Ciao, Tutti!
Okay, I wonder how long it'll be until I can't do this sort of thing anymore. I mean, aren't CD's becoming obsolete? That's what I've heard, anyway. I'm not used to being considered a dinosaur; I still love to hold the hard copy in my hand. And, let's face it: iPod quality files sound like farts. Seriously. Especially when heard through ear buds.
Anyway, in recognition of the CD's fading glory, I'm adding some new sections to this top 10 list: my top concerts and top tracks. Yes, tracks. That's what the world has come to. I still think of the CD as an art form unto itself, but I'm apparently in the minority here. I've been told it's the songs that matter, not the CD as a complete package.
But whoever told me that is WRONG!
And here we go:
Sam's Top 10 CD's of 2009
1) Abdullah Ibrahim - Senzo This year I was so pumped up because I didn't feel pressured into putting a jazz CD high on my top 10 list, since now I'm more "open-minded." But then Abdullah Ibrahim had to go and make the most beautiful piece of art you can buy in shrink wrap from 2009, topped only by his quite literally breathtaking concert I saw in June. Ibrahim's percussive and expressive solo piano record is a continuous piece of music - if you listened without knowing anything about it, you'd think it was a 60-minute song. In reality there are 23 individual compositions, making an average length of under 2 minutes per song. Ibrahim masterfully strips each piece down to its bare essentials, and once the idea is played out he simply moves on to the next seamlessly. The ideas do not get trite at any point as one might expect from an hour of solo piano, as Ibrahim changes the rhythmic feel and harmonic tonality whenever necessary to produce a rich variety of sounds. Themes appear and reappear throughout the transitions, so the performance does have the sense of being unified to the point where one can lose himself in it. Still, if you don't have enough time to listen through the whole thing there are individual songs that stand out as excellent stand-alone pieces. Basically what I mean to say is, this CD has everything.
2) Joe Henry - Blood From Stars I am a huge Joe Henry fan, as you probably know, so it shouldn't be much of a surprise to hear me say that this CD is one of the best pieces of artwork put out this year. Hell, I put "Civilians" as number 5 a couple years ago, which I am now willing to concede was a mistake in judgment. But not only is "Blood From Stars" a masterful musical production, it is probably the best example of Joe Henry's music to date (yes, even better than "Scar"). The musical journey Henry started with the masterpiece "Scar" is shown in "Blood From Stars" to be moving farther and into new meaning. The main advances in this CD have to do with form and rhythm. Henry has never been much of a rhythmic singer, but he brings out the percussive aspects of his orchestra here. This fits in well with what he does with form, which is to hint with rhythmic activity at a larger concept, then bides his time as the listener eagerly waits for the bubble to pop. Thus Henry draws dynamic emphasis to the dramatic sections of the pieces. The forms themselves aren't all that innovative, but the presentation makes every note serendipitous. Then Henry writes moving and creepy background lines in the strings and horns (on one track it sounds like a train!). Not to mention the signature transitions and use of interesting samples. The only fall-backs are the few tunes that lapse into "Civilians"-like familiarity, but even so, the CD as a work of art is nothing short of brilliant in my mind.
3) White Rabbits - It's Frightening This sextet's controlled heavy rock sound was bewildering to me. Really. When I first heard "Percussion Gun," I didn't know what I was hearing. The pounding double tom toms seemed to be playing one rhythm, the singer singing to another. And then the guitar came in, somehow in the right place, and it all made sense. They knew what they were doing, but they were going to let me guess until the peak of the lyrics came in ("and I know which way to run") when I couldn't help but nod my head and say aloud, "this is awesome!" The same effect is present for "Lioness," but in a different way, when the band drops out besides the diminished and out of place piano mid-way through the piece, except the piano isn't really diminished or out of place, as the bass later reveals. White Rabbits is so aware of its themes throughout "It's Frightening" that it can pick them apart, separate them, then bring them together at will, whenever they want emphasis. It's so well-composed in this way that I keep finding new things to listen for as I listen again and again. The second half of the CD is more like their first record, "Fort Nightly," which is not as innovative as the first half but still a good listen. This was by far the best find of 2009.
4) Brother Ali - The Truth Is Here/Us Quickly followed by the second-best find of 2009. "The Truth is Here" and "Us," both released this year, show different sides of the Twin Cities rapper. EP "The Truth is Here" has some of the best beat-making I've ever heard, as hi-lighted by the jazzy "Real as Can Be" and the funky "Baby Don't Go," not to mention the cool use of samples (probably from movies, but I dunno) between and during songs. "Us," on the other hand, is a full-length that features a better performance from the front man, Ali himself. As a full-length rap album there are some songs that aren't necessary, but in general Ali pours his heart into each song, rapping about displaced immigrants, a childhood with divorced parents, the pain of losing a first love (where it actually sounds like he's going to break down crying), and being in love with a girl still devastated by an abusive relationship. Brother Ali has the strongest love of just about anyone, and he's not afraid to lay it out there for everyone to hear. One wouldn't normally associate love (of God, of art, of his brothers, of his family, of life) to be the subject of rap songs, but Ali makes it sound as if it shouldn't be any other way.
5) The Lonely Island - Incredibad No one seems to take this record seriously. I don't blame them; it is a comedy CD, after all. But Andy Samberg, Jorma Taconne, and Akiva Schaffer certainly took this project seriously and made good use of the resources available to them through Saturday Night Live. They did not fall prey to thinking that just because they could write some funny lyrics that their job was done. They created a project that could be listened to again and again because the music was actually pretty good. "Santana DVX?" That beat is amazing. "Like a Boss?" Ditto. "I'm on a Boat?" What more need be said? I do miss "Stork Patrol," which didn't make the record, but regardless. The point of this project, and the real innovation, is the knee-slapping comedy, but that didn't stop the Lonely Island from writing some good music to go with it.
6) Antony and the Johnsons - Crying Light Antony's innovation is like Bill Frisell's innovation: it's his personal sound that's so different, not what he's playing. In Antony's case, it's his voice. Take a listen and you'll know what I mean. There isn't a person in the world who sings like that besides him. It puts some people off (my brother, my father), but the fact of the matter is that Antony has an amazing singing voice and remarkable control. Then you combine it with his vision for songwriting, which in this case is nearly like a chamber orchestra but with an occasional jazz instrument, and you have a unique sound. Antony's instrumentations are really coming from his head, not directly from his training; some of these combinations are not combinations I've ever heard in another context. He really sings and writes with his heart. My only complaint is the lack of rhythm; the CD is generally calm and never rocks out. Even so, songs like "Aeon" add a mild punch, the harshly picked electric guitar taking the place of a drum set.
7) Arvo Part - In Principio If you skip Estonian composer Arvo Part's awkward title track, "In Principio" is probably my favorite classical production right now. Part has a knack for understanding how the timbres of the string orchestra work with the church choir, and the sounds blend together to make often religiously toned chords. Part is, in truth, most interested in chords; except for "Mein Wei" there is really not much rhythmic variation (a lot of quarter notes). A lot of these chordal discoveries, however, are stunning, either through use of canon or through a chord-building technique he reputedly invented. Just make sure to skip the beginning, which is melodramatic and flat.
8) Baroness - Blue Record I just got this, so it might move a little up or down by the time I've really had a chance to digest it. Yet with the amount I've listened to this record I might argue I've digested it enough. This punk-metal band is more than meets the ear - not only can they demonstrate that they can really sing, but they demonstrate that they can really play! The lyrics are really inconsequential compared to the instruments, and the pieces are presented nearly symphonically in their form and construction, with the development of motives as the main tool for musical generation. Not only that, but the CD holds together nicely through a constant development of the "Bullhead" theme we hear in the opening track that features guitars singing so sweetly they sound almost like saxophones at first.
9) John Hollenbeck Large Ensemble - Eternal Interlude Of all the CD's I've heard this past year, this has got to be one of the most ambitious, a quality that works for and against one of my favorite composers, John Hollenbeck, in "Eternal INterlude." The opening track, "Foreign One," is one of the best of the year without a doubt - certainly the best in jazz - and is serviced by the dichotomy between the piano and vibraphone along with the held trombone section changing the chords ever so suddenly, not to mention the masterful sax solo by Tony Mallaby and drum solo by Hollenbeck himself. The title track, "Eternal Interlude," teeters on suffering from taking itself too seriously - While 17 minutes was plenty of time for his "Blessing," when there is only one idea to develop it has the tendency to become tedious. But the CD is strengthened by drummer-like qualities: long builds, sudden spaces where the orchestra drops out, and pounding rhythms. John Hollenbeck is always a cerebral listen, and his vision comes through clearly in this new CD.
10) Dave Douglas - A Single Sky Another jazz big band record, this Frankfurt Radio Band production is a polar opposite of Hollenbeck's Large Ensemble in its insistence on remaining true to tradition. The voicings, the hits, the dividing of the sections, all are nothing new to the jazz fan's ear. The pieces have normal jazz forms, AABA, that are stretched out over 10:00 pieces, focussing more on the groove and the solos than the writing or the thematic concepts, as Hollenbeck does. What's so unique about this record is the juxtaposition of Douglas's writing style with the traditional concept of writing for a big band. For example, in Jim McNeely's stunning arrangement of Douglas's "A Single Sky" throws the whole of the brass section into each hit with a passion, much different from the relaxed, laid-back original sextet version. The fact that it's a German big band is apt: the sound is almost always huge, often featuring two horn sections doing separate things along with a soloist. Douglas's playing holds the concept together, since without great soloists how could compositions focused on the solo work? If you're a fan of Douglas's writing, this CD is an interesting and fun take on it.
Thanks for bearing with me through the list, guys. A few notes of warning, though, on records you should stay away from at all costs, or CDs that didn't make the list and why!
The Black Lips - 200 Million Thousand was the biggest wast of money in my entire life. I paid to listen to a band who didn't know how to record (oh, boy, volume clipping, my favorite), sing, or play their instruments. And it's supposed to be "indie." I don't want to pay a bunch of idiots who don't know what to do. If you already own this record, I apologize on the band's behalf. They suck. Flat out.
Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion was a good Cd filled with good music that just sounds too harsh. I can't listen to more than 2 or three songs at a time until the intense treble starts to burn my ears. Power to you if you can take it better than I can - as I said, there's a lot to this CD. But even so, I can't imagine it holding up as a CD. Everything is built off a triplet feel and major keys. It gets old. But, hey, this CD is the #1 on quite a few lists, so grab a listen for yourself before you judge.
Dirty Projectors - Bitte Orca is a good disc. I don't have anything bad to say about it except it's just not my style. "Cannibal Recourse" rules as a song, if you can ignore the singers being out of tune. But I fail to see what's so innovative and influential about them, though it's certainly true they have their own unique sound. Just not for me.
The Dodos - Time To Die was the biggest disappointment of the year. Last year I had Visiter as #1, and this disc isn't enough to make the list, despite the addition of a vibraphonist, which you would think would clinch the deal. But this CD doesn't move forward from Visiter at all; in fact, it scots back into predictable rhythms and boring forms. If you have a craving to hear new Dodos, go hear them live. They play a great show.
Grizzly Bear - Veckamist is part 2 of my 2 part series on disappointing records. It probably would have made the list above Dave Douglas if it weren't for sell-out pop song "Two Weeks," which makes me want to tear my hair out if I can't get to the remote in time. "While You Wait For The Others" is a pretty amazing song, but I've found it doesn't stand the test of time, and it hasn't even been that much time. Compared to the amazing innovation of "Yellow House," or even the mediocre innovation of "A Single Sky," "Veckamist" is nothing more than a disappointment.
Phoenix - Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix is a Cd I don't have much to say about because I haven't listened much. I tried. "1901" and "Listomania" received such acclaim that I figured I didn't listen right the first time I heard them. Then I listened again and realized I still hate them, despite what people say. I can't even remember why.
The XX - I have to mention them because they played New Year Eve at Flaming Fire's installation art gallery, and they have blown up with their self-titled debut record. "Crystalized" is a great song. The record itself is pretty boring and low key. I don't argue against it, but I can't see anything special about it.
James Carney - Ways and Means; Vijay Iyer's new CD are both projects I haven't had the liberty of listening to yet. I look forward to it.
Memory Tapes - Memory Tapes would have been #11. They often use cheap tricks to build pieces, but their sound is developed and their ideas are interesting and catchy. "Bicycle" is a pretty good song, as is "Plain Material." Sort of dance, sort of electronica, they make a fun listen.
Okay, if you read this far, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. But you didn't, because you're not insane and you have things to do in 2010.
Happy New Year,
-Sam goldsmith
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Top 10 CD Lists
Ciao Tutti,
I know I just posted yesterday night, but something has been brought to my attention.
Both the Onion newspaper and Pitchfork Music have released their top CD lists of 2009. The onion puts Phoenix's new CD as #1, next to Animal Collective and Dirty Projectors. Pitchfork puts Animal Collective as #1, next to the Dirty Projectors and, um, the XX.
Sometimes I wonder if there's a point for me to post my favorite 10 CDs of the year with so many other lists out there. Well, I have just presented exhibits A and B as to why I should. Looking at these CDs, one would think 2009 was a pretty weak year for music, when it was actually quite strong. Only the Dirty Projector's "Bitte Orca" is close to having the innovation of a top 3 CD in that list, and I highly doubt any of those CDs would make my top 10 for this year.
There are still a few more CDs I need to come in possession of before I put my top 10 on the blog, namely James Carney's "Ways and Means" and Baroness's "Blue Record." Watch for my list in early January!
And please do look at my post from yesterday. Flaming Fire is in Vice magazine! Pretty sweet, huh? The link is in yesterday's post.
-Sam goldsmith
I know I just posted yesterday night, but something has been brought to my attention.
Both the Onion newspaper and Pitchfork Music have released their top CD lists of 2009. The onion puts Phoenix's new CD as #1, next to Animal Collective and Dirty Projectors. Pitchfork puts Animal Collective as #1, next to the Dirty Projectors and, um, the XX.
Sometimes I wonder if there's a point for me to post my favorite 10 CDs of the year with so many other lists out there. Well, I have just presented exhibits A and B as to why I should. Looking at these CDs, one would think 2009 was a pretty weak year for music, when it was actually quite strong. Only the Dirty Projector's "Bitte Orca" is close to having the innovation of a top 3 CD in that list, and I highly doubt any of those CDs would make my top 10 for this year.
There are still a few more CDs I need to come in possession of before I put my top 10 on the blog, namely James Carney's "Ways and Means" and Baroness's "Blue Record." Watch for my list in early January!
And please do look at my post from yesterday. Flaming Fire is in Vice magazine! Pretty sweet, huh? The link is in yesterday's post.
-Sam goldsmith
Flaming Fire in Vice Magazine!
Ciao, Tutti!
href="http://www.viceland.com/blogs/en/2009/12/16/flaming-fire-presents-eternal-christmas-a-yuletide-dreamland/">
There you have it. We're in Vice! For those of you who don't know, that's a big deal.
Sunday is shaping up to be a great show. If can make it, you should come on by.
-Sam goldsmith
href="http://www.viceland.com/blogs/en/2009/12/16/flaming-fire-presents-eternal-christmas-a-yuletide-dreamland/">
There you have it. We're in Vice! For those of you who don't know, that's a big deal.
Sunday is shaping up to be a great show. If can make it, you should come on by.
-Sam goldsmith
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Story That Should Have Been
Ciao, Tutti!
Once upon a time, Sam goldsmith put together an event to take place each Sunday where authors would come to the Flaming Fire Eternal Christmas site and read stories they had written. The first of these reading days was supposed to be on December 6th, but there was no one to read to, and so Sam went back to his schoolwork. The next Sunday the event was canceled because of Children's Day, where he was supposed to lead a "participatory writing workshop." There were six kids, so Sam went back to his schoolwork again.
But the third time, December 20th, was the best event ever.
That was because Sam had gathered some of the finest writers in all the land (ie. New York City), headlined by John Wray, and also including Emily Gould, Michael Leviton, and cartoonist John Matthias. With Sam reading the best piece of writing he has ever written alongside writers as established as John Wray, December 20th show was for sure the best ever.
To see how the story ends, please come to 525 Atlantic Ave, Brooklyn, New York, New York, at 4:30 on Sunday, December 20th. We will write the ending together!
If there had been a crowd on Sunday, December 6th, then I would have read this story, which I will probably have no occasion to read anymore. It's creative non-fiction, so if you recognize me tweaking some of the facts, don't worry; that's intentional.
Outdoors, Without TV: A Christmas-Themed Memoir
1046 Words
Well, it looks like I’m going to be spending another Christmas alone, just the way I like it. I bought myself the third season of Avatar: The Last Airbender and I’m going to watch it all the way through – all twenty-one episodes worth – and eat take-out Chinese in my pajamas. I’m going to sit cross-legged on my loveseat and shout advice to the characters mid-chew so specks of garlic and egg noodle fly onto the screen. Maybe I’ll clean it off between episodes; we’ll see. I’m not going to turn on any lights, and I’ll leave my phone unplugged.
I don’t ever remember being particularly attached to the Christmas spirit. My earliest Christmas memory is this: when I was a three-year-old Jewish boy and my speech therapist was trying to straighten out my lisp, she showed me a picture of Thanta Cluathe riding his Thled. He was smiling like the trail following a shooting star on those stickers teachers used to give you when you did a good job. I said, “Fat, old man.” My speech therapist thought I was trying to be funny.
I don’t remember ever seeing her again.
While I was growing up my family would spend a day in the 20’s of December with my best friend Isaac’s family, every year. We played a game in which we each pretended to be Wizards, master and apprentice (I was the apprentice), protecting the universe from the evil Sorcerers. We piloted the play structure in his backyard, which had a wheel, a telescope, and a slide. The game didn’t have anything to do with Christmas; we played it year round. Our families ate dinner together after closing our eyes and holding one another’s hands around the circular table, and we stayed that way until his father said in a voice that always sounded louder than it really was, “So nice to be together.” In the next room was the Christmas tree, which made my Jewish side only a little uncomfortable as I ate. When my mother and Isaac’s mother stopped talking to each other, our dinner tradition ended.
Sometimes on Christmas day, me, my father, and my little brother would watch the Lakers morning game and root for the other team, but the Lakers never lost on Christmas. Then we went to the movies, or we rented one. I don’t remember any movies I saw on Christmas day, although I’m sure It’s a Wonderful Life was on the list. My father loved it and drove the rest of us crazy pestering us to watch it with him. I bought him the DVD for Hanukah one year, on sale, and I don’t think my mother will ever forgive me.
In high school I used to spend Christmases with my girlfriend. Christmas was an ongoing event in her house, just like the TV always being on, muted so that we could hear cheesy choral Christmas songs on loop. I would go up the hill every day that week to help her decorate the tree or make cookies or shop or whatever else her family was up to that day. I simply followed and held her hand. One year I bought her an ornament, but my favorites were the cheapest ones, so I figured I didn’t know the right way to buy them. I bought her the most expensive one in the store in my price range ($10), and then realized as I scratched off the price tag she would like it no matter what. She put it in the center of the tree, at her eye level.
On the day we would make gingerbread cookies at her house, Project Runway shining unto us from the small TV in the corner, her bisexual friend Melissa and her family would come over and together we would make effigies of the people we hated and bite off their heads before my girlfriend’s mother could put them in the oven. “This is Alex, with his big icing mouth and sprinkles for his hairy chest!” Chomp! “This is Gregory, with those stupid glasses he always wears and red M&M’s for eyes because he’s possessed by the devil!” Chomp! These voodoo sacrifices filled me with holiday joy.
On Christmas day I would play crazy eights with the little cousins and pretend not to see when they cheated to make them laugh. Then I would try to steal away with my girlfriend, but they wouldn’t leave me alone, even when I switched the TV to Cartoon Network. The year after my girlfriend slept with another guy I went to Christmas anyway because I still thought it could work. I only spent time with the little cousins. I brought them a pair of squishy spike balls from my mother’s emergency gift box. I don’t remember what I bought my girlfriend.
There was one good Christmas day, though, that I’ve always remembered for the right reasons. It was the year we moved to Berkeley, when I was in eighth grade. We spent our first night in the new house on September 10th, 2001. When Bubbi called to tell us that the World Trade Center was toppling we still had to take the TV out of the box. For the rest of September we listened to Radiohead’s “Everything in its Right Place” every day, our things stacked in piles around the bare house, because it was so obvious that nothing was in its right place. When I moved to this small and stinky Park Slope apartment nearly a decade later I listened to the song when I woke up and before going to sleep.
The walkway to the new house was lined with ugly, decrepit bushes that looked like they belonged in the Fire Swamp from The Princess Bride. Mom, a gardener at heart, hated them with a passion, and on December 25, 2001, the whole family set to ripping them from the ground, roots and all. My brother, father, I bent over to grab hold of the base of the bushes, our butts arched towards the sky, and we used our whole weight to pull backward. Tiny leaves as dry as crackers fell from their buds to litter the ground like confetti at our tugging. Mom said, “Pretend it’s a George W. Bush,” to give us strength. Finally the dead plant would give in, and we staggered back from the momentum. Mom was already at the hole with a flower and a spade. We stuffed each bush into the green bin with crinkling sounds, and when there was no room my brother and I climbed in to stomp them down like we were making wine from grapes. Dad tied the dogs to the railing on the porch and shushed them if they saw a squirrel. As people walked by they wished us a merry Christmas, and patted the dirt off the knees of our sweat pants and returned the joy.
It was the best Christmas ever.
Fine
P.S. If you want to also come on Friday, December 18th, at 8:00, Flaming Fire will be performing at the installation space for the only time as a full band. It will be awesome on a stick.
P.P.S. If you want to also come on Sunday, December 27, at 4:30, graphic novelist Ariel Schrag and her sister Tania will be performing. I'm bummed I can't make it, so someone else has to go for me and tell me everything that happens in exact detail.
P.P.P.S. Time to get back to work on finals. Yay...
-Sam goldsmith
Once upon a time, Sam goldsmith put together an event to take place each Sunday where authors would come to the Flaming Fire Eternal Christmas site and read stories they had written. The first of these reading days was supposed to be on December 6th, but there was no one to read to, and so Sam went back to his schoolwork. The next Sunday the event was canceled because of Children's Day, where he was supposed to lead a "participatory writing workshop." There were six kids, so Sam went back to his schoolwork again.
But the third time, December 20th, was the best event ever.
That was because Sam had gathered some of the finest writers in all the land (ie. New York City), headlined by John Wray, and also including Emily Gould, Michael Leviton, and cartoonist John Matthias. With Sam reading the best piece of writing he has ever written alongside writers as established as John Wray, December 20th show was for sure the best ever.
To see how the story ends, please come to 525 Atlantic Ave, Brooklyn, New York, New York, at 4:30 on Sunday, December 20th. We will write the ending together!
If there had been a crowd on Sunday, December 6th, then I would have read this story, which I will probably have no occasion to read anymore. It's creative non-fiction, so if you recognize me tweaking some of the facts, don't worry; that's intentional.
Outdoors, Without TV: A Christmas-Themed Memoir
1046 Words
Well, it looks like I’m going to be spending another Christmas alone, just the way I like it. I bought myself the third season of Avatar: The Last Airbender and I’m going to watch it all the way through – all twenty-one episodes worth – and eat take-out Chinese in my pajamas. I’m going to sit cross-legged on my loveseat and shout advice to the characters mid-chew so specks of garlic and egg noodle fly onto the screen. Maybe I’ll clean it off between episodes; we’ll see. I’m not going to turn on any lights, and I’ll leave my phone unplugged.
I don’t ever remember being particularly attached to the Christmas spirit. My earliest Christmas memory is this: when I was a three-year-old Jewish boy and my speech therapist was trying to straighten out my lisp, she showed me a picture of Thanta Cluathe riding his Thled. He was smiling like the trail following a shooting star on those stickers teachers used to give you when you did a good job. I said, “Fat, old man.” My speech therapist thought I was trying to be funny.
I don’t remember ever seeing her again.
While I was growing up my family would spend a day in the 20’s of December with my best friend Isaac’s family, every year. We played a game in which we each pretended to be Wizards, master and apprentice (I was the apprentice), protecting the universe from the evil Sorcerers. We piloted the play structure in his backyard, which had a wheel, a telescope, and a slide. The game didn’t have anything to do with Christmas; we played it year round. Our families ate dinner together after closing our eyes and holding one another’s hands around the circular table, and we stayed that way until his father said in a voice that always sounded louder than it really was, “So nice to be together.” In the next room was the Christmas tree, which made my Jewish side only a little uncomfortable as I ate. When my mother and Isaac’s mother stopped talking to each other, our dinner tradition ended.
Sometimes on Christmas day, me, my father, and my little brother would watch the Lakers morning game and root for the other team, but the Lakers never lost on Christmas. Then we went to the movies, or we rented one. I don’t remember any movies I saw on Christmas day, although I’m sure It’s a Wonderful Life was on the list. My father loved it and drove the rest of us crazy pestering us to watch it with him. I bought him the DVD for Hanukah one year, on sale, and I don’t think my mother will ever forgive me.
In high school I used to spend Christmases with my girlfriend. Christmas was an ongoing event in her house, just like the TV always being on, muted so that we could hear cheesy choral Christmas songs on loop. I would go up the hill every day that week to help her decorate the tree or make cookies or shop or whatever else her family was up to that day. I simply followed and held her hand. One year I bought her an ornament, but my favorites were the cheapest ones, so I figured I didn’t know the right way to buy them. I bought her the most expensive one in the store in my price range ($10), and then realized as I scratched off the price tag she would like it no matter what. She put it in the center of the tree, at her eye level.
On the day we would make gingerbread cookies at her house, Project Runway shining unto us from the small TV in the corner, her bisexual friend Melissa and her family would come over and together we would make effigies of the people we hated and bite off their heads before my girlfriend’s mother could put them in the oven. “This is Alex, with his big icing mouth and sprinkles for his hairy chest!” Chomp! “This is Gregory, with those stupid glasses he always wears and red M&M’s for eyes because he’s possessed by the devil!” Chomp! These voodoo sacrifices filled me with holiday joy.
On Christmas day I would play crazy eights with the little cousins and pretend not to see when they cheated to make them laugh. Then I would try to steal away with my girlfriend, but they wouldn’t leave me alone, even when I switched the TV to Cartoon Network. The year after my girlfriend slept with another guy I went to Christmas anyway because I still thought it could work. I only spent time with the little cousins. I brought them a pair of squishy spike balls from my mother’s emergency gift box. I don’t remember what I bought my girlfriend.
There was one good Christmas day, though, that I’ve always remembered for the right reasons. It was the year we moved to Berkeley, when I was in eighth grade. We spent our first night in the new house on September 10th, 2001. When Bubbi called to tell us that the World Trade Center was toppling we still had to take the TV out of the box. For the rest of September we listened to Radiohead’s “Everything in its Right Place” every day, our things stacked in piles around the bare house, because it was so obvious that nothing was in its right place. When I moved to this small and stinky Park Slope apartment nearly a decade later I listened to the song when I woke up and before going to sleep.
The walkway to the new house was lined with ugly, decrepit bushes that looked like they belonged in the Fire Swamp from The Princess Bride. Mom, a gardener at heart, hated them with a passion, and on December 25, 2001, the whole family set to ripping them from the ground, roots and all. My brother, father, I bent over to grab hold of the base of the bushes, our butts arched towards the sky, and we used our whole weight to pull backward. Tiny leaves as dry as crackers fell from their buds to litter the ground like confetti at our tugging. Mom said, “Pretend it’s a George W. Bush,” to give us strength. Finally the dead plant would give in, and we staggered back from the momentum. Mom was already at the hole with a flower and a spade. We stuffed each bush into the green bin with crinkling sounds, and when there was no room my brother and I climbed in to stomp them down like we were making wine from grapes. Dad tied the dogs to the railing on the porch and shushed them if they saw a squirrel. As people walked by they wished us a merry Christmas, and patted the dirt off the knees of our sweat pants and returned the joy.
It was the best Christmas ever.
Fine
P.S. If you want to also come on Friday, December 18th, at 8:00, Flaming Fire will be performing at the installation space for the only time as a full band. It will be awesome on a stick.
P.P.S. If you want to also come on Sunday, December 27, at 4:30, graphic novelist Ariel Schrag and her sister Tania will be performing. I'm bummed I can't make it, so someone else has to go for me and tell me everything that happens in exact detail.
P.P.P.S. Time to get back to work on finals. Yay...
-Sam goldsmith
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Love Pass It On: Opening of Eternal Christmas!
Ciao, Tutti!
Three quick items of news for today before I get to my mountain of work:
1) Eternal Christmas opened last night to a rocking crowd! We were able to open only ten minutes late, and the music was, as they say, off the hook, which is a phrase I always thought would have the greatest appeal for fish, not humans. I took hundreds of pictures after busting my a$$ for the last three days to help put this thing together, to the point where the director of jazz studies here at NYU thought I was neglecting my other duties. Anyway, if you're around the tri-state area and can make it to 525 Atlantic Ave in Brooklyn, you should. It's amazing!
The Stage
2) This Sunday will be the first of Eternal Christmas's Sunday series, curated by yours truly and Sarah Blust. As of right now there are only two readers for tomorrow, me and Patrick Hambrecht, and I have been working tirelessly to write something Christmas-like, or at least something that's not completely unrelated, to kick our series off to a good start. I'll be posting who will be featured in future reading days, so keep your eyes out for it. And trust me, it will get better and better each week!
3) My roommate from last year, David McTiernan, and his band The Middle Eight have just released their music video for their single "Love Pass It On," in which I am an extra. I think it came out great, and it was totally worth standing in the rain all day to make it happen. Check it out! I get to hand a girl an apple! And look out for Dave, too. He's the keyboardist.
Oh, and by the way, I have a ton of work for school as well. Yeah, I know. Totally lame. Either way, it's time for me to bounce. Ciao!
-Sam goldsmith
Three quick items of news for today before I get to my mountain of work:
1) Eternal Christmas opened last night to a rocking crowd! We were able to open only ten minutes late, and the music was, as they say, off the hook, which is a phrase I always thought would have the greatest appeal for fish, not humans. I took hundreds of pictures after busting my a$$ for the last three days to help put this thing together, to the point where the director of jazz studies here at NYU thought I was neglecting my other duties. Anyway, if you're around the tri-state area and can make it to 525 Atlantic Ave in Brooklyn, you should. It's amazing!
The Stage
2) This Sunday will be the first of Eternal Christmas's Sunday series, curated by yours truly and Sarah Blust. As of right now there are only two readers for tomorrow, me and Patrick Hambrecht, and I have been working tirelessly to write something Christmas-like, or at least something that's not completely unrelated, to kick our series off to a good start. I'll be posting who will be featured in future reading days, so keep your eyes out for it. And trust me, it will get better and better each week!
3) My roommate from last year, David McTiernan, and his band The Middle Eight have just released their music video for their single "Love Pass It On," in which I am an extra. I think it came out great, and it was totally worth standing in the rain all day to make it happen. Check it out! I get to hand a girl an apple! And look out for Dave, too. He's the keyboardist.
Oh, and by the way, I have a ton of work for school as well. Yeah, I know. Totally lame. Either way, it's time for me to bounce. Ciao!
-Sam goldsmith
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Welcome To December! I Give You Maps
Ciao, Tutti!
It feels like it was November only yesterday...
Nanowrimo is officially over, and I want to congratulate everyone who tried their hand at novelling, or even if they brought coffee for someone else who was novelling. It was a lot of fun, and it's not over yet! While I did reach 75,000 words, I am another 30,000 at least from finishing up with my plot. Onward we go!
For you all, I have the gift of the maps of my novel's fantasy world, which I had drawn a while ago but never managed to scan in. If you want to see the images bigger, just click on them. That's all it takes. The city where all the action takes place is called Port Youl, which is in the land of Oriath. I will show the maps in expanding size order:
The city of Port Youl
The land of Oriath. Port Youl is up North. Most of the characters are from the city of Brodaw, in the West.
The World, roughly. Cora, one of the characters, is from East Homeland. Raychel and Tarana's families are from Jerroldia.
The city Port Youl is not actually modeled after San Francisco, even though it has that bay thing. I thought mostly of Genova, Italy, when I drew this up.
My World Map needs another draft.
In other news, I am the Sunday series organizer for Flaming Fire's Eternal Christmas installation project! Yay! I am scheduling all sorts of writing days as we speak, where we will have some dynamite holiday-style fiction and poetry. That starts this Sunday, December 6 at 3:00 and will continue each Sunday until the space closes in early January (that's right: even when I'm not going to be in New York). If you've got a free Sunday afternoon and want to see what's going on, come on by. 525 Atlantic Ave, Brooklyn. Check out the site linked to on the side of the blog.
In addition to the awesome reading going on, the Flaming Fire running band will be performing on a community fair of sorts on December 9, which is a Wednesday. If you're wondering what that means, it's just what it sounds like: a band that runs, singing, down the streets of New York. It will be amazing. The official opening night of the space is this Friday!
If you can't make any of those events, the Flaming Fire full-on performance, which should feature some new music we've been working up for the past month or so, will be on Friday, December 18. And, of course, you can count on me to continue to update with news as it comes my way.
Now, time to stop procrastinating. Back to work!
-Sam goldsmith
P.S. Why can't all holidays be as cool as Thanksgiving? Seriously, I had a great weekend, and I hope you did, too.
It feels like it was November only yesterday...
Nanowrimo is officially over, and I want to congratulate everyone who tried their hand at novelling, or even if they brought coffee for someone else who was novelling. It was a lot of fun, and it's not over yet! While I did reach 75,000 words, I am another 30,000 at least from finishing up with my plot. Onward we go!
For you all, I have the gift of the maps of my novel's fantasy world, which I had drawn a while ago but never managed to scan in. If you want to see the images bigger, just click on them. That's all it takes. The city where all the action takes place is called Port Youl, which is in the land of Oriath. I will show the maps in expanding size order:
The city of Port Youl
The land of Oriath. Port Youl is up North. Most of the characters are from the city of Brodaw, in the West.
The World, roughly. Cora, one of the characters, is from East Homeland. Raychel and Tarana's families are from Jerroldia.
The city Port Youl is not actually modeled after San Francisco, even though it has that bay thing. I thought mostly of Genova, Italy, when I drew this up.
My World Map needs another draft.
In other news, I am the Sunday series organizer for Flaming Fire's Eternal Christmas installation project! Yay! I am scheduling all sorts of writing days as we speak, where we will have some dynamite holiday-style fiction and poetry. That starts this Sunday, December 6 at 3:00 and will continue each Sunday until the space closes in early January (that's right: even when I'm not going to be in New York). If you've got a free Sunday afternoon and want to see what's going on, come on by. 525 Atlantic Ave, Brooklyn. Check out the site linked to on the side of the blog.
In addition to the awesome reading going on, the Flaming Fire running band will be performing on a community fair of sorts on December 9, which is a Wednesday. If you're wondering what that means, it's just what it sounds like: a band that runs, singing, down the streets of New York. It will be amazing. The official opening night of the space is this Friday!
If you can't make any of those events, the Flaming Fire full-on performance, which should feature some new music we've been working up for the past month or so, will be on Friday, December 18. And, of course, you can count on me to continue to update with news as it comes my way.
Now, time to stop procrastinating. Back to work!
-Sam goldsmith
P.S. Why can't all holidays be as cool as Thanksgiving? Seriously, I had a great weekend, and I hope you did, too.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Flaming Fire Eternal Christmas Website Up!
Ciao, Tutti!
I have some great news. The website for the installation project, codenamed Eternal Christmas (a little better than Christmas Forever), is up and operational! I'm actually floored by the quality of the site design by Christopher Lee, the same dude who designed the Flaming Fire site, as well as playing second bass and percussion in the band (we have two bassists in this band. Isn't that cool?). I'm posting the link below as well as the left-hand side of the blog for your viewing pleasure.
In other news - THANKSGIVING IS TOMORROW!
-Sam goldsmith
http://www.eternalchristmas.org/
I have some great news. The website for the installation project, codenamed Eternal Christmas (a little better than Christmas Forever), is up and operational! I'm actually floored by the quality of the site design by Christopher Lee, the same dude who designed the Flaming Fire site, as well as playing second bass and percussion in the band (we have two bassists in this band. Isn't that cool?). I'm posting the link below as well as the left-hand side of the blog for your viewing pleasure.
In other news - THANKSGIVING IS TOMORROW!
-Sam goldsmith
http://www.eternalchristmas.org/
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Flaming Fire Installation Site Is Here To Stay!
Ciao, Tutti!
On November 14, I posted that the installation project for Flaming Fire's Eternal Christmas had fallen through. Well, you can finally turn those frowns upside down! We just visited the space for the first time tonight with a whole bunch of folks who are going to make it happen. And it WILL happen. The opening party date is set for December 4, and Flaming Fire itself should perform there once or twice, probably on Wednesday, the 9th of December. The space is large and wonderful and has a basement with a low ceiling that I gave my head a bruise on. And there is also (get this!) an outdoor garden we are allowed to use, and maybe even perform live in! Isn't that sweet?
Speaking of sweet things having to do with this, I am (apparently) going to be curating a writer's day. We are thinking about doing it each Sunday during the day, and one of those Sundays will be mine, all mine. Imagine my evil grin as I rub my hands together - I rule the space for however long Sunday day is! Oh, you mortals will regret the day you bestowed power upon me!
Ahem.
Time to start contacting some writers who might be interested! And don't forget to have a happy Thanksgiving.
-Sam goldsmith
On November 14, I posted that the installation project for Flaming Fire's Eternal Christmas had fallen through. Well, you can finally turn those frowns upside down! We just visited the space for the first time tonight with a whole bunch of folks who are going to make it happen. And it WILL happen. The opening party date is set for December 4, and Flaming Fire itself should perform there once or twice, probably on Wednesday, the 9th of December. The space is large and wonderful and has a basement with a low ceiling that I gave my head a bruise on. And there is also (get this!) an outdoor garden we are allowed to use, and maybe even perform live in! Isn't that sweet?
Speaking of sweet things having to do with this, I am (apparently) going to be curating a writer's day. We are thinking about doing it each Sunday during the day, and one of those Sundays will be mine, all mine. Imagine my evil grin as I rub my hands together - I rule the space for however long Sunday day is! Oh, you mortals will regret the day you bestowed power upon me!
Ahem.
Time to start contacting some writers who might be interested! And don't forget to have a happy Thanksgiving.
-Sam goldsmith
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Okay, I'm sick of Typing (But not so much that I won't write this blog)
Ciao, Tutti!
I've now written 207 pages of my novel in 22 days . It's been a ton of fun, but it's also been more than a little exhausting, especially since I'm not all that good at typing.
Anyway, I've already posted two excerpts, both from the first 50 pages, and I figure I should post again now that I've written another 150. Unedited, as Nanowrimo intended, of course. Then it's back to my research paper!
I can't wait for Thanksgiving.
"Outside the Crystal" pg 160
Braden was awake the next morning before anyone else, he thought. He got out of bed and cracked the joints in his back, then trudged over to the main room where he made himself a pot of coffee. He ran his fingers through his hair as the machine worked, and he checked how much time was left every few seconds. Eventually he gave up trying and closed his eyes, leaning against the refrigerator door. When the coffee maker beeped it made Braden jolt upright, like he hadn’t realized he was asleep. He tried whacking the coffee machine like it was an alarm clock, yawned, and poured himself a cup. Raychel could smell it from where she was. Coffee was one of those Brodaw things she had never quite gotten used to. She preferred tea.
She watched him walk over to the sofa and crash down on it, spilling a spot onto his wrist, which made him wince and transfer the cup to his offhand, sucking himself where he had been burned. Settled down now, he slowly drank from his mug, fondling the scar under his eye with his fingers between sips. The scar had almost healed, but a thin line the same color of his skin certainly showed in the middle of his bags.
“Would you like some fruit?” Raychel asked. She stood up.
“No thanks,” he said. His voice was harsh, and he had to clear his throat. “I’m fine.”
Raychel knew he hadn’t seen her there, but he didn’t act surprised to see her. She shrugged and walked over to the refrigerator, shining her hand through the air to connect with the door and open it before she arrived. “Are you always up this early?”
“Most of the time,” she said. She dug through the bowl on the bottom shelf and pulled out an apple. “I like to meditate with the sunrise. I always have, even when you hid me.” She was disappointed he had never noticed before.
“You must be tired,” he said.
“Not really.” She tossed the apple away from her, then shinder her fingers through the air to catch it before it reached the floor. It was a little exercise she liked to do to stay sharp. “The meditation is pretty relaxing.”
“Mm.” Braden sipped his coffee.
“You’re not usually awake this early,” said Raychel. She nibbled at the apple.
“There’s a lot on my mind.” Braden balanced the cup between his knees and, with the utmost care, stretched his arms up, taking what sounded like a relieving yawn that would be enough to banish evil spirits from his soul. “There’s always a lot on my mind, but this time there’s more. I think the triangle and circle gang is making its move. Harbor Mason showing up, alone, was not an accident.”
“And I’m sure fighting is easier without sleeping,” said Raychel sarcastically.
“I’ve been on edge a lot lately, is what I’m trying to say.”
At that moment Raychel wanted to walk across the room and sit behind Braden and rub his shoulders to move the tension away from him, but all she said was, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“You can let me do all the worrying,” he responded. “And you can make up for my lack of sleep.”
Raychel rolled her eyes, suddenly agitated. “You’re always trying to do things yourself like that,” she scolded in her slow, patient voice. “You’re like Aber, risking himself for our sakes. But I can help you. Are you too stressed out to notice that I want to help?”
Braden looked deep into Raychel’s purple eyes, without raising his head all the way, looking tired and sad. “Raychel, there was a time in my life when all I ever noticed was you.”
Raychel didn’t know how to respond to this, so Braden got his way again.
She thought about the conversation while she and Cora worked together in the kitchen at the food center, the Hero Team minus one donating their couple of hours of community service together. She liked to replay the sentence in her mind over and over, because it made her shiver with excitement. “There was a time in my life when all I ever noticed was you.” Shiver. “There was a time in my life when all I ever noticed was you.” Shiver.
To be continued...
Fun fact: This passage ended on word 49,500. That's as close to 50,000 you'll ever get on this blog.
Okay, I know you don't care about that. But I love me my statistics, which is part of the reason Nanowrimo-style writing works so well for me.
I want turkey!
-Sam goldsmith
P.S. I've always been meaning to post something about how awesome Brother Ali's new CD, "Us," is. I'll get around to it as some point...
I've now written 207 pages of my novel in 22 days . It's been a ton of fun, but it's also been more than a little exhausting, especially since I'm not all that good at typing.
Anyway, I've already posted two excerpts, both from the first 50 pages, and I figure I should post again now that I've written another 150. Unedited, as Nanowrimo intended, of course. Then it's back to my research paper!
I can't wait for Thanksgiving.
"Outside the Crystal" pg 160
Braden was awake the next morning before anyone else, he thought. He got out of bed and cracked the joints in his back, then trudged over to the main room where he made himself a pot of coffee. He ran his fingers through his hair as the machine worked, and he checked how much time was left every few seconds. Eventually he gave up trying and closed his eyes, leaning against the refrigerator door. When the coffee maker beeped it made Braden jolt upright, like he hadn’t realized he was asleep. He tried whacking the coffee machine like it was an alarm clock, yawned, and poured himself a cup. Raychel could smell it from where she was. Coffee was one of those Brodaw things she had never quite gotten used to. She preferred tea.
She watched him walk over to the sofa and crash down on it, spilling a spot onto his wrist, which made him wince and transfer the cup to his offhand, sucking himself where he had been burned. Settled down now, he slowly drank from his mug, fondling the scar under his eye with his fingers between sips. The scar had almost healed, but a thin line the same color of his skin certainly showed in the middle of his bags.
“Would you like some fruit?” Raychel asked. She stood up.
“No thanks,” he said. His voice was harsh, and he had to clear his throat. “I’m fine.”
Raychel knew he hadn’t seen her there, but he didn’t act surprised to see her. She shrugged and walked over to the refrigerator, shining her hand through the air to connect with the door and open it before she arrived. “Are you always up this early?”
“Most of the time,” she said. She dug through the bowl on the bottom shelf and pulled out an apple. “I like to meditate with the sunrise. I always have, even when you hid me.” She was disappointed he had never noticed before.
“You must be tired,” he said.
“Not really.” She tossed the apple away from her, then shinder her fingers through the air to catch it before it reached the floor. It was a little exercise she liked to do to stay sharp. “The meditation is pretty relaxing.”
“Mm.” Braden sipped his coffee.
“You’re not usually awake this early,” said Raychel. She nibbled at the apple.
“There’s a lot on my mind.” Braden balanced the cup between his knees and, with the utmost care, stretched his arms up, taking what sounded like a relieving yawn that would be enough to banish evil spirits from his soul. “There’s always a lot on my mind, but this time there’s more. I think the triangle and circle gang is making its move. Harbor Mason showing up, alone, was not an accident.”
“And I’m sure fighting is easier without sleeping,” said Raychel sarcastically.
“I’ve been on edge a lot lately, is what I’m trying to say.”
At that moment Raychel wanted to walk across the room and sit behind Braden and rub his shoulders to move the tension away from him, but all she said was, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“You can let me do all the worrying,” he responded. “And you can make up for my lack of sleep.”
Raychel rolled her eyes, suddenly agitated. “You’re always trying to do things yourself like that,” she scolded in her slow, patient voice. “You’re like Aber, risking himself for our sakes. But I can help you. Are you too stressed out to notice that I want to help?”
Braden looked deep into Raychel’s purple eyes, without raising his head all the way, looking tired and sad. “Raychel, there was a time in my life when all I ever noticed was you.”
Raychel didn’t know how to respond to this, so Braden got his way again.
She thought about the conversation while she and Cora worked together in the kitchen at the food center, the Hero Team minus one donating their couple of hours of community service together. She liked to replay the sentence in her mind over and over, because it made her shiver with excitement. “There was a time in my life when all I ever noticed was you.” Shiver. “There was a time in my life when all I ever noticed was you.” Shiver.
To be continued...
Fun fact: This passage ended on word 49,500. That's as close to 50,000 you'll ever get on this blog.
Okay, I know you don't care about that. But I love me my statistics, which is part of the reason Nanowrimo-style writing works so well for me.
I want turkey!
-Sam goldsmith
P.S. I've always been meaning to post something about how awesome Brother Ali's new CD, "Us," is. I'll get around to it as some point...
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Nanowrimo is history!
Ciao, Tutti!
Just here to let you know I made it to 50,000 words. I have met the challenge for three out of the past four years! And the time I failed was only because my computer crashed! (I would've had 65,000 otherwise)
But that's not to say I'm going to be done novelling. Nanowrimo winners (that's me!) get the opportunity to get a professionally bound copy of their finished book for free, just because I we reached 50,000! 'Aint that sweet? But I have to submit my manuscript in December, so that means I have to finish the plot of my novel by then, not just the first 50,000 words! And hopefully I'll get a chance to edit some of it, too!
I can tell my parents will love this idea. Almost as much as they loved that tattoo I got. Oh, wait. I haven't told anyone about that yet.
Ahem.
-Sam goldsmith
P.S. The comments option has been enabled. Feel free to congratulate me on my accomplishment there.
Just here to let you know I made it to 50,000 words. I have met the challenge for three out of the past four years! And the time I failed was only because my computer crashed! (I would've had 65,000 otherwise)
But that's not to say I'm going to be done novelling. Nanowrimo winners (that's me!) get the opportunity to get a professionally bound copy of their finished book for free, just because I we reached 50,000! 'Aint that sweet? But I have to submit my manuscript in December, so that means I have to finish the plot of my novel by then, not just the first 50,000 words! And hopefully I'll get a chance to edit some of it, too!
I can tell my parents will love this idea. Almost as much as they loved that tattoo I got. Oh, wait. I haven't told anyone about that yet.
Ahem.
-Sam goldsmith
P.S. The comments option has been enabled. Feel free to congratulate me on my accomplishment there.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Novel Excerpt Part 2
Ciao, Tutti!
I don't really have that much to talk about today, but now that I've written 100 pages of my novel I feel that I should probably post another excerpt. Especially since I've been wanting to post this for a while now, though schoolwork hasn't allowed me such freedom.
A quick bit of disappointing news: the Flaming Fire installation project I had been talking about before? Yeah, funny story. Turns out the person hooking us up with the space has failed to do the job so far, which was supposed to be done 2 weeks ago. 'Aint art grand? I'll let you know when I know more.
And now, without further introduction, another unedited excerpt. It's a short one today, about music! Enjoy if you dare!
Outside the Crystal - Excerpt #2
Raychel had the urge to go to Tarana’s empty room and listen to music. Raychel never thought about listening to music before, but she used to do it with Tarana in her room, the sound almost too loud to talk over. Tarana was a certified audiophile, and she spent years scrounging together the perfect sound system. The speakers were so tall that Raychel couldn’t see the tops, and the legs were all made of triangles to reduce excess vibrations. “Sit on the futon, right here in the middle, if you want the sound that’s so good it’ll give you a sugar rush, okay?” said Tarana, flipping a Reamer Buoy disc into the player as Raychel braced for impact. “You lose some quality with digital music,” Tarana shouted over the singing. “Someday I want Cy to make an analogue version of amplification, like they had in the old days.” Cy flipped through the Glowstick computer magazine, lying back on Tarana’s bed.
“What?” said Raychel.
As much as Raychel didn’t remember being drawn to the music, she couldn’t help but feel it inside her now. Not Reamer Buoy, whose northern jubilant blues style was too upbeat for now, but something else. Reamer Buoy had a place in Raychel’s consciousness nonetheless. Thinking of it reminded her of Tarana sitting next to her on the futon, wrapping her arm around Raychel’s shoulder (even though Raychel would only tense up in response), smelling faintly of sweat and makeup, saying, “Now isn’t that the most awesome thing you’ve ever heard? Tell me you don’t think that’s awesome. Oh! I love this song! Get out of the middle seat, Raychel!” It reminded Raychel of “Let’s make a pact to stick together, okay?” It reminded her of Jerroldian slang, and it even sounded like Jerroldian slang when she thought about it. The music smelled faintly of sweat and makeup, and it felt like an arm wrapped around her shoulder.
To be continued...
Don't forget, folks: comments are available! Everything unanswered in this blog is still done for a reason, don't worry. So if you want to know more about Jerroldian slang or why I put a "Y" in Rachel's name or why I capitalized the word "Glowstick," feel free to ask.
...please?
-Sam goldsmith
I don't really have that much to talk about today, but now that I've written 100 pages of my novel I feel that I should probably post another excerpt. Especially since I've been wanting to post this for a while now, though schoolwork hasn't allowed me such freedom.
A quick bit of disappointing news: the Flaming Fire installation project I had been talking about before? Yeah, funny story. Turns out the person hooking us up with the space has failed to do the job so far, which was supposed to be done 2 weeks ago. 'Aint art grand? I'll let you know when I know more.
And now, without further introduction, another unedited excerpt. It's a short one today, about music! Enjoy if you dare!
Outside the Crystal - Excerpt #2
Raychel had the urge to go to Tarana’s empty room and listen to music. Raychel never thought about listening to music before, but she used to do it with Tarana in her room, the sound almost too loud to talk over. Tarana was a certified audiophile, and she spent years scrounging together the perfect sound system. The speakers were so tall that Raychel couldn’t see the tops, and the legs were all made of triangles to reduce excess vibrations. “Sit on the futon, right here in the middle, if you want the sound that’s so good it’ll give you a sugar rush, okay?” said Tarana, flipping a Reamer Buoy disc into the player as Raychel braced for impact. “You lose some quality with digital music,” Tarana shouted over the singing. “Someday I want Cy to make an analogue version of amplification, like they had in the old days.” Cy flipped through the Glowstick computer magazine, lying back on Tarana’s bed.
“What?” said Raychel.
As much as Raychel didn’t remember being drawn to the music, she couldn’t help but feel it inside her now. Not Reamer Buoy, whose northern jubilant blues style was too upbeat for now, but something else. Reamer Buoy had a place in Raychel’s consciousness nonetheless. Thinking of it reminded her of Tarana sitting next to her on the futon, wrapping her arm around Raychel’s shoulder (even though Raychel would only tense up in response), smelling faintly of sweat and makeup, saying, “Now isn’t that the most awesome thing you’ve ever heard? Tell me you don’t think that’s awesome. Oh! I love this song! Get out of the middle seat, Raychel!” It reminded Raychel of “Let’s make a pact to stick together, okay?” It reminded her of Jerroldian slang, and it even sounded like Jerroldian slang when she thought about it. The music smelled faintly of sweat and makeup, and it felt like an arm wrapped around her shoulder.
To be continued...
Don't forget, folks: comments are available! Everything unanswered in this blog is still done for a reason, don't worry. So if you want to know more about Jerroldian slang or why I put a "Y" in Rachel's name or why I capitalized the word "Glowstick," feel free to ask.
...please?
-Sam goldsmith
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Novel Excerpt
Ciao, Tutti!
For the first time ever, I will be posting an excerpt from my Nanowrimo novel during the month of November! I know, you can barely contain yourselves. There will be other excerpt postings in the future as well, seeing as there are two scenes I really want to post right now and can't make up my mind. The excerpts will be unedited, the way November intended. Be sure to follow my progress on the left-hand side of the blog if you have nothing better to do (you know you don't). The goal is 50,000, and I'm almost 40% there!
But first, a word of clarity: The band Flaming Fire is indeed corrupting my soul. Just in case there was ever any doubt. Now you don't have to worry that it's affecting me, because you know for sure.
You're welcome.
"Outside the Crystal" (working title) Excerpt
The door to Cy’s room was cracked open about a third of the way, but the inside seemed to be pitch black, no lights on at all. Raychel tapped on the door cautiously with the tops of her knuckles and whispered, “Cy? Your door’s open.” Hopefully he was asleep. He was probably the one who needed it most tonight. But he wasn’t, and the light turned on. Cy pushed the door aside, standing in his underwear in the threshold, scratching his stubble that had already started to form. Raychel tried not to wince because of the smell. Behind him a mixture of clothes, glass, fruit peels, plastic bottles, computer parts, and other unidentifiables were scattered across his floor, bed, chair, and desk.
“Hi, Raychel,” he yawned, rubbing his eye and standing out of the way to let her enter. She watched her feet as she did. “You didn’t wake me up, don’t worry.”
“Hello Cy,” she croaked, trying as hard as she could not to appear disturbed by the mess.
Cy knocked a cardboard box over with his foot to clear a path to the bed, then sat on it, his bulky body making it bounce without squeaking. He laughed without vocalizing, staring between his knees. “Oh, man, this place must look like a mess,” he said. “I must look like a mess.”
“No,” said Raychel automatically. She brushed a crumpled up Kurly O’s wrapper with her foot like Cy had, cautiously clearing a path to a chair she could sit in. “Actually, yes, this place is a mess. But I don’t mind.”
“It’s not supposed to look like this,” said Cy. “You shouldn’t be all right with it.”
“Cy, I don’t mind because I understand.” Raychel bent down to pick up a miniscule figurine, a wooden construction worker the size of a joint on her finger. He was missing an arm and paint was chipping off his helmet, but he still smiled. “We’re all kind of a mess right now.”
“This whole world’s a mess,” said Cy. “I know, everyone always says that, but it’s true. That’s why everyone says it, because it’s true. Think about it, Raychel. What happened to Tarana is happening every day, all the time, to people all over the world. Everyone’s losing loved ones, and everyone’s in a mess like this.” He sniffed. “I can’t believe that so many people in the world feel the way I feel right now.”
Raychel didn’t know how to respond to that, so she looked over the figurine. She recognized it from the model city Cy was always working on whenever he had spare time, even back in Brodaw. Raychel looked to the corner of the room where the city sat, separated from the ground by a slab of wood so it could be lifted and turned to make a better working angle. Miniature skyscrapers were meticulously painted, windows so real that it really looked like they were reflecting the light bulb as if it were the sun. But, unlike usual, a section of the city seemed to be missing, as if a miniature mechanical rhino had crashed through the edge of town and capped off the top of a bunch of the buildings.
“I’m sorry to sound like this,” said Cy, sniffing again. “I’m really happy you came to visit. I just…” Cy sighed on the edge of his bed. “I don’t really know what else to say.”
Raychel understood. “You were lucky to be so close to her,” she said, setting the figurine at the base of the broken buildings and making her way to the chair.
“I don’t feel lucky right now,” he whispered.
Raychel tried to change the subject, gesturing towards the model city. “What happened to Cyberg?” she asked.
Cy made the effort to chuckle. “I kicked it,” he said. “I kicked a lot of things, but that one gave in the easiest.”
“But it was your city. You worked so hard on it.”
“But all it takes is one kick to break it down.” Cy stretched out his back, reaching his arms high above his head. Raychel heard some of his joints crack. “I’ll have to rebuild it, when I can think straight.”
Cy had been involved in building models ever since Raychel had met him in Brodaw, and this city, Cyberg, was the most ambitious project he had taken on yet. He had plotted out the entire plan on a sheet of square paper two meters long which he used to keep hanging on his wall and had taken down once he started the actual building process. Raychel remembered the enormous effort he took as they evacuated Brodaw to keep everything perfectly intact on that same slab of wood, walking in slow motion as he held it in front of him like an tray of overflowing lava, shushing anyone who so much as said something.
“See, Raychel? Here’s the rubber factory, and here are the people protesting the stench, and here are the crying babies, because crying babies are always the most convincing argument. If you’re ever upset with something, just find a crying baby and say, ‘See? She’s upset, too!’ All right, for this one you have to bend over the city, so be careful not to touch anything. Here’s the waveball stadium in the center of town and all the wealthy waveball players who don’t even notice the beggars who are all around the stadium. Here’s the hill across from the river, where all the kids go to make out while their parents aren’t looking. See, there are two kids making out right there, under the tree. But – little do they know! – there’s a pigeon in the tree about to poop right on their heads. See, I painted a little glob coming out of its butt. Come on, Raychel, it’s not that gross. Just imagine it’s a white worm trying to work its way into the bird. Now that’s gross. Oh, over here’s the evil genius, Dr. Mighty Monstrous Morphing Man, developing his Ultimate Death Ray of Doom in his mother’s basement. See his outline through the curtains? But he messed up, see, and he exposed one of the wires, so now he’s getting electrocuted. See how I painted his hair all spikey? Here are two people having sex on the sixth story of their building, and here’s everyone watching with binoculars from the bushes across the street. That guy has a video camera, see? See?”
To be continued...
It's raw, I know, but that's what Nanowrimo is. Editing will happen in good time.
Now, time to study. Nah, my soul's too corrupt.
-Sam goldsmith
P.S. Don't forget, comments have been enabled! Take advantage!
P.P.S. Up to 20,000 words! Boo Yah!
For the first time ever, I will be posting an excerpt from my Nanowrimo novel during the month of November! I know, you can barely contain yourselves. There will be other excerpt postings in the future as well, seeing as there are two scenes I really want to post right now and can't make up my mind. The excerpts will be unedited, the way November intended. Be sure to follow my progress on the left-hand side of the blog if you have nothing better to do (you know you don't). The goal is 50,000, and I'm almost 40% there!
But first, a word of clarity: The band Flaming Fire is indeed corrupting my soul. Just in case there was ever any doubt. Now you don't have to worry that it's affecting me, because you know for sure.
You're welcome.
"Outside the Crystal" (working title) Excerpt
The door to Cy’s room was cracked open about a third of the way, but the inside seemed to be pitch black, no lights on at all. Raychel tapped on the door cautiously with the tops of her knuckles and whispered, “Cy? Your door’s open.” Hopefully he was asleep. He was probably the one who needed it most tonight. But he wasn’t, and the light turned on. Cy pushed the door aside, standing in his underwear in the threshold, scratching his stubble that had already started to form. Raychel tried not to wince because of the smell. Behind him a mixture of clothes, glass, fruit peels, plastic bottles, computer parts, and other unidentifiables were scattered across his floor, bed, chair, and desk.
“Hi, Raychel,” he yawned, rubbing his eye and standing out of the way to let her enter. She watched her feet as she did. “You didn’t wake me up, don’t worry.”
“Hello Cy,” she croaked, trying as hard as she could not to appear disturbed by the mess.
Cy knocked a cardboard box over with his foot to clear a path to the bed, then sat on it, his bulky body making it bounce without squeaking. He laughed without vocalizing, staring between his knees. “Oh, man, this place must look like a mess,” he said. “I must look like a mess.”
“No,” said Raychel automatically. She brushed a crumpled up Kurly O’s wrapper with her foot like Cy had, cautiously clearing a path to a chair she could sit in. “Actually, yes, this place is a mess. But I don’t mind.”
“It’s not supposed to look like this,” said Cy. “You shouldn’t be all right with it.”
“Cy, I don’t mind because I understand.” Raychel bent down to pick up a miniscule figurine, a wooden construction worker the size of a joint on her finger. He was missing an arm and paint was chipping off his helmet, but he still smiled. “We’re all kind of a mess right now.”
“This whole world’s a mess,” said Cy. “I know, everyone always says that, but it’s true. That’s why everyone says it, because it’s true. Think about it, Raychel. What happened to Tarana is happening every day, all the time, to people all over the world. Everyone’s losing loved ones, and everyone’s in a mess like this.” He sniffed. “I can’t believe that so many people in the world feel the way I feel right now.”
Raychel didn’t know how to respond to that, so she looked over the figurine. She recognized it from the model city Cy was always working on whenever he had spare time, even back in Brodaw. Raychel looked to the corner of the room where the city sat, separated from the ground by a slab of wood so it could be lifted and turned to make a better working angle. Miniature skyscrapers were meticulously painted, windows so real that it really looked like they were reflecting the light bulb as if it were the sun. But, unlike usual, a section of the city seemed to be missing, as if a miniature mechanical rhino had crashed through the edge of town and capped off the top of a bunch of the buildings.
“I’m sorry to sound like this,” said Cy, sniffing again. “I’m really happy you came to visit. I just…” Cy sighed on the edge of his bed. “I don’t really know what else to say.”
Raychel understood. “You were lucky to be so close to her,” she said, setting the figurine at the base of the broken buildings and making her way to the chair.
“I don’t feel lucky right now,” he whispered.
Raychel tried to change the subject, gesturing towards the model city. “What happened to Cyberg?” she asked.
Cy made the effort to chuckle. “I kicked it,” he said. “I kicked a lot of things, but that one gave in the easiest.”
“But it was your city. You worked so hard on it.”
“But all it takes is one kick to break it down.” Cy stretched out his back, reaching his arms high above his head. Raychel heard some of his joints crack. “I’ll have to rebuild it, when I can think straight.”
Cy had been involved in building models ever since Raychel had met him in Brodaw, and this city, Cyberg, was the most ambitious project he had taken on yet. He had plotted out the entire plan on a sheet of square paper two meters long which he used to keep hanging on his wall and had taken down once he started the actual building process. Raychel remembered the enormous effort he took as they evacuated Brodaw to keep everything perfectly intact on that same slab of wood, walking in slow motion as he held it in front of him like an tray of overflowing lava, shushing anyone who so much as said something.
“See, Raychel? Here’s the rubber factory, and here are the people protesting the stench, and here are the crying babies, because crying babies are always the most convincing argument. If you’re ever upset with something, just find a crying baby and say, ‘See? She’s upset, too!’ All right, for this one you have to bend over the city, so be careful not to touch anything. Here’s the waveball stadium in the center of town and all the wealthy waveball players who don’t even notice the beggars who are all around the stadium. Here’s the hill across from the river, where all the kids go to make out while their parents aren’t looking. See, there are two kids making out right there, under the tree. But – little do they know! – there’s a pigeon in the tree about to poop right on their heads. See, I painted a little glob coming out of its butt. Come on, Raychel, it’s not that gross. Just imagine it’s a white worm trying to work its way into the bird. Now that’s gross. Oh, over here’s the evil genius, Dr. Mighty Monstrous Morphing Man, developing his Ultimate Death Ray of Doom in his mother’s basement. See his outline through the curtains? But he messed up, see, and he exposed one of the wires, so now he’s getting electrocuted. See how I painted his hair all spikey? Here are two people having sex on the sixth story of their building, and here’s everyone watching with binoculars from the bushes across the street. That guy has a video camera, see? See?”
To be continued...
It's raw, I know, but that's what Nanowrimo is. Editing will happen in good time.
Now, time to study. Nah, my soul's too corrupt.
-Sam goldsmith
P.S. Don't forget, comments have been enabled! Take advantage!
P.P.S. Up to 20,000 words! Boo Yah!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Comments Enabled!
Ciao, Tutti!
It only cost my future first born, but I finally figured out how to make it possible for people to comment on a blog post! If you click on the thing at the bottom of the post that says, "(#) comments. Click here to comment," you will be allowed to post a comment to me on the post! Yowza! Go ahead and try it out. Right now.
I wrote 3123 words on day 1 of Nanowrimo. Just so ya know.
I'm going to bed.
-Sam goldsmith
It only cost my future first born, but I finally figured out how to make it possible for people to comment on a blog post! If you click on the thing at the bottom of the post that says, "(#) comments. Click here to comment," you will be allowed to post a comment to me on the post! Yowza! Go ahead and try it out. Right now.
I wrote 3123 words on day 1 of Nanowrimo. Just so ya know.
I'm going to bed.
-Sam goldsmith
Saturday, October 31, 2009
National Novel Writing Month: An Introduction
Ciao, Tutti!
Lots of good stuff to talk about today. Here's the agenda:
1) Flaming Fire is a Haloweenie.
2) Writing, writing, writing. Nano is here!
3) Another submission?
4) The start of the 2009-2010 NBA season is going just as crappily as I expected.
It turns out that 1) Flaming Fire is a Haloweenie band. We played two shows, one on October 29 and one on October 30, that reeked of costumes and candy. The October 29th show featured, just before us, a reenactment of an Aztec virgin sacrifice, complete with the nudity and eating of her heart. Then we played music.
Last night we agreed to forget all about it. I, obviously, haven't been able to keep that promise.
Yesterday we played for a much better crowd at a venue whose name I don't know if I'm allowed to divulge publicly like this. They like being "underground." It was in a warehouse in Brooklyn and had a divebomb audience. I'm not sure what that means, but they loved the music, so it was all good. Then I got claustrophobic and left.
Then I slept for a few hours. Then I taught constitutional law. Ah, life!
In other Flaming Fire news, the band has acquired a piece of property for a long amount of time (nearly 2 months, I think) with which we will create an installation project. Don't ask me what that means; I'll find out on Monday, hopefully. The theme? You might want to take a deep breath before reading this: Christmas Forever.
Yeah, I know. But other than that it should be pretty cool. More information when I know more!
Please direct your attention to the image on your left, as in the left side of the blog. That is one of my winner's certificates for last year's National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo). It is, as of tomorrow, 11 months old, meaning that this coming month, which starts tomorrow, will be the next Nanowrimo! Soon enough I will be 2) writing, writing, writing. Nano is here! In 31 days at the latest I will be replacing the 2008 winner's certificate with the 2009. Or maybe I'll have a gallery of 2006, 2008, and 2009 (my computer crashed in 2007 and I lost 25,000 words). Whatever happens, you'll see soon enough!
I've been waiting for tomorrow for the past month and a half. I am pumped up!
I had really hoped to have a new piece of writing for the blog before November 1st, because who knows when I'll be writing short fiction again? I have a new story I'm fond of, "Perfection in Five Acts with Prelude," but I have to edit it at least once more before sharing it, so hold your horses, folks. But, in the spirit of Nanowrimo, I will post for you all the prologue to the novel I wrote last year, in its pure Nano unedited goodness! And hopefully I'll write some chapters this year that I feel good enough about to share as well.
Check out the site for Nanowrimo at http://www.nanowrimo.org 50,000 words in 30 days!
"Prologue to "The Antiock Mission," working title
Alaer heard wind blowing through the leaves and all around him. Pollen drifted lazily up to his nose and he tried not to sneeze. The sun was out. He could feel the rays poking into his skin, warming him up as if he had just been frozen in a block of ice. There were clouds, though, and rain droplets too. It wasn’t raining very hard, but the wind picked up the tiny examples of H20 molecules and threw them into Alaer’s face. Rain blew unceremoniously into a river beside him, the droplets sounding like little faucet drops here and there.
Alaer clicked his tongue against the back of his mouth, listening for vibrations to bounce wildly around him. He could sense the rain closest to him, but he could not tell anything beyond that. For all he could tell the rainy field stretched out for eternity. He knelt down and began to probe the wet grass with his hands, feeling the mud and blades near the bank of the brook. He picked up a hard, jagged object. He threw the rock into the river. It wasn’t what he was looking for. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth again, but still he could not hear anything nearby, anything despite the growing storm and the irritated grass.
He dove his hands into the river, his muddy hands grappling under the water. Another rock. It splashed into the river. Alaer combed the riverside as if he were looking for gold. There was no sense of urgency. He had all the time in the world.
His hand wrapped around something strange in the water. He grabbed it with both hands, feeling it all around to determine what it was he had found. It was a boot. And the boot was attached to a person. It wasn’t what he had been looking for, but he dragged the person out of the water effortlessly, the wind pelting the body with warm droplets. Alaer knelt over the body, a small body, the body of a young boy of about his age, maybe younger. The boy coughed. Alaer heard splashes in the mud as he rolled over and threw up. He panted heavily, his hands and boots splashing in the mud, as he tried to sit up.
Alaer retreated to the riverside and spread his fingers through the mud, ignoring the waking boy. Another rock. Another splash. A twig sent to float down the river.
“Alaer?”
Alaer turned around at the familiarity of the voice. He heard wind and rain rushing against the boy who had made the sound, that sweet, recognizable sound he knew oh so well from dreams and nightmares.
“Benji?” he asked. “Is that you?”
Footsteps splashed in the mud and the boy jumped into an embrace with Alaer. The two slipped in the mud and splashed into the river.
“I knew you’d come!” exclaimed Benji. “I just knew if I waited long enough you’d come!”
“You were waiting for me at the bottom of the brook?” asked Alaer.
“I knew they wouldn’t be able to find me there,” he said smugly.
“This is wonderful!” proclaimed Alaer, taking his friend under his arm. “Now I don’t have to look for you anymore! We can play tag and Sorcerers and make fun of old Mr. Winstock all day long!”
The pair ran arm in arm through the field, their feet splashing enthusiastically in the soaked soil, the wind blowing rain into their faces, the sun’s rays jumping above them and warming the tops of their heads. They ran for hours in the field. It didn’t matter where they were going. It was just time to run. It was time to run from everything that had just happened. There was no need for it anymore. Now they had found each other and they could just run. And run they did.
The rain stopped.
Alaer stopped.
“Wait!” he called as his friend splashed on ahead. “I forgot to get my glasses!”
“Don’t be jealous!” teased Benji.
“I’m not jealous!” retorted Alaer.
“Then don’t be!” retorted Benji.
“I’m not!” retorted Alaer.
“Good!” retorted Benji. His feet began to splash again, the sounds growing more distant.
Alaer cried out and bounded after him, trying not to slip in the mud, his feet splashing cold water onto his legs. “Benji, wait up! I need my glasses!”
“Things are back to normal now,” Benji called back. “You can go back to school and I can have a girlfriend and there will be no war ever again!”
“But I need my glasses!” Alaer screamed.
“Put a carburetor in it!”
Benji’s feet stopped splashing. Alaer’s feet stopped splashing. They both stood still, listening to a mixture of water trickling over rocks and young boys trying to control their breathing. Alaer clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. The wind blew all around them. The grass by his feet danced and whispered. Alaer kneeled down at the brook and began to fan his fingers through the muddy water again.
“Why do you have to do this?” asked Benji callously.
“You know I need to find my glasses,” snapped Alaer. Another rock. Another splash.
“Look, you’ve found me,” he said exasperatedly. “It’s what you’ve wanted all this time. Do you really think things are better after you got those glasses or before?”
Alaer continued to fan his fingers through the water. He breathed in deeply with his nose, the smells of stale fish and wet reeds rushing in. The wind pressed into his face, occasionally splashing water onto his eyelids.
“Things will never be the same,” he said. He said it so softly that he knew Benji couldn’t hear it. The wind carried the soft voice right to Benji’s ears.
“You were always so pessimistic,” said Benji. “You’ve always worked hard to get everything you’ve ever had and it’s never been enough for you. So what if things are never the same again. I’m back. We should go before things turn bad again.”
Alaer flopped back, the cold mud splashing onto his sun-warmed body.
“I miss, you Benji.”
“I miss you, too.”
“I miss Mum, too.”
“I miss my family.”
“I didn’t like the way things were before,” said Alaer, the sun pressing into his eyelids and cheeks. “But it’s so much better than the way things are now.”
Alaer heard footsteps and a wet thud beside him. Benji rubbed Alaer’s scalp.
“There’s nothing you could have done,” his friend reassured him.
“Don’t touch me there,” cautioned Alaer. “It still stings.”
“Sorry.”
“I guess this means I should go now.”
“I guess so. I hope that muddy water helped your wrist.”
Alaer stroked his wrist, instantly triggering the pain again. He winced. “I guess not.”
He stood up and bowed to his friend, his hands pressed together.
“I’ll be waiting in the river,” said Benji, the sound of splashing coming from the river again, sounds like large rocks being discarded but Alaer knew that they were really boots. “Let me know when you come to find me again.”
Alaer turned to go, trudging through the soaked field, the sun burning the back of his neck. He walked slowly, dragging his feet through the water. The water sloshed. The wind blew some onto Alaer’s legs. The wind blew dissonances through the grass below. Alaer wished for the clouds and the rain to come back.
Finally he returned to the trap door in the ground. He clicked his tongue and felt around for the handle and opened it. The sound was jarring. He tried his best to cover both ears with one hand. He decided to open it with hit foot so as to cover his ears, the pressure from his left wrist causing it to scream out in agony. Alaer’s head began to throb. He sank to his knees.
After regaining composure he descended down the ladder and into the cold metal room. He clicked his tongue and vibrations echoed off the four walls, ceiling, and ground. There was a strange rounded object in one of the corners. There was a small section of the room where the vibrations were muted. That’s where the blanket was. Alaer shivered. It was cold. There was a body on the ground. Alaer knew where it was instinctually because it was his body. He heard the trap door close silently behind him as he lay down on top of his body.
His wrist throbbed unbearably. The veins in his head felt like they were cascading out of his body, pulling his brains with them like a stubborn boulder. He opened his eyes, sending searing light through his retinas and into his brain, enveloping him in a world of whiteness. He screamed with a voice hoarse from screaming, clamping his eyes shut and covering them with his hands as water flowed involuntarily from them. He bumped his head against the floor and threw up from the dizziness, screaming and panting, anything to drive the pain from his mind.
From the cell next to Alaer’s, Marcus Max said to himself, “You know, this is getting old.”
To be continued...
On the subject of writing, is it really possible that I'll be sending in 3) another submission? Actually, I hoped to have a few out before November 1, but the one that might actually get done is "History Does This," a two paragraph short I recently posted. I haven't submitted yet, so you can still read it on the site, but soon enough it will be gone, and hopefully admitted into a magazine.
Sidenote: If you ever need to look for something specific in the Sam goldsmith blog, like "History Does This," there is now a Google search bar in the upper left-hand corner (above the Nanowrimo certificate from 2008) which will search ONLY my blog. Just to make things easier for ya'll.
Speaking of things I'm excited about, this time for no particular reason, 4) The start of the 2009-2010 NBA season is going just as crappily as I expected. The Pistons look like a rotten banana, the Warriors like an unripe banana, and the Celtics like banana crisp. And don't even mention the Knicks. It sucks. Plus they won't show anyone on TV except the same old teams I can't stand. It's just like the World Series, actually, except I don't loathe the Phillies with all my sports being.
I don't want to talk about basketball anymore.
Good luck with your novels, everyone, and I wish the best for all of you and your friends.
-Sam goldsmith
Lots of good stuff to talk about today. Here's the agenda:
1) Flaming Fire is a Haloweenie.
2) Writing, writing, writing. Nano is here!
3) Another submission?
4) The start of the 2009-2010 NBA season is going just as crappily as I expected.
It turns out that 1) Flaming Fire is a Haloweenie band. We played two shows, one on October 29 and one on October 30, that reeked of costumes and candy. The October 29th show featured, just before us, a reenactment of an Aztec virgin sacrifice, complete with the nudity and eating of her heart. Then we played music.
Last night we agreed to forget all about it. I, obviously, haven't been able to keep that promise.
Yesterday we played for a much better crowd at a venue whose name I don't know if I'm allowed to divulge publicly like this. They like being "underground." It was in a warehouse in Brooklyn and had a divebomb audience. I'm not sure what that means, but they loved the music, so it was all good. Then I got claustrophobic and left.
Then I slept for a few hours. Then I taught constitutional law. Ah, life!
In other Flaming Fire news, the band has acquired a piece of property for a long amount of time (nearly 2 months, I think) with which we will create an installation project. Don't ask me what that means; I'll find out on Monday, hopefully. The theme? You might want to take a deep breath before reading this: Christmas Forever.
Yeah, I know. But other than that it should be pretty cool. More information when I know more!
Please direct your attention to the image on your left, as in the left side of the blog. That is one of my winner's certificates for last year's National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo). It is, as of tomorrow, 11 months old, meaning that this coming month, which starts tomorrow, will be the next Nanowrimo! Soon enough I will be 2) writing, writing, writing. Nano is here! In 31 days at the latest I will be replacing the 2008 winner's certificate with the 2009. Or maybe I'll have a gallery of 2006, 2008, and 2009 (my computer crashed in 2007 and I lost 25,000 words). Whatever happens, you'll see soon enough!
I've been waiting for tomorrow for the past month and a half. I am pumped up!
I had really hoped to have a new piece of writing for the blog before November 1st, because who knows when I'll be writing short fiction again? I have a new story I'm fond of, "Perfection in Five Acts with Prelude," but I have to edit it at least once more before sharing it, so hold your horses, folks. But, in the spirit of Nanowrimo, I will post for you all the prologue to the novel I wrote last year, in its pure Nano unedited goodness! And hopefully I'll write some chapters this year that I feel good enough about to share as well.
Check out the site for Nanowrimo at http://www.nanowrimo.org 50,000 words in 30 days!
"Prologue to "The Antiock Mission," working title
Alaer heard wind blowing through the leaves and all around him. Pollen drifted lazily up to his nose and he tried not to sneeze. The sun was out. He could feel the rays poking into his skin, warming him up as if he had just been frozen in a block of ice. There were clouds, though, and rain droplets too. It wasn’t raining very hard, but the wind picked up the tiny examples of H20 molecules and threw them into Alaer’s face. Rain blew unceremoniously into a river beside him, the droplets sounding like little faucet drops here and there.
Alaer clicked his tongue against the back of his mouth, listening for vibrations to bounce wildly around him. He could sense the rain closest to him, but he could not tell anything beyond that. For all he could tell the rainy field stretched out for eternity. He knelt down and began to probe the wet grass with his hands, feeling the mud and blades near the bank of the brook. He picked up a hard, jagged object. He threw the rock into the river. It wasn’t what he was looking for. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth again, but still he could not hear anything nearby, anything despite the growing storm and the irritated grass.
He dove his hands into the river, his muddy hands grappling under the water. Another rock. It splashed into the river. Alaer combed the riverside as if he were looking for gold. There was no sense of urgency. He had all the time in the world.
His hand wrapped around something strange in the water. He grabbed it with both hands, feeling it all around to determine what it was he had found. It was a boot. And the boot was attached to a person. It wasn’t what he had been looking for, but he dragged the person out of the water effortlessly, the wind pelting the body with warm droplets. Alaer knelt over the body, a small body, the body of a young boy of about his age, maybe younger. The boy coughed. Alaer heard splashes in the mud as he rolled over and threw up. He panted heavily, his hands and boots splashing in the mud, as he tried to sit up.
Alaer retreated to the riverside and spread his fingers through the mud, ignoring the waking boy. Another rock. Another splash. A twig sent to float down the river.
“Alaer?”
Alaer turned around at the familiarity of the voice. He heard wind and rain rushing against the boy who had made the sound, that sweet, recognizable sound he knew oh so well from dreams and nightmares.
“Benji?” he asked. “Is that you?”
Footsteps splashed in the mud and the boy jumped into an embrace with Alaer. The two slipped in the mud and splashed into the river.
“I knew you’d come!” exclaimed Benji. “I just knew if I waited long enough you’d come!”
“You were waiting for me at the bottom of the brook?” asked Alaer.
“I knew they wouldn’t be able to find me there,” he said smugly.
“This is wonderful!” proclaimed Alaer, taking his friend under his arm. “Now I don’t have to look for you anymore! We can play tag and Sorcerers and make fun of old Mr. Winstock all day long!”
The pair ran arm in arm through the field, their feet splashing enthusiastically in the soaked soil, the wind blowing rain into their faces, the sun’s rays jumping above them and warming the tops of their heads. They ran for hours in the field. It didn’t matter where they were going. It was just time to run. It was time to run from everything that had just happened. There was no need for it anymore. Now they had found each other and they could just run. And run they did.
The rain stopped.
Alaer stopped.
“Wait!” he called as his friend splashed on ahead. “I forgot to get my glasses!”
“Don’t be jealous!” teased Benji.
“I’m not jealous!” retorted Alaer.
“Then don’t be!” retorted Benji.
“I’m not!” retorted Alaer.
“Good!” retorted Benji. His feet began to splash again, the sounds growing more distant.
Alaer cried out and bounded after him, trying not to slip in the mud, his feet splashing cold water onto his legs. “Benji, wait up! I need my glasses!”
“Things are back to normal now,” Benji called back. “You can go back to school and I can have a girlfriend and there will be no war ever again!”
“But I need my glasses!” Alaer screamed.
“Put a carburetor in it!”
Benji’s feet stopped splashing. Alaer’s feet stopped splashing. They both stood still, listening to a mixture of water trickling over rocks and young boys trying to control their breathing. Alaer clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. The wind blew all around them. The grass by his feet danced and whispered. Alaer kneeled down at the brook and began to fan his fingers through the muddy water again.
“Why do you have to do this?” asked Benji callously.
“You know I need to find my glasses,” snapped Alaer. Another rock. Another splash.
“Look, you’ve found me,” he said exasperatedly. “It’s what you’ve wanted all this time. Do you really think things are better after you got those glasses or before?”
Alaer continued to fan his fingers through the water. He breathed in deeply with his nose, the smells of stale fish and wet reeds rushing in. The wind pressed into his face, occasionally splashing water onto his eyelids.
“Things will never be the same,” he said. He said it so softly that he knew Benji couldn’t hear it. The wind carried the soft voice right to Benji’s ears.
“You were always so pessimistic,” said Benji. “You’ve always worked hard to get everything you’ve ever had and it’s never been enough for you. So what if things are never the same again. I’m back. We should go before things turn bad again.”
Alaer flopped back, the cold mud splashing onto his sun-warmed body.
“I miss, you Benji.”
“I miss you, too.”
“I miss Mum, too.”
“I miss my family.”
“I didn’t like the way things were before,” said Alaer, the sun pressing into his eyelids and cheeks. “But it’s so much better than the way things are now.”
Alaer heard footsteps and a wet thud beside him. Benji rubbed Alaer’s scalp.
“There’s nothing you could have done,” his friend reassured him.
“Don’t touch me there,” cautioned Alaer. “It still stings.”
“Sorry.”
“I guess this means I should go now.”
“I guess so. I hope that muddy water helped your wrist.”
Alaer stroked his wrist, instantly triggering the pain again. He winced. “I guess not.”
He stood up and bowed to his friend, his hands pressed together.
“I’ll be waiting in the river,” said Benji, the sound of splashing coming from the river again, sounds like large rocks being discarded but Alaer knew that they were really boots. “Let me know when you come to find me again.”
Alaer turned to go, trudging through the soaked field, the sun burning the back of his neck. He walked slowly, dragging his feet through the water. The water sloshed. The wind blew some onto Alaer’s legs. The wind blew dissonances through the grass below. Alaer wished for the clouds and the rain to come back.
Finally he returned to the trap door in the ground. He clicked his tongue and felt around for the handle and opened it. The sound was jarring. He tried his best to cover both ears with one hand. He decided to open it with hit foot so as to cover his ears, the pressure from his left wrist causing it to scream out in agony. Alaer’s head began to throb. He sank to his knees.
After regaining composure he descended down the ladder and into the cold metal room. He clicked his tongue and vibrations echoed off the four walls, ceiling, and ground. There was a strange rounded object in one of the corners. There was a small section of the room where the vibrations were muted. That’s where the blanket was. Alaer shivered. It was cold. There was a body on the ground. Alaer knew where it was instinctually because it was his body. He heard the trap door close silently behind him as he lay down on top of his body.
His wrist throbbed unbearably. The veins in his head felt like they were cascading out of his body, pulling his brains with them like a stubborn boulder. He opened his eyes, sending searing light through his retinas and into his brain, enveloping him in a world of whiteness. He screamed with a voice hoarse from screaming, clamping his eyes shut and covering them with his hands as water flowed involuntarily from them. He bumped his head against the floor and threw up from the dizziness, screaming and panting, anything to drive the pain from his mind.
From the cell next to Alaer’s, Marcus Max said to himself, “You know, this is getting old.”
To be continued...
On the subject of writing, is it really possible that I'll be sending in 3) another submission? Actually, I hoped to have a few out before November 1, but the one that might actually get done is "History Does This," a two paragraph short I recently posted. I haven't submitted yet, so you can still read it on the site, but soon enough it will be gone, and hopefully admitted into a magazine.
Sidenote: If you ever need to look for something specific in the Sam goldsmith blog, like "History Does This," there is now a Google search bar in the upper left-hand corner (above the Nanowrimo certificate from 2008) which will search ONLY my blog. Just to make things easier for ya'll.
Speaking of things I'm excited about, this time for no particular reason, 4) The start of the 2009-2010 NBA season is going just as crappily as I expected. The Pistons look like a rotten banana, the Warriors like an unripe banana, and the Celtics like banana crisp. And don't even mention the Knicks. It sucks. Plus they won't show anyone on TV except the same old teams I can't stand. It's just like the World Series, actually, except I don't loathe the Phillies with all my sports being.
I don't want to talk about basketball anymore.
Good luck with your novels, everyone, and I wish the best for all of you and your friends.
-Sam goldsmith
Monday, October 19, 2009
Writing Excerpt
Ciao, Tutti!
I am sitting in my room, trying to get over this nasty cough I've got in time for the midterm tomorrow, but I've been getting a little tired of this thankless studying I've been doing. Yeah, studying. Because that's what I've been doing all day, not watching trashy animated TV shows online. Yeah...
Anyway, As I sip my tea and gulp down my honey, I have been feeling like I owe you all some writing, even though I haven't been doing much myself in that respect. However, in preparation for National Novel Writing Month come November, I've been editing/reading through the piece I wrote for the contest last year, and I came across a short excerpt that you might like. Plus it doesn't give anything away! Yippee!
Excerpt From "The Antiock Mission" (working title)
...
“Now I have some advice for you, but I will relay it to you through a tale. Once there was a wise sage who could entice the growth of plantlife. He would move his fingers towards the sky and agriculture would spring up from the ground, at the will of his mind. In this way he grew enough food for himself, his family, and the students who studied with him. People came to him from all across the land with their starving families to beg for food, but the sage always refused. He insisted that his ability could not be used frivolously or the balance of nature could be irreparably disturbed.
“One day a poor family came to him on hands and knees, begging for food. They were dressed in rags and were missing teeth; their children and infants were so skinny that their bones seemed to jut out from their skin. They pleaded, worshipped him like a deity, and offered him gifts of precious metals, but still the sage refused. One of the sage’s loyal students, however, could not bear to see the suffering of others while there was power to stop it, so as the dejected family trod off this student caught up to them and promised them him services.
“Now, this student was not as powerful as his master, but he had a natural energy of his own, and he was able to make some vegetables grow on the family’s soil. The carrots were wrinkled, the lettuce was thin, and the tomatoes were dry, but the poor family thanked the student profusely and deemed his work the ‘divine garden.’ The student left the family asleep and full, smiling from the good deed he had done.
“The next week he returned to the farm of the poor family to find nothing there. The roots of the plants had been torn out, and dead plants lay everywhere, the sad remains of his divine garden. The family’s tiny hut had been burned to ashes, and the bodies were nowhere to be found, save for one of an infant with a crude spear pinning his forehead to the ground. Confused and distraught, the student begged his master for advice, but the sage turned his head in shame. ‘To think you could solve a complex problem such as hunger with such a simple solution,' he said coldly. 'Hunger and greed come together. What you did was to stoke both, and now you see the result. Because of your foolishness, you are banished from my school. Please never come to see me again.’ And with that, the sage sent the young student off.
“There are some lessons in this story, dear Alaer. Even if you have a pure heart and good intentions, your actions may produce terrible results, both for you and for those you are trying to protect. I know you have a pure heart, my son. But that is not enough to heal this world. You need to use your brain, your common sense, and your consciousness. Always see things like you have never seen a tree. This should be easy enough for someone like you. Do not be so trusting of people who need help. Perhaps they think they know what they need most, but that is not always the case. Perhaps the sage is right in one sense. Perhaps we should not try to heal the world at all and simply aim to remain self-sustaining. But I cannot accept that solution. There must be a way to support this planet as well as all the creatures on it. Personally, I find the sage at fault as well for his negligence towards global improvement. In fact, there is no character in this story who acts correctly in my view. In this light, they all have advice for us."
...
I hope you all enjoyed that. Now I have to go cough a few more times.
By the way, if you ever get the chance to watch Brenden Small's "Home Movies" comedy TV show, I highly recommend it. I've been watching it for free on YouTube for a while now, so I figured I should plug it here in some sort of thanks. Also, the show really is funny.
And I want to wish Justina a happy 22nd birthday! Your party was quite fun, considering that I normally can't stand parties.
Usually she's not that silver
P.S. Justina isn't one of my readers, so she will never know I wrote that!
Have good days everyone,
-Sam goldsmith
I am sitting in my room, trying to get over this nasty cough I've got in time for the midterm tomorrow, but I've been getting a little tired of this thankless studying I've been doing. Yeah, studying. Because that's what I've been doing all day, not watching trashy animated TV shows online. Yeah...
Anyway, As I sip my tea and gulp down my honey, I have been feeling like I owe you all some writing, even though I haven't been doing much myself in that respect. However, in preparation for National Novel Writing Month come November, I've been editing/reading through the piece I wrote for the contest last year, and I came across a short excerpt that you might like. Plus it doesn't give anything away! Yippee!
Excerpt From "The Antiock Mission" (working title)
...
“Now I have some advice for you, but I will relay it to you through a tale. Once there was a wise sage who could entice the growth of plantlife. He would move his fingers towards the sky and agriculture would spring up from the ground, at the will of his mind. In this way he grew enough food for himself, his family, and the students who studied with him. People came to him from all across the land with their starving families to beg for food, but the sage always refused. He insisted that his ability could not be used frivolously or the balance of nature could be irreparably disturbed.
“One day a poor family came to him on hands and knees, begging for food. They were dressed in rags and were missing teeth; their children and infants were so skinny that their bones seemed to jut out from their skin. They pleaded, worshipped him like a deity, and offered him gifts of precious metals, but still the sage refused. One of the sage’s loyal students, however, could not bear to see the suffering of others while there was power to stop it, so as the dejected family trod off this student caught up to them and promised them him services.
“Now, this student was not as powerful as his master, but he had a natural energy of his own, and he was able to make some vegetables grow on the family’s soil. The carrots were wrinkled, the lettuce was thin, and the tomatoes were dry, but the poor family thanked the student profusely and deemed his work the ‘divine garden.’ The student left the family asleep and full, smiling from the good deed he had done.
“The next week he returned to the farm of the poor family to find nothing there. The roots of the plants had been torn out, and dead plants lay everywhere, the sad remains of his divine garden. The family’s tiny hut had been burned to ashes, and the bodies were nowhere to be found, save for one of an infant with a crude spear pinning his forehead to the ground. Confused and distraught, the student begged his master for advice, but the sage turned his head in shame. ‘To think you could solve a complex problem such as hunger with such a simple solution,' he said coldly. 'Hunger and greed come together. What you did was to stoke both, and now you see the result. Because of your foolishness, you are banished from my school. Please never come to see me again.’ And with that, the sage sent the young student off.
“There are some lessons in this story, dear Alaer. Even if you have a pure heart and good intentions, your actions may produce terrible results, both for you and for those you are trying to protect. I know you have a pure heart, my son. But that is not enough to heal this world. You need to use your brain, your common sense, and your consciousness. Always see things like you have never seen a tree. This should be easy enough for someone like you. Do not be so trusting of people who need help. Perhaps they think they know what they need most, but that is not always the case. Perhaps the sage is right in one sense. Perhaps we should not try to heal the world at all and simply aim to remain self-sustaining. But I cannot accept that solution. There must be a way to support this planet as well as all the creatures on it. Personally, I find the sage at fault as well for his negligence towards global improvement. In fact, there is no character in this story who acts correctly in my view. In this light, they all have advice for us."
...
I hope you all enjoyed that. Now I have to go cough a few more times.
By the way, if you ever get the chance to watch Brenden Small's "Home Movies" comedy TV show, I highly recommend it. I've been watching it for free on YouTube for a while now, so I figured I should plug it here in some sort of thanks. Also, the show really is funny.
And I want to wish Justina a happy 22nd birthday! Your party was quite fun, considering that I normally can't stand parties.
Usually she's not that silver
P.S. Justina isn't one of my readers, so she will never know I wrote that!
Have good days everyone,
-Sam goldsmith
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Flaming Fire, The Dodos, and the Re:Write Review
Ciao, Tutti!
Look, folks, I know what you're all wondering. And the answer is yes: my calves are so strong and chiseled from all this walking in New York City.
Now for the stuff you don't care about as much:
1) The new Flaming Fire website is here! It's a huge improvement over the last one, complete with latest updates (including an embarrassing video of me screwing up our new song at the first gig that I purposely didn't post here) and new photos! I'm even in a couple of the photos from the SUNY Purchase gig, which was one of the most fun experiences in my life, thanks for asking. Go check it out to learn more about what I got myself involved with.
2) That said, because of some scheduling happiness - and by "happiness" I mean "horrid devastation of the abyss" - Flaming Fire has taken the week off, which means... You guessed it! I had Wednesday night off. Which means... You guessed it! I could go to my first ever Re:Write Review Wednesday night meeting!
Okay, so maybe you didn't guess it.
I've been wanting to attend one of these meetings for nearly a year now, though it's only been weighing on my heart for the last four or five months. As I said in a previous post, I've already submitted "Group Therapy" to them, as well as an entry for their contest. And I had an entry to their contest for their first issue, which didn't win but got published! And the editor is one of my good friends, Aurora, from my very first year at NYU. And I was at the official release for the Re:Write Review's first issue to see Aurora and others so some readings.
In short, I've been wanting in on this group for a while.
I read the short story "The Secret Desires of the Cats," which is posted in an earlier form on this blog, which got a surprisingly warm reception, considering the great quality of the other pieces read before mine. Also, I read right after the very talented writer Joel Ealy wrote a remarkably profound account of his cat's recent passing, which took me right back to the moment that we had to put Zack down. In short, they were very supportive and offered helpful constructive criticism (unlike certain high school English teachers I had), and isn't that everything one could want from a writing group? The guys and gals - including the hilariously awkward and brilliant playwright Kristin Froberg, whose dialogue writing is simply precious - are easygoing and effortless to pass time with. I have only good thing to say about these people, as you can see, and I hope Flaming Fire has another Wednesday off sometime around the corner so I can do it again.
So, with no further ado, Re:Write Review's website will take a spot along with my other links posted along the left-hand side of the blog. If you want to check it out, go for it. The guidelines for submission and their new contest are there, so if you want to set your muse free, there's one possible outlet.
One minor problem with both these groups, Flaming Fire and Re:Write Review: both have enough religious overtones to make me fidget. Is being religiously inspired not as terrible as my mother thinks it is? No, never!
3) Yesterday, while I should have been studying for a midterm depending on your definition of "should," I was watching the Dodos in Williamsburg. As you might remember, their record "Visiter" (spelled wrong on purpose) was my #1 CD of 2008. Well, they've released a new CD, "Time to Die," and are now on tour promoting it.
Am I legally allowed to post this picture? Aw, who cares, anyway?
Because the show was so amazing, I thought I'd share some thoughts about it. Made amazing not the least because I bumped into another freshman year friend at the show, Abby Garnett, Kevin Garnett's white, blonde cousin. As for the performance, it was borderline transformative. Guitarist Meric Long owned the stage, though amid the energy that the band shared was an exceeding, nearly classical discipline. Actually, that's one of my favorite aspects of the Dodos, other than their driving rhythms: their nearly symphonic treatment of their grooves and the long forms of their pieces. "Paint the Rust" was an incredible rendition that send vibrations coursing through the body. recent addition Keaton Snyder drew my eyes the most, I think, possibly because he plays the instrument I've been studying for nearly eight years now. Plus, he was kind of playing the vibes and drums at the same time, three mallets on the drums and one on the vibes. That was pretty cool. This show has to rate in my top 5 for the year, by far. Definitely better than TV on the Radio's concert at the Fox Theater in Oakland, even though everyone knows I adore TV on the Radio.
All in all, the show had the same successes and pitfalls I see in "Time to Die." While keeping their charismatic interplay between drummer Logan Kroeber and Meric Long that defined "Visiter," there's something lacking. It came through in the show and it comes through on the CD: the new songs lack the same kind of drumming variation and smooth forms that produce grand composition arcs. In short, it just doesn't feel as natural as "Visiter." This was so evident in the show that I found myself wishing that they would stop playing music from the new record and stick to the old. For example, the most energetic piece of "Time to Die" is definitely "This is a Business," but when they played it live, it lost the punch, as if their energy was being put into maintaining the form. "The Season," however, which was the final encore, hit 100,000 times harder, and it wasn't even the hardest hitter on "Visiter."
Could it be that the Dodos just don't have the new tunes under their fingers as well as the old? It would make sense - John Hollenbeck's Claudia Quintet was the same way when I saw them. But the same thing is true of the record: it's just not as smooth and thus not as authentically energetic as "Visiter" was. Perhaps the Dodos should have waited a little longer before recording this one to give the drums and the song forms time to define themselves better. It sounds to me like the pieces are still trying to find their shapes, though they're in an adequate enough state to perform. Still, "Time to Die" feels somewhat incomplete to me, like a sentence without a period at the end
But don't let this take away from how great the show was. The show was truly wonderful, and you should all be jealous you didn't see it. Also don't let this take away from the album. I'm listening to it right now, in fact, so it is by no means a bad record. But "Visiter" raised the bar too high, I'm afraid.
Now I'm off to walk in New York City some more to work on those calves. Yet another thing for you to be jealous about.
-Sam goldsmith
Look, folks, I know what you're all wondering. And the answer is yes: my calves are so strong and chiseled from all this walking in New York City.
Now for the stuff you don't care about as much:
1) The new Flaming Fire website is here! It's a huge improvement over the last one, complete with latest updates (including an embarrassing video of me screwing up our new song at the first gig that I purposely didn't post here) and new photos! I'm even in a couple of the photos from the SUNY Purchase gig, which was one of the most fun experiences in my life, thanks for asking. Go check it out to learn more about what I got myself involved with.
2) That said, because of some scheduling happiness - and by "happiness" I mean "horrid devastation of the abyss" - Flaming Fire has taken the week off, which means... You guessed it! I had Wednesday night off. Which means... You guessed it! I could go to my first ever Re:Write Review Wednesday night meeting!
Okay, so maybe you didn't guess it.
I've been wanting to attend one of these meetings for nearly a year now, though it's only been weighing on my heart for the last four or five months. As I said in a previous post, I've already submitted "Group Therapy" to them, as well as an entry for their contest. And I had an entry to their contest for their first issue, which didn't win but got published! And the editor is one of my good friends, Aurora, from my very first year at NYU. And I was at the official release for the Re:Write Review's first issue to see Aurora and others so some readings.
In short, I've been wanting in on this group for a while.
I read the short story "The Secret Desires of the Cats," which is posted in an earlier form on this blog, which got a surprisingly warm reception, considering the great quality of the other pieces read before mine. Also, I read right after the very talented writer Joel Ealy wrote a remarkably profound account of his cat's recent passing, which took me right back to the moment that we had to put Zack down. In short, they were very supportive and offered helpful constructive criticism (unlike certain high school English teachers I had), and isn't that everything one could want from a writing group? The guys and gals - including the hilariously awkward and brilliant playwright Kristin Froberg, whose dialogue writing is simply precious - are easygoing and effortless to pass time with. I have only good thing to say about these people, as you can see, and I hope Flaming Fire has another Wednesday off sometime around the corner so I can do it again.
So, with no further ado, Re:Write Review's website will take a spot along with my other links posted along the left-hand side of the blog. If you want to check it out, go for it. The guidelines for submission and their new contest are there, so if you want to set your muse free, there's one possible outlet.
One minor problem with both these groups, Flaming Fire and Re:Write Review: both have enough religious overtones to make me fidget. Is being religiously inspired not as terrible as my mother thinks it is? No, never!
3) Yesterday, while I should have been studying for a midterm depending on your definition of "should," I was watching the Dodos in Williamsburg. As you might remember, their record "Visiter" (spelled wrong on purpose) was my #1 CD of 2008. Well, they've released a new CD, "Time to Die," and are now on tour promoting it.
Am I legally allowed to post this picture? Aw, who cares, anyway?
Because the show was so amazing, I thought I'd share some thoughts about it. Made amazing not the least because I bumped into another freshman year friend at the show, Abby Garnett, Kevin Garnett's white, blonde cousin. As for the performance, it was borderline transformative. Guitarist Meric Long owned the stage, though amid the energy that the band shared was an exceeding, nearly classical discipline. Actually, that's one of my favorite aspects of the Dodos, other than their driving rhythms: their nearly symphonic treatment of their grooves and the long forms of their pieces. "Paint the Rust" was an incredible rendition that send vibrations coursing through the body. recent addition Keaton Snyder drew my eyes the most, I think, possibly because he plays the instrument I've been studying for nearly eight years now. Plus, he was kind of playing the vibes and drums at the same time, three mallets on the drums and one on the vibes. That was pretty cool. This show has to rate in my top 5 for the year, by far. Definitely better than TV on the Radio's concert at the Fox Theater in Oakland, even though everyone knows I adore TV on the Radio.
All in all, the show had the same successes and pitfalls I see in "Time to Die." While keeping their charismatic interplay between drummer Logan Kroeber and Meric Long that defined "Visiter," there's something lacking. It came through in the show and it comes through on the CD: the new songs lack the same kind of drumming variation and smooth forms that produce grand composition arcs. In short, it just doesn't feel as natural as "Visiter." This was so evident in the show that I found myself wishing that they would stop playing music from the new record and stick to the old. For example, the most energetic piece of "Time to Die" is definitely "This is a Business," but when they played it live, it lost the punch, as if their energy was being put into maintaining the form. "The Season," however, which was the final encore, hit 100,000 times harder, and it wasn't even the hardest hitter on "Visiter."
Could it be that the Dodos just don't have the new tunes under their fingers as well as the old? It would make sense - John Hollenbeck's Claudia Quintet was the same way when I saw them. But the same thing is true of the record: it's just not as smooth and thus not as authentically energetic as "Visiter" was. Perhaps the Dodos should have waited a little longer before recording this one to give the drums and the song forms time to define themselves better. It sounds to me like the pieces are still trying to find their shapes, though they're in an adequate enough state to perform. Still, "Time to Die" feels somewhat incomplete to me, like a sentence without a period at the end
But don't let this take away from how great the show was. The show was truly wonderful, and you should all be jealous you didn't see it. Also don't let this take away from the album. I'm listening to it right now, in fact, so it is by no means a bad record. But "Visiter" raised the bar too high, I'm afraid.
Now I'm off to walk in New York City some more to work on those calves. Yet another thing for you to be jealous about.
-Sam goldsmith
Sunday, October 11, 2009
A Fascinating Line, Revisitted
Ciao, Tutti!
As with my short story, "Group Therapy," I have an update about one of my most well-received stories, "A Fascinating Line." I submitted it to the NYU undergraduate literary magazine, West 10th, about 60 seconds ago, so I have removed it from this blog. The submission period for West 10th is until November 20th, which is fairly similar to the Re:Write Review's November 15th deadline, so it's safe to assume that we won't be hearing back about the success or failures of these two stories until December at the very earliest. Don't hold your breath.
This sort of update will happen a few more times this year, I'm afraid. I will also be submitting "The One Tale From College" and "Cliche Central," at the very least, to other magazines. So read those now before you miss the chance to do so for free. Also I will most likely be submitting some of the sudden fiction pieces as well, and possibly also "The Secret Desires of the Cats" and "June's Confession" if I ever finish them.
Long story short (heh heh), you'll be seeing this kind of disclaimer a lot more in the coming weeks.
In other news: The Flaming Fire concert at SUNY Purchase college was da bomb, even if it was relatively poorly attended. Without a doubt it was the best show I've done yet with the group, and after my short time with them it's stating to feel more and more like I'm a member. Complete with broken bass strings, nearly broken glasses, and red hair spray in my beard... almost. We finished playing at 1:30 and got back to Manhattan (the four of us who didn't stay over, that is) at 4:00, and, of course, there was too much adrenaline to sleep with until 6:00. Then I was teaching Constitutional Law 5 hours later. I'm still feeling jet-lagged.
Welcome to the rock world, Mr. Goldsmith.
Also, concerning the ethically questionable state of the Flaming Fire website, I have some good news for any freaked out relatives. The website, as it stands now, is a relic of years past. The band is working on a new one as we speak that will be more modern and up to date. For example, 5 of the members of the current band aren't even in any of the band photos on the current site. So, stay tuned. It will be getting better shortly. And I think I'll start to bring my camera to shows and see if we can't update some of those photos.
I think that's it.
-Sam goldsmith
As with my short story, "Group Therapy," I have an update about one of my most well-received stories, "A Fascinating Line." I submitted it to the NYU undergraduate literary magazine, West 10th, about 60 seconds ago, so I have removed it from this blog. The submission period for West 10th is until November 20th, which is fairly similar to the Re:Write Review's November 15th deadline, so it's safe to assume that we won't be hearing back about the success or failures of these two stories until December at the very earliest. Don't hold your breath.
This sort of update will happen a few more times this year, I'm afraid. I will also be submitting "The One Tale From College" and "Cliche Central," at the very least, to other magazines. So read those now before you miss the chance to do so for free. Also I will most likely be submitting some of the sudden fiction pieces as well, and possibly also "The Secret Desires of the Cats" and "June's Confession" if I ever finish them.
Long story short (heh heh), you'll be seeing this kind of disclaimer a lot more in the coming weeks.
In other news: The Flaming Fire concert at SUNY Purchase college was da bomb, even if it was relatively poorly attended. Without a doubt it was the best show I've done yet with the group, and after my short time with them it's stating to feel more and more like I'm a member. Complete with broken bass strings, nearly broken glasses, and red hair spray in my beard... almost. We finished playing at 1:30 and got back to Manhattan (the four of us who didn't stay over, that is) at 4:00, and, of course, there was too much adrenaline to sleep with until 6:00. Then I was teaching Constitutional Law 5 hours later. I'm still feeling jet-lagged.
Welcome to the rock world, Mr. Goldsmith.
Also, concerning the ethically questionable state of the Flaming Fire website, I have some good news for any freaked out relatives. The website, as it stands now, is a relic of years past. The band is working on a new one as we speak that will be more modern and up to date. For example, 5 of the members of the current band aren't even in any of the band photos on the current site. So, stay tuned. It will be getting better shortly. And I think I'll start to bring my camera to shows and see if we can't update some of those photos.
I think that's it.
-Sam goldsmith
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Blogging Regulations
Ciao, Tutti!
This message is a matter of boring, legal importance. More of an explanation, really, for a trend that will soon be implemented on the blog so the cops don't come for me. Starting December 1, Bloggers have to disclose any relationship they have to a product they are reviewing, extolling, farting on, or even mentioning. Specifically, I have to announce whether I promote that product because the company provided me with a free sample for the purpose. For more in-depth information, follow this link:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/06/business/media/06adco.html
Just so I can get in the practice of doing this, let me say that I am an online subscriber to the New York Times, which is free because of my being a student. The New York Times has not contacted me once - ever - and I could have just as easily used another online news source to provide the above link.
Sections of this blog are about to get boring. Disclaimers every time I review a CD?! Sorry, everyone, I'm just a law abiding citizen. (I have no relation with the movie "Law Abiding Citizen." I only know about it because of subway posters.)
You know, there's a chance I'm taking this a little too seriously.
But even though this is going to be a pain in the eyeball for me, I think this regulation makes a lot of sense. Sincerity in advertising is important, I believe, and for companies to take advantage of the authenticating nature of the popular Internet to manipulate our perceptions is unethical. For a while now I have been reviewing/suggesting CD's to listen to, movies and TV shows, and basketball franchises to root for, and it would be pretty sleazy if I was being paid off to do this with promotions. If I ever endorse (I hate that word, by the way) anything, be it Flaming Fire, the Re:Write Review, travel to Florence, Avatar: The Last Airbender, or the crappy relief pitching of the Detroit Tigers, I will be (and have been) forthright about my connections to those franchises. I'm not trying to trick you into liking Rouroni Kenshin and Genovese-style pesto sauce for any self-serving purpose other than to share my actual thought with you all. And shouldn't all product endorsement be that way?
Now I need to take a sip from my refreshing yet low-calorie Coke Zero before I get back to reading my comprehensive and easy-to-read WestLaw Constitution of the United States.
-Sam goldsmith
P.S. I don't actually drink Coke Zero. That stuff is gross.
This message is a matter of boring, legal importance. More of an explanation, really, for a trend that will soon be implemented on the blog so the cops don't come for me. Starting December 1, Bloggers have to disclose any relationship they have to a product they are reviewing, extolling, farting on, or even mentioning. Specifically, I have to announce whether I promote that product because the company provided me with a free sample for the purpose. For more in-depth information, follow this link:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/06/business/media/06adco.html
Just so I can get in the practice of doing this, let me say that I am an online subscriber to the New York Times, which is free because of my being a student. The New York Times has not contacted me once - ever - and I could have just as easily used another online news source to provide the above link.
Sections of this blog are about to get boring. Disclaimers every time I review a CD?! Sorry, everyone, I'm just a law abiding citizen. (I have no relation with the movie "Law Abiding Citizen." I only know about it because of subway posters.)
You know, there's a chance I'm taking this a little too seriously.
But even though this is going to be a pain in the eyeball for me, I think this regulation makes a lot of sense. Sincerity in advertising is important, I believe, and for companies to take advantage of the authenticating nature of the popular Internet to manipulate our perceptions is unethical. For a while now I have been reviewing/suggesting CD's to listen to, movies and TV shows, and basketball franchises to root for, and it would be pretty sleazy if I was being paid off to do this with promotions. If I ever endorse (I hate that word, by the way) anything, be it Flaming Fire, the Re:Write Review, travel to Florence, Avatar: The Last Airbender, or the crappy relief pitching of the Detroit Tigers, I will be (and have been) forthright about my connections to those franchises. I'm not trying to trick you into liking Rouroni Kenshin and Genovese-style pesto sauce for any self-serving purpose other than to share my actual thought with you all. And shouldn't all product endorsement be that way?
Now I need to take a sip from my refreshing yet low-calorie Coke Zero before I get back to reading my comprehensive and easy-to-read WestLaw Constitution of the United States.
-Sam goldsmith
P.S. I don't actually drink Coke Zero. That stuff is gross.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Welcome To October
Welcome to October
I welcome you with a rainstorm
Things are getting colder
So you should all stay indoors
Welcome to a new month
I welcome you with a deadline
Say hello to shortcuts
Because you no longer have time
...
Welcome to October
I welcome you with a schedule
First regrets are over
There's no more need to retool
Welcome to the first day
I welcome you with a sleepwalk
Say hello to pouring rain
And there's no more need for the small talk
Lyrics for DEAR
Ciao, tutti!
Four items of business:
1) I have to make a correction for last post. Two corrections, actually. My mother gave me an impassioned call making clear the point that she had, in fact, made gnocchi successfully by herself. And she made it for 20 people for a passover dinner. So here are the two corrections: a) Mom did make gnocchi by herself before I could, and b) She actually is competitive about it.
2) It turns out that I have a concert with Flaming Fire earlier than I expected. Yesterday I discovered that we are playing a show on... tomorrow, actually. Welcome to October, Sam! The venue is Coco66, which means absolutely nothing to me. But if you know something about it, like where it is and how to get there, then come by around 9 pm and you'll get to see my debut as a Flaming Fire member and as a bassist, as well as hear one of our new tunes, 4th of July. Check it out. Here's the official email:
The Official Email (yes, that shaking you're feeling is definitely fear)
Hey!
We're playing a surprise show (to us, even) tomorrow at Coco66 at 9 PM in Greenpoint. This'll be our first gig with our new amazing bass player Sam Goldsmith who is stellar, we like him a lot. He just turned 21, so say happy birthday. Other bands include our good pals from Memphis, Esque, as well as Free Blood and Papercuts. We'll debut a new song we've been working on for a couple months called "4th of July," and it sounds great, thanks to incredible arrangements by Stirling Krusing and Justina Flash. I'm really, really happy about it.
Hey, Leon & Brian Dewan just sold a Dewantaron instrument to some gentleman from Magnetic Fields. So now, everyone's gonna sound like Flaming Fire. Darn it! Congrats, Leon and Brian!
In other news, Flaming Fire is very close to signing a deal with a Brooklyn arts organization to do a month-long installation from mid November to mid December! Would you like to be a part of this? If so, please email me. We need lots of help, and promise it'll be fun and very entertaining. It'll be part Disneyworld, part temple of (insert your idea here).
Look forward to a new website thanks to FF percussionist/genius Chris Theise, that we promise to update a lot more than our current one...
Oh, we have new red tshirts for sale! They look like the one above, are American Apparel, are available in either gold and black , and in man or woman styles (girl sleeves pictured, just in case you weren't sure from Amanda's boyish figure). If you'd like one, please paypal katehambrecht@hotmail.com $15, and let us know what size and color. We've sold more than half at recent shows, so I encourage you get one now, before we start to run out of certain styles/sizes.
Lauren Weinstein and Tim Hodler now have a beautiful baby girl named Ramona Salley Hodler. She is very purdy, and we're all in love with her.
And finally, band friend Gabe Galvin is mixing our album this month! He's bunkered down in a tenement basement somewhere in manhattan, and has resolved to not leave the house till he finishes the album before November 1! Go get 'em Gabe! He'll be sending us some new rough mixes each week, which we'll be sharing with you guys soon...look for something new on the website next week.
See you tomorrow!
Love,
Patrick
End Official Email
Patrick, for those of you who don't know, is the singer dude with the magnificent Kyp Malone-like beard in the picture I posted in the last update. Just so you can put a face to the literary/email voice.
3) I will be participating in the High School Law Institute again this year, where I will kill my Saturday mornings (aka. Friday nights) by team-teaching Constitutional law to high schoolers with students at the NYU Law School. That starts in two days, right after the gig, so I won't get to stay after with the band and enjoy my 21-ness. (Well, it's okay! Because I got to have a shot with them after practice on Wednesday, so I guess you can say I really did celebrate. And I didn't even get drunk! Just a little happier.)
I know a couple of the teachers I'm working with from before, and they're both good people, although I'm the only undergrad in the group with prior experience with the HSLI. On top of that, the law student I was working with last year is now the president of the program. Life is sweet as Halloween candy. On the other hand, I guess I have to read the Constitution again.
4) As of right now, I have no plans for a recital date. Stop asking. It only makes me worry.
Come to the show tomorrow if you can! And even if you can't, too. Couldn't hurt.
-Sam goldsmith
You walk the silent stairs
That you never saw
Then you realize
I welcome you with a rainstorm
Things are getting colder
So you should all stay indoors
Welcome to a new month
I welcome you with a deadline
Say hello to shortcuts
Because you no longer have time
...
Welcome to October
I welcome you with a schedule
First regrets are over
There's no more need to retool
Welcome to the first day
I welcome you with a sleepwalk
Say hello to pouring rain
And there's no more need for the small talk
Lyrics for DEAR
Ciao, tutti!
Four items of business:
1) I have to make a correction for last post. Two corrections, actually. My mother gave me an impassioned call making clear the point that she had, in fact, made gnocchi successfully by herself. And she made it for 20 people for a passover dinner. So here are the two corrections: a) Mom did make gnocchi by herself before I could, and b) She actually is competitive about it.
2) It turns out that I have a concert with Flaming Fire earlier than I expected. Yesterday I discovered that we are playing a show on... tomorrow, actually. Welcome to October, Sam! The venue is Coco66, which means absolutely nothing to me. But if you know something about it, like where it is and how to get there, then come by around 9 pm and you'll get to see my debut as a Flaming Fire member and as a bassist, as well as hear one of our new tunes, 4th of July. Check it out. Here's the official email:
The Official Email (yes, that shaking you're feeling is definitely fear)
Hey!
We're playing a surprise show (to us, even) tomorrow at Coco66 at 9 PM in Greenpoint. This'll be our first gig with our new amazing bass player Sam Goldsmith who is stellar, we like him a lot. He just turned 21, so say happy birthday. Other bands include our good pals from Memphis, Esque, as well as Free Blood and Papercuts. We'll debut a new song we've been working on for a couple months called "4th of July," and it sounds great, thanks to incredible arrangements by Stirling Krusing and Justina Flash. I'm really, really happy about it.
Hey, Leon & Brian Dewan just sold a Dewantaron instrument to some gentleman from Magnetic Fields. So now, everyone's gonna sound like Flaming Fire. Darn it! Congrats, Leon and Brian!
In other news, Flaming Fire is very close to signing a deal with a Brooklyn arts organization to do a month-long installation from mid November to mid December! Would you like to be a part of this? If so, please email me. We need lots of help, and promise it'll be fun and very entertaining. It'll be part Disneyworld, part temple of (insert your idea here).
Look forward to a new website thanks to FF percussionist/genius Chris Theise, that we promise to update a lot more than our current one...
Oh, we have new red tshirts for sale! They look like the one above, are American Apparel, are available in either gold and black , and in man or woman styles (girl sleeves pictured, just in case you weren't sure from Amanda's boyish figure). If you'd like one, please paypal katehambrecht@hotmail.com $15, and let us know what size and color. We've sold more than half at recent shows, so I encourage you get one now, before we start to run out of certain styles/sizes.
Lauren Weinstein and Tim Hodler now have a beautiful baby girl named Ramona Salley Hodler. She is very purdy, and we're all in love with her.
And finally, band friend Gabe Galvin is mixing our album this month! He's bunkered down in a tenement basement somewhere in manhattan, and has resolved to not leave the house till he finishes the album before November 1! Go get 'em Gabe! He'll be sending us some new rough mixes each week, which we'll be sharing with you guys soon...look for something new on the website next week.
See you tomorrow!
Love,
Patrick
End Official Email
Patrick, for those of you who don't know, is the singer dude with the magnificent Kyp Malone-like beard in the picture I posted in the last update. Just so you can put a face to the literary/email voice.
3) I will be participating in the High School Law Institute again this year, where I will kill my Saturday mornings (aka. Friday nights) by team-teaching Constitutional law to high schoolers with students at the NYU Law School. That starts in two days, right after the gig, so I won't get to stay after with the band and enjoy my 21-ness. (Well, it's okay! Because I got to have a shot with them after practice on Wednesday, so I guess you can say I really did celebrate. And I didn't even get drunk! Just a little happier.)
I know a couple of the teachers I'm working with from before, and they're both good people, although I'm the only undergrad in the group with prior experience with the HSLI. On top of that, the law student I was working with last year is now the president of the program. Life is sweet as Halloween candy. On the other hand, I guess I have to read the Constitution again.
4) As of right now, I have no plans for a recital date. Stop asking. It only makes me worry.
Come to the show tomorrow if you can! And even if you can't, too. Couldn't hurt.
-Sam goldsmith
You walk the silent stairs
That you never saw
Then you realize
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Gnocchi! And A Band
Ciao, Tutti!
Well, there are certainly some things I couldn't do from my 21 to 21 list. One of them was to make gnocchi so I could break down my self-confidence. Well, in guilt (and in four hours) I was able to use my new 21-year-old self to make gnocchi. All by myself. Without my awesome mother. That's right: I'm the first person between the two of us to make gnocchi from scratch all alone! Eat them apples!
Um, Mom's not a very competitive person. So this "victory" is very bitter-sweet. But whatever, I got to eat gnocchi. Here's the photographic evidence:
In the bowl
In the pan
And now, for the more important news for you potato haters out there. I think it's been enough time to announce my new musical endeavor, my joining rock band Flaming Fire as their deep electric bassist (what?). It's true. At the beginning of the semester I got a call from my friend, who sings and plays keys for the band (as well as Owl Eyes, our group), saying they were in need of a bass player. I've rehearsed with them a few times now, I'm slated to play a gig with them in October, and the dog who lives in the studio gave me a bloody nose, so I guess that's as official as it gets. So I think I can post this on the blog without being preemptive.
So, with no further ado, I have posted both the band's MySpace page and official website on the left-hand column "Links," formerly "Free Streaming of My Music." Feel free to check it out and wonder how I ended up involved in this whole thing. But as you wonder, please remember, it's quite amazing and fun. And no, Nana, I'm not doing drugs with them. Not yet.
Kidding, folks. Just kidding.
-Sam goldsmith
Well, there are certainly some things I couldn't do from my 21 to 21 list. One of them was to make gnocchi so I could break down my self-confidence. Well, in guilt (and in four hours) I was able to use my new 21-year-old self to make gnocchi. All by myself. Without my awesome mother. That's right: I'm the first person between the two of us to make gnocchi from scratch all alone! Eat them apples!
Um, Mom's not a very competitive person. So this "victory" is very bitter-sweet. But whatever, I got to eat gnocchi. Here's the photographic evidence:
In the bowl
In the pan
And now, for the more important news for you potato haters out there. I think it's been enough time to announce my new musical endeavor, my joining rock band Flaming Fire as their deep electric bassist (what?). It's true. At the beginning of the semester I got a call from my friend, who sings and plays keys for the band (as well as Owl Eyes, our group), saying they were in need of a bass player. I've rehearsed with them a few times now, I'm slated to play a gig with them in October, and the dog who lives in the studio gave me a bloody nose, so I guess that's as official as it gets. So I think I can post this on the blog without being preemptive.
So, with no further ado, I have posted both the band's MySpace page and official website on the left-hand column "Links," formerly "Free Streaming of My Music." Feel free to check it out and wonder how I ended up involved in this whole thing. But as you wonder, please remember, it's quite amazing and fun. And no, Nana, I'm not doing drugs with them. Not yet.
Kidding, folks. Just kidding.
-Sam goldsmith
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Group Therapy - A Reprise
Ciao, Tutti!
Here I am, once again, being a horrible person and fulfilling my promises I made in 21 to 21. I have, as of yesterday, made my first short story submission, complete with a cover letter that will probably disqualify me right away because I don't know how/if to write one.
On a completely unrelated note, you may or may not notice that "Group Therapy" has been removed from this blog. It was an old draft anyway. (I think that was draft 3 out of about 15. Yeah, I'm a freak about editing. Deal with it. Your lives will move on without it.
Ok, those weren't completely unrelated. Or even slightly unrelated. But don't worry: you'll get to see the story again soon enough for one of two reasons: 1) The Re:Write Review sends me my first ever rejection letter for a short story. This is probably most likely. 2) The Re:Write Review publishes the story, and you all buy it (right?) to read all the amazing work they publish from budding young writers.
All of this is simply to allay the panic in your hearts. You're welcome.
-Sam goldsmith
P.S. It's Hazal's birthday, everyone! And also the birthday of roughly 6.4 billion/365 other people you don't know! Yippee!
Here I am, once again, being a horrible person and fulfilling my promises I made in 21 to 21. I have, as of yesterday, made my first short story submission, complete with a cover letter that will probably disqualify me right away because I don't know how/if to write one.
On a completely unrelated note, you may or may not notice that "Group Therapy" has been removed from this blog. It was an old draft anyway. (I think that was draft 3 out of about 15. Yeah, I'm a freak about editing. Deal with it. Your lives will move on without it.
Ok, those weren't completely unrelated. Or even slightly unrelated. But don't worry: you'll get to see the story again soon enough for one of two reasons: 1) The Re:Write Review sends me my first ever rejection letter for a short story. This is probably most likely. 2) The Re:Write Review publishes the story, and you all buy it (right?) to read all the amazing work they publish from budding young writers.
All of this is simply to allay the panic in your hearts. You're welcome.
-Sam goldsmith
P.S. It's Hazal's birthday, everyone! And also the birthday of roughly 6.4 billion/365 other people you don't know! Yippee!
Friday, September 11, 2009
Sudden Fiction - How I Keep My Kitchen and History Does This
Ciao, Tutti!
I like "How I Keep My Kitchen" best, so I'll put it first.
But Sam, how was the first week of classes?
How was what?
How I Keep My Kitchen
She knew how I liked to keep my kitchen. She knew how I liked to wrap a rag around my hand and slide it inside the cylindrical cups and smoothly sleek wine glasses, then fold the rag into a triangle and rest it on the washer once a fine layer of dust had tinted its whiteness. She knew how I liked to restack the plates one by one, watching from above with a professor’s eye to make sure everything lined up so it looked like I was holding a single plate. She knew how I liked to set the bowls facing down to look like colorful, glazed hills rolling into the back of the cabinet without the hint of wind or of grass. She knew how I liked to coordinate the direction of the silverware, turning each fork, spoon, and knife to face the left, lying against each other’s backs like a set of curved, silver matches. She knew how I liked to align the handles for all the pots so that they each pointed to the stove next to it, a row of metal and cast-iron fingers paying homage where homage was due. She knew how I liked to keep my oven mitts lined on top of the shelf where all the cookbooks were, watching over the recipes like gargoyles over a cathedral. She knew how I liked to keep my kitchen. That’s how she knew I’ve been seeing another woman.
Fine
And now, as if out of a dream, here comes the second story:
History Does This
It happened right about when the news stations started showing reruns. Some wise guy at CNN figured he could cut costs by showing old footage from the 70’s and hope no one would notice. Soon enough all the major channels were doing it. Somewhere, far away, the current anchors were probably lying on the beach, working up a Los Angeles tan to go with that Hawaii sunburn, while the rest of us were still breathing Pittsburg air, living in downtown Cleveland apartments, and wondering when our brothers would be coming home from Vietnam.
That’s when I started seeing my ex-girlfriend again. It was a significant coincidence that we were both living in Philadelphia now, bumping into each other at a downtown cheese steak stand, both of us lonely and single. What happened next were practiced motions, but after nearly a decade without them it felt just as exciting back when I was a newbie pimple-faced horny freshman at Berkeley. It was like looking through an old collection of elementary school assignments and remembering that I, too, was once a cute little energy mass. At the same time the news reruns started. I should have paid more attention. I missed the message the first time.
Fine
I hope you enjoyed these short pieces. I am still yet to write the story about the Sierra Club guy coming to our door just after we put our dog down, but when that happens I'm sure I'll be making that dark humor piece available to you all.
As I start finding places to submit my pieces, you will notice that they will mysteriously be disappearing from the website. Copyright and everything good like that. The point is, if you feel like reading the first drafts of "A Fascinating Line," "The One Tale From College," "Cliche Central," or "Group Therapy," your days are numbered. But don't forget: these are only rough drafts. All these stories (especially "Cliche Central") have undergone significant changes since you last saw them, and hopefully you'll be able to see these changes in a real life publication someday soon.
Now, to motivate myself to do actual schoolwork...
Nah.
-Sam goldsmith
I like "How I Keep My Kitchen" best, so I'll put it first.
But Sam, how was the first week of classes?
How was what?
How I Keep My Kitchen
She knew how I liked to keep my kitchen. She knew how I liked to wrap a rag around my hand and slide it inside the cylindrical cups and smoothly sleek wine glasses, then fold the rag into a triangle and rest it on the washer once a fine layer of dust had tinted its whiteness. She knew how I liked to restack the plates one by one, watching from above with a professor’s eye to make sure everything lined up so it looked like I was holding a single plate. She knew how I liked to set the bowls facing down to look like colorful, glazed hills rolling into the back of the cabinet without the hint of wind or of grass. She knew how I liked to coordinate the direction of the silverware, turning each fork, spoon, and knife to face the left, lying against each other’s backs like a set of curved, silver matches. She knew how I liked to align the handles for all the pots so that they each pointed to the stove next to it, a row of metal and cast-iron fingers paying homage where homage was due. She knew how I liked to keep my oven mitts lined on top of the shelf where all the cookbooks were, watching over the recipes like gargoyles over a cathedral. She knew how I liked to keep my kitchen. That’s how she knew I’ve been seeing another woman.
Fine
And now, as if out of a dream, here comes the second story:
History Does This
It happened right about when the news stations started showing reruns. Some wise guy at CNN figured he could cut costs by showing old footage from the 70’s and hope no one would notice. Soon enough all the major channels were doing it. Somewhere, far away, the current anchors were probably lying on the beach, working up a Los Angeles tan to go with that Hawaii sunburn, while the rest of us were still breathing Pittsburg air, living in downtown Cleveland apartments, and wondering when our brothers would be coming home from Vietnam.
That’s when I started seeing my ex-girlfriend again. It was a significant coincidence that we were both living in Philadelphia now, bumping into each other at a downtown cheese steak stand, both of us lonely and single. What happened next were practiced motions, but after nearly a decade without them it felt just as exciting back when I was a newbie pimple-faced horny freshman at Berkeley. It was like looking through an old collection of elementary school assignments and remembering that I, too, was once a cute little energy mass. At the same time the news reruns started. I should have paid more attention. I missed the message the first time.
Fine
I hope you enjoyed these short pieces. I am still yet to write the story about the Sierra Club guy coming to our door just after we put our dog down, but when that happens I'm sure I'll be making that dark humor piece available to you all.
As I start finding places to submit my pieces, you will notice that they will mysteriously be disappearing from the website. Copyright and everything good like that. The point is, if you feel like reading the first drafts of "A Fascinating Line," "The One Tale From College," "Cliche Central," or "Group Therapy," your days are numbered. But don't forget: these are only rough drafts. All these stories (especially "Cliche Central") have undergone significant changes since you last saw them, and hopefully you'll be able to see these changes in a real life publication someday soon.
Now, to motivate myself to do actual schoolwork...
Nah.
-Sam goldsmith
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