“For the rent,” he said. “I’ve had years where I could’ve lived on my art, but they’re followed by two years of nothing.”

I asked him about his work habits. “Like I drink. I binge. Sometimes I work 20 hours straight. I work double shifts so I have about three days of just painting.”

Every creative has a work ethic, for better or worse. Vonnegut wrote one, well-crafted page a day. Issac Asimov could write for 12 hours straight.  Some only write when inspired or have a daily routine they stick to even on holidays and funerals.

It took me a decade to commit to a writing routine. Since my day jobs have often changed in this schizoid economy, I’ve had to be flexible. I used to have a daily routine of writing at least 1000 words in the morning, six days a week. With the “job” done, I then moved onto my web design work.

I got a full-time, 8-5 job and I had to change to a 8pm-10pm schedule with a one hour session on Saturday morning. When the recession caught up with my company, my salary and hours were gutted.  I survived on short term, contractual gigs.

During the slow periods, one would think I could’ve written Ulysses. However, these were my least productive periods. I spent most of my time watching Lost reruns to figure out what the hysterics were about. The truth is, the busier I am, the more productive I am.

I got more writing done when I had a full-time job and a bi-monthly podcast to produce.  Without a surplus of time, I took advantage of mites and specs of time where I can get things done. I could bang out 250 words in 15 minutes. Give me an hour, I could do 1000 words.

When you’re busy, you have an enhanced sense of urgency. Stress and caffeine adds a bit of nitro to your engine. Sure, you might eventually burn  out, but then you can take a weekend off and feel justified having a Star Trek DS9 marathon.

Nowadays, with the slow summer work cycle making cash precious, I have gotten better at using the time to get the book done. A majority of the writing gets done from Thurdsay  – Saturday. However, most days getting 500 words done is like moving gravestones. So I experimented.

The results: music! I created iTunes and YouTube music playlists. Music makes the passage of time seem effortless. I cue up an 80′s playlist and soon I’m lost in my writing. When I resurface (usually when the coffee is near empty), I am amazed at what I’ve done.

Binge or routine. Sister’s of Mercy megadoses. Whatever works.

About eight years ago, I got some strange notion that I should go canoeing in the Myakka River in Florida. At the canoe rental office, the cashier asked me if I would prefer a kayak. The kayak cost $35 more and I didn’t want to pay for something I was going to use for two hours. I could get a hotel room for that price. Come to think of it, some people do use hotels for an hour, but that usually involved tabloids and vice cops.

I should have rented the freakin’ kayak.

I launch my canoe and I sit astern and start rowing into middle of the river. So far, the rustling of cattails and the lapping of water put my nervous soul at peace. I reached the middle of the river and the canoe became harder to control and steer. The river’s currents had caught me in its grasp and it was like rowing in sand.  I would paddle to the right but the canoe’s bow wouldn’t move with me.

I exhausted myself trying to control the canoe, and I lost balance and capsized. As I broke the water’s surface I saw the rigged back of an alligator floating several yards from me. Usually, alligators aren’t fond of human flesh, and I hoped this gator had already fed.

I managed to walk the canoe to the shallows and pulled myself back inside. A pair of canoers noticed my situation and paddled toward me.  “You need to sit in the middle,” a woman said. I scooted toward the middle of the canoe and knelt.  As I started paddling, I had more control of the canoe since I had put the center of gravity in the middle. I paddled back to the launch point.

I’ve capsized three or four times in the progress of this novel. I’ve been forced to scrap two chapters of which I think contained the best prose I have ever written. I launched into this project with two oars but no idea how to steer. I  had no plan on how to navigate unforseen swells, currents and peckish gators. A little planning would have saved me a lot of time.

The next novel project I will begin with an outline, a synopsis and research before “Chapter 1″ gets inked.  However, I have am scheduled to have the next draft complete by July 15.

Everyone gets off the Island vertically or horizontally. They all meet up in an unconscious Purgatio and have a group hug.

I feel used like a recycled condom. I’ve been disappointed by series finales before, but at lease BSG made some sense. I won’t overstate what has bugged other Lost refugees, but could we at least get an idea what the Island was? Let’s dispatch with the ‘its what you make of it’ crystal rubbing New Age-y drivel. Who built the temple and the 4-toed statue? What is the light?

By mid season, I had thought that the Island was a kind of Phantom Zone to imprison Smokey. Jacob was the warden and he was looking for someone to take over the next shift. Instead, we get a retelling of the Cain and Abel story and some Chronicles of Narnia riffs.

Sixty hours invested. Sixty hours Lost.

Now the hard work begins. I have a half-completed young adult novel called The Rapture Express to complete. I will send sample chapters within the week.  For now on, my first job is writing. Everything else is just rent.

I’m starting to come back to normal gravity now. Getting an agent interested in your work is just one obstacle among many surreal twists and turns toward a published novel. To borrow a video game analogy, I’m at Level 2 in Super Mario Bros. I may get a chance to warp to the upper levels, but I still have a long ways before rescuing Princess Peach.

I will give more details once I have secure a copyright, but I will say it involves clowns, KISS, Paul Lynde and flatulence.

Oh, recession. It’s been a bittersweet affair,but it’s time to take your chronic risk aversion, fear and dread somewhere else, along with your eight cats.

I have learned a few things, among them:

1. Being broke sucks. If I hear about how an ex-CEO or other high paid professional exclaim how much happier they are now, I may torch a Whole Foods store. Suddenly unburdened from their salary and benefits, they’ve learned to enjoy free-range organic hamburger instead of Kobe Steak and to get to know that family they didn’t know they had. There is nothing romantic about poverty, especially when your mortgage is overdue and you’re repairing everything, clothing, furniture, flesh wounds, with duct tape.
2. I was happier when I had money. It feels good to pay rent a week early, and still have enough money to go on a road trip or go on a DVD shopping spree. Although shelling out $500 to treat your diabetic cat is inconvenient, you’re not choosing between rent or a live cat.
3. I have a legit reason to hate rich people. The WSJ says the mortgage meltdown is poor people’s fault, but who gave them the mortgage? The Wall Street douches who bundled mortgages, then stacked more bundled mortgages on top of that, then battered and deep fried them, then served them as appetizers at their parties are at fault. Remember, these guys are smarter than me and the Free Market works for my benefit, even when the “invisible hand” is begging for bailout money from taxpayers.  Anyone who thinks differently should start humming the Internationale and reading Chomsky.
4. Community grills rule. My condo community has one by the pool and I got my money’s worth from my association fees. Even if I just grilled two hot dogs, I was using the ‘community’ gas, not mine.
5. Heavy Metal Rules. I wasted my teen years listening to synth rock and The Smiths. Youtube.com has just about every great aneurysm inducing metal video, including Judas Priest, Metallica and Warrant. Metal rules because no one plays air synthesizers.
6. Depression can be fun. Sitting around, unshaven for days, watching Family Ties reruns doesn’t cost a thing. Also I found old DOS days video games like Duke Nukem and Doom II and played them till the hard drive smoked. If self-pity was an Olympic sport, I’d get the Bronze Medal because life is cruel and unfair.
7. Be nice to people in retail/service industry. I had to do a stint at GameStop during the Christmas season. I thought it would be fun, but having to deal with customers having power hissies over why we don’t  have Gears of War a day before the BUSIEST SHOPPING SEASON OF THE YEAR takes patience and understanding. I have neither, but I came out respecting anyone who deals with the needs of the human species.
8. Sometimes a good cry makes you feel better. However, don’t have a crying jag in Publix or during a job interview. Trust me.
9. Don’t let go of your dream. Stalk it. Have a “chance meeting” with it at the Starbucks or at its workplace. Rent an apartment across from its home and tape its every movement. Ignore the restraining order. Run it down till it collapses out of breath and submits to you willingly.
10. God cares about your problems, everyone else doesn’t give a rats ass. God is a great listener, but for His sake stop bludgeoning your friends with your problems. People would rather listen to a skipping CD of Yodel to the Hits.

Podcast link: http://www.diabeticincandyland.com/2008/06/08/dic-17-brushes-with-fame/

Prague, 1994

In the summer of 1994 I worked as a barback at Radost FX, an exclusive disco in Prague. Yes, in Europe they call it a disco without a sneer of irony. This was the kind of place designed to keep people like me far behind the velvet rope. Yet, the generous Serbian couple that owned the place allowed all well-behaved staff to attend any function.

That summer Malcolm McLaren held his launch party for his album Paris in the disco. McLaren put the Sex Pistols into the public eye with the subtlety of a shot of mace. By then, he had moved onto his own projects, yet his contorversial presence made the event. I trudged my way downstairs, past the two Serbian doormen each with glock 9mm’s holstered on their belts. In the main bar, techno music raced and chugged and the waiters carried trays of champagne in thin, test tube like glasses, all dressed in orange dayglow southern belle hoop skirts embroidered with Christmas lights. The crowd were either dressed in smart suits and dresses or like me, in whatever rags I could stitch together after crawling out of a junkie den on all fours.

The Australian woman I had crush on, her hair in that girlish bob and who treated everyone like she was their #1 fan, stood at the far end of the bar. She was old enough to be my mother, which fascinated me even more. Her equally beautiful daughter worked in the coffee bar, yet she lacked the grace and sweetness of her mother. So I walked up and she turned to me, her bob swishing in my direction and smiled, put her arms on my shoulders and stood on her toes and kissed my cheek. I turned into a warm puddle on the floor. We talked some and McLaren’s entourage floated around the disco on currents of curiosity. Then I saw his bright red fro and hawkish face look toward the Australian Goddess and his entourage floated toward her like a school of tuna spotting fresh prawns. He stepped up to her, introduced himself and started talking to her. I turned to the bar and ordered two Pilsner Urquells then drank them before they turned bitter-warm.

What I did next was witnessed trough a haze of beer foam, but I sidled next to the Australian Goddess and tired to stake a claim. The C-block is likened to a military maneuver – it can be either a sniper shot or an air strike. I think I went for the carpet bomb and insulted him somehow and he turned away from us and herd him squeak “Cunt” as his entourage floated away. My Australian goddess slipped away into the crowd and I didn’t see her again that night.

J.C. Hutchins announced his official retirement from podcasting, shortly after he was dropped by his publishing company. He attempted to mute his disappointment, but it was obvious from his blog articles he is jaded against New Media. According to JC, he has put hundreds of hours into recording and writing ,on top of a 40 hour day job and family obligations, with little financial payoff.

I am a fan of Hutchins and his arch rival/contemporary Scott Sigler, yet I have been skeptical of the efficacy of podiobooks. Every time I attended DragonCon, fans donning official clone or Kraken’s shirts milled among the Klingons and Stormtroopers. However, these legions of cloying fans did not generate income. I often wondered how many of them have bought the book which they have listened too several times pro bono. I know my experience from designing promotional gear, that giving away T-shirts and other swag has about 1-10% return on investment.

I too had podiobook dreams.  I imagined swarming legions donning my paraphernalia and packing rooms for a glimpse of the newest podiobooking pioneer – me. The enormous investment in time and money just did not seem worth it. I felt my time would be better spent becoming a better writer and tuning my own voice.

The sameness of the podiobooking community is discouraging. After four DragonCons and seeing the same panelists, and same fans, on the podcast track, I’ve realized that the next wave haven’t even begun to ripple media waters. If I were to create a podiobook, sacrifice whatever spare time I have, it would take three times the effort to gain listenership. Unless the podiobook is exellent, fans would be hard won. 10,000 listeners means little. The sound of Big Media not-giving-a-shit would be deafening.

The parochial publishing mafia is still very risk adverse and feels no threat from the pioneers leaving wagon ruts on their firmament. Steven King and James Patterson will release new titles this year, they will suck, and they will sell. We may have next Nor’Eastern educated young so-called genius like Johnathan Foer breaking the hearts of the critics. The sad fact is that Big Publishing only cares about tried and true hitters and novels about and set in NYC by people of their class and Ivy background.

However, there is a molecule of hope. E-booking and small publishing houses are taking off where Big Publishing fears to tread. While I don’t think podcasting will arise again, at least in the same way, it still has promise as a promotional tool, a way to interact with fans and a low-risk teaser for would-be fans.

The old shows will remain on the feed or you can download them here>>

Thanks Forever:

Norm Sherman of the Drabblecast, Richard Arndt, Steve Eley of Escape Pod, My Wife Anna, The Absent Bluenose, Summer, Alex and Marissa of Ricky Shore Sings the Blues, Sundown Lounge, Ami Shetland, Frank Forrest, Kim Martin, Ed Rubin, The Evie Man, Rick Quentin – your check is in the mail, Shari Wright, Demented Radio

It’s life Facebook….for Dogs!!!

It’s like Facebook…for Christians!!!

Sadly, these folk lack the two key components of the next great idea: passion and capital. You can do without the latter, but nothing comes into being without the first one.

These would-be internet gazillionaires are under the false idea that all the billion-dollar ventures started as entrepreneurial ideas. In reality, they started as hobbies or by just a few geeks tinkering between Hot-Pocket binges. These  inventors had a  passion before they had a paycheck.

Google began as a Stanford computer science thesis. Both MySpace and Facebook were created for a small audience by a few dorm rats. Even Digg was created to see if Slashdot could be improved.  Then someone thought, “Hey, maybe I could actually make money with this.”

It’s a weather beaten chiche, but it’s true: Do what you love first, then worry about getting paid for it later.  Yet,  I do believe its true.

Yet, as I pour through Craigslist, I see many web-entrepreneurs struggling to come up with the next great start-up or company concept. With the optimism of a tone-deaf American Idol contestant, they put countless hours into projects that are just a clone with a different color.

This Kids in the Hall sketch encapsulates many of them:

However, few of us are hard-core techies. I’m soft-core myself. But some people can turn their hobbies into a living.

Digg: Five Years in 5 Minutes

The following blog entry will destroy me. For what I’m about to say I will be forever an apostate among the Literary Hip. The Hipster equivalent to the SWAT team will raid my house. First they will confiscate my rare LP’s of indie artists who are know only to three people, including the artists, one of who now resides in a sanitarium. Then, they will crook my designer glasses. Also my collection of obscure gay Cuban poetry books and dead, nazi-sympathizing European novels will also be loaded into their biodiesel Volvo. I will then be barred from all basement gallery parties and will have to stand in the back of the protest line next time some football star kicks a puppy.

But it must be said: I didn’t like Catcher in the Rye at all.

I didn’t think it was trash, I just thought it was a ranting piece by an depressive, ungrateful rich kid. Who doesn’t think everyone is a phony at 15. That’s hardly a revelation. Where did the Central Park ducks go in winter? Well, Holden, being so much enlightened that the rest of us, how about going to a library and finding out? Even a phony like myself can tell you: They go ‘effing south in the winter.

Also,  I can’t dismiss the impact of this book on counterculture.  Catcher inspired legions of rucksack shouldering searchers who tramped down America’s backroads to judge and ridicule the ignorance of its residents. In every major city with a hip area (Atlanta cool wasteland is Little 5 Points), the bars and cafes are full of mismatched Holdens pining away for a Feelies reunion, working low paying, but total chick magnet, jobs and dismissing everyone’s hopes and dreams. This rebellion lasts until the parents cut off the trust fund or a Gap is dropped onto their favorite, if-you-heard-of-it-then-we-don’t-sell-it used record store.

I always hear how so many were changed by Catcher. I was 23 and living in Prague at the time. This was shortly after the Iron Curtain fell and many Americans came to see what was on the other side of that curtain. I met a guy who pleaded with me to read Catcher and dared me to not be changed by it. So I read it in less than two hours.

We met later and he asked me what I thought. We were in a Cafe owned by Americans, staffed by Czechs, and patronized by young Americans expatriates. What I thought? I listened to the conversations on the other tables.

Of course she was a typical American.

My parents expect me to go to work when I go back. I am working. I’m an anarchist  poet.

All these posers are ruining Prague. I saw a bunch of Jocks with their Jansport backpacks…

What I thought? I’ve been hearing from Holden since I set foot in Prague. Whiny, spoiled, and escaping into bohemian excesses not because of their love or art or life, but to escape responsibility or obligations. I was Holden, too. I didn’t want to go back home to hear my parents ask what I intend to do with my life. I didn’t even know if I wanted shaved chocolate on my moccachino.

“I thought it was OK. ” I said and reached for the dusted vanilla.

So if you don’t see me at the 40 Watt Club or shopping at Junkman’s Daughter, you will understand why.

After some of the deepest contemplation I have ever done over a decision, I have found that the podcast version of Diabetic in Candyland is done. However, I’m just getting started.

I will have a final episode in February, where I will be a spring of ‘thankyous’ to everyone who has contributed and supported this podcast.

This decision has little to do with the decline of independent podcastingbut regards a reorientation of my life. This is the year I will become a professional writer.  I have become a professional writer.

Hence, Diabetic in Candyland will become a text blog, but I may do audio entries when the spirit lifts me by the shirttail.

The podcast will remain in the archives of this site, but expect the format and look of this site to change.

As a kid, I used to steal away with my parent’s tape recorder. After I got done burping and farting in it, I decided to make up a few stories with my Star Wars and Playmobil characters. DIC fulfilled that childhood longing to put on my own show. Well, I’ve done that.

Thank you all for supporting this show, but stick around because I’d like to keep you up to date with my progress. If there is a life for me in print, then I I hope to someday call you ‘readers’ rather than ‘listeners’.

Stick around. The audio may have gone silent, but I’m just clearing my voice.

A couple onscreen and off, Alex and Marissa have been rejoined after trying to break into Hollywood.  We will be discussing their LA adventures and the travails associated with staying creative during rough times.

This is a followup of an interview with them from DIC #9: http://diabeticincandyland.com/2008/02/15/dic-9-justice-for-ricky-shore/

Details:

Where:  http://stickam.com/diabeticincandyland – You don’t need an account to view the interview, but if you wish to chat then you must be a member.

Time: 8:00 EST.

RSSTB Youtube page: http://www.youtube.com/user/RickyShoreSings

Please nominate this show for the upcoming PodCastAwards (http://www.podcastawards.com). I call up my army of dozens to rise up and help this show get the exposure it darn well deserves. Although you can’t vote for more than 2 shows for the top categories, you can nominate this show for others like Comedy or General.

Go to: http://www.podcastawards.com

Nominate: http://www.diabeticincandyland.com.

This is a toll-free call to action and you can keep the rollover minutes.

News:

> New Site. Do you like? Y/N?

> Check out the DrabbleCast, the short speculative fiction podcast. 9/10  Cephalopods agree:
http://web.mac.com/normsherman/Site/Podcast/Podcast.html

> Become a Fan. Check out the new Facebook Fan Page

Check out Ami’s blog: http://www.mycrumblingempire.net

News:

- I’d like to shout out to vocalo.org (http://www.vocalo.org), a user content generated radio station.

- Check out where my life is inevitably headed: http://www.realtoilets.com.

Note: Had to resynch my feed. It should be operating fine now.

Links:

http://www.futureme.org

Guest Rick Arndt Reads from his drug-addled days in Seattle. A misunderstanding in the library gets me tossed out and my library card, and what’s left of my dignity, revoked. If you meet Michael Stipe in a bar, beat him.

[display_podcast}

I can’t buy a crippled crab a crutch!!

Her Open Salon Page: http://tinyurl.com/d8we34

Links:
Open Salon: http://open.salon.com

Summer’s blog: http://open.salon.com/blog/mungular

Anthony’s blog: http://open.salon.com/blog/anthony_elmore

NEWS:
- I want your recession story. The next few shows will devoted to down n’ out stories about how the recession has affected people.  If you have a story and the means to record it, email me at editor@diabeticincandyland.com.

Item #322

How To Beat The Recession With Ramen Noodle Recipies

Listen Here:
http://oneminutehowto.com/Shows/Shows.asp?How_To_Beat_The_Recession_With_Ramen_Noodle_Recipies

This show interview with my wife about her childhood experience having Christmas hosted by AFDC. Abuse to follow. Sam Kinision was right.

News:

- In January I will be featured on George Smyth’s “One Minute How-To” podcast (http://www.oneminutehowto.com). Will announce when its released.

Thanks to Anthony Musto for the audio.

The “Running Through Tampa” blog discusses the Evie man: http://runningthroughtampa.blogspot.com/2006/01/goddamn-mick-jagger.html

Also, here’s the Land of the Lost clip:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o0MRU1f2SJ0