The Maundry

Cartoonism

davidkeck — Sun, 09 Mar 2014 22:22:28 GMT

So, my tax man suggests that I keep doing cartoons.

Did you know I was doing cartoons? (I will have mentioned it somewhere -- probably Facebook).

I'd imagined that every penny a cartoon earned would be snapped up by Uncle Sam (long may he reign), but it seems that making a pittance periodically was somehow very astute.

This news has inspired me to dust off my iPad. (I'll try throwing something out there again this week...) The last web-worthy one was up in Suvudu where my work inspired several really creepy robotic replies.

Wish me luck!

Two Minutes to Canada.

davidkeck — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 23:36:09 GMT

It's the 70s. TV has three channels. The kindly folks at the Canadian Wildlife Service want you to know a bit about The Loon, The Woodchuck, The Muskox, The Beaver, etc.. The solution? Grainy little films and a little atmospheric flute.

Please, please watch one. And then watch the other one. You'll know about all you need to know about Canadians in three minutes.

http://youtu.be/xZ_6gTTjbiw

First Draft Woes: Abominating Repetition

davidkeck — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 21:31:16 GMT

I have a mania for certain words that might need to be explored:

Why, for example, would I choose the word "churn" fifteen times in the same
manuscript when "butter" appears only twice?

What is in my head when, of all the words in the language, I use "torrent"
eight times, "cataract" five times, "wrench" twenty-four times? "Twist"
pops up fifty-six times, and "turn" seems to be roughly every second word.

I remember being roundly mocked in a writer's group session years ago for
using the word "abomination" more than once in a single short story. I now
feel that I have moved on. (It shows up twice in this draft despite my best
efforts).

Worst of all, I've used the word "eye" nearly four hundred times so far
(and I'm not finished).

Sometimes, there is little to be done about repetition. I have, for
example, a mysterious "Whisperer" whispering at people throughout the
novel. (This might possibly be more eerie in the actual text than it
appears here). "Whisper", therefore, appears one hundred and two times. But
what is a fellow to do? Synonyms have their limits. Whisperers have to
whisper. They can only hiss and rustle so often.

Just now, I am doing my best to ignore all of this. If I am ever to finish
this book, I must let the words flow in what might just need to be a
churning torrent until the last wrenching twist.

Yours abominably,

Dave

PS: I'm trying something with email, Livejournal and Facebook that just
might break the Hinterweb, so brace yourselves.

What is the Opposite of Sean Connery in DragonHeart?

davidkeck — Thu, 23 Feb 2012 22:06:07 GMT

Hey there,

To break through a vast wall of procrastination, I spent the summer writing the old fashioned way (pen and ink) and hiding out in odd corners of New York with a pad of paper.

It worked. The simple expedient of running out of the apartment to sit down with a pen short-circuited many of my worst writing habits. I wandered from park to coffee shop to pub to library all around town. I kept up And I filled a pile of paper nearly two inches thick.

Sadly, this has left me with a mountain of semi-coherent scribblings that I am only now wrestling into my favourite word processor.

I am doing rather less typing than you might expect. I've picked up a piece of fantasy-appropriate dictation software which has made the process much more interesting. I train it. It mishears me. I retrain it and read the help files. It laughs and laughs.

The process goes fairly quickly, in truth. In the last few days, I've ploughed through an inch of sprawling text. Tomorrow, I'll take a shot at jabbering my way through August.

~Dave

PS: I need to make a recording of myself dictating dialogue-heavy sections of text. Victor Borge isn't a patch on me http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lF4qii8S3gw ...

Signing, Mass

davidkeck — Tue, 17 May 2011 21:54:07 GMT

My book-signing pen and I are heading to the Nebula weekend in Washington, DC.

This is the big Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) awards weekend. My pen and limber signing arm will make an appearance at this year's mass signing on Friday 20 May from 5:30 to 7PM at the Washington Hilton.

The event is open to the public, I'm told. So, you know. Um. Adoring fans, well, here's your cue.

1919 Connecticut NW, Washington, DC, they tell me.

This is Washington in the District of Columbia not the Washington near British Columbia. District. Not British.

And the Hilton.

I will have a pen. (Did I say that?)

~Dave

PS: A throng of other writery types will also be there. Follow the link to see more: http://sfscope.com/2011/05/sfwa-announces-nebula-weekend.html

Riverdale Tornado

davidkeck — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 23:34:58 GMT

The toddler and I were hanging out at the old homestead yesterday when it the sky went dark and a lovely horizontal rain lashed the building.

I have now learned that we narrowly avoided the local tornado. (!) Yikes: http://bronx.ny1.com/content/top_stories/122660/riverdale-residents-clean-up-following-tornado

The day before we huddled briefly under a tornado warning.

Enough with the twisters, already. This meant to be a nice neighbourhood.

(Should I be buying the toddler a small perky dog with a name that starts with "T"?)

~dave

Giant Daleks of Europe (Cleverly Concealed & Clearly Waiting for Something Suspicious)

davidkeck — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 18:08:38 GMT

PS:

Table of Cleverly Concealed waterfront Science-Fiction Robots.

~DK

Giant Hamsters from the Moon, Clearly

davidkeck — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 18:03:29 GMT

Hey folks,

Our ancestors were hamsters. Clearly. And possibly aliens.

I ran into an intriguing article (probably only to me) about Ye Older cranes while figuring out how to move a gaggle of characters from here to there (in the days before the elevator): The sky is the limit.

I have always been fascinated by standard of ingenuity required of builders before motorized equipment made its appearance. (There are still people propounding the notion that the easiest way to lift large stones into place was to flag down the saucer people).

And, of course, this ingenuity doesn't quit with the henges and outsized geometric solids of ancient times.

Take a look at how you moved big stones in Shakespeare's lifetime: On the Transportation of the Vatican Obelisk. It just about turns my head inside out.

A few dozen muskox-sized hamsters and a person could pop up a cathedral in only a century or five.

Yours impressed with the rope and pully set,

Dave

The Wilderness Above the Bronx

davidkeck — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 03:17:29 GMT

Writing on the large flat stone above the Bronx was reasonably successful this afternoon. (I had at least one idea that seemed very good at the time -- and I've written it down).

I was, however, gradually surrounded by a cadre of Bronx mountain squirrels.

They were sly. I could, at first, see the little creatures in the middle distance doing apparently-natural squirrel things. (Frisking. Hopping. Tail fluffing).

Slowly, however, they were closing in.

Little did I comprehend my danger, until one of the little fiends appeared behind me, slinking over the large flat stone at my back. And then there were four. All staring. Waiting.

(I do not think they wanted hand-outs. I had the distinct impression that they were reading my mind).

Also, a foreign youth with bleached hair demanded that that I catch a white dog, should I see it. He seemed very emotional. (I am not sure when this standing order expires. He did not say. I will endeavor to do my best).

~Dave

Hello! I've Just Found a Lump of Coal

davidkeck — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 20:24:54 GMT

So, I am home writing on a rainy day, but an objective observer might be forgiven for missing the fact.

Someone looking in the peephole would have seen me plotting (with lovely large pads of paper and sophisticated software) and researching (with online Victorian treatises concerning the care and feeding of the Victorian hunting horse) -- though that someone would not have seen me actually grinding away on actual paragraphs.

In my experience, novels benefit greatly from such things as plotting and horse-related research. This much is inarguably true. But, in my opinion, what novels really cannot do without are actual paragraphs -- sometimes dozens and dozens of the things.

(You may begin to see the outline of my problem).

As the inestimable Peter Cooke said of coal-mining: "You're given complete freedom to do what you like, an absolute free hand, provided you get out a two-ton of coal every day."

Sincerely,

Dave

Alternative Library

davidkeck — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 15:16:44 GMT

Hey folks,

I need a writing hideout.

Next week, while (wife) Anne is away at Comic Con, I'll be dropping our toddler off at daycare in the Lincoln Square area. Unless I choose to do this by car (which may be costly), I'll be camping out in the area and typing.

Last time this happened, our little one was at a different day care. (Near the Main Branch of the New York Public Library). So, I set up shop in the big reading room.

This time, I'm miles away from the reading room on the wrong side of town.

There's a more prosaic library nearby: the Riverside branch. But I wonder if anyone has ideas. (I tend to get a lot of work done when I'm out of the house -- but I don't much like working in restaurants: I always feel like they may want their table back).

~D

Old Dog's New Trick

davidkeck — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 18:14:44 GMT

I'm trying new gizmo to keep track of the various subplots in Dave's Third Book.

Commenters mentioned a writing software package called Writer's Cafe (the software not the online writing cadre). The package has a nifty timeline-like feature that allows an author to sketch out every plotline running through a novel. (They stack up in lovely parallel lines).

The ability to see what's happening on several fronts simultaneously -- and to get a good clear record of my evil plans in a nice centralized location -- should prove very useful.

Writer's Cafe has a downside or two: It's easy to back yourself into corners until you know what you're doing; it kinda wants you to be having a lovely creative experience full of journal entries, cute timed writing prompts, etc.. But these things can easily be shut down and ignored.

I think I've got a functional new tool!

~Dave

PS: More useful than all of this, however, was the very large sketchbook I bought to help me block out scenes. There's nothing like a really big sheet of paper to give all of one's mind mappery a place to run.

Unreal Estate

davidkeck — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 18:45:56 GMT

No more cork boards.

We are running low on real estate at the old homestead.

This summer, I'm finally giving my little office to my daughter. (Wife) Anne and I now sleep in the same room with our little genius child, and it's starting to seem like separate quarters might be a good idea. (Picture lots of late night tip-toeing around).

(Wife) Anne and I have donated several trillion books to a worthy charity to clear room and I've been scheming schemes to set up our lovely but nearly un-childproofable open desk in the master bedroom.

It all means that my cork boards full of plot and character and chapter and theme notes are now homeless. In the absence of real estate, I've been exploring unreal alternatives.

There has to be a lovely way to keep notes of this sort in a nice, ready reference, very easy to see, very hard to lose format... electronically.

Now, an Australian of my acquaintance raved about the quite astonishing Scrivener (only for Mac). It allows a writer to fool around with outlining, moving things around, and even has an honest-to-goodness faux cork board. (Amazing).

After ferreting around a little while, I find that the strongest PC contender for the top writing tool is the utilitarian PageFour. PageFour allows a lot of nifty organizing of notes and things (keeping everything attached to a project very available and nicely visual). But I'm not sure.

Anyone use PageFour or, perhaps, a devilishly clever alternative?

~Dave

Wistfulness at School Year's Ending

davidkeck — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 21:09:44 GMT

So,

Yesterday, I'm in a cleaning mood. I spot a bag of rubber ducks in the closet. (They've got those nice loud squeakers that choke children, so the daughter has never touched them). And so I pop the offending articles into the trash.

Remember these ducks. I forgot them.

Today, I'm more wistful. In the world of inner city middle school education, each year sees the departure of lovely people. Today, I spoke with a couple of lovely teachers, both of whom were heading off to pastures new. Over the five years I've worked at the old school, I've seen a lot of people depart and it does make a person thoughtful. I'll miss them.

So, at the end of the day, I find myself trudging down the apartment hallway with a bag of trash. I open the trash chute and -- there is a tiny sob from the bag -- and another tiny sob as the bag plunges down toward the incinerator.

The Universe is teasing Yours Truly for being sentimental.

~Dave

PS: Summer writing season starts Tuesday. (As one of the kids put it today, "This is the Last Tuesday..." Teenagers can be dangerously intense sometimes).

Cinqing Feeling

davidkeck — Wed, 05 May 2010 22:23:31 GMT

I'm writing in my local Irish place. A huge crowd of youthful types are celebrating the 5th of May with Coronas and light rock.

While I'm procrastinating, is it only me who has thought of the recent oil drilling disaster as representing a weirdly low incidence of catastrophe in a practice that seems wildly improbable to the layman?

Why doesn't every storm send deep see drilling platforms careering across the seas trailing broken hoses and crude?

Sure it's a disaster of Egyptian plague proportions, but why so rare?

And how much fun are the proposed solutions? Drilling a countermine laterally a mile below the waves to stop a well three miles below the ocean floor! A gargantuan concrete dome plunging into the Caribbean.

The world is a funny duck.

And who just ordered shepherd's pie on sunny cinqo?! I swear. Holy [insert appropriate Latin profanity here].

Sincerely,

Dave

Space Mantas Are My Friends

davidkeck — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 03:36:59 GMT

Having attended organized sporting events involving uninspiring teams, I have been entertained by indoor blimps, hotdog canons, etc.. (And, on more than one occasion, jousting advertising mascots).

Anywho, I want this thing: www.festo.com/INetDomino/coorp_sites/en/22ff224c0cba8e40c12572d60033d076.htm

~Dave

(I want it to be my friend, actually).

Advice for Writers (Other)

davidkeck — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 23:41:13 GMT

I, among millions, was reading these:

www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/feb/20/ten-rules-for-writing-fiction-part-one

And I smiled at Margaret Atwood (for the first time since she created that flap among us crabbed and blinking writers of peculiar genre fiction).

~Dave

PS: Snow seems more apocalyptic in New York than it did back in Canada. People are deeply alarmed when shallowly snowed upon. Trees kill poor unlucky souls in normally harmless parks. It's odd.

PPS: Was I alone among Canadians in feeling a mighty relief at the Canadian Olympic hockey team's merciless trouncing of Team Russia? Oh, the nonsensical weight of the miserable loss to USA and the half-disbelieving rapture of relief as the Russians fell. A sort of unclenching of the battered soul. Of the universe swinging back into its normal alignment. (I assume I was not alone).

Jack-O'-Lantern: Old School

davidkeck — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 15:04:53 GMT

So, it being All Hallows Day, I'm thinking about the events of yestreen. (Carved a pumpkin for the bewilderment of Genius Child).

While guessing at the spelling of the jack-o'-lantern, ("Jack-o'-lantern", apparently) I stumbled across this image of a traditional Irish turnip-based jack-o'-lantern from the earliest part of the 20th century. (The original, larger image is here under GNU license).

(!)

Turnips are, possibly, the most frightening of vegetables.

~Dave

PS:

~Dave

Genius Child: The Daycare Parent/Teacher Conference

davidkeck — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 00:56:47 GMT

I have often participated in parent/teacher conferences (on the teacher side of the equation). I have learned to approach the catastrophic defects of other people's children with tact and official government statistics.

Today, however, I was asked to appear at a parent/teacher conference with the lead daycare teacher at my Genius Child's daycare.

The lovely woman was kind enough to call the Genius Child an "Excellent Baby" who is very interested in exploring.

Her parents were well pleased, let me tell you.

~Dave

PS: We popped the kid in a pink tartan skirt today. She bustled around daycare with the skirt flying. Daycare teacher's note was that Genius Child had attempted revolution at daycare and been rebuffed only through serious Cheerio bribery. (These tiny people seem to have an inexplicable fondness for bland oat O's).

Daddy Daycare Meets the Day Job

davidkeck — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 01:28:44 GMT

Wow. Holidays aren't quite what they're cracked up to be when you're a parent.

(I had no idea!)

The daycare shut on Colobus Day. There I was planning to mark a heap of gigantic student projects, complete a monstrous print-out for the admin types at the school, and spend a little time writing a book, when suddenly... there I was with the Genius Child from 1 in the morning.

I ended up doing a fair bit of work standing at the kitchen counter with a laptop plugged in an overhead outlet while the Genius Child circled my ankles.

At one point she smashed a hairbrush against the floor, causing a bit of razor-sharp glass-hard plastic to spall off the edge. I found her making smacking noises and smiling up at me. A careful investigation revealed that she'd been on the point of swallowing this evil little bit of pseudolithic edged weaponry when I realized what was going on.

(!)

I will happily return to the world of other people's kids tomorrow.

~Dave

PS: Book neglected over weekend. Netbook ordered. (It's blue). Must take my place at the Irish "cafe" after work come Infernal Regions or high water.

Modus Inoperandi: Writer's Block in the Electronic Age

davidkeck — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 02:34:24 GMT

Finally brought my laptop with me to write at the local Irish cafe after work. (For several days, I've been working with pen and paper). Lugged the little laptop with me all day: meetings at Teachers College. Up and down subway stairs. Back to school. Up the seven stories of granite steps between the 1 line and Riverdale.

Ordered a strengthening beverage. Switched the little computer on. Set same on the table in front of me -- and phbbt. It seems the minute shock of the aforementioned "setting" jarred the loose battery. (A catch was undone). And so the power blipped. And my little computer had a bad moment.

Now Windows cannot reboot. Not in Safe Mode. Not in its Normal mode. Not in any ModeM.

The poor little thing tried and tried until finally, the only compassionate course was to push the power button and close the lid.

Now, I must find a reliable technical person who will exchange time, expertise and a boot disk for the meagre pittance I am willing to pay.

(Wife) Anne is canvassing the neighbourhood. Angie's List was not as helpful as I'd hoped.

Phbbt.

~Dave

They're Filming the Kids

davidkeck — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 22:01:06 GMT

A wee film project completed with the assistance of the dedicated folks at the old day job.

6th Graders can be kinda cute (especially the little ones who are still learning English!)

Note: among the Dominican-Americans of Washington Heights, it is entirely all right to wear both straps of a book bag. (Where I grew up, you can only ever use one -- even as an adult. Similar cultural chasms exist around cap brim bending).

~Dave

Words Scarcely Whispered

davidkeck — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 23:30:50 GMT

There are words rarely heard, but sometimes read. "Aigue," for example, seems to afflict the denizens of historical and fantastic fiction from time to time, the poor things. But what does it sound like, one wonders? (I've checked. Arrange for a Pittsburgher to say "egg-you" before your mind's ear and you're halfway there). Another such word is the extravagantly onomatopoeic "sussurus" which stopped me cold one day at a reading -- there was far more of Theodor Geisel in the word than I had ever anticipated. (Even more alarming was the peculiar way in which the emphasis landed on the second syllable). Who knew?

One runs into those sort of thing in medievally fantasy all the time. Men in hauberks fence with falchions in the clerestory of the cathedrals. (Often with coifs tied under their chins). It is awkward.

I wonder. Is there a name for all of the words we've read and not heard, the mispronunciations of those well-read and tin-eared?

Must be. But I'm not sure that I could pronounce it correctly.

~Dave

Atlanta Airport, Island of Taste and Compassion

davidkeck — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 12:41:26 GMT

A friend of mine, Josh Kane, is touring the stages of the great Untied States, and he spotted a copy of Dave's Second Book (paperback edition), valiantly sitting face out in an airport in Atlanta (Terminal A).

I wish it well, that copy. I would sign it, if I could reach it. Us writers who have not achieved instant, overwhelming popularity need such news from time to time.

Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, I salute you.

~Dave

PS: Now, you 90 million passengers. If just, say, a third of you grabbed the book (give it to a dweeby relative -- or present it as a joke to an elderly and religious aunt who has led a quiet life), we might get this party started....

Incorporeal Punishment

davidkeck — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 21:43:19 GMT

As the traditional means of correcting classroom misbehaviour are largely banned from modern teaching (the dunce cap, the strap, the cane, the long detention, enforced solitude, lines, etc.) a teacher is inspired to creativity.

I wondered if I could arrange for the school to hire a fellow like this (that was a link just then) to entertain and encourage those children most inclined to challenge the modest constraints of the mild mannered English teachers. I kinda like it (which means I could easily endure hours more of it than the average repeat offender).

Or something relatively simple, like:

Or, for especially persistant sinners, a pair like these:

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This last, however, might be going too far: A Rare Musical Performance

Yours thoughtfully,

Dave