Local Author Interview and Short Story

My buddy Nate Green has got an author interview up here at Apiary Magazine. Check out the great interview, where yours truly gets mentioned, and also take note: Nate's short story, "The Slut Buck" will appear in Apiary online soon.

Promote Whatever You Want

It's been awhile since I last did this, but it's never too late to bring a good thing back is it?

(Put your proverbial hands down. That was a rhetorical question.)

The one rule is that there are no rules. Promote whatever you want by leaving a comment below. In the past, we've gotten mostly authors pimping their books but the random promoters, like the clothing line person and the potentially copyright infringing podcaster, are always welcome too.

Oh wait, there is one rule I forgot about: you can't promote anything for me. Don't worry, I still get plenty out of this just from the traffic alone. Thanks in advance.

And there are no prizes for guessing the identity of the man in this picture. If you want prizes, you must go to my friend Nate Green's blog.

Me? A Dad?

Apropos of my last post, about people using the internet to share all manner of personal information, I'm thrilled to say that Fiona Helen O'Rourke arrived last week, on December 9, 2009.

She and Jenna are doing well, as am I. Fiona came in weighing 8 pounds 13 ounces, and unfortunately for her, it looks like she may have gotten her feet from her father (I wear a size 15).

In my estimation, Jenna and I have averaged about four hours of sleep a night for the past week. I'm fairly delirious at this point, so I hope this post makes the least bit of sense.

Now I know what it feels like to be a Muslim detainee at Gitmo, being woken up every couple of hours.

In terms of this blog, well, I won't be posting with much frequency for the foreseeable future, for obvious reasons. I hope you all can forgive me, and by "all," I mean: Seana Graham, Nate Green, Marco, Adrian McKinty, Nicklas Hughes, Rita Vetere, and any lurkers (?) that might be out there, including dear old Dad. But I wanted to thank you for taking the time to read my otherwise inane ramblings and comment on same.

A bientot.

I've Been Tagged

Those of you who know me well know I don't like to talk about myself. Perhaps that's why I sometimes struggle to come up with material for this blog. Today I am going to write about myself a little bit, but I have a good excuse: I was tagged to do this 4X4 meme by the notorious Seana Graham. I've tweaked it a little bit as you'll see.

Four golf courses I'd like to play:

1. Augusta

2. Pebble Beach

3. Pine Valley

4. TPC Sawgrass

My four favorite Westerns are:

1. The Searchers

2. Rio Bravo

3a. The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

3b. Once Upon a Time in the West

4. Unforgiven

PS - When will we see a revival of this genre? I hope soon. It is one of America's greatest contributions to the cinema.

Four books that I recommend to friends, family, and strangers:

1. Dead I Well May Be

2. The Shadow of the Wind

3. Noble House

4. Bernard Cornwell's take on Arthurian Legend

Four reasons why The Empire Strikes Back is the best Star Wars movie ever made:

1. George Lucas didn't direct it.

2. George Lucas didn't write the screenplay.

3. No Ewoks, Jar Jar Binks, or bad dialogue.

4. "No, I am your father."

Four languages I studied in high school:

1. English (yeah, it counts)

2. French

3. Latin

4. Greek

And no, I don't really remember any French, Latin, or Greek, and even English is a struggle these days.

Four stories I want to write before I die:

1. Screenplay for a biopic on Caravaggio

2. Sci-fi western set on Mars

3. A book that makes money

4. Screenplay for a sequel to this year's Star Trek

Four people I'm tagging to do this as well

1. Jenna O'Rourke

2. Nate Green

3. Nicklas Hughes

4. Matt Damon

Writer's Blog

Warning: This post contains elements of self-indulgence, so if you're easily offended by this, stop reading now.

I have writer's blog. I was so excited when I thought up this term during my car ride this evening, thinking I had coined a clever if somewhat obvious phrase, but apparently, it's a common enough term to have found its way into the unholy of unholies, the urban dictionary.

For the last couple of weeks, I've had trouble coming up with things to blog about. I have only one rule when blogging: write about whatever I want so long as it isn't self-indulgent, look how great I am/woe is me crap. So I know I've hit rock bottom when I break the one rule I've set for myself.

How do bloggers combat this fairly common occurrence?

Some of my favorite bloggers have an overarching theme to their blog. My good friend, Nate Green, explores the nuances and oddities of language in fiction and in marketing in his blog, 500 Words on Words. Peter Rozovsky somehow manages to be prolific and accessibly esoteric with his wonderful blog, Detectives Beyond Borders.

Speaking of prolific, Seana Graham manages four of her own blogs, each one with its one motif, while also being a frequent contributor to many other blogs.

On the other hand, Adrian McKinty blogs about the "psychopathology of everyday life," to steal his turn of phrase, which is a pretty big umbrella covering just about anything and everything.

So yeah, I may take a week or so off from the blog to recharge and think up something more intelligent than "writing about the practices of other bloggers." See you soon. I hope.

La Fheile Padraig Sona

Happy St. Patrick's Day! And yes, I know the Irish in the title requires accents, but I don't know how to make them on blogger.

How are you going to celebrate today?

After I get home from work, I figure I'll drive all the snakes out of Glenside, Pennsylvania. If that proves too difficult or dangerous or time-consuming, I'll take the wife to a pub somewhere where we'll eat some greasy food and drink our fair share.

Once we get home from the bar, we'll probably turn on an appropriately-themed, albeit historically inaccurate movie and continue drinking.

Meanwhile in sunny Florida, my parents will be busy celebrating their 31st anniversary!

And while all that is going on, my buddy, Nate Green, will be treating lucky bar patrons in Reading, PA to his mad skills on the bagpipes!

I really do plan on going in to work on Wednesday. Really, I do...

More Brought To You By Nate Green

Nate has been kind enough to put up Part Two of our Q&A on his blog. Go there to find out more about me than you ever wanted to know.

On a side note, I'll have to post a pic of us standing next to each other sometime. People claim we bear a shocking resemblance to one another.

Brought To You By Nate Green

Nate was kind enough to give me an interview to help promote my book. Check it out if you get a chance. You'll learn more about me than you ever cared to know.

And come back here at 12:00 PM EST for a chance to win a free copy of The Unearthed.

Nate Green Interviews Emma Wayne Porter

Nate was lucky enough to interview Emma Wayne Porter, about her role as Editor-in-Chief at Lyrical Press and the publishing industry as a whole. I am forever indebted to Emma because she said "Yes" to my novel, The Unearthed, after many others had politely or impolitely said "No."

Just a short post today, because I don't want to steal any of Nate's thunder. Make sure you check out the interview when you get a chance!

It's Official, The First Home Brew Is Drinkable

A few weeks back, I posted about how I had tried home brewing for the first time. Which really consisted of Nate reading the recipe and telling me what I needed to do.

It was my intention to whip up a red ale, something both the missus and I enjoy. I'll save making a stout for when I have more than one batch going.

Anyways, we bottled it up a couple of weeks ago and I've been not so patiently waiting for it to mature and carbonate since. To be honest, I cracked a few open before it was technically ready, so I've had a sampling of it in various stages of drinkability.

Well, today makes it official: one can actually drink it and enjoy it. Not the greatest thing I've ever tasted, but hell, it tastes like beer. Nate, however, has yet to drink it, so I don't know if I've made it into the club yet or not.

The pic is of, obviously, the red ale I'm about to drink. As far as a red goes, it's pretty dark. I've got a wheat beer fermenting in the bucket right now, and hopefully in a few weeks I'll have something that tastes like a Blue Moon. And yes, it's no coincidence that I turned the glass so it proudly displayed "Phillies," the current World Series Champs. Or as Chase Utley would say: "World Effin Champions!"

The Love of Language (More Blogs I Follow)

Many of you have figured out by now that Nate Green and I are pretty good friends. We go back longer than I care to admit. Nate's just started his own blog, 500 Words on Words, an exploration into all things language.

So far, Nate's already unleashed his first diatribe (of probably many), this one against the ridiculous, incorrect usage of the nominative case in a situation calling for the objective. I won't spoil it, but go check out his blog when you get a chance. You're in for a treat.

Just think: if you become a regular reader of his and Seana Graham's writings, your vocabulary will improve and you'll make fewer grammatical errors. Everybody wins.

Aside from being a language connoisseur, Nate plays the bagpipes, writes novels, and of course home brews.

My First Home Brew

God may have rested on the 7th day, but from now on, I'll be spending a lot of my 7th days brewing beer.

Yesterday was "my first step into a much larger world." A world where one doesn't necessarily have to go to the pub, corner deli, beer distributor, or state store to purchase beer. In this world, all things are possible, including making your own brew.

Nate Green, who's been home-brewing for a number of years, showed me the ropes yesterday. Brewing seems to be a combination of art and science, and as a neophyte, a lot more art in my case. We steeped grains, waited, made wort, put in the malt, waited till it came to a boil, dropped some hops, waited, dropped some more hops, put in the yeast, cold-broke the wort, and finally, poured the concoction into the fermenter, a.k.a. the plastic bucket I had bought six hours prior. Quite a lot of steps, but all in all, not that difficult. As you can see, it's a lot of waiting, but we passed the time shooting the breeze, and oh, drinking.

Home brewers rank up there with the Masons in terms of brotherhood and secrecy. As good a friend as Nate is, he was a bit reluctant to bring me into the club. But apparently the background check was clean, and begrudgingly, he allowed the profane (me) to enter the temple. After a tasting of the first batch, Nate will determine if I'm worthy enough to continue, at which point he'll show me the secret handshake.

Want to start brewing? Aside from the obvious (stainless steel pot, fermenters, thermometers, etc.), here's what you need:

1) Somebody that knows what the hell they're doing. For me, that was Nate, renaissance man extraordinaire.

2) Beer to drink. It's an unwritten rule and part of the "ritual," to use Mason-speak, that you have to drink beer while you brew. And be prepared. Getting the wort ready to ferment takes a few hours, so you'll be drinking over an extended period of time. You have to bring your A game. And related to that--

3) Have pop-off bottles ready. You can reuse commercial bottles for your brew, but they must be pop-offs. Better that they're brown bottles too, because brown lets in less light than green. (Wort/beer is photosensitive, but not as bad as I am at the beach without a shirt on.)

4) Time. Most of brewing is waiting, but as long as you have something to drink and somebody to rap with, it's time well-spent.

Funny anecdote:

Knowing that I would eventually need pop-off bottles, Nate and I stopped at the beer distributor in the hopes of finding a beer that a) we could drink while brewing, b) came in a brown bottle, and c) used a pop-off cap.

"Do you know which beers are pop-offs?" I asked Nate.

"Can't think of any off the top of my head. But most of them aren't," he said.

No joke, but we started our own Quixotic quest by wandering the aisles and looking at the cardboard cases to see if we could determine whether the bottles were pop-off.

I asked Nate, "Can you tell if any of these are pop-offs?"

"About as much as I can tell if they're twist-offs. Maybe we should look inside."

So we took to furtively opening the cases or reaching through the hand-holds to feel the bottle caps.

"Do you have any idea?"

"No," Nate said, chuckling.

Realizing how ridiculous we were being, we tried to figure out what beers would most likely be pop-offs.

We hovered around the specialty beers for awhile, assuming this was our best bet. We tried using the Force, but to no avail. Obi-Wan would be so ashamed. Dejected, I was about to purchase _______ (EDIT: removed to protect the innocent) but stopped when I saw it was $37 a case. I'm a man that loves his beer, but even that's a bit steep for me.

Very discouraged and now wearied, I decided to just buy anything we could drink and worry about finding the elusive perfect bottle in the future, but, to both our lucks, my eye caught a case of Amstel Light. I know, I know. It's light beer for sure, but it does taste good. I couldn't remember if it was pop-off, so shamefacedly, I carried it to the counter and asked the cashier if it was.

"Just try to open one up," he said.

So we could have just asked the whole time.

But we made out well: decent beer stored in brown bottles with pop-off caps. In our defense, we are men, which means we're programmed to exhaust all other options before we resort to asking anyone for help. We can't help it.

Hopefully, in about four or five weeks, I should have a nice red ale. If not, the Masons will kill me and throw my body into the Potomac.

Other Guys That Turned 30 And Lived

For some reason, I can't shake this nagging feeling that I'm going to die before the day's end. When I woke up an hour ago this morning, I was no longer in my twenties. Up to and including yesterday, I had suffered from the delusion that I had "just graduated" from college. In reality, that rather anticlimactic event occurred seven-and-a-half years ago.

The United States government ensures me that there are in fact many people over 30. According to data pulled from the Census of 2000, 56 million men and women were aged 55 or older at that time. Still, though, I'm not buying it. We all know that number do not lie. We also know they don't necessarily tell the truth. And let's not forget that those numbers have been given to us by the government.

Many scientists believe there is evidence that man's maximum life span is between 115 and 120 years. The case of Jeanne Clement is promising--a French woman that lived to 122 years, 164 days. Again, we run into the statistics problem, and the fact that Clement was a woman. Unless I undergo some surgery, I will be shedding this mortal coil as a man.

Nothing beats anecdotal evidence. (Just ask Christopher Hitchens.) I personally have met at least three other guys that surpassed 30:

1) My Dad. But for God's sake the man ingests upwards of forty vitamins a day. If that's what it takes, I don't know if I can do it.
2) My friend and fellow author, Nate Green. Nate has only been 30 for 5 days though, so the jury's still out.
3) Michael York. As it turns out, Logan's Run is a true story.

So there you have it. The best evidence that men can live beyond the age of 30 comes to us via a campy sci-fi film from 1976. That's good enough for me.

More Stories 2 - Nate Green Interview

Nate Green was good enough to stop by and record a podcast with Nick and me (followed of course by a few brews). We've put the podcast up here.

Nate and I discuss the creative process, Nate's short story Prison Darkness which was published by Niteblade, and some literary theory.

Nate's a cool guy. We met (oh my god) eleven years ago at Drexel University. He competes in bagpipe competitions, writes short stories and novels, and knows more drinking games than anyone else I know. He's also currently enrolled in the MFA Program at Rosemont University. I don't know when he sleeps.

My Knees Are Calling Me All Sorts of Names...

...which I won't repeat here, because this blog has been rated PG-13.

The Philadelphia Marathon was absolutely brutal. A half hour before we started, the temperature registered at 24 degrees. Roughly 18,000 people crowded and rushed about near the Art Museum, up and down the Ben Franklin Parkway, in futile attempts to keep warm and find an unoccupied Port-O-John. The announcer's voice squawked incomprehensibly over the PA system, so most people had no idea where to go or what to do.

Crowd control wasn't even theoretical. Runners filtered into the corrals when they weren't supposed to; others waited in the back, unsure of where to go. Supposed to go off in the second wave of marathoners, I missed it and somehow ended up in the third wave. More than twenty minutes passed between the start of the race and when I took my first step past the Start Line.

But none of that really matters. The little things tend to lose any significance when 26.2 miles stretch before you.

The first half of the race was fantastic. Down the Parkway, Arch, and Race to Columbus Boulevard (I still don't know why they changed the name from Delaware Avenue). Several groups of brave souls huddled on the street corners to cheer us on. It was cold enough for us runners, but it must have been the final circle of Dante's Inferno for the spectators.

On Delaware Avenue, the horde of runners got a chance to thin. Planes lazed across the sky, headed for Philly International. Everybody was happy. It was still early. We'd reached our first fluid station. All was well.

We spent too little time on Front Street--the locals had hilarious signs everywhere to cheer us up: one reminded us that the average temperature on November 23rd in Philly is in the mid-40s; others called into question our sanity for running.

We spent some time on Chestnut Street, and by now, the spectators had multiplied. I'm still amazed by the sheer number of them that braved the elements to cheer us on. Everyone's always saying that Philly fans are the worst in the country, but I beg to differ.

We plodded up 34th Street, so I got to run through Drexel University's campus. I haven't been through there in a few years now. Fraternity Row was relatively quiet, except for one or two houses. I don't blame them though. They were probably just going to bed when my wife was driving me to the marathon.

We started encountering our first major hills of the race. Everyone I was running with slowed noticeably. Everything was still going fine, though.

Mile 13 and all was well. People were finishing the marathon as I reached the halfway point, but I knew that was going to happen so it didn't bother me. My good friends Nate and Jess Green, who ran the 8K, magically appeared and offered encouragement and a bottle of water. I took the bottle greedily, nearly drank it down in two gulps.

The wheels started coming off at Mile 15. My pace was off, and my stomach was pitching with nausea. That sometimes happens during a long race, I don't know why. I fought through it and kept going.

We headed up Kelly Drive into Manayunk. It didn't make it any easier that there were runners headed in the opposite direction, nearly finished with the race.

By Mile 17, my left foot wasn't cramping so much as it was seizing up. I'd come too far to stop though.

Someone offered me a beer at Mile 18. I was too tired to answer verbally, but I managed a weak smile and shook my head. She laughed and said, "I know you want one." Had it been Mile 8, I would have indulged. At that point, though, any alcohol would have sent me straight to the hospital or the morgue.

I somehow managed to reach the top of the hill on Main Street in Manayunk and turn around at Mile 20. Now the real pain. I didn't think it could get any worse, but it did. A diffuse hurting everywhere. I waited for the numbness to come, but it didn't. I could feel my heart beating, working overtime. The left foot fooled me, seemingly getting better, before getting worse. Those last six miles were as much running as they were walking.

Still the crowd cheered us on. They were great. They were all my new best friends. I even managed to high-five a few of them. It was ridiculous how much effort it required to raise my arm.

Eventually, I saw the Art Museum looming on the Schuykill River. It was a beacon. It took forever to grow, tantalizingly close and infinitely far away. Of all the things to think of, I remembered Zeno's paradox, of being able to travel halfway to an object, then half of that, then half of that, and never being able to reach it. Goes to show how little good some philosophy offers in the real world.

I heard the roar of the crowd. By now, it felt like I was running with knives in my legs. My left foot refused to function anymore. I saw the Mile 26 marker and kept running. Of all the arbitrary distances ever conceived by man, why in the hell is a marathon not just 26 miles? I know of the derivation of the race, but still, is the extra .2 miles all that necessary in today's world?

Jenna took some "action" photos, for lack of a better word, as I neared the end of the race. Through the Finish Line. As Apollo Creed said at the end of Rocky, "Ain't gonna be no rematch." And as Rocky responded, "Don't want one."

Congrats to everyone else who ran on Sunday! I'll be back next year, but maybe I'll do a shorter race and focus on time instead. Or I'll just cheer on the runners and drink beer. Or I'll just stay home and drink beer. We'll see :)

Just Signed With Lyrical Press, Inc.

I'm excited to announce that I've just signed a publishing contract with Lyrical Press, Inc. (www.lyricalpress.com) for my paranormal thriller, The Unearthed. Lyrical is an independent publisher that offers stories electronically and in print. Check out Lyrical's site when you get a chance--there's a lot of good stuff there. At this point, you'll see mainly Romance and Erotica titles there.

I will be sure to keep you updated on The Unearthed, so check back regularly. I've got another novel in the works right now, tentatively entitled Face Blind, but that's for another post. Also, I am an avid reader and movie-goer, so I might occasionally post short blogs on what I've seen or read.

Now it's time for a cross-promotional plug. My friend, Nick Hughes, and I do a podcast called Four Stories. We look at television, film, literature, and music from a storytelling perspective. We're currently on hiatus, but if you want, check out our older episodes at www.fourstoriespodcast.blogspot.com. You can also download our episodes on iTunes. Nick and I are considering doing some minisodes in the near future, so check the Four Stories site regularly as well if you're interested.

Finally, I wanted to thank my family and friends for their support throughout the writing process. Special thanks to my wife, Jenna, for putting up with me while I spent inordinate amounts of free time on the computer, writing a story that had no guarantee of selling. Special thanks also to Nate Green, a fellow novelist (and a great writer!), who read not one but two drafts of The Unearthed and provided me with a lot of great feedback. And a special thanks to my Dad for his help with line editing and his eternally useful reminder: follow the KISS method.

Brian

www.brianorourke.blogspot.com
www.fourstoriespodcast.blogspot.com
www.lyricalpress.com