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The place has been renovated and the door is open. Come on in and take a load off! |
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Hello and welcome. My name is Jack, and for around a decade, my "muse," whatever you conceive that to be, has been lying in a coma, rising occasionally to spout a line or two of gibberish, then falling back into oblivion. While I wait for her return, I offer reviews and this blog. Feel free to partake, but don't get too excited; the wake is still in progress. But thanks for your support, by the way. You guys are the best! Jack... 
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"There are some books one needs maturity to enjoy just as there are books an adult can come upon too late to savor" ~ Phyllis McGinley It's December 27th. The unexpected gifts litter tables and counters. The mountain of gift wrap awaits the recycle pickup. We're still patting our bloated tummies and planning our diets for the New Year. Like Pearl Harbor on December 9th, the only evidence of our recent guests is the debris left behind. I hope it's all wanted and welcome, and you don't have to spend hours at the return counters this year. Did you get any books? Were they books you wanted? Almost as importantly, did you get them at the right time? Oh, sure, you got them on Christmas morning, but here's what I mean. When I was about ten or twelve, I was perusing the books at a Salvation Army store, and picked up a rip-snortin' boys' adventure called The Seagoing Tank by Roy J. Snell. Published in 1924, it was the story of a fantastic submarine that mostly drove on tracks. It was on a mission to drive across the Pacific Ocean, and included in its crew two teenage boys, Curlie and Joe, stars of a series calling them the "Radio Phone Boys." This was a pretty fat book for a twelve-year-old, but I absolutely inhaled it! I wrote several little deep-sea adventures starring my friends from the neighborhood afterward, and I have to tell you, Jules Verne never inspired me like that! So a couple of years ago, I was able to acquire a battered first edition at a price that fit within my recreational budget, and I snapped it up. I read it cover-to-cover, but the wide-eyed child who had lived that first adventure was gone, supplanted by the cynical adult with an extra six decades of living behind him. I enjoyed it, yes, but most of the read was spent rolling my eyes at the scientific absurdities the whole narrative hung on. At the other end of the scale we find an odd gentleman sporting the name of Howard Phillips Lovecraft. I developed a love of horror by way of the 1950s monster movies, sporting ridiculous creations of radiation or chemistry run wild. Modern horror movies don't impress me at all with their heavy reliance on jump-scares and splatter, but the love of literary horror has stayed with me like a faithful, mischievous friend. So as a reader in my mid-teens, when I heard that Lovecraft was the father of cosmic horror, I could hardly wait to hike down to my local bookseller and pick up a compendium of his work. Rarely have I been so disappointed. This guy routinely used ten thousand words to describe a scene in which nothing happens. I mean, I enjoy a slow burn as much as the next guy, but that's all there was to the man. He lit the fuse and let it burn through chapter after chapter, but the bomb never exploded. He hinted, he suggested, he painted word pictures worthy of Leonardo, but he never delivered. I gave up in frustration way before I even approached the end. But I came back to Mr. Lovecraft a few years ago, and now I get it. I love the slow burn, the hinting, the sleeping catastrophe threatening to awake and devour the world just beyond the range of sight. But it doesn't have the thrill that I suspect it would have had I waited until I was ready. You really can't have a first encounter for the second time... Be careful what you read, or more precisely, when you read it. How about you? Have you ever had an experience before its time? Or after? I'd love to hear about it. Stay inspired, Taylor...  |
"Asking a working writer what he thinks about critics is like asking a lamppost what it thinks about dogs." ~ John Osbourne Good morning, all, and I hope it finds you writing! I came here about two months ago and set myself up as a reviewer, or as Mr. Osbourne called it, a critic. I have since reviewed 35 stories and poems, received three merit badges for reviewing as well as one for "cheerleading" and one "feedback guru" badge, so it seems, on the whole, that my efforts have been well-received. Nonetheless, I feel it is time to offer an explanation to my "victims," past and future. So what are my credentials that allow me to come here and hang out my shingle proclaiming that I'm going to tell all you writers how to write? Well, they're very thin, I can tell you! I left school after eleventh grade to join the service, as school wasn't "taking," and it was agreed by all that the University of Hard Knocks would be a better teacher. I believe that was a correct assessment, and I'm happy with the person I grew into, but we're talking about reviewing here, so let me not stray too far from the subject. I wasn't doing well in school, and English was among my worst subjects. Serving in the military, I discovered that there were things that inspired me to write, and embellishments to make them more interesting led me directly into fiction. I began to study the use of the language, mostly by paying close attention to the authors who most moved me, and found myself getting pretty good at it... In the same way a weekend golfer gets pretty good, which in no way means he's ready to challenge Tiger Woods. I thought I was, though, and I've written half a dozen novels and countless short stories and novellas. I was saving time on my schedule for the late-night talk show circuit, but life has a way of beating things out of you that you aren't really cut out for. I've self-published a few books and have had stories accepted in a couple of anthologies, but I don't think that J.K. Rowling is looking over her shoulder. While I still enjoyed writing, I was never going to be a great success, and began looking for a way to share my work in a more modest venue. The internet was but a glimmer in some programmer's eye, and all I could do was show friends and family. They all liked it, but that's kind of their job, isn't it? I gradually lost interest in writing, but reading was another story entirely. I have always loved to read good, exciting fiction, from Edgar Allan Poe to R.A. Salvatore. Disappearing into a captivating story has always held a great attraction for me. But something happened to books — and Hollywood as well — around the early 1980s. This great fear of trying anything new settled over those fonts of creativity, and suddenly all they were interested in was recreating the Last Big Thing. I mean, how many "retellings" of Twilight can you sit through? Game of Thrones? How about Star Trek? Batman? The Hunger Games? I don't know about you, but I hit my saturation point early on. Earlier, I mentioned J.K. Rowling, one of the most successful authors in history, who created, populated, and narrated the world of Harry Potter from scratch. Coincidence? But amidst all the Same Old Things, I discovered this wonderful place called Writing.com where fearless authors roam far off the map to create stories unfettered by the needs of the Last Big Thing, folks out there exploring places where the Big Five dare not tread. Reading the imaginative works you people produce is a joy I thought was lost forever, and all it costs me is a mouse click. But I feel I should pay for this. It's a concept that any ten-year-old can understand; you pay for what you use. What better way than giving those authors feedback? I may have done poorly in school, but I've learned a lot since then, and in trying to write, I've become articulate, so why not give back with words of encouragement? The reviewing guidelines suggest that three stars should be the average rating, and I may have given one of those, but I'm not here to tell anyone that they don't know how to write. Far from it. Of course I point out issues and make suggestions, but when I review, I look for the positives and use them to encourage the writer to reach higher in his next endeavor. The majority of my reviews are thus four stars and up. I'm sorry if that skews the curve, but when I encounter someone who can't string five words into a coherent thought, I move on. I'm not going to stomp on their dream. If they're enjoying themselves, I won't take that from them. Does that make me dishonest? Maybe, but I'm sleeping pretty well. As a sideline, I've been gradually posting some of my old stories, the ones I think are of superior quality. I may at some point be inspired to pick up the pen again. I'd like that. I'd like to see what I can do, whether I've still got anything in the tank after a years-long hiatus, but I'll never lose sight of the fact that I'm here to read your wonderful stories and offer the encouragement that may drive you to greater heights. It will be my honor to say, "I knew you when..." Have a great weekend and keep stacking those words. And stay on your toes; you never know when the Phantom will come calling... Stay inspired, Taylor... |
"Books are not made for furniture, but there is nothing else that so beautifully furnishes a house." ~ Henry Ward Beecher Good morning, all, and I hope it finds you writing! I don't think I'm breaking any secrets when I point out that the Christmas Crush is looming large, and this always raises a myriad of questions. Questions like, "What do you want for Christmas, Grandpa?" Well, that's tough. You see, I have a fondness for gadgetry that would put a 12-year-old boy to shame, and sandwiched in among several hundred books on fourteen bookcases are enough artifacts of varying provenance to open a Museum of the Weird. Just from where I'm seated I can see a cup in the form of a steampunk skull and a cryptix, one of those odd cylinders made famous in The DaVinci Code with rings of letters that you rotate to form a specific word which then allows the cylinder to open. There's an antique coin bank in the form of a sailor (my father and I both served in the navy), sea bag over his shoulder, headed for his next ship; one of my sisters found it in a shop and simply had to get if for me. My Writing.com beanie is on top of the shelves, and I can see the fired clay rain-stick made by my daughter decades ago that still works like the day it was presented to me. And thereby hangs a tale. See, all of this stuff means something to me. I don't just buy something at Dollar Tree and put it on display. Most of it has come in the form of gifts, all with purpose, all with meaning. So when people ask Grandpa what he wants for Christmas, my natural inclination is to point and say, "more stuff like that!" But here's the rub — there's always a rub, isn't there? — If I receive one more thing like that, something else will have to go to make room for it. I'm not saying to the landfill, but into storage, probably never to be seen again, and that seems like a slap in the face to whoever's gizmo is being replaced. Enter my aforementioned daughter, an extremely practical child, who asked me back around last spring, "What do you keep all those old books for?" Blasphemy! She wants me to dump my books? My old friends? Just sweep them out with last week's dust bunnies? Has she never met me? On these shelves are R.A. Salvatore's complete Dark Elf Chronicles, my favorite fantasy series comprising well over forty volumes. A second edition Lord of the Rings in three volumes. Theodore Roscoe's United States Destroyer Operations in WWII, a volume I first read in 7th grade that turned me on to the excitement to be found in history. And many, many more books I have loved by authors I admire. However... Our house is not that big, and that's good for us; we aren't spring chickens anymore, and the less there is to clean and maintain, the easier it is on our failing bodies. But we have no room to expand, not without giving up living space, so I find myself reconsidering my attitude toward these books, some of my oldest and dearest friends. Some of these, probably a couple of shelves' worth, are reference books in various fields that I've used in my writing over the years, and can justify holding on to by claiming that I might need them again at some point. There are some that may hold intrinsic value like Lord of the Rings, but then there's the Salvatore collection, David Weber's In Fury Born, Kenneth Bulmer's Cycle of Nemesis, and The Last Parallel, the war diary of a marine corporal in Korea. These books and many more hold nostalgic value for me, many of them encountered at milestones of my life. Some influenced my writing style. All have their reasons for having permanent homes on my shelves, but am I ever going to read them again? Will they ever have any function besides displaying an inch-wide spine to visitors who rarely come? Would they be better served by being given over to a public library to be read and enjoyed by dozens, perhaps hundreds of new readers? And equally important, would gaining a few shelves for my nick-knacks compensate me for the absence of these old friends? This has become something of an issue for me over the past few weeks, as the "what do you want for Christmas" question comes up again and again. Have any of you faced a similar situation? Do you have any advice? I'm sitting at my desk looking at six of these bookcases and agonizing over every title I see. Just talking with a fellow booklover might prove helpful, so if you have the time I'd love to hear from you. In any case, have a great weekend, and be sure to stay on Santa's good list! Stay inspired, Taylor... A postscript: Look for me to add something to my portfolio every Saturday. Tomorrow I plan to add the first chapter of "Broken English"  . It's still way too early for reviews, but I'd welcome any thoughts if you'd care to email me. When it's about a third of the way done, I'll open it up for reviews. Hopefully, it's a killer story... See what I did there, killer story... like, there's a killer... Never mind. Have a great weekend! |
"It's my experience that very few writers, young or old, are really seeking advice when they give out their work to be read. They want support; they want someone to say, 'Good job!'" ~ John Irving Good day, all. You may be surprised to hear that I'm still a member of a number of writing groups, and the use of artificial intelligence (ChatGPT and the like) is a hot topic across all of them. One fraudster actually had the unmitigated gall to ask the real writers on the site how he could make his fake stories sound more natural. He was shouted off the site as a scammer, and in some cases, that's what it is. To a hobbyist writer like myself, I'm not sure I care if someone wants to use AI to live out a fantasy on the internet, and if I get fooled into reviewing one here and there, it's like a good prank. From the examples I've seen, I don't imagine any review I might write would make the AI user feel too good about his efforts anyway. But given the amount of discussion I've seen about this, most of it negative, I feel I should state my position in no uncertain terms, so that's the post rant today. Buckle up, 'cause here we go. Me Using AI Consider this my abiding promise to anyone who reads my work: I WILL NEVER USE AI TO WRITE FOR ME UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. Not that I'm writing that much anymore, but the name of this site is "writing.com," not "deceitful_programmer.com." What I write here is my own work, and if you choose to interact with me, you may rest assured that you're interacting with a human, not some unfeeling assembly of ones and zeroes. And what are you going to find here? This blog, of course, a weekly endeavor when I can find subject matter. Some old novels that were written long before AI became a thing — they'll go up a piece at a time — and an occasional dark story gathered under the "Invalid Item" umbrella. I have several series with several episodes written that will NOT be displayed here because I have no intention of finishing them. This includes Sunset Beach which has been taken down. This is my current status. May change; probably will change. Updates will be posted here, but I will not start posting stories that are not complete. That would be wrong.You Using AI As I mentioned before, if you're a hobbyist writer and you want to fool around with AI and see what it can accomplish, no real harm done, I guess. But if someone successfully uses AI to enter the market, it seems that he is A, "earning" money he has no right to, and B, stealing sales from the real writers who are putting in the work. Not to put too fine a point on it, this makes the AI user a thief in every sense of the word, and should be, I believe, a crime punishable by law. But that's just me. I'm here, after all is said and done, to have fun. I'm not the world's policeman, nor even the site's, and if I'm offered a blue case someday, I will decline it because that's a role I have no interest in performing. So don't worry about me. I'm just joining the conversation, and as long as it stays fun, I'll be around. How about you? Do you have any thoughts on the subject? You should, because these programs are just going to get more capable as time goes on, and just like SpellCheck in the early days, they're going to give those using them an advantage. Unlike SpellCheck, its ethics are sketchy at best, and could in the future, in certain circumstances, be considered criminal activity. We're at the dawn of this newfangled AI revolution, and the ground rules will be decided by those who show up. Will you be among them? Stay Inspired! Taylor... |
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