back.

I thought, if I had a Down Syndrome child, I would give her everything she wanted, let her chase every dream and whim. If she wanted a kit to make fruit-shaped erasers or an origami set, I would buy it for her and help her make whatever she wanted. Maybe this woman had a habit of losing interest in projects, but I still thought it was a bit mean for her dad to talk her out of buying the kit. Of course I didn't know the situation or hear the conversation, so I can't judge.

The woman went away for awhile, and I thought my sad thoughts about how cruel life could be. When she came back, she had a bag with her purchases in it. She could have bought anything she wanted. Anything. What she bought was a gift card for her dad, because he was the best dad in the world and she loved him. When I heard that, I couldn't stop crying. I sat at the table weeping openly.

It was a rare moment. It was love and adoration as pure as can possibly exist in this world. Unfiltered, unashamed. It tore me open. It was a wonderful, beautiful, crushing moment. Maybe that woman didn't have the ability or attention span to follow the directions in a six-dollar craft set, but her love was strong and true and all-forgiving. I wonder which of us is the luckier one.

Kids are Alright
September 3, 2014

I've always loved kids, always been in awe of their magic and energy. Never been all that fond of fathers, however. But because life is always in flux, I've been honing my fatherly skills. My wife's nieces have babies, and I've had the wondrous fortune of being asked to aid in their sitting. (Jeez, Michael, stop trying to wrench the poor language into a knot. Just say you helped watch one of the kids this weekend.) I held the baby, fed her, burped her, changed diapers of both the pee and poop variety. I showed her a picture book of mountains and rivers and deserts. And I made her laugh. As much as I enjoy making people laugh on stage, nothing comes close to the joy of a baby smiling at you. It's like the universe is saying, "You're a good person. I accept you and validate your existence." That euphoria is addictive. So on the days when we don't have the baby, I may have to make goofy faces at random infants and let them pull my hair.

Or we could just have our own baby. That's in the planning stage, and it seems the universe is, so far, allowing that happen. At least it seems possible. So maybe I'll get to be a dad and have that baby high all the time. I've done well in my training, but in the event of an actual offspring, will I rise to the challenge? I have had the worst teachers.

Against the Dying of the Light
August 27, 2014

Henry Rollins wrote an essay reacting to Robin Williams' suicide. He stated that anyone with children doesn't have the right to take their own life and pile that much grief on their family. Many many people took public umbrage with his opinion, which is fine. He read those comments and emails and took the criticism to heart. He's a good guy who admits when he has more to learn. What struck me was all the comments calling Rollins irrelevant because of his age. People called him a has-been, insulted his gray hair, wrote him off as a non person. He's 53. A couple of friends of mine are Rollins' age. I'm a few months shy of 40. Do you cease to matter after you circle the Earth a certain number of times? At what age should you just slink away because the younger, more important members of the human race no longer require your services?

Harland Sanders was in his sixties, having bounced from job to job all his life before he figured out he was really good at cooking chicken. Rodney Dangerfield didn't hit his stride till he was in his sixties. Laura Ingles Wilder published her first Little House book at the age of 65. Rollins tours just as much now as he did when he was twenty, still writing, still stirring people to a froth. But now he doesn't have to yell as much to get attention. If I can be half as productive as these folks in the back half of my life, I'll go to the grave happy and rust-free.

Our Fearful Trip is Done
August 15, 2014

I don't have any new insight into Robin Williams' career or untimely passing. But I wanted to share a few memories I have of his work. Robin was the kind of entertainer you just assumed would always be around. Like Stephen King or Motorhead. But sometimes the universe just breaks for no reason and can never be fixed.

He's Been Gone for Quite a While
August 13, 2014

As everyone knows, Robin Williams died Monday. He committed suicide. That shouldn't have happened. He was famous and rich and loved, and he was successful. In our eyes, anyway. He made millions by doing his art. He supported his family and assured his children would never want for anything by acting goofy and playing pretend. He had the dream that all comedians reach for. But it wasn't enough to quell the pain. What pain? we wonder. We'll never know. We all feel pain, but we only know our own. I've read some nice tributes to him and some urges for understanding when it comes to depression and loneliness. But what does it mean when a guy we thought had everything still couldn't find enough to keep going?

Take a Friend
August 6, 2014

I hung out after the open mic last night. Firing projectiles at excrement, as they say. One friend described the podcast he wants me to write and develop with him. Another offered to get me a job at the restaurant he's now managing. For various reasons, it wasn't the right job, but the offer was nothing to take lightly. He also offered me a spot on a comedy tour he's planning next year. It made me feel so good. There are good people in my life. All is not as bad as I sometimes make it seem. I could give reasons for my habitual gloominess, but not today, it's so easy now.

For My Next Trick
August 1, 2014

Big shake up at work these last few weeks with accompanying stress and strain. The office manager quit, and a rather crafty co-worker assumed she would be stepping up to take over and started immediately flexing her new power and flaunting her own importance. Turns out the boss man isn't going to hire anyone to fill that position. It's more cost effective to have us split those duties and not pay anyone anything extra. So yay.

Lots of personal and family crises as well as the usual pressure from inside. You know what eases the weight and calms my panic? Being on stage, reading, music, making stuff, and playing video games. I'm not looking to escape my responsibilities, just put them on hold for a bit. Performing comedy, slipping into a book or a game, recording or writing, it's a disappearing act. You're gone for a short while, but the trick isn't complete until you return.

Where I Can Play the Fool
July 30, 2014

I want to say thank you to Alchemy Comedy for having me on their showcase last Saturday. Those guys are an amazing group of improvisers, and they give lots of love to the stand-up community in town as well. It was a great show, and if you are in Greenville, SC you should check them out often.
Something nice happened at the open mic on Monday. Herbie Gill was in town, which is always a treat. He and a friend of his missed my set but said they were sorry they weren't in the room. Herbie even said that when he heard I was on, he rushed into the theater, but I was finishing as he came in. That felt good, to know that folks were looking forward to my performance, especially someone as good as Herbie. Thanks.

Make Much of Time
July 25, 2014

Everyday at work I write a little bit during my lunch break. I'm working on a short stroy that will be part of a collection called The Great Library Fire. The particular story I'm writing now has connections to some of the others and ties them into a single arc. I didn't mean to do that. The idea just appeared in my head while driving home one evening. I'm nearing the end of the collection, I think, and there's a stew of emotion boiling over in my heart. It feels like it's working. The stories I've finished so far seem to be pretty good. Of course when I get to the work of editing, I may feel otherwise. I hope this book works. I hope I can sell it. I'm facing 42 and the middle fold of my life. Double that number, and I'm dead. So everything I do, I have to do right. I turn 40 in January, so I have a little over two years to become successful as a writer. Not rich, not famous. Successful. If I hit 42, the most important of all numbers, and I'm the same nothing I am now, I will just quit. My life as a writer will be over. As will my life as a human. So write, Michael, as though everything depends on it. Because it does.

a-Changin'
July 11, 2014

Hi there. Come on in. Welcome. It's been a while. I've done some remodeling. What do you think? See that menu bar up there? That's rich, Corinthian CSS. No more of that Naugahyde for me. Go ahead, roll over the selections. Nice, huh? The paper theme is the same, but the header is cleaner, menus reorganized and subdivided. We have a brand new Images section and a whole bunch of Nerd Quiz videos. Feel free to check them out. The Store link doesn't work yet, so stop clicking on it. I know you're anxious to buy a print version of 1000 Ways to Write, but I'm still building the store. In the meantime, I hope you'll enjoy the new look and this new poem.

My War
May 25, 2014

The fourth Nerd Quiz Live! was super fun. The comics were great, as I knew they would be. We had a great time being silly and making each other laugh. I joked on Facebook that the whole thing was just an excuse to get them to hang out with me; I just pretended it was a show. But a handful of folks did come in, and they seemed to enjoy themselves. When it was over, I felt strange. I was elated that we'd just delivered a funny, entertaining show. I was depressed that only six people saw it. I live under the double punch of excitement and despair every time I put together a Nerd Quiz show because I do a lot of it on the sly at work. That's how I stick it to The Man. Makes me feel like a rebel. Then I realize I'm still in a cubicle making little impact on the world and making no strides in either the job I have or the one I want. But you know what? Maybe I only had six audience members at my show. But those six people went away knowing more about cartoons and Muppets than they knew before. I taught them Muphrey's Law. It's a little victory. But you take 'em where you can.

No Good
May 3, 2014

Not sure what to say. It's late, I'm tired. Worked today, pushed a couple of projects nearer to completion. I have a show coming up, an installment of Nerd Quiz Live! But I feel useless. Like all this is for nothing. I spend so much time creating, and it doesn't do anything for anyone. It serves no purpose and helps no one. Sometimes it helps me. I can look at what I've done and say, "I did that." Big woop. You can say the same for a pool of vomit, a clump of hair on your comb. I wrote two shitty novels, and here I am dumping on somone else's success. What the hell? What the serious hell?

Spring's First Flutes and Drums
April 13, 2014

I'm always looking for new writing experiences, new projects and challenges to stretch my abilities and build my writer's toolbox. I've written book reviews, but never an album review. So here's my first. I've written about Rush a few times and allusions to their work are scattered all over this site. So they were a good place to start.

I also have a new music video to share, though the music itself is about twelve years old. I wanted another way to share One of Us with the world. I had the collage images finally completed, so I used them as the visual portions of the videos. I like it. I hope you will, too. The collages and these videos were another way to challenge myself and explore new avenues of creativity. I'm workin' all nine muses overtime.

Nature's Cheif Masterpiece
March 29, 2014

I know you. You've been a writer all your life. You can't remember a time when stories and images didn't compete in your mind with the everyday concerns that everyone else assures you are important. At all hours of the day, no matter what you're supposed to be doing or what you're supposed to be paying attention to, a new story or a fragment of speech or a slice of poetry invades your brain like a blast of sunlight, and the outside world burns away. You talk to your muse, begging it to share more of its secrets, and your teachers instruct you to be quiet. Others say that talking to yourself is a sign of insanity. But you know the truth. It is the universe speaking to you directly. It is the wellspring of creation bubbling up, and you've been thirsty for years. You feel average except for this one thing. Your talent, your need to write sets you apart from the automata that walk in lockstep to the regimental drum of the modern world. Where they search for money and means, you hope for dragons and spirits, anything to bring excitement to a life that would otherwise be nothing more than the pursuit of breath after breath and a warm place to huddle. You need something more than mere existence, and the only way to have it is to make it. And here's the secret: The universe needs you. Because in the beginning was the Word. Upon its utterance, all things began. When the whisper comes to you at night, at work, at school, on a crowded street or in line at the bank, it is the universe begging you to continue the miracle of creation. Listen. And write.

Another's Hope
February 16, 2014

This video is from a comedy competition I was in last October. I entered another in January. Lost both times. But I learned something important.

I'm an asshole.

The competition last month really drove that fact home. I was in the competition with friends, with folks I've known for years and shared the stage with many times, and I kept searching for reasons to rank myself better than them. When I failed to pass on to the next level of competition, I felt betrayed by the universe. How could they be better than me? And, most painful and shameful of all, how could that person be better than me? I did not like finding all that resentment hiding in my heart. Yes, I want to be good at my art. I want to be a great writer, a great comedian. But there's no excuse to hold a grudge against my peers, my friends. This is a problem, one with no easy solution. But here's some good advice from a better comedian than me on how to handle. Maybe when success finally comes, I'll be empty of my bitterness and ready to accept it properly.

And Now I'm Even Older
January 19, 2014

My birthday is just a couple days away. If you want to get me something last minute, I've provided a handy shopping guide. But you know what I could really use? An audience. I've started doing shows here in my homebase of Greenville. Arranging the space and line up was simple, but getting people to show up is a bit trickier. That's where you come in. If you're in town on a show night, drop by and tell me happy birthday, even if it's weeks or months from now. The next Nerd Quiz Live! show is February 12 at Coffee Underground. Nerd Quiz Live! is an offshoot of a video series I do on YouTube. It's a panel trivia/comedy show about nerdly things. On the lineup next month will be Craig Longino and Craig Holcombe from Greenville, and Ryan Folks from Asheville. Bring a date because it will be a Valentines themed show.

May I Have Another?
January 11, 2014

Joe R. Lansdale kicks my ass on the daily. He posts writing tips on Facebook, so I see them in my feed, reminding me to make time everyday to do what I profess to love. He held down multiple jobs, raised a kid, made time for his family, all while writing a few pages a day. It adds up, he reminds me, but nothing comes from nothing if you don't do the damn work. Then he cracks his neck muscles like Bruce Lee and waits for me to prove myself. I get this not just from Facebook, but from my bookshelf, too. My favorite book from last year was Joe's The Thicket. It was so damn good. The narration was perfect, the characters intriguing, the dialog clever. I didn't want it to end, not just because that would mean saying goodbye to the story, but because I was scared of the ending I might find. That's an amazing thing to craft out of nothing but words on paper. Call me jealous. Consider me humbled. So when I see him online everyday saying put in the work and put down the words, I take my kicking like a proper student. This year, I am determined to learn from my teacher and make him proud.