A Jeremy Grows in Brooklyn

Can we take a moment to mourn that great pun?

Onward. It’s officially a month I’ve been in Brooklyn. In case you were wondering what it’s like to live in New York City in the borough of Brooklyn as an average American (though some would say Asian American), I can give you some insight into what life is like for a starry-eyed kid from San Francisco urban sprawl.

  1. There are never stars and there never will be stars. Get over this fact immediately. If you want stars, Google the Hubble or watch a movie. Besides, you should be watching where you’re going or a huge rat (seriously—as big as both your fists) will mug you for all your shit.

2. The drought did not follow you from California. So stop looking at all the fire hydrants spewing precious water everywhere or those weird random holes in the ground that geyser six inches of water for… anyone. No one cares but you.

3. No one likes bicyclists. Even other bicyclists. They will run you over because momentum bro. If you plan on crossing any street, check your f******g corners. Most people take the subway because it’s always rolling and awesome.

4. Groceries aren’t as expensive as you think, and eating out isn’t that bad either, but right after the really cheap stuff there’s a bit of a spike. Then another spike. And then you’re wondering where your money went. BUT THE FOOD IS SO GOOD.

5. There’s a lot of trash everywhere. I seen a piece of trash (sometimes more) fly out a car window every day. Everyone’s just meh, boop. Not a second thought lingers. There aren’t many recycling bins around town either so you end up with piles of bottles and cardboard in the trash heap.

6. It’s summer. WTF IS THIS RAIN. Yesterday, the forecast said 20% chance of thunderstorm. I said Yeah right. Turns out when the 20% comes up 100% you’re basically the saddest and wettest person ever.

7. The city is diverse and intensely funny if you take the time to look at it. People from every walk of life crowd these streets. I honestly can’t get enough of the architecture, the accents I hear, the way people help each other.

There are plenty more things but I don’t feel like it.

love,

me

P.S. the second chapter of my manuscript is along nicely and might be set here in a week or so. Stay tuned by following my FB page (the newsletter is solely for when I finally publish this sucker).

Ponies by Kij Johnson

Read this short: http://www.tor.com/stories/2010/11/ponies

It’s amazing.

That is all.

Random spin

It was a small and desiccated couch. Soft white cotton intestines billowed out of jagged wounds in the cloth, spilt across the sidewalk and tumbled down the street. They had come in the night, anonymous and frisky, and deprived it of any sanctity. Those looters gone back to their dank hovels, cozied into their couches, satisfied that no wayfarer would find their respite tonight. I shook my head.
There were no lights overhead, the cotton like tumbleweed ghosts, shriveled into themselves and if I glanced away, they might have disappeared just as soon.
One end of the couch had its recliner extended, a hand reaching out for help, instead abused and left hanging and hanging. I wonder if anyone will set it back. It’s just a small gesture. I couldn’t stop. I left it there.
I could use a good nap on a good couch, I think. I miss having a reliable couch around. Like a dog always there to pick you up, smile at you, warm and welcoming. Never with a frosty glare or an icy touch.
They call it a cliché: to miss something only once it’s been taken from you.
What if it’s killed in front of you? What if you discover it by chance? Openly slain and displayed for all to see?
It’s dark. No one will see it.
But it’s there.
 
–end–
I’ve been outlining the third draft for my WIP. So tragic that I’ve had three outlines. I think it means I’m bad at them. But, in my frequent daydreaming spells, I have found subtlety and theme to the previous two outlines that never manifested in the arcs or writing of their drafts. Perhaps it will find its way this time.

finished a book!

Not my book though.

I just finished reading Robert Heinlein’s Starship Troopers.

Disclaimer* I love science-fiction and especially have a great deal of respect for the Big 3 of SF: Asimov, Clarke, and Heinlein.

Anyway, I loved the movie as a kid and never really figured to read any of the real creator’s work. Now that I have, I am a little upset at the movie. It doesn’t come near the depth of the book.

The book has themes, y’know those important elements of a book that give it meaning, something that you can chew on once you’re done.

The book hits on lots of things: the meaning of citizenship, civic duty, morals, cultural identity, the value of human life. It goes through a lot of steps, and I think it hits on many of them.

That alone makes it worth the read.

Yes, it’s about war. Yes, it’s about military.

It’s gotten a lot of flak for glorifying war, but I think that’s too broad. Read it, think about it, then come back and we can talk about it. I don’t want to spoil it.

So I won’t go further into it because I’d love to do some more of my own writing tonight, but seriously, if you’ve got some downtime, check it out. It’s a quick read at about 250 short pages.

—–jy

great ideas upcoming—wait I lost it…

How many ideas do you have in a day? If your heart is pumping, I’m betting on hundreds. If you’ve had a decent breakfast, maybe even thousands.

How many of those ideas are any good? Well… probably one or two. For a day, try to classify every idea you have. Is this a good idea?

Should I cross the street when a car is about to hit me? BAD

Does this yellow shirt look good with my saffron blazer? DON’T ANSWER THAT

Should I eat a burrito for lunch? GOOD

But what of the serious stuff, the kind that merits a call to someone:
“You will not believe the wonderful fart my brain just had and there will not be one dry eye at the end of this Wonka ride.”

That’s right, folks. Every once in a while, you have a great freaking idea.

And, where, pray tell, does that great freaking idea go? Probably down the great freaking idea gutter, which, unsurprisingly, is the same gutter used for shitty ideas.

Save your great freaking ideas. Buy them a nice home somewhere on a slip of paper, better a journal, even better ten journals, and crazier (Memento-style) yet, a tattoo. But get it down. Make some other piece of universe remember for you, so when you have the time, you can make it a real freaking great thing.

That’s all folks. Now, excuse me while I bash my head trying to remember that great freaking short story idea I had earlier today.

—–the end—–