10/24/11
by DT Tarkus
Need an excuse to find that critique partner for that bestseller you’re writing? How many times have we avoided having someone else “review” our writing to catch those little faux pas’? But I have spell check. Sure you do. Don’t we all.
09/21/11
Non-Fiction…and other necessary evils.
by DT Tarkus
Non-Fiction to me is like…eating liver. It’s supposed to be good for you, but I can’t get past the texture. It is a rare occasion when I read a non-fiction cover to cover. I start with good intention, then my fiction mind kicks my reading into hyper scan. Just give me the cliff notes.
09/14/11
Alien Lizard Love … or the lack thereof.
by DT Tarkus
Could you love a lizard? Could you even like one? I digressed a tad (what a surprise) on Marley Delarose’s blog yesterday on writing to your core. All I said was: What’s with the current trend in movies/television for technologically advanced aliens who look like mutant lizards, don’t wear clothing, grunt/squeal/roar like a cross between a stuck pig and a Tyrannosaurus Rex, and reproduce with the emotion of a fish?
09/7/11
by DT Tarkus
Things have sure changed since I was a courting lad. Not that I churned-up the dating scene back then, we did at least have some semblance of a dress code. Unless you knew the girl since childhood, you showered and shaved beforehand, and didn’t dare show up looking like an inner city hobo. In my day, I might have even slapped a bit of cologne, a subterfugian method to mask the potential musk of first date fear-sweat. Hey I was geek, how many first dates do you think I actually embarked on? Even with girlfriends, there was a respect for our appearance. I’ve seen how much time girls spend in readiness. Hours of meticulous primping in front of a mirror, a girl’s bathroom sink stacked high with cosmetics, resembling a sale at the local paint store . It was the least a guy could do.
08/1/11
Absence Makes the Word Grow Fonder
by DT Tarkus
How many times have we heard that phrase in another way? Fifty years ago, it may have meant something. Distractions were fewer. Kids had time to play, people had time to …muse. One could go away for a time, and return, the same ole spark easily rekindled with the mere touch of a pen, or typewriter. In today’s times, with so much to choose from in a disposable society, absence usually means sayonara. Certainly true for relationships it seems.
12/18/10
Is That Jingle Bells I Hear On Your Cell Phone?
by DT Tarkus
Having grown up in a northern clime, December always promised a holiday cheer for most in us in western culture, whether or not you are of the Christian faith or just believe in Santa Claus. While schools wind down their programs and businesses prepare to slow down , visions of family reunion, gift giving, culinary gorging, and endless football dance through our heads. In Taipei, we had to look for Christmas in creative ways.
12/11/10
by DT Tarkus
Growing up first in the Midwest, then New England, we got a good dose of the ethnic diversity of American holidays. With German roots, we’d open presents on Christmas Eve and save the stockings for Santa. We kids didn’t fully understand the reasoning of it until we were old enough to enjoy adult beverages. Italians started the Thanksgiving holiday feast with pasta dishes, followed by the turkey and trimmings, then conserved it with Italian cookies to ensure the blood became a solid. I have Norwegian in-laws, and have been introduced to a Christmas Eve tradition of lutfisk, cod fish bleached in lye and boiled until it becomes gelatinous and redolent of a wet diaper. It takes copious shots of Aquavit first time around. But nothing prepared me for holiday traditions in Asia, or lack thereof.
10/2/10
Testosterone and the Art of Writing Romance
by DT Tarkus
I’m learning, albeit late, that there are more male authors of romance than I thought (though most seem to hide behind a pseudonym). For many of us who lack the estrogen hormone, writing a romantic scene is harder than you think.
08/25/10
by DT Tarkus
Having trouble getting started today? There goes my muse again, popping in whenever I don’t need her. I tell her go away, I’m trying to do some serious writing. Oh you want serious she says. I suck in a breath to temper rising frustration. When she gets her dander up, there’s no ignoring her. She slaps one of the many cooking magazines I collect on top of my laptop, the page open to a recent assesment of Australian wines.
Have you ever tried to wordsmith wine reviews? Where the hell is this going? My approach to grading wines is either: “hey that’s good shit”, or “not bad”. Book stores overflow on the subject. All you need is a post graduate degree in literature, or a good thesaurus.
Au contraire she says. It’s visual writing, the very thing you struggle with. No, I struggle with a muse that fills my head with distraction. Damn, I’m getting that look again. Fine, I’ll play along, but do you promise to leave me alone? Read the rest of this entry »
07/29/10
by DT Tarkus
She wasn’t there when I was a teen, unable to release a head full of fantasy stories because my hand cramped up from gripping the pen. Nor was she present when I got a D in typing class, making it impossible to navigate sense with a traditional typewriter. Still MIA in college as a science major, where I would have chosen fingernail removal than do a term paper. She showed up while I was in the midst of an early mid-life crisis.
Dressed in the clothes of a homeless person, her face was a portrait of a dream misplaced. “Buy me something to eat” she asked. Against my better judgment, I let her in, intrigued she’d found her way to my doorstep, wary of the tiny tattoo of a winged cherub on her neck. I fed her, gave her some decent clothes and a place to rest her head. When her gaunt cheeks blossomed renewed life, the mausoleum of my creativity opened.
