zeekie: take two.

...is really good. I mean, really really good.

I mean, so good that I could probably watch the entire first season in one sitting if I had all the discs.

Filming at Astor Place and Lafayette!

I stood across the street and stared at the set and people!

I... didn't see any of the stars.

And now I have one exclamation mark left.*

*Each person is allowed three exclamation marks in his or her life.

Another bone-tickler.

The usual sic's apply, of course:

--------

Dear Sir:

A group of archaeologists have discovered twenty-six ancient letters in the Middle East and Greece. These letters, written during the life of Jesus, have enormous historic implications for the Christian world. Correspondence between the archaeologists and their mysterious, unnamed sponsor are intercepted by the Sons of Light, a sect dating to the time of Jesus.

Fearing the end of two thousand years of tradition, the Sons of Light will stop at nothing to impede the archaeologist's inquiry. A mercenary, Retired Colonel Kerry Johnson, is hired to protect the archeologists. Realizing the archeologists are moving toward a solution, the sect becomes even more aggressive. Colonel Johnson and Erin Matthews, granddaughter of world-renowned archaeologist, and a well-known archaeologist herself travel to Egypt and Israel to collect critical data as part of the research.

Follwing Colonel Johnson and Erin Matthews to Egypt, the sect pursues the couple and through many ruses, the Sons of Light attempt to frighten them into ending the investigation. Cardinal Vincent, of the Catholic Church validates the letters and divulges the last astonishing secret. It was not Jesus who was crucified! It was his brother - a case of mistaken identity!

--------

I partly blame Dan Brown.

The two words I hate to see misused most: 1) literally, 2) ironically.

The two words that are misused most: 1) literally, 2) ironically.

For the uninitiated, the slush pile is the stacks and stacks of unsolicited manuscripts that sits by the interns' area.

In the history of Tor, only "two and maybe a few more" manuscripts have ever been published from the slush pile. And today I learned why.

In order for the manuscript to even make it out of the interns' area, it has to be read in full by all the interns. And it has to earn the support of all said interns.

And even then it has to be read in full by the editor's assistant. And if the assistant doesn't believe in it then it's back to the writing board for the author.

I guess I really was naive before. I kind of see why it's so important to have big names stumping for you now. To achieve publication, an unsolicited manuscript has to be read in full by and win the support of so many nameless people that the odds are really terrible.

I've gotten plenty of strange cover letters since I started interning at Tor, but I really don't think they come much stranger than this:

---------

Dear Editor:

I am seeking publication for my novel, Crossroads, a biography of Mary, the mother of Jesus, containing 30 chapters, 102,397 words. I am enclosing a synopsis and the first three chapters for your consideration.

Mary lifts the veil that has shrouded her in mystery for 2,000 years. Undaunted by present church doctrines, she depicts her life with the Essenes in a heart stopping narrative that reveals her innermost thoughts and fears from the birth of Jesus to his crucifixion. Crossroads may be classified as a work of historical fiction; however, the original manuscript was channeled in its entirety from Mary in 1993. The events though vastly different than the stories told in the New Testament, are, I believe, true.

I can take no credit for the story. I simply edited the work with the help of my writer's group. I am not a psychic or a medium. My life's work has been devoted to education beginning as a high school history teacher and later becoming the first certified vocational guidance counselor in the state of North Carolina. My last career challenge was to serve as a college admissions advisor for a nationally recognized technical university. I retired in 2005 and began editing the manuscript enclosed.

I was raised as an Episcopalian and at the age of 17 aspired to be a nun. My library overflows with works of various authors pertaining to religion. My mother was a Christian; my father, a learned Jew. When I was 13, my father insisted I choose a religion; however, before choosing one, he required I study each denomination except Judaism. When I was 40, I decided to become a Jew. My father said, "So, you finally found the cornerstone." I believe the story that flowed from Mary was given into my hands because of my own personal journey. I look forward to your reply.

--------

Okay, WHAT? The thing is, it's not a bad story, and the person writes fairly capably. But I can't imagine what the press tours and interviews will be like if the manuscript really gets published.

I also can't decide whether I want it to be an elaborate hoax or God's honest truth.

Lately it seems like every work email I send goes into the Internet space and then... disappears.

I had a fairly stable job writing for Gym Ticket a few weeks back. It's a website that tells people what gyms are in which areas, and my job was to punch up the descriptions of the gyms. Standard ad copy-writing; not very interesting, but not hard to write either. Then, two weeks ago, without warning, I stopped getting work from my liaison. I called him last week and he was very effusively apologetic, but up to today I still haven't heard from him (online or otherwise).

I don't think my work was unsatisfactory; he told me I was the company's best writer and I see no reason why he would lie to me. I mean, we barely know each other, and furthermore I'm just a freelance employee. I don't think it's a scam either, since the liaison is listed on Facebook and I have his personal phone number. In other words, I really have no idea what is going on.

And that's not the only application that seems to have been abducted by Internet aliens. I applied to a position writing ad-copy for adult toys, to another position as an ad-hoc reviewer, and to a third position writing press releases for a modeling agency. All three said they were interested, sent me work, and then abruptly ceased contact.

Now these three I can sort of believe were scams: perhaps there is some unspoken trick of the trade where freelancers get fleeced for one job so the companies never have to pay. But that this trick spans so many papers and industries seems a little far-fetched even to me.

And, in any case, besides of all these, I haven't even mentioned the other positions I applied for, including more risque ones (and yes, more risque than ad-copy for adult toys). These other positions were mysteriously terminated between 'we're interested' and the receiving of work.

All I can say is, I'm glad Urban Outfitters is hiring.

I feel like I'm on the verge of falling sick again. I have a persistent cough that makes me feel like I should be nursing a bloody handkerchief. Also, at work today I tried to scan in a book with the telephone receiver.

The only good thing to come out of this so far is that I realize I'm very micromanaging when I'm sick. It's not a good thing, and I really need to watch it in the future.

Thank goodness tomorrow is Sunday.

This is post-dated, because I've been really busy since Thursday, which is when the following happened:

So I'm at my intern desk, plowing valiantly through the slush pile, when the big shot in the adjoining office begins a phone conversation. At first I don't pay much attention, but then I realize he's talking to someone close to Robert Jordan's family. And what he and the person on the other line are doing, is putting together a list of authors who might be up to finishing "The Wheel of Time".

Is that exciting, or is that exciting?

(Okay. Maybe I'm just a geek at heart.)

I guess this means Jordan didn't finish the series after all, and I should start pitying (or envying) the person who gets the job.

"I am a new writer literally boiling with ideas."

...really? For that, I sincerely hope you are.

Unsightly stains on the bedroom walls.

Plenty of big mirrors hanging willy-nilly everywhere throughout the apartment.

Can you guess what I decided to do?

Yes. I now have a positively pornographic bedroom.

Robert Jordan passed away yesterday. Though I stopped reading "The Wheel of Time" a long time ago, I still think it's a magnificent achievement. I only hope he managed to complete it before he died.

If not, I pity the person / people responsible for finishing it for him.

This past midnight I walked from my home on 4th and Ave C, to my brother's place on 3rd Avenue and 11th Street. I've been making the same trek for the past few midnights, but tonight was the first night the place on 4th really seemed like home to me.

I think it's because I finally finished repainting all the big walls I wanted repainted. The past few days have been ones of routine: going to classes and / or work during daytime; moving stuff to the place on 4th during evening / night-time; and doing work on the place after I get there until past midnight. Then I walk back to my brother's place, quickly but enjoying every step, on the way stopping in at Dunkin' Donuts to grab a snack.

But tonight was slightly but significantly different. Tonight I finished repainting all the big walls I wanted repainted. Before I left I stopped a moment to stand in the living room. I looked all around me, at the white dove walls that I had picked out. Even though the plasma television still needs to be mounted, and even though other miscellaneous pieces of furniture need to be rearranged or replaced, and even though no unpacking has been done at all - despite all of these 'even though's, this was still effectively now my very own apartment.

I will go as far as to say that it is now my baby; although it has yet to wear the 'clothes' I will give it, yet the 'body' of the place has already been born from me. It has turned from an apartment I had rented, to being an apartment that carries my DNA.

For now, you might say, and you would be entirely correct. I don't know what the next tenant will do with it; I'm not foolish enough to imagine a windfall that will free me from my bond; and even if one did materialize, I know myself well enough to know that I will move upwards. But for the moment it is mine and vice versa; I belong to it because it belongs to me.

When I walked from home in the chill and the dark, I had with me a feeling of warm and fuzzy contentment. I don't think the feeling is entirely attributable to my new home, but the latter certainly serves as a synecdoche for all the changes that have contributed to the former.

And for the past two months I have been constantly struck by another feeling: that for the first time in years I've finally succeeded in moving forward, and will continue to do so in my remaining years here. And those feelings combined make me so indescribably happy (at least right now) that I won't even try to make it describably.

I probably need to find and work a second job, but even that sounds more like fun to me than actual work. The only thing is, I really wish my friends from Singapore could see me now (especially if it's cold enough that I can wear my black trenchcoat).

But regardless. Here's to walking from home at one in the morning; I highly encourage everybody to give it a try, and I do hope everyone has the chance to give it a try.

I dreamed about Chad last night. I don't know why I did; I like him, yes, and I did like him like him way back last year, but I hadn't thought of him in months.

In the dream we kissed; I don't remember much about the dream, but I remember the fear and confusion in his eyes, and how despite them he didn't resist.

I think maybe the reason I keep falling for these young preppy types is not their youth, but the hope that preppiness somehow equates to confusion, fear, and yet desire for guys.

And that's kind of fucked up.

It isn't very often that a bland manuscript outline suddenly becomes creepy and hilarious at the same time. Enjoy.

(Assume sics, of course.)

-----------


It is the morning after an Otherworldly Activities Office (OAO) stake-out by Jordan and other officers -- all teens, because the mentalic ability necessary to affect demons fades with age. Retribution, karmic rebound brought about by use of psionic powers, begins. Normally Retribution consists of severe nausea, headaches, and inability to use mentalic power; this Retribution goes wrong, and a bloodfiend demon pops into existence and slaughters Jordan's parents. Jordan, by lashing out at the monster, inadvertently collapses his house and awakens in the OAO infirmary.

The OAO tells Jordan that he will live with two people who have retained their psychic abilities into their fifties, which is a phenomenon.

After his first day at a new high school, Jordan notices a golden eagle soaring overhead. The eagle exudes an odd glamour which piques his interest. He treks into nearby woods to track it down.

#

Neesy, granddaughter of a preacher in the last pocket of society on the demon-overrun world of Gailoam -- the world from which Earth's demons emanate -- finds a bloodfiend waiting in her room when she returns home from church, and in an uncontrolled display of magic she obliterates it. This concerns the church's elders, and they decide to test her to figure out whether the magic she used was Hurr-approved or Minter-spawned.

#

jordan is now himself on Gailoam, though he doesn't know it. He just knows that what had been a line of trees by the road has become a forest crawling with demons. He has lost his mind-blasting ability and does not know why. He meets a little girl named Reva, who calls him her big brother and says that she has been looking for him. Jordan has no idea what she is talking about, but allows her to lead him to her home. They barely make it to Hurr's Hope, Reva's village -- and Neesy's.

#

Neesy passes the elders' test, demonstrating amazing magical prowess in the process, and the church elders induct her into their number by raping her. Her grandfather is the one to take her virginity -- fulfilling Neesy's secret fantasies, and shattering them in the process -- and then the rest join in. Neesy tries to kill them with her newfound power, but they are many and they are strong.

After violating every orifice, they tell her that she is the second coming of their god, Hurr.

-----------

And then the rape, and the violation of every orifice, and the taking of her virginity by her grandfather, the last of which was apparently secretly longed for - none of these are ever mentioned again, and nor do they play any role in shaping her character. The End.

I'm really annoyed at stories that substitute 'gay' for 'straight' and vice versa, but are otherwise exact replicas of a coming out / coming of age story. What's the point, authors? Why not just do the gay coming out story, instead of propping your entire story on that one stupid mirrortrick? Lazy, lazy, lazy...

I put a bedframe together today! Okay, so it was from Ikea; I didn't chop down wood and groove the nails myself, but I still think it was pretty neat.

I totally qualify as a carpenter now.

...but I worship at Laura Linney's feet, which have more acting talent in one toe than a whole phalanx of equally or more famous actresses.

Yes, I finally managed to watch The Nanny Diaries. Lexie, a friend from my freshmen dorm, read the book some time back and wanted to watch the movie too. So from dinner in the West Village we trooped to the Loews 7 cinema in the East Village, which was across the street from where we had lived two years ago.

I admit my primary motivation for watching the movie was simply Chris Evans, with a minor interest in Linney's interpretation of her role. But Linney... oh. my. god. She can take cardboard and make it seem nuanced.

Chris Evans was still hot though. Not as fresh-faced as in the Fantastic Four movies (although I haven't seen the second one), but I suspect he is going to age into George Clooney-esque fine.

After the movie, I think I can safely say that Linney has at the very least matched my wallpaper-level obsession with Evans, as far as this movie goes.

So. I've only finished one day at Tor, but already I've ruined at least 19 people's dreams. And in some of those people's cases, their very, very, very wordy dreams. We're talking about upwards of 100,000 words here.

I've ruined those people's dreams because slush-pile sorting is a large component of what I do there. Don't get me wrong; I love this part of the internship, and it's a major reason why I applied for it in the first place. I love reading through all the piles of envelopes; I like seeing the ideas that people have; and I do love being able, sometimes, to shelve an envelope for further consideration. But the part of the slush-pile that involves sending out form rejection letters? That part is the part that I don't relish all that much.

It isn't just the sense of foreboding that I get when I have to send those envelopes; it's also because in most of those cases the writers aren't eye-rendingly bad. It's just that either the stories are really not anything to get excited about, or the writing itself just fails to get me turning the pages of their manuscripts. Now, I'm fully aware that I am only one person, and that taste is really subjective, but they're free to resend their manuscripts every fall, winter, spring and summer semester if they'd like, and I'm assuming that they've either done this or will quickly learn to do so, so I'm not going to stress myself about whether I'm accurately reflecting the nation's taste, or whatever. I will say that I think I'm a fairly broadminded person: the books on my shelves go from Sophie Kinsella to Kazuo Ishiguro. It isn't, really, that hard to get me excited.

But the vast majority of what I read seems to have been xeroxed from each other. I counted four amnesiac heroes in the space of 20 submissions alone; ten of those twenty had storylines that mirrored each other for all intents and purposes.

Now. Regarding the amnesiac heroes (brothers?): reusing a trope by itself isn't a bad thing in my (or a) book. God knows J. K. Rowling's series is practically a trope pastiche. But when you reuse a trope and are lazy in general into the bargain, the trope becomes the mercy-killing point that makes me put down your manuscript.

What do I mean? I mean when a person empties dwarves and elves and mountains and magic swords and dragons willy-nilly into a summary, the flatness of the manuscript becomes very apparent very quickly. You can't replace strong characters and strong character arcs with exotically-named creatures, and expect such wanton detail to impress anyone at all. A great character is great whether you call him Bill or Sileuxenatra (a name, most unfortunately, not made up by me). A bad character is a bad character even if you name him Sileuxenatra.

And that is the problem that most of the manuscripts have - and why they mirror each other for all intents and purposes. They're not stories about characters. They're Fantasy Geographic articles about locations and cool-sounding artifacts. The characters are just vehicles to get from Ixtrecifrsda the elven stronghold to M'luudela the infamous goblin wand. And the 'hmmm, cool' factor of such trinkets has a very short half-life. Especially when 19 other people are doing the exact same thing.

I was talking with my brother last night about the setting of a story versus its emotional core. I don't think anyone will say that the setting is not important, but I think it's the emotional core that makes or breaks a story. And realistically that core is usually in the form of a person. Characters carry books; settings are their clothes. I really hope that more of the never-ending slush pile are filled with characters, and less are filled with shiny but ultimately irritating trinkets.

How do you know that you're completely and deliriously sick?

When all that keeps running through your fever-addled head is: "What would Zac Efron do in this situation?"

I know; don't ask me either.