[sic]

For the past few years, the film industry has been plagued by dropping numbers; this summer’s line-up of offerings looks ready to single-handedly turn that around. Their strategy? The same as last year’s—sequels, superheroes, romantic comedies, and, of course, animation-flavored goodness. This season’s batch seems likely to one-up 2007’s reception, both critically and commercially. Then again, I’ve been burned before. In any case, there’s plenty on deck that shows definite promise. Let’s take a gander, eh?

Summer movie round-up next time. Promise.

• For local bibliophiles—and I know there are a few of you out there—the Philadelphia Book Festival is back, held this year on May 17th and 18th. I thoroughly enjoyed it last year; I got some books for cheap and for free, heard some author readings, and just generally indulged my lit geek. Let me know if you plan on showing up.

• On a somewhat related note, the Philadelphia Writers’ Conference will be held early next month. I’ve never been to a writers’ retreat or conference, although I’ve heard nothing but positive comments from people who have. Maybe I could use an external motivator to set aside some writing time. Anyone been to a conference with a good word for them?

• Continuity errors. A Princess Bride homage that reached farther than it could grasp. Hanging plot threads. The Scrubs finale that aired last night had many of the show's faithful, myself among them, up in arms, and for good reason. Fortunately, an eighth and (I think they mean it this time) final season is currently filming, although it won’t run on NBC. Thus the whole “finale” business. I agree with the other irked fans saying the show deserves a proper ending. Let’s hope we see it some time next year.

• Writing a CV is a real pain in the neck. Like a resume, it’s the initial composition that drains the life out of you; once it’s done, you can add/remove information and tweak it as necessary. Now if only revising stories was that simple.

• Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there. May we make you proud each and every day.

* With gratitude to Elizabeth Bear.

Crazy coincidences do happen in real life, I know, but all the same, the plot of Forgetting Sarah Marshall—Judd Apatow and company’s latest—seems a mite thin. Running into the woman who just dumped you while in Hawaii, the very place you went to recover from the heartache? Still, there wouldn’t be much of a movie otherwise. Thankfully, the production team eschewed some touches of reality for something much funnier and more satisfying than ordinary life.

After being unceremoniously dumped by his longtime girlfriend Sarah (Kristen Bell), Peter Bretter (Jason Segel) takes off to the Aloha State for a chance to nurse his wounds. Who should he meet there but Sarah and her new boyfriend, rock-star Aldous Snow (Russell Brand). If the sun and surf aren’t enough to take Peter’s mind off his ex, there’s the adorable hotel desk clerk (Mila Kunis) whose kindness proves easy to misinterpret.

Two things set Forgetting apart from your run-of-the-mill romantic comedy—character development and the supporting cast. The central four experience change, if not growth, throughout the movie; by the end, they are all no longer the same. As for the lesser roles, they’re just so damn likable, for the most part. Whether it’s the absent-minded surf coach Chuck/Kunu or Jonah Hill’s sycophantic waiter Matthew, they’re as much faces to trust as comic relief. They become a pseudo-family to Peter, and their desire to help him overcome his hang-ups feels earnest.

Extra kudos to the filmmakers for not being ham-handed with the romance; the script never shoehorns in robust love where there clearly isn’t, but the cast does exude an innocent but tangible chemistry that makes it all hang together. And in case there was any worry, there are plenty of laughs here, making for a nice balance between sentiment and snark.

The Apatow juggernaut continues to steamroll ahead, and with fuel like Forgetting Sarah Marshall, it’s not likely to stop any time soon. It’s a fun diversion before the summer season kicks into high gear. More on that (hopefully) next time.

Grade: B

With the exception of infrequent entries here on [sic], I haven’t written anything in a solid month. Normally, this leaves me feeling restless and irritable. I get an itch in my fingers and I sleep poorly for all the images flickering, kinetoscopically, across my mind’s eye. But then when I go to the page, hoping to release the creative energy, nothing happens. My idea well has run dry; the words have vanished, and I don’t know when—if—they’ll ever come back.

Lately, though, that hasn’t been the case. I’ve been too distracted by trips and events and various other happenings that I haven’t had the time to notice my lack of productivity. At least not consciously.

Somehow, though, deep down, I recognize my negligence. And it’s starting to affect me. I find myself taking out the notebook I always carry around with me far more often, several times a day, jotting down scraps of images, throwaway lines, searching for an idea in every situation and scenario. Whenever I’m reading, I ponder how I’d have told the story differently, or whether there’s any kernel within it I can use myself.

Mostly, though, it’s the daydreaming. In moments of conversational lull, I’ll stare out into nothingness. Suddenly my senses cease registering the world around me while my brain drifts elsewhere. To ancient Greece, where gods and mythological entities tread. To an island populated by ghosts of the slain. To a future where imagination comes in zip-seal packages. Mentally, I’m in Story.

All of which means I should be writing to sate this craving (and thus not here). But my curiosity has the better of me: When you’re not writing, does it affect how you act? Do you feel the urge to return to writing almost instantly or does it creep up on you? Do you follow the urge or resist it?

I can hardly believe it but here I am, two years since my first post on [sic], still merrily typing up my thoughts on writing, books, and more besides for all to read.

In a way, I'm kind of amazed I haven't given up on this journal; fiction remains my first writing love, and the more time I invest here, the less spent on those projects. There have been a few times I considered quitting. But it keeps me writing, even if only sporadically. More importantly, I enjoy it. And I like to think a few of you reading—I'm grateful to each of you for your time, attention, and comments—enjoy it too.

As commemoration, I added a "comics" tag; the topic's come up enough that it's due for its own label.

Here's to another year!

This past weekend, I had the terrific fortune to attend the New York Comic Con. Sadly, I could only manage a single day, but still, the event left such an impression on me that, finances and schedules permitting, I’d love to make it a tradition.

The day was overcast, a decided contrast to the hope I had marshaled together. I opened the door to unseasonable cold. Within seconds, my hands were numb; at least I couldn’t tell if they were shaking. Envelope held close, as if to bestow warmth to the manuscript within, I left for the post office.

A wind sent from some arctic clime buffeted me along the way. The distance, which prior had seemed so short, was now an arduous trek; my feet ached and my pace slowed. Still, I would not be daunted, would not turn back. I had a mission. I had to see it through.

Arriving at my destination brought me, besides respite from the cold, joy. Sadly, that was short-lived. A line hundreds—perhaps thousands—long snaked ahead. I reckoned my wait for the counter in years, if I was lucky. The sooner I could send that envelope, my burden, out, the sooner I could relax. Foolish thought, really: With my story out for consideration, I could torture myself with the possibility (inevitability?) of rejection, convince myself I’ll never write anything good enough, and on and on.

I could do those things, but I wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway. Just move with the line. So I did.

After an epoch, I stood before the clerk. Made my request. Affixed the postage, sealed the envelope, and put it into his—and Fate’s—hands.

Now “Chasing Shadows” is off to Realms of Fantasy, to mingle in the slush pile and await a verdict. I should feel tense, anxious, but I don’t. Really. I feel strangely optimistic; if the story doesn’t find a home there, I’ll do some research and try somewhere else. Not to mention I’ll be working on new projects in the meantime.

Maybe the response I get will break all this Zen. Maybe not. But I’m finally submitting again. That, I think, counts for a lot.

Thanks to everyone who responded to my “Thinking Along The Same Lines” post. Since there’s obviously some interest, I plan on doing more writing-related entries. In that spirit…

After two years, dozens of false starts, and more broken promises to myself than I care to admit, I’m ready to submit my fiction again. I feel confident in the work I’m doing (a refreshing change of pace), and time is only passing as I read about author success stories—from the minute to the titanic—with a mix of pride, delight, and just a tinge of melancholy. It’s not selfish of me to want some of my own success, is it?

But something (isn’t that always how it goes?) makes me hesitate. Slightly. I’m wondering about market research: I’m sure you can never have too much, but when is it enough?

For instance, I’m finally subscribed to Realms of Fantasy, after reading it for the past three and a half years. I have a fairly clear idea about what the magazine wants and, better yet, I have a few stories that, in my opinion, would be an appropriate fit. Still, Realms isn’t the right home for everything I’ve written that I’d like to see published. I plan to get subscriptions to Asimov’s and The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction; I hear tons of positive word-of-mouth about them, and several authors I admire regularly show up in those pages. (The fact that their stories consistently appear on awards ballots certainly doesn’t hurt, either.)

Three magazines, however, doesn’t cover a fraction of the quality publications in the genre. Every set of submission guidelines exhorts writers to read the magazine, to get a feel for the sort of stories they favor. My question is: How many issues?

I put that question to you all. When you’re submitting to a magazine (I’m looking at you especially, 

orogeny and e_underwood), how familiar are you with its work? How much have you read before you feel you understand that mag’s preferred type of story?

 

A lot’s been happening in the speculative fiction community the past few weeks, so I’m directing you to some of the more notable items. I’ve been writing (and by that I mean fiction) a decent amount lately, so posts on [sic] may be scant until my Muse runs out of stamina. Maybe next time I’ll have some real content for you, instead of sending you elsewhere.