Peter V. Hilton

Enchanted with Disney

2010-11-04T10:48:00.004-06:00

I was debating Disney and princesses and feminism and materialism and a host of other related topics and came to this little bit of musing of mine:

"Ah, Disney--I love Disney. Honestly, I do. They're all about happiness--but of course, happiness is only part of the story, so a diet of Disney alone is disastrous.

"See, I take the view that as humans, we naturally LOVE listening to and telling stories--we tell stories about our lives, about other people, about ideas, and most especially to ourselves about ourselves. It's that last category that can be worrisome with Disney or any mass media, really. By commercializing a specific story (Disney = princess + beauty + love), there's the danger that the story gets adopted instead of integrated. So a seven-year-old [insert non-Cinderella physical attribute] girl might compare herself to [princess] with disastrous consequences (untenable self-image, unrealistic expectations of life or love, etc); however, experience and the other stories we tell and are told ought to inform whatever we (she, the 7 y/o) picks up. Every girl ought to be a princess because she is a princess, not because she is conforming to some princess ideal, just like every guy ought to be a prince not because he's riding to the rescue of women or chucking the Sword of Truth a bazillion feet to slay Malificent atop the castle (aided by a trio of comic fairies godmother in RGB glory) but because he's a good guy.

"This all leads me to this conclusion: So if I wind up with daughters who want to be princesses, that's totally fine, so long as they get that princessness runs deeper than blonde locks, impossible figures, and poofy dresses."

Now, the whole discussion was about Enchanted, so I'll close with a brief summary of my views there:

"I think the 'point' of the movie, besides its obvious entertainment value, is the value of love, family, and relationships as they pertain to happiness. By all rights, guy should not fall for Amy Adams--and he doesn't fall for her for her being a princess--but he does fall. I see it as working out in spite of princessness, which is a really interesting and ironic stance for Disney to take, if subtly done."

Moral of the story: Let your kids watch Disney. Just make sure they get it when it comes to the real world, too.

Wait . . . You What?

2010-09-11T20:44:00.003-06:00

We're faced with one of two possibilities:

1) I am a geek.

2) I was born to be a lawyer.

Well, we can rule out #2, because my three proudest trophies of the moment are the rejection letters on my wall--rejections for my fantasy novel. Yep! I finished it and started submitting for publication. In the meantime, I'm going to crank out book two so fast my keyboard won't know what hit it. Ergo, I was born to be many things, including a (failed?) fantasy (and hopefully other genres) novelist.

And also in the meantime, I'm attending law school and loving it. Now, the possibilities listed in #1 and #2 arose because of my reaction to this statement, overheard possibly near my locker, or possibly elsewhere in the law school building (I can't quite remember where . . .):

"Oh my gosh! I hate doing this reading!"

Granted, I suppose a third possibility is 3) I'm way naive, but my reaction to that statement was, in my head:

"Wait . . . you what? You mean you aren't loving absolutely every single minute of this, even the minutes you hate?"

Which was shortly followed by:

"Gosh . . . maybe there's something wrong with me."

Hence, ruling out that what's wrong with me is some sort of predestinated proclivity toward prosecution, I'm most likely

1) a geek

or possibly

2) . . . really quite enjoying life?

New Upholstery

2010-06-18T17:43:00.002-06:00

Benefits of working in downtown Salt Lake City: the Salt Lake Temple is across the street from my cubicle in the Church History Library (where I'm interning as an editor for the Joseph Smith Papers). So I took off from work a little early today to go to the temple.

And they got new upholstery!

Which, though the biggest aha moment of my time at the temple today, was certainly not the biggest benefit. That's the quiet chance to meditate. Today, the words of Hymn 184, "Upon the Cross of Calvary," particularly touched me.

My posts tend toward the long and rambling muse as far as style goes, but I just wanted to briefly acknowledge that, as excited as I am to move back out of Utah this fall, I really do love this quirky little state and its lone, if sprawling, metropolis. Some opportunities you just can't have anywhere else.

Isn't it neat that a silly little something like dark wood on the chair backs can make you sit up and realize just what a blessing life is?

Breakup Behavior

2010-05-10T21:57:00.004-06:00

So without having really broken up with anyone, I caught myself taking some time tonight to act like I had to solace my troubled heart. By not really having broken up with anyone, let me give you the quick story--

I sent a girl off on an LDS mission, and it recently dawned on us that her return is probably going to involve a good chunk of readjustment for us both. Without leaving my heart on my sleeve for too long (since that's not the point of this post), my most recent letter (our only means of communication) basically said "It's gonna be interesting!"

So like I said: not a breakup. More of a DTR that will be months in the making (it takes the mail a while to get to and from a third world country, after all). And though I could speak quite vociferously as to the benefits of frequent and open communication (even if hampered by Church regulations and a third-world postal service) and also dedicated missionary service, I wanted to write about the moment of epiphany when I thought, "Geez, who did I break up with?" So let me proceed . . .

The big bowl of vanilla ice cream was the first clue. The second clue, and the more important one, though, was that I was reading what might be termed, gently, as a paranormal romance. Less accurately (and yet perhaps more clearly), it's chick lit. Some would call it drivel or trash; others keep it on their shelf next to (or in place of) their Bible (or, tragically and perhaps more likely, their Book of Mormon): Stephenie Meyer's Twilight.

My first real encounter with the Twilight phenomenon, in terms of appreciating its gross weight in the world at large, was on a subway in Barcelona. I saw a woman reading Nueva Luna or whatever it's called in Spanish (I can neither remember the title nor the translation, only that it was most definitely in Spanish). And while I have moral, thematic, and other issues with the phenomenon as a whole, I can't help but derive a bit of perverse enjoyment from the fandom (well, I don't suppose it's real fandom; that's reserved for works of epic fantasy and science fiction conventions). Team Bella!

So by reading chick lit and inhaling ice cream, it felt like breakup behavior. But of course, I can't leave our dear Bella all alone and consoling me for an event that didn't really happen; I've used the phrase "perverse enjoyment" in this post, and last time I said something about Stephenie Meyer, some poor fan got her undies in a bundle, knickers in a twist, panties in a . . . puzzle? . . . at any rate, I'd better explain my perverse enjoyment.

As I said, I won't enumerate the thematic concerns I have with the series (teen fans don't worry me too much; thirty-something-year-old reading groups terrify me, at least in terms of our social future), though I'm willing to toss out such hot topic phrases as abusive relationships, emotional manipulation, suicidal meditations, aesthetocentric (Google believes I've created a new word; that's what a BA in English does for you) paradigms, and pedophilia--none of which should necessarily be excluded from fiction, but when extolled as virtues (by sheer accident, I actually believe), there's some worry to be had. The perversity then arises because even though I know all of that is present, I enjoy the book. Do I enjoy the story or the writing style? Not particularly, but they don't get in the way. Her writing's very verbose, which isn't bad, and is actually good in a few moments. And as an avid Twilight movie series viewer, I do wish I had abs like Jacob, even with any rumored digital enhancement (though I reckon Gerard Butler's win out). But as far as chick lit goes, I've got to say my high school girlfriend's recommendations still take the cake, and after Angus, Thongs, and Full Frontal Snogging and How to Deal, I don't think I can ever find good chick lit again. (And if you want to talk about perverse enjoyment and artistic mismatches, I read those two books during breaks at rehearsals for the role of Javert in the blockbuster Les Miserables.) But now that I've enumerated my thematic concerns, I'll make the point I wanted to make all along:

The enjoyment.

As I breeze through the love-laden (love and lust can have it out in another post) pages of Twilight (it's an easy read), I just have to stop every now again to get my bearings and read the book the way it was meant to be read. Ready? You can do this too. It's quite simple. I'll give it to you in a four-step process:

1) Go get your copy of Twilight (or another book in the series).
2) Flip to a random page.
3) Pick a random sentence.
4) Lower your voice and read that sentence and the next several following it in sultry, dulcet tones (those adjectives are important--after all, where would Stephenie Meyer be without adjectives?), making sure you draw out all the adverbs and let your voice fall almost to a whisper at the end of your chosen selection.

I LOVE IT! I can't say it enough! So Stephenie Meyer, though I'm sure the enjoyment I derive from your work is far from what you had intended, I want you to know that while I'll never own your book, I love reading it, want Jacob's abs, and am staunchly, as noted, Team Bella.

But I've left my vanilla ice cream and vanilla-like, lusciously lustrous labial longings and sonant sportiveness for too long. I must rapidly return to the comfort of my fold down bed and its tactilely tantalizing quilt, patterned in red and green with barns and hills on it.

Please, no moaning; I keep this blog clean. Nevertheless, I can't wait for the bit when Edward first sparkles. I might read that out loud to my roommates.

The Little Birdies

2010-04-27T17:29:00.005-06:00

I've decided that one of my favorite parts of the commute is the fifteen-minute (ten minutes if I'm running late and therefore running faster) walk from my apartment to the bus stop each morning. It was a dark, cold, and hurried part of my commute all through winter, but now that the weather has decided to cooperate somewhat, the air suddenly warms enough that I don't need a coat and that the birds can chirp and sing and do all the things they do.

If I were an ornithologist, I'd probably be giddily clapping and celebrating the species and whatnot. Instead, I just whistle along. Flowers are popping out on the trees, too. It's a moment of beautiful quiet before the day starts, where I have to get from point A to point B and have no interruptions, the only variable being how fast I have to walk and the occasional glance at my watch.

Love it.

Commutin' in the Rain

2010-04-13T17:25:00.002-06:00

I love that when I first load blogger, it comes up saying "Blogger: Dashboard." I love Dashboard.

But on to what I was going to say. Singin' in the Rain ended on Saturday night, which means I've gotten back to my normal commuting schedule--taking the bus whenever possible, in other words. Granted, this means that I no longer have the luxury of listening to my books on CD with every drive, but it means I can get back to listening to one of my favorite podcasts, Writing Excuses. That, and working on my novel. After updating my blog, of course.

That really makes me sound like quite the creature of habit. After all, it would be easy enough for me to listen to the podcast while I drove. It just involves sticking in an earbud and turning off the radio. Conversely, I could quite comfortably rip the library's audio CDs onto my computer, load them onto my iPod, and delete them when I was done. But that's not how I do it.

If habits make you who you are, then this is a habit about which I'm not terribly concerned. A little bit of OCD never hurt anyone. Not too badly, anyway. Or at least nobody with whom I'm acquainted. But as I said, if habits make you who you are, there's one habit in particular I'm pretty proud to keep.

Back on Singin', I realized back in early March that one of the big things I always used to do in shows before was bring along my copy of the Book of Mormon and read the two chapters wherein characters dress up as somebody else and pretend to be somebody they're not. I'd read those chapters right after our cast meeting and right before going onstage. I don't know that it necessarily improved my acting skills--knowing how to dupe a Lamanite army into getting plastered or convincing some poor sot into going intercontinental with you after chopping off his boss's head don't have much to do with theatre, really--but the very act of reading the Book of Mormon is peaceful, letting me have a moment of quiet before performing, and it helped me connect my faith with the more everyday aspects of my life.

I started that habit with my very first show in high school, Hello, Dolly!. I was in the ensemble and played a priest in the opening scene. The director asked me to find a book in the prop room that could pass for a Bible. I did one better and brought actual scripture, initially as a joke but later as my own interpretation of the character (and, frankly, to be cheeky). Initially I just read one of the chapters, but I must have added Alma 55 by my next show.

So the point of this post is that it's good to be back into my regular habits. Sure, it was a bit of a bummer that I had to walk to the bus at 6am in the freezing snow/sleet/rain, but the sun is shining now and I'm riding home happy.

Charity

2010-02-09T17:47:00.003-07:00

So tell me how cool this is: I'm sitting on a bus and updating my blog. I know--far out, right? Turns out that the express bus from SLC to home (well, and home to SLC, but I'm always napping on my early morning ride to work) has a free WiFi connection. Usually I try to work on my novel when I'm busing back home, but I've just been musing over several things and thought, "Hey, it's actually been a while since I've written here. Might as well!"

One of the key things I've had on my mind lately is the concept of charity. Modern English usage would restrict charity's definition to something along the lines of charitable giving or philanthropy. While that's true of the usage, it's not true of the origins. That's just part of it.

Charity shares the same Latin root as heart (couer in French, corazon in Spanish) and is the Anglicized version of the word caritas. Suddenly, the name of that Catholic aid organization means something more, doesn't it? Caritas.

In Christian terms, charity is equated in modern Biblical language with love, the most notable passage coming from the Apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 13. "For love is kind," it says--and endures forever, thinks no evil, and carries a host of other attributes. Since the attributes of love are the attributes of Christ--patient, longsuffering, etc.--it's no wonder that Latter-day Saint scripture captures it this way: "Charity is the pure love of Christ."

But it's on my mind because we had a fireside for our ward the other Sunday that focused a lot on the concept of serving our fellow human beings. Interestingly, every speaker focused more on the concept of charity than on the act of service. With some reading I've done lately, both scriptural and secular (such as this book, my current read), I've had the idea of charity on my mind a lot. It's a pure love for our fellows--both those we know well and those we don't--but isn't always necessarily mushy, pushover kind of love. But neither is it always fiery and impassioned. It's all of that, and the key thing is that when it undergirds all our relationships, it enriches them more than almost any other character trait.

It's been interesting to reflect on those things lately and to notice more often when I express that kind of love and also when I fail. I was going to write more about some experiences--sitting and enjoying that fireside, for example--but it seems like this blog post has gone a different direction. I'll wrap up, then, but not before doing what seems the only (if perhaps oddly?) appropriate way to conclude, which is with an invitation. If you're reading this, try to live life a little kinder this week. Don't get down on yourself if you snap at somebody--suppressed emotion isn't what I'm going for here at all--but do try to make a conscious effort, to the point that you actually start to change your natural inclinations a little. Take that however you'll take that, but I'm out for now.

Singin' in the Rain . . . in Tempe?

2010-01-05T00:27:00.004-07:00

As noted elsewhere: I'll be in Singin' in the Rain in Lehi, UT, with the run of the show starting on March 25 and finishing April 10.

Tomorrow we're doing the read through and kicking off rehearsals, so I checked the movie out of the library to watch again (I really should own it . . .), but I first had to put it on the back burner for--that's right--the Fiesta Bowl. TCU, representing the mighty Mountain West Conference, took on Boise State University--and came pretty darn close to winning.

At least, that's what I'd like to think. It was a low-scoring but intense game, and I ran out to get chips and dip for everyone. Who was everyone? My roommates, of course, but also the women's apartment who joins us for our family home evening group. Even though they aren't the biggest football fans (in the process of trying to find the game, I skipped over a hockey game and a basketball game, both of which got louder cheers from the couch our "sisters" had taken over), we hung out and had a blast. FHE is usually pretty good.

I had a couple of friends turn up to watch Singin' in the Rain with me afterward. That's where most of the singing and the raining went on. In Tempe--home of the Fiesta Bowl--there wasn't a whole lot of raining (but in our apartment, we rained the boos on Boise State) or singing (except when TCU got their touchdown and field goal, both of which called for another round of waters and chips/dip), but in Provo, there was. 'Twas fun.

And now to step out of the narration . . . just what am I going to do with this blog in the future? Not sure. Give a glimpse of real life as well as "professional life," I guess. We'll see how it works. I'll have to do some piecing together as we go, but for now, let it be known that my Monday evening was a party. And a half. And yes: I did go dance in the kitchen once the movie ended.

Time to Start Again

2010-01-02T21:37:00.000-07:00

My Blog's New Years Resolution:

Get written on more frequently.

Details forthcoming.

One Sentence Synopsis: Frankenstein

2009-09-21T12:32:00.003-06:00

Frankenstein (Mary Shelley): Wherein a man's catastrophic nervous breakdowns are catalogued in alternating chapters after his having created a horrific monster from bits of dead people.

Amazing Discovery

2009-09-09T21:30:00.002-06:00

jacksonpollock.org

Purchase

2009-07-21T14:07:00.003-06:00

Just when satire can't get any better, my favorite newspaper gets purchased by a Chinese amalgamated salvage fishery and polymer injection group.

And, alas, another national resources falls to the mounting death toll of our teetering economy.

A Beautiful Sentence

2009-07-14T23:49:00.002-06:00

This sentence is actually a complete scene as well, from Cormac McCarthy's The Road. Yes, the book was released back in 2006; yes, I'm just barely reading it; yes, you can read a review here: New York Times.

And this is the sentence:

"In that long ago somewhere very near this place he'd watched a falcon fall down the long blue wall of the mountain and break with the keel of its breastbone the midmost from a flight of cranes and take it to the river below all gangly and wrecked and trailing its loose and blowsy plumage in the still autumn air."

That is style.

This Is Amazing

2009-07-10T10:02:00.002-06:00

Okay, so I was wandering through Feminist Mormon Housewives, a blog I occasionally follow, and stumbled across a user who had embedded this amazing video in one of her posts.

Now, I have never seen Twilight nor Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but . . . well, this was pretty much awesome:

TELL ME THAT ISN'T AMAZING!

Examining Digital Publishing Again

2009-06-23T23:22:00.003-06:00

So my digital publishing information hunt took me to three very funny sites:

Great YouTube video

A very lengthy article on eBooks

It's called "My Stupid eBook" and is likely the funniest thing I've seen in a long time . . .

Anyway, let's ring in the future with a shout and a laugh!

A Blue Cup

2009-04-09T21:08:00.003-06:00

I have a blue cup that got burned the other month (last year?) in the kitchen. I presume it was sitting in the sink and somebody unthinkingly set a hot pan on it. It's a testament to these cups that it's still intact--and by intact, I mean that it holds water and functions like a normal cup. It just now has a dimple in it that perfectly fits my thumb.

I actually kind of like it that way.

So I'm drinking cold water (a perennial favorite) from my blue cup with the thumbprint, listening to Jimmy Eat World and reflecting on the interviews I've just conducted and on the rest of my life, and thinking to myself: this whole blogging thing is an interesting beast. People I count as friends (along with my family) read each post (or lots of them) and enjoy. Hmm. Blue cup.

Quiet moments are pleasant.

"Going Pro," As It Were

2009-03-31T00:25:00.002-06:00

I'm sure that I'm easily locatable online, so I ought to say something here about my current foray into the world of hiring for Hilton Business Writing: it rocks. Below is the job description as I've posted it several places. I have no qualms about being owner-manager and maintaining this blog (that is, the blog you are reading, viewable at petervhilton.blogspot.com)--any employees are going to have to work with me anyway. While I don't believe in full disclosure, I do believe in workable and fun relationships, as evidenced by this:

I am a: small business owner-manager at Hilton Business Writing, LLC, working in copy writing and looking to expand.

Seeking a: writer (or two or three or four), primarily for ad copy, blog posts, short research articles, and an ever-increasing list of services.

With: a creative mind, a self-starter attitude, an organization-oriented skill set, and a thirst for writing experience.

Who is hoping for: full- or part-time work, perhaps for an internship or not, and the ability to do most of the work we assign to him or her remotely (and on his or her own schedule). This work will be paid an hourly wage, beginning at $8 (or higher DOE).

Meet me: at www.hiltonbusinesswriting.com to get a feel for what we’re about. Please contact us by emailing admin@hiltonbusinesswriting.com with a current resume, two creative nonfiction writing samples (personal essays are acceptable, but at least one should be a magazine- or press release-type article). Also include a blog address if you have one.

We will contact you by email when we receive your resume and samples. Our reply will include an estimate for when we will get to processing your application. Thank you in advance.

The Way of the Future

2009-03-19T18:32:00.002-06:00

Is twofold. Firstly, in the source of this little gem of satire (not saying that all news outlets will have satire as their chief goal, but that the H to the T to the ML what now is growing in its presence). Secondly, in the object being satired itself.

Thoughts?

The New Kindle

So Academic Writing Is Fun

2009-03-13T17:04:00.002-06:00

At least, so far as meeting with my professor is concerned. I haven't really started writing, but in consulting with him today about my bibliography, I managed to at once arouse curiosity and also embarrassment--

One of the sources I cite is his dissertation, and one of my ideas exposes a possible hole in the scholarship (the question is whether it's a useful hole or not).

So that was pretty fun :-)

Twice in One Week--Gotta Be Good

2009-03-04T15:35:00.002-07:00

And it is.

Yesterday, at approximately 11:47 p.m., I finished my novel. That's right. The big honkin book-length project of life consumption. Draft 3 is done.

That rocks my world.

From here, because Draft 3 was such a major rewrite over Draft 2, I have some extensive revising to do. I dropped lots of characters early on and didn't bother going back to fix things; that all has to be made up now. The good news, though, is that the book will not change from its current shape. What I have is the same general plot structure, characterization, everything that will remain all the way through. Which means that with the things I already know about the two sequels, those two will go much, much more smoothly.

First things first, though: I'm taking a month off the novel to recoup.

But that is awesome in about twelve different ways: I'm done!

I'm celebrating by taking myself--yes, me, all by my comfortable lonesome--to the Vocal Point concert this weekend. I will ride my bike down to Center Street, quite enjoyably, and then park it, obtain my ticket at will call, and go enjoy some sweet amazing awesome a cappella tuneage. No responsibilities to a date, to a gas price, or to much anything else, really.

Obviously, I don't want to make a habit of lonely concert-watching, but I've always enjoyed my own company, and since she whose company I most enjoy is not available for concert attendance right now, I will relish this opportunity as much as I can. Besides, I finished my novel. That rocks.

I'm so stoked. This is awesome.

We Three Dreams of What the Crazy?

2009-03-02T15:34:00.003-07:00

So rarely do I remember my dreams, if I have any. I tend to lie down and start daydreaming (which I guess is technically night-dreaming, but if I'm fully conscious, is it really dreaming), or thinking through the previous day, or thinking through the next day, or some combination, and then what happens is that I wake up to my alarm and groan.

It's not always a groan. Sometimes it's a sigh of absolute bliss, and sometimes I wake up before my alarm so that by the time it does go off, I'm feeling pretty perky.

But last night, this was not the case. I woke up hot, tangled in sheets and quilt (one of my roommates must have cranked up the thermostat again), and desperately confused while being very, very cheery and sleepy all at once. I had a vague sense that my girlfriend had featured in my dream, and that it had been very pleasant, but the details faded about as quickly as I woke up. Still, I knew I'd had a dream, and my pillow, hair, limbs, and just about everything else were all over the place.

That's even worse than waking up and knowing that you were basically completely unconscious the whole night and didn't even realize it, like what happens most nights, what the heck. So I checked my clock: 1:something a.m. I had gone to bed at 12:42ish, so this was one of those "sike! you thought you were asleep but your internal physio whateverness kicked you awake probably right out of your first REM cycle!" sort of dreams. Confused, dazed, and half-smiling with no real idea why, I proceeded to rearrange everything with which I had covered myself and promptly fell asleep again.

Only at 5:00 a.m., I suddenly realized I was in the middle of a random, confused sort of dream where I was in an all-white room (the walls weren't padded; it was more like a classroom), with my girlfriend, who was home from the mission early, and there was only one of chair and it was one of those old school lab classroom chairs with the four metal legs and the little nubbins on on each leg that would always pop off and leave the thing unbalanced. Anyway, my girlfriend was my girlfriend but not really, because she looked like one of my friends who I'd written a letter to before going to bed. And responded to the wrong name and didn't really look like her anyway. This time I was significantly grumpier, because while I was perfectly fine, covers in place, my brain was fried from the confusing not-girlfriend white-roomness of it all. And then my roommate's alarm went off and he got up to start getting ready for the day. Five in the morning. Ridiculous.

Thankfully, I slept through the rest of his preparations, a fact made clear to me as I once again found myself in a dream, and this is the one I've been trying to get at. I was apparently being kidnapped by Somali pirates, I think with my little brothers, off the coast of South Carolina. There were lots of really cool gunshots and sweet chase scenes through the mangroves, and something kept nagging me, trying to figure out why Somali pirates were in South Carolina and why I had the distinct impression that this was all happening in the 1960s.

Well, I'm writing my term paper on a poem about Freud, so here's my very un-Freudian analysis:

1) I wrote my girlfriend a letter yesterday before going to bed. Hence those dreams.
2) I wrote my other friend a letter, hence that dream.
3) Chairs figure prominently in my dreams all the time, as well as rooms of solid, single colors. Clearly, I am a very simplistic sort of man when it comes to interior design.
4) I watched The Interpreter twice this last weekend (well, my roommates did, and I sat in through the last 75% and then the first 66%). While it has nothing to do with Somalia and less to do with pirates, I'm also reading a book about Sudan, which again does not mention Somalia nor pirates, though it's set in Alabama and therefore easily mushed into South Carolina--and considering the fact that, now that I think about it, in my Islam class we did have a lecture about Salt Lake City/Utah mosques, of which one is predominately Somali, though, the presence of pirates is still completely inexplicable except for recent news headings on my RSS feed.

Props to anyone who can synthesize all of that into a single-sentence psychoanalytic diagnosis. I'm really far from concerned, it was just exciting to go for months with no dream recollection and then to have three, all in one night--at least, once I got ungrumpified enough to appreciate the fact in spite of lost sleep.

Far out. That was a long blog post.

Noveling in the Morning

2009-02-11T12:47:00.002-07:00

They say when there's red skies at morning
all sailors had better take warning
But what they leave out
is what morning's about
And in this case, it . . .

It . . .

Well, it just means that I found a really good time to work on my novel. About an hour every morning, first thing (well, "first" thing). Giving it this prioritized spot has not ruined the rest of my schedule contrary to what I had imagined it might do; instead, prioritizing my novel really gives it priority.

It's often advocated to have no more than three main priorities for each facet of your life (social, spiritual, etc, etc, etc . . .), and even to try to have no more than three total. With Jessica out of town for some time (as it were), I've lumped anything that gives me career experience and money into priority number 3, under the heading of "Jessica."

School's number two, and with the novel as number one, things are happening!

I wrote a chapter in two days! (1:45)

Instead of two weeks! (287:45--I don't write on Sundays.)

Oh, blissful, excellent time of day to work. Would that I had discovered this ages ago! I probably could have done it even with a bajillion things on my plate (which isn't to say that I don't have a bajillion now) but that I have finally discovered it is wonderful.

So that's my time management lecture and exciting note for the day.

Chapters left: 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, and a rewrite that takes approximately 1-10 or 1-14 and condenses them to 1-5 or 6 or 7.

Rock on.

Bootstrapped! Update

2009-01-22T19:08:00.003-07:00

Well, editing a book that will come out on a tier-two publisher just about a year from the time I started isn't too bad for a first go at it, wouldn't you say?

Bootstrapped! A No Bull Solution for Small Business Success will be published by Wizard Academy Press this March. I was hired at CastleWave, LLC at the end of last March. I'm pretty excited with how things have gone!

Granted, my name won't be on the front cover, but I have suddenly made my entire portfolio. Bootstrapped! has been endorsed by five bestselling authors so far and our marketing efforts continue. In fact, probably the most exciting of those is that the book is available, piece by piece, through email subscription to the blog at BootstrapBusiness.org, the flagship website for the current efforts to promote the book.

Equally exciting is that Rich J. Christiansen and Ron E. Porter, the authors, will be speaking at BYU's entrepreneurship lecture series on Thursday, January 27 at the Marriott School of Business. It's only fitting that their first presentation should happen at an educational institution, since the Wizard Academy, where they really caught the vision, is itself a method of education. (To boot--no pun intended--Rich's alma mater is BYU.)

Well, with all of that said, this sure beats that custodial job I had for the first three months I was home from the mission.

Published--Online!

2009-01-06T12:45:00.002-07:00

Hey everybody,

This article appeared in the Spanish Fork Press (newspaper, Spanish Fork). It talks a little about what I do for work. It has also appeared multiple places online, including at this URL:

Seniors Bound for Wall Street.

Everything continues to go well on the work end. As for my fantasy novel, I now have it outlined through the (new) end, which I anticipate finishing by Valentine's Day (as arbitrary a date as any); I then have to go back and rewrite the first few chapters to conform with the new ending, but from there on out it will be entirely a process of revision until publication.

That's the story. I'm published--online. I will be published, more and elsewhere--soon.

Wordy and Ironic

2008-12-29T17:13:00.001-07:00

This is an ancient writing prompt--I had five minutes to build something using just those two ideas to kickstart my creative juices. Like, we're talking age seventeen, San Francisco writing seminar days.

There’s a certain shade of orange that never fails to elicit a response in a driver. There’s a shape to it, too; it’s funny how the name for the fruit became the name for the color and has become the name of the squat little sand-filled Star Wars droids lining the Nevada highways. The dimpled spheres are become cones by name, orange traffic cones, though the point and fluidity of the cone is sacrificed for the usefulness of a blocky barricade. Red is a stimulus as well, and has come in our day to mean “floor it”—bright construction-worker orange is now what tells us to stop. I guess the yellow of “Slow” had to get mixed in to give any meaning to the scarlet hue. It’s funny that red should be “stop”, at any rate; red is passion, and fire! How can you expect me to stop for that? It’s only the orange that’ll kill me and my tires if I do something stupid—that can lessen the flame in my blood. And don’t think it’s just me—everybody gets a little crimson haze in their atmosphere when you put them behind the wheel of a ton of slate-gray SUV. The pinnacle of insanity is passed at 55 mph on a two-lane road—when you’re going 80, rational thought is way behind! Then when you get squeezed by those orange arrows into a vermillion tunnel, there’s an instantaneous burst of speed from the pressure before the glaring signs with their sunset stare tell you to slow down. And in that second, before the yellow enters your blood and stomps on your brake, there’s enough red floating around that anything can happen.

So you see, Officer Henry, the accident really wasn’t my fault.