Third, what the hell was I waiting till November for? You want to want to be real boy, Pinocchio? Er, I mean, a real writer? Then don’t set 1/12th of the year aside to do it. Do it always, and do it unconditionally. You don’t have to write a novel between November 1st and 30th. That is not your limitation. When I did it, I didn’t want to cheat, and I wanted to hit the mark, but it was all… illusory. Somebody else made up these rules. Not me. You want to write a novel? Write a novel. Start now. Outline it, write it, revise it, sell it. This isn’t meant to be insulting to the participants, though it will sound that way: just because the herd is moving doesn’t mean you need to move with the herd. Okay? That was my issue. I thought I had to move with the herd. Turns out, I didn’t.

"I don't have the time to write a novel; as part of NaNoWriMo or any other time."

"Work is hectic; I barely have time for my family, and if I go to bed before midnight, it's an early night."

"I'm lucky to blog a few times/week, but at least it's keeping the gears greased."

I have a million valid reasons for not focusing on one of my main writing goals: to write fiction; short stories and novels. Most of those reasons are really just excuses, though.

Exhibit A: I'm about to spend 3+ hours watching a football game, after spending the morning catching up on email, Facebook and Twitter.

I've been debating doing NaNoWriMo again this month, but I just don't see where I have the time to even come close to the 50,000 word goal. That seems like a legitimate reason not to do it, but then I read Chuck Wendig's post this morning, quoted above, and realized I was looking at things the wrong way.

Back in 2004, the NaNoWriMo exercise worked for me because I was trying to transition from writing poetry, stretching my muscles beyond the 3-minute time limit of the slam. I only wrote 15,000 words, and the story was a mess, but I realized that I squeeze time for writing into my schedule if it was important enough to me.

Writers write. Period.

Review by: Lori Freshwater on Oct. 24, 2009 : (no rating)
Guy LeCharles Gonzalez takes the gloves right off in this wonderful collection of poetry. We know immediately that this is going to be poetry that lives up to its promise, it is going to be poetry that speaks truth. We know that because the poet tells us in “Crazy White Devil” that Evel Knievel was a better man than Elvis. “I was never inspired/to shake my hips to stolen glory/but I sped down glass-filled/urban ski slopes with abandon, /jumping curbs and milk crate ramps…” Okay, I’m an Elvis fan but I am no doubt on board with this real glory.

There are so many wonderful enjambments throughout this collection. There is pleasing and subtle internal rhyme which carries the reader along. There are many places where the beats slow and speed in marvelous ways. In the end, I came away thinking that contrary to one of the notions expressed in “Party Like a Rock Star,” some poets are indeed dancing.

Perhaps my personal favorite is “Old New York Love Story.” Perhaps that is because I was a bartender in Greenwich Village in the early 90’s, where scenes like this played out their magic in front of me so often. Or perhaps it is simply further proof of the poet’s ability to capture a sense of place, a sense of being, and a sense of humanity.

Some of the heaviest material is saved for the poems dealing with being young and “moist eyed” in the military during these uncertain times of modern war-fare and shadows for enemies. I grew up in a pit of a military town in the south, and men like the ones in these poems will be with me forever. These poems are honest, and they’re true. And we should listen carefully.

The collection is wonderfully ordered. Next Guy brings us back to the more innocent times of childhood in the touching “Breathless.” This poem reflects the painful journey of many of us who start out with a drive to make a difference, but who must face the brutal reality of changing anything, without actually giving up on the task.

I only have one suggestion for the poet. The poem “Mozer, Bethea and I” (which is wonderfully long and patient) should not end with ellipses. In should end with a period: “I know there are no easy answers.” Because there are no easy answers. Which is why we need poets like Guy LeCharles Gonzalez to help us along.

Wow! Thanks so much, Lori!

As for where the individual plot-threads came from: Stephen George is, pretty obviously, a semi-autobiographical character. The story of Luther and Blackjack comes from my childhood fascination with the “Dog” and “Cat” entries in the World Book Encyclopedia—World Book had these pictorial layouts showing all the different dog and cat breeds, and for some reason this just stuck in my imagination; then when I got to Cornell and heard the legend about dogs being allowed to roam free on the campus, I thought it might be neat to have a college for dogs. The sprites likewise spring from a childhood interest in “little people” stories, in particular the 1973 TV adaptation of The Borrowers (this also explains why, despite their Shakespearean names, the sprites talk and act like mundane human beings rather than otherworldly creatures of faerie). The Bohemians’ tale was inspired by my real-life adventures living in Prudence Risley Hall.

The very last plot element to fall into place was the framing story involving the Greek god Apollo, aka Mr. Sunshine. In the early drafts of Fool on the Hill, Mr. Sunshine’s role was filled by a character named Old Nick, and the framing story concerned a bet between God and the Devil. But this never really worked; it didn’t mesh well with the various subplots, and it also dragged in a load of personal religious baggage that had no business being there. So as I began to revise the manuscript for submission to publishers, I gave Old Nick his walking papers and looked to Mt. Olympus for a more suitable antagonist.

Matt Ruff's Fool on the Hill remains one of my absolute all-time favorite books, and one I think every writer should read at least once, because at its heart, it's all about what makes being a writer so special.I've enjoyed all of his subsequent books, especially Set This House in Order, but Fool will always be my favorite.

I was working a second job, part-time, at a Doubleday Book Shop in Manhattan in 1989 when I first discovered the paperback, and I've devoured it at least five times since, each time reminding me why I write. I even have an autographed copy that my wife got me as an anniversary present about 5-6 years ago, and I keep a separate (newer) copy in my office, too.

I've found myself thinking about it and referencing it often recently, which must be the dormant wannabe-novelist in me stirring, possibly in response to NaNoWriMo, which I absolutely DO NOT have the time for this year!

DO. NOT. HAVE THE TIME!

But, maybe if the muse calls...

Either way, I think it's time for another visit with S.T. George and Ithaca, NY.

PS: Interestingly, the movie version of Inkheart comes close to pulling off a similarly inspirational feat, but the book isn't nearly as compelling from that perspective.

This, Maya Azucena's acoustic version of Hallelujah, and the entire Cowboy Junkies Trinity Sessions album, are the most haunting songs ever.

That is all.

I did so much better with the BBC top 100 list that included all those children’s books and titles by dead white men we were required to read in school. I’d only read 18 of the 100 best works by women. So, I’ve challenged myself to read all 100, including rereading the ones I’d read before. So I’ve marked the ones I’d read before and I’ll label the ones as I go back through, plus I’ll  review them as I go. Take the book challenge with me. Let me know what you’re reading and how you like it.

The embarassingly few books I've already read are bolded; the handful-plus of those I'm interested in reading are italicized. I've honestly never even heard of several of the remaining, though, and might be interested if I knew more about them, so recommendations are welcomed.

No promises on when I'll get around to reading any of them, much less reviewing, but whenever I make a list of my favorite books, Harper Lee and Jessica Rydill are the only consistent female presences on them and that's something I'd like to rectify.

NOTES: I've also enjoyed Sue Grafton and Charlaine Harris' books, though neither have books I'd put on a Best Ever list; Jessica Abel's La Perdida remains one of my all-time favorites, but this list doesn't appear to include graphic novels. Not a single Octavia Butler book? (I haven't read her, but have heard raves from people I greatly respect.) Where is Esmeralda Santiago's When I Was Puerto Rican?

1. Allison, Dorothy. Bastard Out of Carolina, 1992
2. Angelou, Maya. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, 1969
3. Atwood, Margaret. Cat’s Eye, 1988
4. Bainbridge, Beryl. The Bottle Factory Outing, 1974
5. Bambara, Toni Cade. Gorilla, My Love, 1992
6. Barnes, Djuna. Nightwood, 1937
7. Barker, Pat. Regeneration, 1992
8. Brookner, Anita. Hotel du Lac, 1984
9. Brown, Rita Mae. Rubyfruit Jungle, 1973
10. Buck, Pearl S. The Good Earth, 1931
11. Byatt, A.S. Possession: A Romance, 1990
12. Carter, Angela. Nights at the Circus, 1984
13. Castillo, Ana. So Far From God, 1993
14. Cather, Willa. My Antonia, 1918
15. Chopin, Kate. The Awakening, 1900
16. Cisneros, Sandra. The House on Mango Street, 1984
17. Compton-Burnett, Ivy. Elders and Betters, 1944
18. Desai, Anita. Clear Light of Day, 1980
19. Dinesen, Isak. Out of Africa, 1938
20. Doerr, Harriet. Stones for Ibarra, 1984
21. Drabble, Margaret. The Radiant Way, 1987
22. DuMaurier, Daphne. Rebecca, 1938
23. Emecheta, Buchi. Second Class Citizen, 1974
24. Erdrich, Louise. Tracks: A Novel, 1988
25. Fitzgerald, Penelope. At Freddie’s, 1985
26. Flagg, Fannie. Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, 1987
27. Frame, Janet. Yellow Flowers in the Antipodean Room, 1969
28. French, Marilyn. The Women’s Room, 1977
29. Goldstein, Rebecca. The Mind-Body Problem: A Novel, 1983
30. Gordimer, Nadine. July’s People, 1981
31. Gordon, Mary. The Rest of Life, 1993
32. Hall, Radclyffe. The Well of Loneliness, 1928
33. Head, Bessie. When Rain Clouds Gather, 1968
34. Highsmith, Patricia. The Talented Mr. Ripley, 1955
35. Hobhouse, Janet. The Furies, 1993
36. Hulme, Keri. The Bone People, 1983
37. Hurston, Zora Neale. Their Eyes Were Watching God, 1937
38. Jackson, Shirley. The Haunting of Hill House, 1959
39. Jhabvala, Ruth Prawer. Heat and Dust, 1975
40. Jong, Erica. Fear of Flying, 1973
41. Kincaid, Jamaica. Lucy, 1990
42. Kingsolver, Barbara. The Bean Trees, 1988
43. Kingston, Maxine Hong. Tripmaster Monkey, 1989
44. Kogawa, Joy. Obasan, 1981
45. Laurence, Margaret. The Fire-Dwellers, 1969
46. Lee, Harper. To Kill a Mockingbird, 1960 - (One of my absolute all-time favorite books, and also an excellent movie.)
47. Lessing, Doris. The Golden Notebook, 1962
48. Lively, Penelope. Moon Tiger, 1987
49. Loos, Anita. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, 1925
50. McCarthy, Mary. The Group, 1963
51. McCullers, Carson. Ballad of the Sad Cafe, 1951
52. McMillan, Terry. Mama, 1987
53. Manning, Olivia. The Balkan Trilogy, 1981
54. Miller, Isabel. Patience and Sarah, 1969
55. Mitchell, Margaret. Gone with the Wind, 1936
56. Moore, Lorrie. Anagrams: A Novel, 1986
57. Morrison, Toni. Beloved: A Novel, 1987
58. Mukherjee, Bharati. Wife, 1975
59. Munro, Alice. Lives of Girls and Women, 1971
60. Murdoch, Iris. A Severed Head, 1961
61. Oates, Joyce Carol. You Must Remember This, 1987
62. O’Brien, Edna. House of Splendid Isolation, 1994
63. O’Connor, Flannery. A Good Man is Hard to Find, 1955
64. Olsen, Tillie. Tell Me a Riddle, 1979
65. Paley, Grace. Enormous Changes at the Last Minute, 1974
66. Parker, Dorothy. The Collected Dorothy Parker, 1973
67. Phillips, Jayne Anne. Black Tickets, 1979
68. Piercy, Marge. Braided Lives, 1982
69. Plath, Sylvia. The Bell Jar, 1963
70. Porter, Katharine Anne. Ship of Fools, 1962
71. Powell, Dawn. The Golden Spur, 1962
72. Proulx, E. Annie. The Shipping News, 1993
73. Rand, Ayn. The Fountainhead, 1943
74. Renault, Mary. The King Must Die, 1958
75. Rhys, Jean. Wide Sargasso Sea, 1966
76. Robinson, Marilynne. Housekeeping, 1980
77. Roy, Arundhati. The God of Small Things, 1997
78. Sarton, May. Mrs. Stevens Hears the Mermaids Singing, 1965
79. Shields, Carol. The Stone Diaries, 1994
80. Shreve, Anita. The Weight of Water, 1997
81. Silko, Leslie Marmon. Almanac of the Dead, 1991
82. Simpson, Mona. Anywhere But Here, 1986
83. Smart, Elizabeth. By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept, 1966
84. Smiley, Jane. The Age of Grief, 1987
85. Sontag, Susan. The Volcano Lover, 1992
86. Spark, Muriel. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, 1961
87. Stead, Christina. The Man Who Loved Children, 1965
88. Stein, Gertrude. Three Lives, 1909
89. Taylor, Elizabeth. Angel, 1957
90. Tan, Amy. The Joy Luck Club, 1989
91. Tyler, Anne. If Morning Ever Comes, 1964
92. Urquhart, Jane. Away, 1993
93. Walker, Alice. The Color Purple, 1982
94. Weldon, Fay. The Life and Loves of a She-Devil, 1983
95. Welty, Eudora. Selected Stories, 1943
96. West, Rebecca. The Return of the Soldier, 1918
97. Wharton, Edith. Ethan Frome, 1911
98. White, Antonia. Frost in May, 1933
99. Winterson, Jeannette. Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, 1985
100. Woolf, Virginia. Mrs. Dalloway, 1925

GOOD poetry, GOOD times. GOOD cause. the louderAUCTION

The louderAUCTION supports all of the good work of the louderARTS Project.  Proceeds from the event will help our nationally acclaimed team go to the 2010 National Poetry Slam and support all of the good work we do year-round, offsetting the cost of providing workshops, our renowned reading series, and free literary salons.

louderARTS is the evolution of the weekly poetry reading series I founded back in 1998, a little bit louder, now a full-fledged non-profit literary organization that runs some great shows, workshops and events. They have a cool annual auction next Monday that helps support their programs and I've been remiss in never having contributed to it in the past.

I'm fixing that this year, though, offering up a Marketing Consultation/Makeover for a person or company, with the proceeds going to benefit louderARTS.

Check it out, make a bid (or come through on Monday and do it in person), and have me come work a little of my day job mojo on you!

A growing community of writers is participating in an online experiment in crowdsourcing fiction. It’s called #fridayflash, and it can be found via Twitter, Facebook, or by directly visiting participating writer’s blogs. A new #fridayflash happens every Friday, as figured locally, though some folks do post soon after midnight New Zealand time.

The idea behind #fridayflash is to get eyeballs on stories—to build that proverbial ‘platform.’ Writers use the power of social networking to gain followers, name recognition, and most importantly, a loyal readership. It seems to be working. From discussions I’ve had with several regular participants most have experienced double (or better) the number of Friday visits and increased blog readership overall. Ah, sweet success. End of story. Right? Not quite.

I am a writer.

That's an important thing to remind myself now and again because I often take it for granted, or outright forget it, as the actual doing of the thing, actually writing, is something I have so little time for most days. While I do consider the blogging I do at loudpoet.com writing, it's akin to taking the stairs instead of the elevator and calling it exercise. While it keeps the blood flowing and the muscles from atrophying, it's not going to result in a six-pack!

On a normal day, between work and family, I do most of my blogging late at night or first thing in the morning, enough time to crank out a couple of posts each week about whatever publishing or marketing topic is on my mind at the moment, but I'll never be one of those ambitious bloggers who can post something every day because I'm not a fan of repeating and remixing myself just to build and sustain a steady traffic flow. I believe in speaking when you have something worthwhile to say, and the linkbait strategy of provocation for the sake of provocation, or worse, the pretense of conversation -- "What do you think?" -- has never been appealing to me.

I had the same attitude during my time in the poetry slam scene, too, which is why after a couple of years of averaging a few new poems every month, I became increasingly known as a curator and host, to the point that there were newcomers to the scene after 2003 who had no idea I actually ever wrote anything myself.

Funny thing is my attitude contradicts all of the blogging I've done about writers needing to market themselves, but I've always been terrible about taking my own advice!

I am a writer, though, and I've starting getting the bug again to carve out some time for my own writing, to get "back" to fiction and actually start writing "that book". I say "back" because while fiction has always been my goal, poetry and non-fiction have always come much easier to me, both for the shorter attention span required to finish and the ability to put it out there and get an immediate reaction. Both can be driven purely by passion and inspiration, but fiction also requires equal doses of commitment and self-discipline, not to mention time.

I turned 40 years old 10 days ago, though, and the idea of not writing "that book" until some mythical retirement age, or the kids go to college, isn't the least bit appealing, so I need to find the time and the only way I'm going to be able to do that is by stealing it from something else or sleeping even less than I do now. More likely, it will be the typical combination of the two.

I'm setting a goal of participating in NaNoWriMo again this year -- my 3rd attempt; 15k words in 2004 is my personal best -- and as a lead-in, I'm going to start participating in #fridayflash as often as possible, posting my efforts here.

I'm not sure yet what's going to give -- Spindle? Free Verse? Twitter? Sleep? -- but something will have to and something WILL have to because you can only call yourself a writer for so long without actually writing anything before you're just lying to yourself.

And if you're going to be a liar, you might as be one who tells good stories, right?