thekidinu

THE XYZ Files. UFOs.

2012-01-11T05:46:00.000-08:00

The brilliant Terrence Mckenna once said "It's great to have an open mind but not so open that the wind whistles through your ears."

I like to live by a variation of this philosophy. You see, I do enjoy the feel of the wind tickling my brain. It is one of the ways I get great ideas. Ever since I was a kid (and probably before that) I have been made joyful by UFOs, ghosts, Atlantis, ancient astronauts, fairies, cryptozoology, spirits, ESP, aliens, conspiracies, and anything that the "boring beige materialist" label trippy, out there or wackadoo. I love Coast to Coast - THE most listened to overnight radio show in the world where the above mentioned topics are fodder for speculation (which is the long forgotten basis of science- NOT logic). I do have to laugh, however, when some very very wild statements are made ("I channeled the leadership of the Riva Duga Kanesh star system and they gave me a holographic blueprint to peace on earth but I forgot where I put it") with little or no subsequent questioning by some of the hosts (some are better than others. Ian Punnet and George Knapp are great and do ask deep and thoughtful questions).

I eat this stuff up and it fuels my writing. So I thought it would be fun to examine some of the topics to see where I stand on them- based on my own ACUAL experience. This week I will tackle UFOs.

UFOs/UWOs. UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECTS or UNIDENTIFIED WATER OBJECTS

I think 85% of UFOs are easily explainable. Planes, clouds, blimps, satellites, birds, etc. 10% are secret government craft that are being tested (such as the Stealth Bomber. A few years before it was revealed many many people saw triangular craft that looked strikingly familiar to the obscenely priced explosive delivery system). The rest? Maybe, like Carl Yung wrote, they are projections of our minds- a mass need for the mysterious that is being robbed by the waves of "rational" thinkers that are dominating research of late (see his book "Flying Saucers : A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies").

I have seen a legit UFO (it was unidentified, it was flying and it was an object). It happened on a camping trip and my buddy Russell and I sat there and went through a checklist of possibilities. It looked like a bright star as it slowly and silently crossed the sky than suddenly shot upward and out into space where it vanished. Plane? No. Helicopter. No. Satellite? No. Meteor? No. None fit so it remains a UFO.

Another time on a cruise ship, late at night while sitting on our veranda (my wife was asleep beside me) the ship past a weird, dark craft that seemed to be floating over the water. I did not get a great look at it but I was left with an odd feeling. A UWO? Yes- it was an Unidentified Water Object.

I find it interesting that mass UFO sightings began after the detonation of the first atomic bomb. Carl Sagan felt that if we are to find alien artifacts in Earth's neighborhood we need to explore the Moon. So perhaps, ages ago there were ET visitors (a future topic) who saw the early Earthlings and decided to monitor us with equipment left on the moon. A sure sign of an emerging intelligence would be the splitting of the atom. So when that first mushroom cloud poisoned the skies on Earth the monitors noticed and sent waves of bio-engineered creatures in flying craft to take a closer look at us. To take notes. To drive farmers and small town folk nuts.

I, do, however, remain skeptical on this subject. I ABSOLUTELY believe the Universe is teeming with intelligent life - but I think the form of travel will be via consciousness when it comes to long journeys. I suggest reading Rick Strassman's DMT: The Spirit Molecule for a fascinating look at how a naturally occurring psychedelic substance can trigger abduction experiences in humans. REAL ET contact. I actually made a feature film that dealt with this called TRIPTOSANE.

Are any of the things seen in the skies actual craft being piloted by alien life forms? Who am I to say? If my moon theory is correct then we are still being watched. If so, I can only imagine the notes and sarcastic comments being recorded as they watch the leadership being chosen on this planet! It must be like a big cosmic Mystery Science Theatre 3000 as they can chuckle at our sometimes ridiculous behavior. Yet- they must also be impressed with us for humans are capable of some damned amazing things.

They say we are either alone in the Universe or part of a HUGE family. In either case - it is incredibly fascinating.

Up next: Ghosts.

Mike DiCerto is a filmmaker and author of books including his latest: THE DOOR TO FAR-MYST: The Adventures of Rupert Starbright. www.mikedicerto.com

Defending the Boob Tube

2011-12-05T05:06:00.001-08:00

I am not shy about my disdain for much of modern TV. I do not like reality TV shows that promote mean-spiritedness, ignorance and just plain idiotic behavior (insert show name here:______). I am tired of witless sitcoms that rely on joke telling rather than letting the humor come from intelligent and well developed characters like past shows such as Barney Miller, All in the Family, Seinfeld and MASH.

But I had a thought recently on a very positive aspect of TV, even modern TV. Often I will see people posting on comments on Facebook accusing TV of being a mind control device and the programmer of people and our society. Might be true on the negative side but for this blog I want to defend that power as positive tool for social change.

The entertainment that a nation embraces does more to effect the zeitgeist than does politics or religion. Music, movies and TV is what shapes our values and culture much more than Obama, the Pope or the republican party. If you go back to the 70s there was a slew of TV shows with all African- American casts. At first some seem to embrace stereotypes but as you watched the shows (like Good Times, The Jeffersons, etc) you saw how they looked deeper into personalities. Into the everyday fears, wants, needs and loves of these people that white American began to see were not that different from their own. Unlike the parents generations at the time, kid's minds were open to people different from themselves and discovered there was nothing to fear. By the time a show like The Cosby Show aired, suddenly America was watching a black family that did not live in poverty but were upper middle class. They were just fellow Americans. This combined with music ranging from blues to rap to hip hop, white American youth embraced African American culture and the result as been a huge improvement in race-relations. The fears and bigotries of the older generations is often mocked and laughed at by people who grew up in the 60s and since. So TV did, in fact, play a sort of mind control role but one that made us better as a nation.

Since the late 90s or so I have seen this same process being done with gay Americans. Shows like Will and Grace through Glee, etc. has exposed straight America with examples of both stereotypical gay people to more nuanced, three dimensional aspects of gay life. More and more the youth of America are embracing gay friends and the I believe, little by little, the fear and ignorance that has labeled homosexuals as deviants and perverts or diseased, will fade away.

So once again, TV is serving the betterment of the nation.

What is next? I think Muslim Americans will be next to benefit. Just like African Americans and gay Americans, Muslim Americans have suffered from negative stereotyping in movies and TV but this will change. Much of the fear is driven by government and news media. But I have already seen the start of incorporating Muslim characters that are NOT terrorists into commercials, movies and TV. I think this will become a trend.

So maybe TV, the boob tube, is not as booby as I thought? Maybe it is a mind control device? Maybe it does mold our culture? Maybe this is a good thing?

In ten years no one will know who Snookie was. But in less than ten years, I can definitely see a Jimmy Mohammed Show about an Islamic research scientist and his typical American family dealing with typical family problems. And it will be a hit in middle America. And we will be better for it.

Mike DiCerto is a filmmaker and author of books including his latest: THE DOOR TO FAR-MYST: The Adventures of Rupert Starbright. www.mikedicerto.com

So You Wanna Write a Novel (Part 1)

2011-11-08T18:27:00.000-08:00

I often have discussions with people who will say to me "Wow- that is so cool you actually have published novels. I wish I could be disciplined enough to write one. I have this great idea..."

Well, I will say...why not?

It is an ambitious task, no doubt, writing and finishing a novel. It takes weeks, or months of writing on a daily schedule. Even a few sentences a day. BUT- before you attempt it ask yourself these questions:

* Have I thought out the plot enough to be able to sustain a compelling story for 200-300 pages?
* Are the characters fleshed out to create a cast of interesting and unique individuals?
* Do you know your world well enough to describe it and make it a character in itself?
* Maybe you idea would make a better short story? Or a screenplay?

Lets assume the answer to the first three questions are a resounding YES. Now what? Well, that depends on your personality and style. If you are a detail oriented and obsessed with planning than use that strength. Write a chapter by chapter outline. This could be as simple as chapter names or as complex as detailed descriptions.

If you are more impetuous and like the freedom of spontaneous creation that go that route...(BUT if your are penning a complex thriller than I suggest a detailed outline noting all the twists and turns and red herrings. There is no such thing as a meandering page-turner. )

No matter what genre you are writing I would suggest one rule of thumb regarding planning: Know WHY your story ends. Not so much WHERE or WHEN but WHY are you writing it? You sent your hero (or anti hero) off on an advnture. Why? What is he or she to acomplish or learn? Every word you write pushes the main character towards that end. If you have your destination set firmly then you can stop at a few roadside attractions on the way as long as they offer a worthwhile view. The little tangents and character surprises (where the characters begin acting "on their own" is one of the greatest joys of writing.

You will find the first few chapters flow easily. You're excited and motivated. Then you hit a few speed bumps and this is where the champs are separated from the wannabes. Keep writing. Set a daily goal. Make it easy–one paragraph. That's it! If you promise yourself ten pages a day I will tell you exactly what will happen. The first two days you will meet your goal. YES! Then day three you'll stop at 5 pages. OH OH. Then 6 you'll write two. UGH. Then one. I SUCK. You will be discouraged and you'll stop and that stack of thirty or so pages will remain just that–an unfinished novel.

Trust me. If you write something per day, a page, a paragraph, a sentence BUT keep it going every day I promise that by the end of the year, max, you'll have your first draft.

A YEAR! UGH.

Well ask yourself this: did you have a completed manuscript at the end of last year? If not, just think how nice it will be to have one at the end of next year.

Sart with the questions above. Answer them honestly. Then start your novel. One word at a time and watch the stack grow.

To be continued...

Michael DiCerto is the author of Milky Way Marmalade and recently his first middle grade novel Book One of The Adventures of Rupert Starbright: The Door to Far-Myst.
www.mikedicerto.com

Humans Always in the Costuzoic Period

2011-10-28T06:09:00.000-07:00

Ever since Og donned that sabre tooth tiger skin to go out and hunt dinner for his family, humans have never stopped loving the act dressing up. Not black tie evening wear or lets go clubbing wear—I mean costumes. There is a little mischievous critter (wearing a microscopic tribal mask no doubt) that loves to tickle our fancy and prod us to alter our egos and become someone or something else.

Halloween is a few days away and I have my costume ready. I LOVE Halloween and I love an excuse to be someone else (especially when it involves a wig!) A real, honest transformation occurs not only on the obvious exterior but inside. The costume we choose might be the ultimate Rorschach ink blot test. The little interior bug swimming in the darkened folds of our unconscious can see our secret desires, fantasies and fetishes. We project this in the safety of the organize ritual. We can stroll down the street on Halloween and no one will mock your need to become a seven foot tall bloody Q-tip. No—on the ritual days you be and let be.

Thank goodness for Halloween. Every society has days for costumes. These are important. They are a sort of valve that allows the collective release of tension and frustration. A cultural mental health day by allowing our fellow humans to go nuts—a controlled lunacy. Whether it is Mardi Gras or Carnival or the Village parade, the collective self-expression via the turning of ourselves inside out for all to see is perhaps the healthiest thing a people can do.

Kids obviously should be encouraged to do this. Personally I think they should be prodded into creating their own costumes rather than just grabbing one off the shelves. Or at least assemble a alter ego from various store bought peices. That way they can fully express the hidden monster that they are.

There are dangers to this. No- I don't mean the urban legends of razors in apples. When I was in seventh grade my father helped me (actually he did 99% of the work) make a Darth Vader costume. It was complete with a chest plate covered in electrical switches. Of course I ran into a neighborhood girl who asked what all the switches did and I proceeded to explain as she pushed my buttons. I did not see the neon sign lighting up letter by letter over my head with each switch flipped: G E E K !

Yes - my alter ego lightsabre-slashed my own ego across the midsection like Vader to Obiwan and it went down like a smelly, dusty robe.

Who cares. It was a GREAT costume.

Dress up. Peer within the dark places of your mind—shine a light, find a costume hanging there and wear it like the human being you are.

Sex, Violence and F Bombs.

2011-10-19T00:00:00.000-07:00

My wife and I do not have kids. We have a cat. So whatever we read or watch on TV is really of little concern to Cosmo. If he wants to watch he does. We have no regulations for his TV viewing because although he REALLY does sit fascinated by certain shows (he loves Seinfeld) he would prefer to run and tumble with a stuffed mouse or pass out on our laps.

I have numerous friends who were allowed to watch whatever they wanted growing up. Horror, raunchy college films, off-color comedy–it was all cool with their parents and they seem to be normal and well adjusted humans (although perhaps a touch more jaded but I would need to do more research on that).

Me? I was not even allowed to watch Saturday Night Live as a kid. R-rated movies? Hell - I mean - heck no!

I cannot say for certain how my own censoring would be if I were a parent although I think much of that decision would have to do with my own judgement of the maturity level of my kid. There are, for example, different types of violence. A film like Casino has some very disturbing moments I will even fast-forward through. I see no value in a ten year old watching a man have his eyes popped out as a vice squeezes his head. It's nightmarish. I am not an expert but it could have a lasting, negative impact on their psyches. Super Hero movies have a comic book level of violence that is usually done to monsters or fanciful beings that seem to me to have much less of a disturbing quotient. I am not sure if I am right about that, just my opinion.

I once sat in a film festival screening of a very violent film. A mother sat in front of me with her eight year old daughter. I watched with amusement as she covered her kid's eyes every time the male star appeared on screen in his underwear. No sex or nudity just his tighty-whiteys. Yet she let her daughter watch the bloody, human on human violence. This seems to happen often in our society. When I was a kid there was a much better chance I would be allowed to watch a violent film (like the original Roller Ball) if there was no sex in it. Our culture seems to deem sex as a much worse offense than violence and parents, especially of my parent's generation, feel the same. (I think it may have more to do with their discomfort of watching sex in front of their children and I can totally understand that.) I actually feel that most drawn out sex scenes are gratuitous and the longer they last the more likely it is padding in a mediocre film. But is it damaging for a pre-pubescent child to watch sexual images? We all know that as soon as they reach a certain age this will become unavoidable as they begin to explore their own sexuality. Is there a cut-off age? I do not know.

Cursing is something that drives the adults of my parents age (those who were kids during World War II) crazy. They hate it. I think it has to do with the fact that they grew up with great films that were heavily censored (there were much stricter standards in the 40s than the 30s) so they seem to be extra sensitive to it. After all, NOBODY actually cursed when the world was black and white! Right? I made a movie with my cousin called NO EXIT and I recall we were more concerned with our parents hearing the 300+ F words that filled the film than we were all the shootings and stabbings!

Folks from the baby boom era (and later) are much less offended by bad language. In fact, they tend to find great amusement in it. How can you not laugh when you hear Tony Soprano spray the F-Bomb with the finesse of a Renaissance artist? We all love to quote Goodfellas and find it ridiculous watching it on TNT or some other channel that replaces the classic F word with "freakin".

The overuse of cursing is sign of laziness. We all use them but it can get out of hand and become silly and ignorant. However, humans DO use them and to eliminate them from entertainment completely is just as silly. AS for their negative impact on kids? I think kids will emulate their parents and how THEY use the words. I really think they are harmless.

Like I said, I do not have kids of my own so I can only theorize how I would censor my own. But like anything else, it seems the example set by the parents themselves will have a greater impact and will make the kids much more impervious to any damage done by sex, violence and f-bomb shrapnel.

What do you parents think?

Mike DiCerto (www.mikedicerto.com) is a filmmaker and author of two books, including the first of a new series called THE ADVENTURES OF RUPERT STARBRIGHT: THE DOOR TO FAR-MYST. Available from Zumaya Thresholds. A book that has NO SEX, NO F-BOMBS and only mild violence.

Death or Redemption?

2011-10-02T09:26:00.000-07:00

The bad guy has been pursued for three hundred pages. He has tormented millions and destroyed planets (or kingdoms). Our hero finally has him, blade tip to throat. To kill or not to kill?

I do not know about you, but when I was a kid watching Return of the Jedi and the Emperor was blasting Luke with that cool purple electricity for refusing to join him on his evil throne I for one was rooting for Vader to come to his aid. I was glad Luke did not kill him. I cheered when Vader came to his son's rescue and was redeemed.

Death or redemption? As a reader or a movie viewer, this is often the choice the villain faces. Each offers a sense of satisfaction but of two VERY VERY different kids. Lets take a peek at each.

Death: Yeah, well, it is a solution. It is the fast food of literary endings. It is also the fast food in the real world. Killing a bad person satisfies the lowest part of the human brain. The reptilian part. It is the easy way out. It does not challenge us to rise higher from the physical to the spiritual (or angelic or soulful) aspects of humanity. Yes- Darth did kill the Emperor - but that was postscript to the real drama of Vader's redemption.

Killing an enemy or a criminal in real life is "easy" too. It gets rid of a messy problem and immediately releases us from questioning the WHYS and HOWS a "bad" guy becomes a bad guy in the first place. Usually, almost always in fact, there is a tiny (or not so tiny) bit of blame that we all share. If indeed we are all connect as humanity, then we are all responsible for each other on some level.

Redemption: The redeemed villain- to me - is a tasty AND healthy meal. Good home cooking. Filled with spiritual nutrients. Vader's heart wedged open just long enough for a long-fogotten feeling of love to drip in and change is world view. Seeing Anakin Skywalker- standing along side Obiwan and Yoda in their ghostly forms- partying like it was along time ago in a galaxy far away lifted my spirits. I got a lump in my throat. I felt lifted. I am a Geek and Geek's have big hearts. At the risk of getting "religious" - to forgive IS Divine. It is one of the most difficult and spiritual things we can do as a human being.

In THE DOOR TO FAR-MYST, young Rupert will face a nasty villain named Murkus. He will discover powerful Imagining powers that could give him the ability to destroy this horrible Dragon-Man. He will have to search his young heart and make very difficult decisions - choices he could have never imagined in his quiet home town of Graysland.

Take the journey with Rupert and see how YOU would react. What ending you would choose.

www.mikedicerto.com

Hi, My Name is Rupert Starbright.

2011-08-30T05:44:00.000-07:00

I guess I was destined to write a book for kids. My first published novel was Milky Way Marmalade–a rock&roll, hilarious fantasy for BIG KIDS. Adults who enjoy Monty Python, or Hitchiker's Guide, and the like. And, of course, Rock music. I always have dozens of ideas for books and movies filed away on my hard drives and in the toy store of my mind. There are some heavier, more adult fare that I want to get to but the idea of going back to the kind of books I relished as a kid kept tapping on the shoulder. I was always a big reader as a kid and books like "Charlotte's Webb", "Stuart Little", "What the Witch Left", "Hardy Boys", "From the Mixed Up Files of whats-her -face", and the like were the books I ate up. Looking back, I see they did have something in common. It was a feel. A charm. A warmth. And they were totally engrossing.

I wanted to write a book like that. AND I wanted it to be a page turner. It had to have a nasty and powerful villain. And, heck, why not some laughs too! I knew the key to the tale had to be the power of the imagination. I knew it had to have fun creatures and bizarre plants and animals. I wanted it to be a fast-paced adventure in a deep wilderness and I wanted there to be a heart-felt core to the story. My hero had to be a misfit without being an anti-social loser. He had to be a good kid at heart who loves his friends and family but someone who had a unique mind. Who was bored. Who would question the assumptions of the adults. Well–he had to be like me!

Every author infuses parts of themselves into their characters. We do this with the heros and the villains. We do it with characters of different sexes. It is a way of placing our souls into new eyes. It is one of the great joys of writing.

Here is the back of the book story synopsis:

Rupert Dullz isn't very happy. His grandmother's coffus is getting worse, school is boring and there's nothing to do on his days off but rake up endless piles of leaves. Everything in Graysland is, well, gray, and every day is just like the one before it, and the one before that. That is, until a strangely dressed man named Pie O'Sky swoops out of nowhere in his multicolored bagoon and offers a special reward to whoever can open his mysterious door. When Rupert succeeds, he's thrilled when Pie O'Sky carries him beyond it to the brilliantly colored land of Far-Myst. Adventure calls, and Rupert discovers a wonderful world full of something he's never heard of before--imagination. But Far-Myst is in danger, and it may be that only Rupert has the power to save it. Is he the one whose imagination is powerful enough to stop the evil that is destroying the beautiful world beyond the door?

The Door to Far-Myst: The Adventures of Rupert Starbright (volume one) is an exciting, warm and heartfelt story. I wrote it so I know it is. : ) Notice "volume one"? Volume two will be out Spring of 2012. I am working on volume three. A certain popular boy hero has retired. He was the king of kid's books for years and deservedly so. But now that HP is done- RS - Rupert Starbright - is ready to conquer your hearts and minds. It will be available in paperback and e-book (Kindle, Nook, etc) right after Labor Day. It features the gorgeous cover art by eight time Hugo award winner Brad Foster. It is published by the Threshholds imprint of Zumaya Publications. My next blog will FINALLY contain links to BUY the book!

Begin a new adventure. Your kids will love it and you-you'll feel like a kid again! And isn't that the point?

Rocket Battleships

2011-08-18T07:46:00.000-07:00

Kids should run the world. Then again, that might be a mistake. My dilemma in allocating so much power to the little brats is this: With kids, anything can be done on the spur of the moment. Hey Jimmy, lets dig an underground castle in my yard and we can go on adventures with swords and armor we can make from cans and ice cream sticks and then we could go to the moon and China.

Okay.

In a mind where nothing is impossible, the imagination is like a streaker at Wimbledon shaking his or her bold ass at dogma and tradition- the stuck-up, royal and rigid restrainers of progress.

On the other hand, there are no greater narcissistic fascists on Earth than kids. Certain forms of progress, perhaps, need to be restrained. Think we have world problems now? Imagine a sugar-high screaming fit from a President not getting his way? The only saving grace would be that after ten minutes of trying to start WWIII, the kid leadership would get bored and start playing hide and seek.

Recalling my own kid-dom, I have very distinct memories of an argument I would have on a daily basis with my friend Anthony.

“What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s build a rockship!”

“No, let’s build a battle ship!”

“Rocket ship.”

“Battleship!”

I am not where it came from, but at the age of six I already had this obsession with outer space. My mind was always elsewhere- off the planet or perhaps a bit off frequency with the rest of my peers. Battleships? Who gave a crap. I had a natural sense of anti-violence at a young age (until I reached my brief dark, militaristic stage later on) and was never one who enjoyed or pursued fights. A little wuss in the face of bullies? Perhaps.

“Ok, let’s make a rocket battleship.” That was always the compromise.

“Ok.”

There was no greater construction material than the old tin can pull-tabs. Remember those? They were the kind that 50% of the time broke off before the can was open enough to drink from. How many drunk drivers were avoided because some “one slug over the line” wannabe could not get that one-too-many beer open because he kept yanking on the tabs and breaking them? As a kid pull tabs were used as ammo for clip gun weapons, jewelry and most vital- to construct the highly exotic Rheingold-propulsion engine. Me and Anthony would walk up and down the block collecting discarded pull-tabs while his over-protective mother would scream at him to stay close to the building and not to go near any alligator-dogs (which was her term for strays that might bite, I guess). That is as far as we ever got in constructing the machine that could have clinched humanity’s conquering of the Universe – the Rocket-Battleship. We would toss the tabs and move on to hide-and seek or cops and robbers or avoiding our tormentor, Joe B., a bully who lived next door to Anthony.

I recall clearly another time when I found a discarded piece of sheet metal amongst the rubble of a demolished tenement (Yes, back then we dared traverse such dangerous landscapes. I still have the scars from some of my wounds. What happened to our sense of adventure?) and my imagination and years of rocket science study went into overdrive. Sheet metal! Perfect to construct the hull! So I had the materials readily available for the engine (the aforementioned tabs with their highly studied quantum characteristics) and now I could begin construction of the actual body of the craft!

There was a wonderful book I read as a kid called Visit to the Mushroom Planet (later, after becoming a huge fan of Terrence McKenna I would better understand the deeper meaning of this book!) which was a like kid’s handbook for rocket ship construction. My favorite scene was where the two boys packed the food for their journey. I began thinking about the food I would pack on my first trip. I was already zooming out past Saturn while nibbling on Nilla wafers and Ring Dings. This was gonna be so cool. Sweetarts! I had to pack the sweet tarts!

This idea of using the imagination to travel to far-off, exciting lands is the primary force behind my writing. In my soon-to-be available middle grade novel, RUPERT STARBRIGHT: THE DOOR TO FAR-MYST, young Rupert discovers the amazing powers of his "Imaginings" (take a peek at the trailer and beautiful cover art: www.mikedicerto.com ) .

Don’t ever listen to anyone who says space travel is complicated. The next time someone refers to something “not being rocket science” remind them of the falsity of that analogy. It’s easy! Why were adults always making big deals out of everything. Jeez- a few scraps of sheet metal, some old two by fours (no nails- just lean the beams against each other) a handful of pull tabs and the Cosmos was at your disposal. Try it. Go out right now and find some pull tabs. Oh, wait- they don’t make those kind of tabs anymore. Bastards. They call me a conspiracy theorist. Ha. How are we to survive as a culture if kids can’t build there own spacecraft? No wonder NASA hasn’t ventured humans beyond our orbit since the Apollo program.

Another Brick on the Page

2011-08-10T06:13:00.000-07:00

There were times in grade school that I was bored with the subject at hand. It happens to every kid. You day dream. Mind wonders. You throw paper balls. Whisper to your buddy in the desk across from you. Or, if you are a writer, you WRITE. On the sly.

I wrote tons of stories in grammar school, my notebook hidden under my math or history book. My mind would drift from the notes scribbled on the black board- the teacher's voice morphing into nonsensical dribble like an adult in a Charlie Brown cartoon.

I was a huge comic book geek (and STAR WARS geek, and mythology geek, and magic geek, and model rocket geek) so my first stories I wrote were often based on the heros of Marvel Comics. It's funny, but when you are an eleven year old boy you are either a Marvel Comics fan or a DC fan. Like baseball in NYC- it's either Mets or Yankees. Never both. So I would sit and write my own adventures for Spiderman or Captain America and suddenly a boring day in school became an adventure.

I created a character called AGENT 21. I still to this day have the original folder filled with yellowing pages of the dozen or so handwritten spy stories. Stories with uber-melodramatic titles like, "The Sound of the Waves Means Death", or "Diamonds are a Thief's Best Friend" and "Thou Art Stolen". Tales filled with pubescent-boy violence fantasies, fun-filled gadgets and questionable grammar. All lots of fun.

Teachers need to understand the value of nurturing the natural talents of their students. This is how the educational system should be changed and geared- allowing the kids to discover their bliss. On one mid winter day, as I sat hunched over my notebook deep in the excitement of Steve Power's latest attempts to save democracy from international lunies, I sensed a sudden silence.

I looked up to find dozens of eyes on me - two of them (or actually four) the eyes of my teacher (who shall remain nameless). He stepped up to my desk and lifted the history book I was using to cover my stealthy, literary attempts. What unfolded was right out of a Pink Floyd song.

"So - Michael is writing the Great American novel!"

The class erupted in laughter. Red faced I glanced around the room. It was as if in slomotion. The jerks were laughing. My good friend Howard wasn't. He was always a great guy. He looked down at his desk (probably writing his own story!) There was a sudden pit in my stomach. Was she laughing? The girl who would later reject me when I asked her to the prom (in a scene right our of Freaks and Geeks!) was indeed getting a chuckle. Great, I thought to myself, my face getting redder. Her sister, who was always a good friend, was not laughing. You know your friends when the times get tough.

I tried to babble an excuse but really had nothing to say. The genius went on: So Michael will be the next great American novelist! Hey everybody! We have a future celebrity in our class!

I can hear his accent becoming English and hear the opening chords of Another Brick in the Wall starting to play. I could only sit there and take it. For a couple of days I was called "The Great American author" by some of the future brain surgeons of the class. I began to wear it like a badge of honor.

So as my second novel is prepared top be published I wait. My first (Milky Way Marmalade), aside from GREAT reviews, did not sell to great American novel levels. My next- a middle-grade exciting tale called RUPERT STARBRIGHT: THE DOOR TO FAR-MYST (book 1) will be available soon. You can all help me get the best kind of revenge to that dimwit teacher by buying a copy and making me- finally- a GREAT AMERICAN NOVELIST!

Keep writing kids. Keep painting. Keep making music. Keep dreaming the good dream.

From my Window Window

2011-07-26T05:27:00.000-07:00

Looking out my third floor window when I was a kid was like peering down at some Felini-esque circus on acid. No surrealist painter could ever reach the heights of bizarreness that I witnessed. Nor can the deftest poet match the subtleties of wonder, strange pleasures and absurdities that existed in East Harlem during my peak years of impressionability. I can’t say anyone else ever looked twice, but for me it was better than cartoons and impacted me more than anything I ever saw on TV. It was Heaven and Hell rolled in a wad of Bazooka bubble gum. With comic.

I lived in a two bedroom walk up on 118^th street between First and Pleasant Avenue in East Harlem, New York City. With two parents, four sisters, a dog and a gaggle of imaginary friends in my head, sometimes I needed to peer out to wider and more open spaces. Inevitably I would discover even more characters to add to the pantheon of my wackadoo six year old imagination.

Boobie Coolie. Door Locker. Charlie Ding Ding. Bar Beasley. The Red Headed Hunchback. Babaif Zoom. Rhyming Ralph. Window Window. To this day they seem interchangeable. The apostles of Pleasant. Related. Some imaginary. Some very real. All unique. And strangely, all very normal. It is not until I reflect back do I get the vibes of oddness.

Bar Beasly was the chimney of a building across the yards. My sister still argues it was the TV antenna. Trust me, Donna, it was the chimney. I know what my own frigging friend looked like. Door Locker was- well – a door across the street and was neighbors with Window Window. Babaif Zoom’s origin is vague- although he did live on the Ferris wheel in Palisades Amusement park. I recall a little figure my sister made from colorful wire and a ghost of a memory tells me that was the original Babaif. Maybe.

By far, the most interesting characters were the real ones my imagination could never create but only ponder. Boobie Coolie made model cars and, I understand, quite adeptly. I have never seen one of the finished trophies of his hobby but often he would point to parked cars on Pleasant Avenue and announce “I made that car last week.” I imagined great secret rooms – like showrooms for Stewart Little, where thousands of plastic vehicles were on display. I have seen not a one.

He to this day wears his hair in a pompadour with Elvis-like sideburns. In the summer you can see him in his Hawaiian shirts and powder blue polyester shorts with matching paten leather shoes and thick framed, matching sunglasses. He seems to have imagined himself a veteran of East Harlem- a victim of misunderstanding. A sad loner. A soldier of a war of mockery. He may be right. When riding on the First Avenue bus with him on various occasions, he would cry out “Hit the Beach!” as we came closer to our neighborhood.

Charlie Ding Ding strutted down the street like Foghorn Leghorn complete with a thinning plume of hair that bobbed with each heavy step like a rooster’s comb. Baggy shorts and a ginnie T-shirt were his typical costume – he was a victim of the heroin days in East Harlem. The story was that he still had a bullet lodged in his head. I remember this lump on the right side of his skull but whether or not it was a slug fired in anger I have no clue. Myth and reality and its effects on memory is a tricky thing. His mother used to run a candy store on Pleasant Avenue and was our next door neighbor when we moved.

This atmosphere of eccentrics, lost souls, misfits and sociopaths profoundly affected me and inevitably my writing that began when I was five years old.

When you grew up in Harlem, especially in the 1970s as I did, you saw things from your window the folks of Pahrump probably have not. An exploding car, a riot, numerous bullet ridden and stabbed bodies, James Caan, the snot lady, fireworks (that would embarrass the Grucci’s), a sniper, Al Pacino, my Aunt Dee Dee, a live turkey, flare guns, dynamite, rockets, junkies, block parties, UFOs (Parhumpians probably have me here), lemonade stands and piles of clean laundry that were minutes earlier neatly piled on my mother’s dresser.

A window is a like a video camera that gets wired and filtered through your own software of wants and perceptions. A window is not just the square architectural feature on your building. It’s portable. It floats in front of our heads like a cartoon bubble of an arcade game avatar and is with us every step me take in life. Every time we trip or jump a pothole. Everything we watch, witness and gawk at is recorded and filed away. My own personal secretary was not a frigid court stenographer, however. He’s more like an old Irish beer maker, tale-telling in a pub. Or a psychedelic journeyman keeping a diary amongst the Elves. It’s how great mythologies are born. Hyper memorized truths. Colorized a touch. Romanticized some. The cream of the memory rising to the top like a good head and the darker bits settling on the bottom of the glass to be dealt with (or ignored) later.

I collect minutia the way some people collect episodes of old TV shows. I am a habitual reminiscer. There was a lot to collect in my old neighborhood and being blessed (or cursed) with an imagination that never stopped, it was all good stuff to trip on.

East Harlem, in the 70s, was a mix of blue collar Italians and Puerto Ricans (as the neighborhood took a downturn many of the Italians turned chicken-shit and moved to the white bread suburbs. Most regretted it later.) The Washburn wire factory that sat along the FDR drive employed much of the neighborhood. I think the first word I learned to read was W-A-S-H-B-U-R-N, whose giant sign spanned a walkway a block away at the end of 118^th street between Pleasant and the Drive. I was fascinated by its huge, yellow brick smokestack and dreamed of one day climbing it. I never did and to my sadness it was demolished in the 80s.

Like any neighborhood of any major city where the economics are on the low end of the spectrum, there was a constant criminal element. Whether it was the Italian heroin dealers of the 60s and 70s or the Hispanic crack dealers of the 80s, that shadow of potential violence always hung over the neighborhood like the chance of showers on a hot August afternoon. The impact of that is tremendous, especially on kids. It effected where you walked (and didn’t). It honed and sharpened that human instinct for danger. A shout would often be ignored- but a certain kind of shout – a certain pitch of the human voice- meant trouble and your ears would perk up, your eyes widen and you would twist your body so you could run for cover at a moments notice. Firecrackers were firecrackers. Random. Spastic. Bada babababab badaba!. Gun shots were cold and regular. A nasty heartbeat, BAM. BAM. BAM. The latter had one message- get the hell inside! I heard that warning all too often.

Most humor in my neighborhood was black humor. Again, it is the nature of that combination of violence and finance. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. A guy that flips off his bike and gets hit by a car is tragic. A guy that lands on his ass and survives is hysterically funny. It is all about that fine line of between death and survival. If you were lucky enough to escape the Reaper you can glance back at the shrouded bastard and laugh.

If we are products of our surroundings, it’s no wonder I am a misfit amongst misfits. Imagination is surely a double bladed sword. Story telling ability is a steady date with paranoia. They love to slow dance. Was my imagination created or nurtured by the orgy of characters I was born into? Whatever the answer, the mark on my psyche is indelible. And for that I must be grateful.

Mercury Playdough

2011-07-19T05:05:00.000-07:00

A lot of things were used in excess in the 70s. In fact, some call it the decade of excess. I was, unfortunately, too young at the time to enjoy the forbidden fruits of the time. Yet, looking back, I see the 80s as the real decade of vulgar, over-the-top, Geckoist greed and gluttony. The one 70s excess I can recall taking part in was freedom, which peaked, ironically at about 1976. Freedom went out of style the moment we designated a spot for the TV remote. It was the burning bush. The building of a temple for the Holy of Holies. The new god was not TV or celebrity or money. It was the mind numbing dogma of being “protected”. These are the subtle changes in society that you have to always be on the lookout for. Forget draconian laws or the vanishing of manners. At that point it has already gone too far. The moment we, as a society, felt there was too much risk walking our butta from the sofa to the dial of the TV we were doomed and our slavery to the abuses and misuses of technology and media would begin.

When I was a kid, I thought TV sets came with pliers. I’m not sure why, but our knob was always broken. You needed something to flip through the six available channels since the little metal nub was impossible to get a grip on, so a pair of pliers did the trick. We had six channels, so it wasn’t that much work. There was 2 (CBS) 4 (NBC), 5, 7(WABC), 9 (WOR), 11 (WPIX) and Public Television (13). That was it and that was plenty.

I guess there were dangers involved in getting up, walking across the room, picking up the pliers with the red rubber handle and turning the channel selector. My father could have slipped as his slippers (thus the name, I guess) lost all connections to the forces of friction and gravity. My little sister could have inserted the pliers into the electrical outlet (I guess that’s why my father chose rubber handled ones). Worm holes have a nasty habit of opening up at the most inopportune moments and swallowing up pets, parents, pens and single socks. The Universe is not only stranger than you can imagine but it’s a frigging dangerous place. If science has is right, the Universe began with an explosion. A clear message from square one- it can be hairy, this thing called existence. Keep your eyes open. But chill out and live with a certain amount of abandon. Who the hell knows? Maybe creation itself was an act of terror? So be it. Life includes dangers. Over protective shielding protects no one. Having said that…

We played with liquid mercury as kids. There, I confess. We did.

Sharp, pointed corners on toys? Pishaw! Small parts that look like gum balls we put in our mouths and forced our parents to dislodge as our faces turned blue? That’s for sissies. We played with blobs of the liquid quicksilver risking the health of brains and livers. It came in our toys! Who cared? The stuff was so cool looking. I distinctly remember a plastic maze game. It was clear plastic and lined with fuzzy indigo material and a single ball of mercury sat inside to guide through the maze like some chrome mouse. Naturally we had to break it open so we could roll the little ball of deadly metal around our palms. There was something almost erotic about that shimmering, warbling sphere of liquid mirror riding the ridges of your hand, the reflection of your ironically deformed face staring back.

Those were honest times. Hell, if mercury could be dumped in our oceans, lakes and streams and turn our fish into little swimming disease bombs, why not just stick the crap in kid’s toys? And we had no clue. Dangerous? Lighting eight ounce bottle rockets horizontally on the sidewalk was dangerous (and fun). Silver balls of rubbery metal? How dangerous could it be? We were clueless.

I prided myself as a young mad scientist. I was always mixing liquids and powders in an attempt to invent secret formulas. What these formulas were to be used for were irrelevant. They were secret! That was all that mattered. I alone held the formulas. I would use these concoction to…I haven’t a clue. Well, actually, once I tried to create a soap bubble mix that would form bubbles that could not be popped. Little crystal spheres. Transparent Christmas ornaments. Ones you can hold between your fingers and juggle. At the age of five, as I recall, this would be a very important cultural development. Soap bubble technology peaked with the Wham-O! zillions of bubbles wand. It needed something new. I will reveal to you some of the ingredients (although at risk to my person from fellow alchemists who may kick me from the society) as I recall. There was a splash of dish soap, a few drops of invisible ink (which came in little plastic squeeze bottles from Scottie’s candy store on Pleasant Avenue) and some powdered candy and a spray of underarm deodorant (we cannot have smelly, sweaty bubbles). Once these were mixed in a little plastic cup (along with other ingredients long forgotten by the winds of time) I set the mix to set. But it had to be covered. I was smart enough to know about evaporation and the dangers of ultraviolet light on such a volatile mix. The cap from the deodorant can was the perfect size and shape to keep my ultra secret, (hmm, isn’t there a deodorant with that name?) billion dollar bubble mix in just the right laboratory conditions. In those days, that particular brand of anti-perspirant came with a chrome-like, half-spherical cap. It looked high tech enough to work. In fact, the cap looked just like…

“Hey! Everybody, look at this!” my sister announced to her friends, all gathered on our stoop.

It happened in slow motion. I saw the gang of kids turn to her as she stepped from the doorway, something in her cupped hands catching brilliant beams of sunlight. It was a sphere of the alchemical quicksilver of old. The largest blob anyone in East Harlem, maybe the world, had ever seen. The Holy Grail of mercury blobs. All eyes bugged and mouths dropped open. There was a rush—as if the tomb of King Tut was about to be open. Legs clashed and arms pushed. A cacophony of OOHS! And AHHS! They raced for a closer look—or perhaps a touch of the magical metal.

I knew better.

“My experiment!” I screamed from the sidewalk.

By the time I pushed through the gawking crowd, her friends had realized they had been duped. The trick had been revealed. Moans of disappointment bounded across 118^th street. She held up faux mercury blob; the silver cap that moments earlier guarded my valuable recipe. I jumped up and snatched it from her and raced up the steps.

My experiment to created popless soap bubbles was not a success, although it did coagulate into a nice thick gunk. Perhaps it needed further work. As they say in the alchemical craft, the snake needed to devour itself or the King needed to be slain and his blood drained or some other esoteric process. Whatever. I went on to other secret formulas. Hell, I even had a chemistry set. I went about mixing chemicals that today would be locked up far away from overprotected kiddy hands too busy holding joysticks and playing with virtual dangers. For better or for worse?

Kids are curious by nature. Although, on occasion, curiosity kills the cat, more often than not, it makes for a better human. In these days of less personal responsibility and freedom, I fear we are losing our creative edge. Or, sadly, lost it. Even though I confess it was stupid to play with mercury.

Ah- but it was fun in those days called the 70s.

Mike DiCerto's first kidlit novel series, The Adventures of Rupert Starbright: Book 1: The Door to Far-Myst will be out soon from Zumaya Publications's Threshold imprint. Stay Tuned!

You Can't Burn an E-Book

2011-06-27T06:11:00.000-07:00

   Today I sat on a bench surrounded by my favorite acres of land on Planet Earth—Central Park. A glorious day—sun burning just right. Humidity was set as if I had a say in the matter and the breeze was almost stereotypically perfect. I would spend my lunch time reading. I confess I am a sucker for a Dan Brown book and was anxiously awaiting to see what edge-of-my seat situation Robert Langdon would be in.

   I reached beside the bench, shooing away a nosey squirrel and pulled one of the half-dozen scrolls from the large canvas bag. I unrolled it to where I had left off last session and began reading. My arms began aching after a moment—the ivory rollers taking their toll. But there is a nostalgic joy reading from a scroll. The smooth, almost liquid feel of the ivory. The soft crackle of the hemp sheet. The artistic swirling of the cursive.

   As Johnny Rotten would say, BOLLOCKS!

   No- I did not read The Lost Symbol from a scroll. WHY WOULD I? In reality I read it in hardcover and for only one reason- I couldn't wait until the paperback came out and at the time I did not own a Kindle. Which brings me to the subject at hand: E-books and E-book readers. I will often get this nose in the air, eye-rolling, pishaw! from the "I need to feel the pages in my fingers" paper book snobs. As for me? I love my Kindle. I have not tried a Nook or Sony reader but as for my Kindle it is how I read 90% of the books I enjoy. Do I miss the feel of paper? No. Why? Do I miss using an abacas to figure out the tip at a restaurant? (I actually use my brain to figure out tips and not my I-phone which further proves my argument that using electronic devices does not have to make you lazy or stupid.)

   The Kindle is lightweight. It can hold my entire library should I desire so. I love the ability to position the cursor on an unfamiliar word and get its definition (and I read a lot of heady non-fiction so this comes in handy). I can hear the argument of the book snob now—why can't you just look the word up in a seventy five pound, horse-skin bound Webster? Ok- next time you need to know what the capital of Iceland is I expect you to head out to your public library and flip through an Almanac. Google? NO! Sorry, that is the lazy man's way!

   It is funny how the first few days of reading with a Kindle your hand, trained by many years of paper book reading, reaches for the upper corner to turn the page. It stops after a few dozen times. It also takes some adjustment going from page numbers to "percentage read". So? No biggie. We all moved with ease from rotary phones to pushing numbered buttons. As you travel through history adjustments must be made.

   I have also found I get through books faster on my Kindle than I do in paper form. Especially longer ones. I think its because seeing I have 90% of a book left to read is far less daunting than seeing, in 3D, the thickness of another 500 pages left to read.

   As an author, I confess I find holding my published work in my hand is sexier than downloading a PDF—but this is something as an author I have gotten over. E-book sales are soaring. I will almost without a doubt sell more e-book versions of my upcoming kidlit novel "Rupert Starbright: The Door to Far-Myst" than I will paperback.

   So like the tube TV, rotary phones, videotapes and vinyl LPs—the paper book (in terms of popular reading) will probably find itself a beloved object of collectors. Hey, you just read this and not once did you feel paper between your fingers.

   Relax, it really is not so bad.

Book Trailers. So YOU tell me.

2011-06-13T05:13:00.000-07:00

I started working on a trailer for my soon-to-be-released kidlit novel, RUPERT STARBRIGHT: THE DOOR TO FAR-MYST. Yep- a trailer for a book. Hey- I've made film trailers before but I confess this is new to me. I think the idea makes sense—creating a movie-like ad for a book to get people excited about reading it.

But then a thought struck me. I have watched a couple of book trailers in my life and found most of them are pretty bad. I also realized I have never actually bought a book for a trailer I have watched!

As I begin the difficult task of generating the 3D graphics (which will take days to render) I wonder, IS THIS A COMPLETE WASTE OF TIME?

I wonder if anyone other than fellow authors will watch it and will it have any impact on book sales. So I ask you:

Have you ever seen a trailer for a book and if so did it help push you to buying it? While on the subject, what DOES get you to read a book?

1. Book trailers
2. Familiarity with author
3. Recommendation from friend
4. The cover
5. The back cover blurb
6. A review
7. Bribe by author
8. Facebook posts
9. To shut up an annoying, begging starving writer

So I'll get back to work on my trailer please give me some feedback. WHY DO YOU READ A SPECIFIC BOOK?

As always, please LIKE and SHARE this blog.

To Classic or Not to Classic- that is the question...

2011-05-30T07:38:00.000-07:00

I recently read a blog entry from another writers blog I write for and it had to do with whether or not kids should be REQUIRED to read the "classic" books of history. The writer made the argument that it is much better for kids to read what they are interested in. What THEY want to read. Requiring students to read the classics was, she felt, counterproductive to making them interested in reading. I thought about her argument and then I recalled my own history of reading the classics and the irony that I was currently reading Moby Dick. A book I had chosen to read and was not part of any syllabus.

Then I thought back to my favorite teacher ever - Mr. Joe Kraus who was my AP English teacher in high school. In his class we WERE REQUIRED to read Hamlet, Cat's Cradle, Catch-22, Death of a Salesman, etc etc. I can recall him, much like Robin Williams in Dead Poet's Society, standing atop his desk reciting scenes from Hamlet. I ate up the books. I will always recall Joe Kraus and his class fondly. He always encouraged me to be a writer. And I am GLAD I was forced to read some classics.

Anyone who knows me personally is quite aware I am not a conservative conformist who bows to authority. But I also realize that classics are classics for a reason. Like The Beatles's music and films by Capra, the work stands the test of time. They challenge the reader to think and interpret and delve into the layers of meaning. Let's face it- if we let kids make their own decisions about everything they would eat crap food, watch crap TV and never ever do anything for anyone else but their own narcissistic selves. It's what makes a kid a "kid". Children, I strongly believe, have to be TAUGHT to appreciate beauty and the value it. Comedian Billy Connolly tells the story of bringing his kids to see the gorgeous scenery in Scotland and telling them "You see, mountains and trees in that order is pretty. OOh. Ahh. Say it kids "Ooooh" "Ahh!".

He is right.

As a teen I was encourage to read on a variety of topics and hold that dear to this day. Would I have CHOSEN on my own to read Macbeth or Waiting for Godot? Probably not. Am I glad I was made to read them?

Yes.

So I stand on the side of TO CLASSIC. And mix in with that anything else your mind desires to read. You will be a better human for it.

Parent? Teachers? What do YOU think?

Ok I confess...

2011-05-17T14:15:00.000-07:00

...I have never read a single Harry Potter book. I admit it. Am I a bad person? Should I be pummeled with large tomes of the mega-billion dollar valued franchise? After all I am now officially a "kid lit" author (well in a month or so when Rupert Starbright book 1 is released) so should I be more familiar with the works of the great (and even not-so-great) writers of the genre?

Probably.

My reasons for never reading any of J.K. Rowlings (should I become M.C. DiCerto?) is simple: professional jealousy and not wanting to be influenced. I do not care who you are but writers get irked by the uber-successful writers. Its where we think we all want to be. I had been planning to write a fantasy-adventure kids tale and my wife and been devouring the Potter stories. I picked up the first book and began reading it and by the time I got two pages in I knew I had to stop. I did not want to be influenced or be accused of plagiarism- even though my story deals with a young boy who uses his imagination to perform acts of "magic" rather than wands and faux-Latin words.

Aside from that, I read 95% non-fiction. Mostly because I am fascinated by subjects such as ancient archeology, shamanism, quantum physics, etc. For me the real Cosmos offers much more magic than any wand-wielding kid can. As writer however, I love fantasy, aliens, monsters and magic. And as I lean towards wanting to write more kid lit- I feel I should real some of my famous and not-so-famous contemporaries.

So this is where you come in. I need some suggestions. Reply below in the comment section with the names of your favorite YA/Kid Lit books. If you are an author then suggest your own work!

I guess I should get with the kiddie zeitgeist...

Cats and Rats and Elephants.

2011-05-05T08:55:00.000-07:00

I just attended the Opening of the new Ollie's Place, a cat adoption center where I have been volunteering for years. (here is the link to the video I created: http://tinyurl.com/66jrgks) I have always been a cat person. Strike that. I have always been an animal person. From my earliest memories I have enjoyed watching, playing with, looking at and reading about animals. I grew up in a house where we had dogs (Gypsy and Sheba- both who lived good long lives) and cats (Rosie, Bowie, Gabriel and Calvin) as well as birds, fish, a few lizards and one tarantula. I was a city boy who loved having a back yard where I could watch cats, birds, bugs, etc. My dad would take me to Central Park and the Bronx Zoos as well as the Museum of Natural History (hey- even dead animal bones were fun!). During summer vacation I would love to wake up really early and peer out our bathroom window that overlooked the backyards and watch the drama (and comedy) unfold as all the neighborhood cats played out their feline soap opera. It was better than cartoons.

My writing, from its inception, was always infused with animal characters. My earliest was a comic strip called Crazy Bird and Crazy Rabbit that followed the adventures of the two very poorly drawn animals. Animals would pop up in many stories. When I wrote my first novel, Milky Way Marmalade, I could really let my zoological creativity go nuts as I created slews of new, wild and wily life forms that roamed bizarre planets throughout the galaxy. And in my latest novel, Rupert Starbright: The Door to Far-Myst (soon to be published by Zumaya Publication's Threshold imprint) our young hero is transported to a world where strange and exotic (and some very dangerous) animals and plants fill the wilderness.

This love of nature has to be nurtured. I was raised to treat animals with kindness. I saw too many kids when I was growing up who would abuse animals. When I hear a grown man say "I hate cats" I have to wonder what sort of psychological trauma did this person suffer to make such an ignorant statement. When I see the many examples of animal abuse I can only think a simple thought: this person was not taught that animals are to be treated kindly, with more than respect. With reverence. Kids who grow up in households where a parent fears animals is at a great disadvantage. The kids or the other parent must work on nurturing the fearful parent. Show them that pets are a wonderful thing and not something to fear. I have seen this first hand as my own mother was afraid of cats as a child but grew to love the kitties we had growing up.

We are better for our pets. They inspire us on so many levels. Even creatively.

Ghandi said you can judge a culture by how they treat their animals. The culture, as always, starts at home.

Using the Mus(ic)

2011-04-27T05:57:00.000-07:00

I grew up in a house of music lovers, and the beauty of it was it was an eclectic mix. My father was a country-western, classical and opera fan. My mother was into big band and 40-50s crooners. My oldest sisters were big Rock fans. It was through my sister Donna that I gained my appreciation for all sorts of Classic Rock- be it punk, prog or the super groups. I can probably say, without hesitation, that classic rock is my religion. For those of you who read my first novel, Milky Way Marmalade, you will already know my passion. In fact I might go as far to say that Rock IS a religion--but that is a subject for a future exploration.

Point is, from a young age I was CONSTANTLY exposed and enriched by music. Even the cartoons of the day were helping. Rather than brainwash kids into buying the merchandise subliminally pushed (rather in the commercials where it belongs) I learned the works of Bach and Rossini and Beethoven while laughing at over the top violence and animal on animal abuse (i.e. rabbits and roadrunners beating on predators)

All my life I have lost myself in the Amazing Dolby Technicolor Dream Coat of music and allowed the movies - tragedies, romance, adventure tales, spy flicks- whatever- to unfold within my mind.

Dire Straits even wrote a song about my practice:
"And the music is whatever was the story and the story is whatever was the song."

Making movies on location. I cannot write without creating a sound track. I-tunes has really become a great aid in my writing since creating a play list is so easy. And what I love about this creative tool is that I can wander down a Manhattan street or stroll in Central Park and have scenes, ideas, characters, personality traits, etc- forming in my subconscious. The story continually unfolds and fleshes out. It gains emotional depth.
Scenes unfold. Characters act as if in a movie with the soundtrack playing. I sit in the theatre of my mind- surround sound stereo blasting out.

And the soundtrack grows along with the book or screenplay. I will also try to arrange the song list in an order that outlines the story. A true soundtrack. I am constantly tweaking it- trying to build an audio narrative. Since an author lives with their story throughout the creative process- this adds a wonderful element while I am not actually writing. It keeps it alive and evolving.

This may or may not work for every writer. I know some writers must work in total silence. I MUST have music playing when I write. It may work for you during the outline or note making stage. Try it. Dig though your LPs, 45s, CDs or mp3s and create an aural representation of your story. Then sit back, close your eyes and watch your tale unfold!

The era of the mp3, like all technology has its good and bad side. My biggest beef is that music has become a series of short stories. The novel, aka the ALBUM, seems to be a thing of the past. Kids buy the hits, the singles. My fear is that they are missing out on the gems. The b-sides. The magical added tunes that the record company threw in for filler that turns out to be classic.

Shows like Glee, American Idol, etc are, I feel, helping. (As does Guitar Hero-like games) in exposing the younger generations to older music. I hope all your parents out there are providing great variety to the music you expose your children too. Take them to Operas. Bring them on picnics when the Philharmonic is playing. Watch old cartoons and 40s musicals. And, of course, LET THERE BE ROCK!

The Nanny Pambyism of Kids.

2011-04-20T11:19:00.000-07:00

I just read an article about a group of New York bureaucrats trying to legislate kids games. That's right- kickball, Frisbee, freeze tag. The great threats of our society. As a kid I recall hearing mothers, heads craned out their tenement windows screaming out "Hey, watch for the cars when you cross!"

Yes, horror of horrors, we were kids and we were out on the street playing.

It's sad that this has become the fluff of nostalgia. The age of instant media brings many double-edged swords. The democratic spread of ideas, opinions and information also brings waves of isolated instances that get distributed as common place events. Yes, if you let your children play outside they will be abducted by perverts. Dirt is evil and will give your kids Ebola. Toys are the secret terrorist weapons of mass destruction.

Rupert Starbright, in my upcoming novel, lives in Graysland, a pragmatic world of bland colors. A place where the imagination has never been imagined. Adults are filled with fear of anything they have never seen with monotonous regularity. So what happens? Like Pink Floyd sang "Momma's gonna put all of her fears into you", nothing evolves. The world stagnates. It becomes a deadly pattern. When kids are further restricted FROM BEING KIDS, not only by worried parents but parents who are made to further worry by ridiculous regulations- then we get a social problem that will have terrible repercussions.

Imagination is fueled by play. But when play is laid out completely left-brained; when every rule and outcome and object of the game is pre-conditioned; when kids are overly protected from failure and pain it is the imagination that suffers. As a kid I spend hours on the often dangerous streets of East Harlem with friends. A boring summer day was made suddenly exciting by the discovery of a discarded cardboard refrigerator box. We played with gunpowder and make Super 8 movies. We turned empty lots into science fiction sets and often played very mischievous tricks on neighbors. But our minds, and our bodies, were always moving. The overweight kid was the rarity not the norm. We got cuts and cruises and bashed heads and occasionally stitches. And we survived. I can recall the time when I began to spend more time inside and that was when video games were introduced and we got an Atari and Intellivision machine (that is, until the neighborhood girls lured me back outside!) I am a fan of video games but like snack foods - in moderation or they will cause cavities in the sharp teeth of imagination.

Now I do see kids using their imaginations today. My own niece created an ANT WORLD in my parents backyard. I see her geek tendencies emerging and it fills me with pride. But I do fear that as we make our kids fearful of the real world and shield them too much from pain- we are also causing atrophy to the wonder centers of their minds.

Bidoopy Bop Zoocarzay

2011-04-13T09:52:00.000-07:00

I became fluent in the language nonsense at a young age and I can thank one Theodor Geisel for it. I am not sure why it captured my imagination as it did- but reading "Big Z, little z what begins with z? I do- I am a Zizzerzazzerzuss as you can plainly see!" filled my imagination and heart with joy.

Why? Well - it goes back- I believe - to the invention of language itself. One sunny morning when Zog and his wife Uga were strolling the African veldt seeking breakfast- Uga spotted a new strange animal scampering through the grass. She searched her memories and came up blank. What was this thing? Her imagination sparked. Her synapses fired. Her language centers bubbled and her mouth and tongue went to work. Her vocal chords vibrated and the sound Kahawamys sounded. She had named what we know as an ancient, prehistoric rodent. (Well- maybe not that Latin word- but I make my point!) It is what Tolkien called sub-creation. Humans are good at it. Our egos revel in it. It is why I sit hear typing this. It is why Kindles around the world buzz with best sellers and basement dwellers. Our minds create words to mean things. Then link these words to tell tales. And when there is a blank to be filled we simply make it up.

So are nonsense words really nonsense? Meaningless? I say NO. The Dr. Seuss example I give above defends my case. A Zizzerzazzerzuss make sound silly - but that is the name of the genus of creatures in the zoological records of Teddy G. What else was he going to call it? A Giraffe? Taken.

Try it right now. Just let words fly from your mouth. Nothing from Webster. Be your own Dr. Seuss. I'll start:

Bashinky bippy zoocopa suspinka dabba kanoo.

Its fun. And liberating. An powerful. In fact, there is a practice called glossolalia - speaking in tongues that can- it is said- create altered states of consciousness in the practitioners. Chanting works on the same principle.

Babies will babble endlessly- having apparent thoughtful conversations with themselves and others. Again- unfettered dialogue. Words - "nonsense" perhaps - but words nonetheless flowing carefree and ripe with deep meaning from our sub-conscious.

I love making up words. My writing tends to be fanciful fiction so I get to play god with my universe.

And he grabbed a handful of frumblestock and formed it into a Garbingo. And it was good.

There is no greater joy than the imagination left to flourish and plant seeds. Water them and watch the seedlings sprout. It is vital to talk to your plants. So let the nonsense flow.

Chubabab skumaloo partinky!!

Does the KidinU grow up with kids?

2011-04-04T14:50:00.000-07:00

My wife Suzy and I have been married for 18 years. Our kids have been cats- our current a 5 year old bundle of crazy love named Cosmo. We have friends with kids and we have many friends without them. I was thinking the other day about the difference. If there is one. Is there a correlation between the "young at heart" factor of people with kids opposed to those without?

I can only peer out onto this landscape from my own vantage point- which is- the vantage (or ADvantage) of NOT having any kids. There is a certain freedom of being childless. Just one look at my sister with her three little ones and the lack of freedom becomes quite apparent. YET - both my sister and her husband can both be quite young-at-heart in their interests and behaviors.

One friend of mine- Craig - a special effects make-up artist for TV and Movies - has two young boys and his ability to "hang out for some beers" with me is often derailed by his duty to his kids. Nonetheless - Craig will be the first with the Beavis and Butthead styled scatological humor.

I also know some folks who are childless and act 30 years older than their age.

It would seem that people with kids are surrounded by the elements of their world- toys, TV shows, movies, books, children's parties, etc. Does this keep a parent in a state of perpetual youth or is more like a immunologist - surrounded by the diseases - manages to stay healthy? Does the crying, and angst and fighting and bad grades balance it all out and simply add to the gray hairs? I must confess that whenever I am around parents who are with their kids- screaming on the floor of a supermarket in a sugar junkie fit worse than anything Keith Richards has gone through- there often a black cloud of "God why did I spawn these brats."

It seems parents never fully smile. Then again- this might just be my perspective as a "yes my wife and I can go out any day during the week and get loaded if we so choose and you can't" braggart. Or it might be a subconscious defense mechanism masking my deep-seeded guilt at not providing my parents with a grandchild (my sister took care of that!).

I sometimes feel I am stuck in a perpetual state of pubescence. Then again- being a writer I can go through dark phases of depression and funk that seems more adult than the free wheeling world views of kids. Yet- my sense of wonder remains very strong. Very much a young at heart trait. I have just as much - if not more - of an imagination now than I did when I was 11. My novel, MILKY WAY MARMALADE - though rife with rock&roll and metaphysical threads- also uses the world "coolie" quite proudly (a word which still cracks me up.) I giggle at inapropriate times.

So once again the dilemma. I am not coming up with a solution to my thesis. So I leave this up to you- my readers with kids and those without.

Do kids hinder or help the sense of wonder. The young at heart world view? Or do they burdon you with such an intense sense of responsibility that one must grow up and deal with it?

Be honest.

And in either case - remember- my upcoming novel RUPERT STARBRIGHT: THE DOOR TO FAR-MYST (ZUMAYA PUBLICATIONS) will be out soon and transform even the darkest old soul into a child at heart!

Are your Kids Extantacists? (Or are YOU?)

2011-03-27T08:04:00.000-07:00

I confess it's a made up word but it is not a made up cultural problem. There is a simple test to see if you or your kids are a dreaded Extantacist.

Do you (or your kids) know any of the following? If they do not...hmmm...

1. William Henry Harrison

2. Chico Marx

3. All four Beatles names (if they know Pete Best they get an extra 5 points)

4. Beethoven (they lose an extra point if they say he's a dog)

5. The geographical shape of their home state

6. The order and names of the 9 major planets (we can include Pluto!)

7. McCarthyism

8. Lucille Ball

9. At least five figures from Greek or Roman mythology (If they do now know what Greek or Roman mythology is- then forget this test)

10. The historic time line of dinosaurs vs humanity.

There are others. OH SO MANY OTHERS. But there is basic information that I strongly feel every person should know. The true Extantacist has no use for any fact or bit of info that is not current. Some even get annoyed when you question them. "What do you mean you never heard of Woodstock or seen a Woody Allen film?"

The current of of culture is moving faster than it every did so the chances of someone becoming an Extantacist is growing exponentially. It is more important than ever for us all to have our mental backpacks filled with info that is timeless.

I am not saying that the Extantacist did not exist prior to 1990. I can recall one day in fifth grade (sometime in the 1970s) when the teacher asked us to name as many states as we could. I was shocked as my classmates called out "Upstate" and "United States" and "Staten Island". How could they not know Tennessee or Colorado or West Virginia? Why did I know? Well- when I was four or five my parents gave me a toy called "The Game of the States." I learned the states' names, shapes and where they fit on the map. To this day that I see each state in different colors with little wooden trucks sitting upon them. I would have arguments in the first grade with kids who thought cavemen really rode around on the backs of brontosaurus. And I was not some pompous Poindexter type. On the contrary I was always voted "Most Creative" in my class from first grade through high school and even college in the handful of writing or film making classes I took (I was a computer science major).

And thus the value of NOT being an Extantacist. This basic knowledge is the bricks and mortar or creativity. Like the ancient Roman temples of Heliopolis were built upon the mysterious and humongous stone slabs of some prior civilization (now known as Baalbek) what we write as artists in novel, or screenplay or song must be built upon the storehouse of knowledge and facts we carry with us. If it were all based on the Extantacist way of thinking- what we would we would have created would be merely shallow entertainment that will be forgotten in a few years like that reality show that was on TV once. I forget its name. It will not have the scope and meaning of Othello and Cat's Cradle. Or Sargent Pepper and Dark Side of the Moon, or M*A*S*H and Freaks and Geeks.

In my upcoming novel (my second- MILKY WAY MARMALADE was my first), RUPERT STARBRIGHT: THE DOOR TO FAR-MYST (Zumaya Publications)- Rupert Dullz, who lives in a world called Graysland where the imagination has never even been imagined, becomes fascinated by a tidbit of information his beloved, and sick, grandma tells him. It seems there was once a man named Mookie Starbright who wrote books "just because". His books were not dry text books outlining the importance of raking leaves (a valued activity in Graysland) but rather story books about things that never actually happened! Rupert becomes fascinated with this concept. A concept only valued by his grandmother.

So is your child an Extanacist? More frightening, is your child (or shame shame, YOU) a PROUD Extantacist? Take the quiz. Make up more questions. Be honest. The mind you expand may be your own!

Imagine You Can't

2011-03-20T08:00:00.001-07:00

I woke up and my entire bedroom had gone gray. My bookshelves were empty and not a single CD or DVD could be found. My cat was looking for his favorite catnip stuffed rat but alas it was gone. There were no toys. Not even for Cosmo. I got up and prepared a cup of coffee and tried to clear my head for a few hours of writing. I sat down at my Mac and stared at the screen. My head was full of one thought. Raking leaves. Lots and lots of dead leaves that needed to be cleared from my driveway (we live in an apartment on the upper east side of Manhattan and do not have a driveway which made this all the more odd). This was just a desire but seemed like some sort of societal duty. A cultural need. What happened to the six legged, flying kumquats that were going to attack the poor octopods on Guribia 6? Where were the images of great space battles that had been filling my mind for weeks as my great science fiction epic tickled my synapses?

Splashed across my inner movie screen was nothing but piles of black and white leaves. My imagination was gone.

How would a society in which the imagination had never been imagined exist? Could it? Would it have formed in the first place?

In my soon to be published (by Zumaya Publications) Kidlit novel, Rupert Starbright: The Door to Far-Myst, I explore such a world. Rupert Dullz was born and raised in a land called Graysland. Its a world of muted colors and constantly falling leaves. The imagination has never even been imagined.

Can such a place exist? Of is the spark of Imaginings a natural part of what it means to be human? Like Scarecrow's brain- was it always there and it simply needed to be recognized? (After all, the Scarecrow was the one with all the ideas on Dorothy's adventure!)

When an ancient human primate first learned they could open a clam with the sharp edge of another clam shell that was a spark of imagination (though it would be a few years until some true genius learned to make Tabasco from little hot peppers) It was not a product to hang on museum walls but one that certainly moved humanity a step up in the world. When these ancient clam lovers stepped into a darkened cave and decorated the rock walls with colorful images that were dancing in their minds- it was the imagination burning bright again. This use of the imagination did not have the practical survival purpose that the clam-opener did. Or did it? Is transferring the inner pictures- the landscapes of worlds that the human mind create within- onto 3D, real world mediums, a necessary part of what it means to survive as a human? Like the writer who must write or suffer weeks of mood swings, depression and driving of their partner insane. Is it hard wired into our very being to not just USE the imagination but to create real world items (paintings, books, music) with it? Was that cave with its colorful murals the first museum or the first church? Or both? Is the creative act the most basic religious impulse of humanity?

In Rupert Starbright- Rupert is faced with a challenge from a colorful man who descends from the sky in a great balloon. There is a mysterious door whose key can only be created by the imaginings of a child. The door opens to Far-Myst - the stranger's home. The child who can open the door will travel to Far-Myst as the special guest of its Queen.

Will Rupert be able to summon this odd, mysterious force called Imagining to travel to a place that sounds so much better than his boring home? And if he does, what will really be in store for him there? Be careful what you wish for. Or what you imagine!

The human imagination is a double edged sword. The same magical force that can create Star Wars and Harry Potter can also make a person think he is being followed by black helicopters and crazy killers in every shadow! The imaginings of humans can create both the IPhone and the nuclear missile.

What would happen if you could wield the imagination like a super power? Just form an idea or an object in your mind and BAM! It appears in reality? Rupert will discover that this special ability is both wondrous and dangerous. He will step from a world where the imagination seems to have never have emerged and into a place where it is out of control.

How will Rupert fair? Stay tuned. How would you? Please reply with your thoughts!