What Am I Doing?

Not that you asked, but I’ve been taking courses with the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program and am currently teaching English in Seoul. No, I haven’t abandoned my license to practice law—as usual, the legal career is in the backseat while writing drives (life-experiences called shotgun). Before leaving California to go to Korea, I made a few visits to Disneyland.

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Okay, this is technically California Adventure, but I didn’t take any photos on the other side.

UCLA Extension

I’ve been taking the Novel Writing series of courses with UCLA Extension. I started with the on-campus class (going back to the old campus is always nice), but switched over to the online version when I decided to go to Korea. Overall, I think it’s been rather helpful.

In terms of craft, the lecture and workshops haven’t taught me anything “new.” I’d already learned much of it via the internet, the Southern California Writers’ Conference, and writing groups. However, the lecture material and workshops have helped me to hone my craft, solidify certain theories (so I can actually apply them more consistently), and develop my ability to read with a writer’s eye.

The instructors at UCLA Extension seem to echo the sentiment I’d read when researching MFA programs: you can’t really teach art, you can only facilitate the growth of artists. So, that’s how the classes have been going. The instructor and other students offer valuable insights and feedback but, for the most part, each writer needs to put in the work to further their own craft.

Teaching English in Korea

The process to get the job in Seoul was a long one. Securing documentation and flinging paperwork back and forth was a bit of a hassle. After months of that, I finally flew to Seoul and was subjected to a highly stressful week of training. The bottome line: if you fail the training, you’re sent back home. Honestly, I did not expect the training to be so taxing.

I’m glad to say, however, it’s been a considerable while since training and I’m feeling fairly comfortable here now. I’m more at ease in front of the classroom, have been referred to as Handsome Teacher a number of times (the girlfriend says this has been inflating my ego), and am slowly swapping out American fast food out of my diet in favor of kimchi jjigae. So, yeah, I’m getting settled and finally feel like I have the time to start posting here again. Hopefully, I’ll also get to write a lot more and have something to report on that end.

Take it easy, folks.

Namsan Seoul Tower

Namsan Tower (AKA Seoul Tower)

A.D.M. Was Here: Bangkok

After making my way up the length of Vietnam via bus I booked a last-minute—and surprisingly cheap—flight to Bangkok. I arrived at Thailand’s Suvarnabhumi Aiport in the middle of the night. From there, a taxi brought me from a wide, empty highway to the lively streets of the infamous backpacker hotspot: Khaosan Road.

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The setting for the beginning of The Beach (2000) starring Leonardo DiCaprio. The place isn’t as crazy as the movie makes it seem (though, to be fair, the movie was made over ten years ago). 

The taxi driver couldn’t actually drive onto Khaosan Road as it was blocked off for pedestrians and street vendors selling everything from pad thai and clothes to scorpion-on-a-stick (side note: the scorpion is more to exploit tourists seeking the exotic; it’s not food locals normally eat, so I hear). When I got out of the cab, I wasn’t quite sure where I was in relation to my hostel and asked one of the clothing vendors to help me out. I wound up with an awesome hand drawn map on the back of a scrap of cardboard. Continue reading

Yallwest 2016 Impressions

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After weeks of covert activities in April, I capped off the month by volunteering at Yallwest 2016 in Santa Monica. Though I put in more hours of work than any sane volunteer, and didn’t spend much time as an attendee, there was a lot of good extracted from the experience: I had the chance to be awkward next to authors who are living my dream, got a glimpse into how the event is organized, and observed the YA fandom in the wild.

First Author Sightings

When I arrived at Santa Monica High School, one of the event organizers brought me to a classroom in tucked-away corner of campus. There was a group of women seated around pushed-together desks doing what I assumed was some kind of crafting. I smiled and gave a cursory wave to them as the organizer led me to a pile of boxes where I exchanged a medium-sized volunteer shirt for a large—I should’ve known a unisex medium at a YA festival would be too small.

The organizer then gave me my first assignment: stuffing festival wristbands into envelopes for attendees. There was one free chair at the far end of the circle of women. One of the women said I could take that chair because Veronica abandoned them to do some other work. I glanced at this Veronica, who had only recently vacated the seat, and realized it was the author of the Divergent series. Rather than steal Veronica Roth’s chair, I grabbed another from the center of the room. When I sat down, I realized the woman beside me was Marie Lu, author of the Legend and The Young Elites series.

The table was surrounded with established authors.

I was one of the few unpublished people at the table (on my left was Adele Walsh, an organizer of big YA stuff in Australia and New Zealand). Not wanting to seem like a pushy fan or a desperate-to-network author, I limited my words to business matters: envelope-stuffing business.

“Can I get some more orange [wristbands]?” Thanks, Sarah Enni.

“I need some more golds.” Thanks, Veronica Roth.

Well, I did mutter a single joke under my breath at some point. Only Marie Lu heard and quietly laughed. I don’t remember what the joke was, though. For the most part, I stuffed envelopes and listened. Veronica Roth shared about how, one month after she’d gotten her pixie haircut, her mother copied her hairdo and now they walk around looking alike. Someone also brought up the supposed fact that Australian authors showed they liked you by saying mean things to you (I believe Amie Kaufman confirmed this). After Ms. Lu left to do something else (chalking?), another volunteer showed up and I someone less intimidating to chat with.

FYI, if you were an attendee and your wristbands weren’t already separated at the perforation when you got them, it’s because Veronica Roth voiced idea that you should do it yourself.

Fans (and Having Fans)

The lines for signings at Yallwest ranged from hundreds of fans to handfuls. No matter the size of the line, however, the enthusiasm people had to get their books signed was inspiring.

While I was floating around the signing area, two women (perhaps, a mother and her teen daughter) asked me for Barnabas Miller who, I admit, I’d never heard of. However, I had noticed two men sitting at a signing table get up and leave a few minutes earlier. I told the women as much and added that the men might be back.

The women left and, sure enough, one of the men returned a minute later. He wasn’t Barnabas Miller, but he was Miller’s editor and author-friend, Daniel Ehrenhaft. It was a single fan missed and disappointed, but Ehrenhaft was visibly upset. He, I assume, hit Miller up on his phone and got him to hustle back to the signing table. After ten minutes or so, while I continued my volunteer duties, Miller and his fan returned. The girl had brought a friend (and ditched her mom). They had their books signed and looked damn happy about it. It was the feel good moment of the festival (with no witnesses).

The festival attendee I spoke to most wasn’t a YA fan, but the father of one. While his daughter was in line to get Veronica Roth’s signatures, he stood in the Sabaa Tahir line in his daughter’s place. I was put at the end of the line to give people the unfortunate news that the line had reached capacity, so I spent over half an hour talking to this guy—a father who built bridges for a living and accompanied his daughter to YA festivals. Coolest dad ever.

Now, Some Crappy Pictures

I didn’t take many photos at Yallfest because I was trying too hard to not be a geek. During the few panels I got into, however, I took some photos of horrible quality. Here you go:

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Happy Dyngus Day

happy dyngus day 2Like my crazy uncle used to say, there’s no better time than Dyngus Day to start posting again.

Dyngus Day is a Polish holiday celebrated on the Monday after Easter. I had no idea this holiday existed until a few days ago. If I recall my Wikipedia-research correctly, Dyngus Day is celebrated by boys throwing water at girls they like and proceeding to spank said girls with a pussy willow branch (girls do the same to the boys on Tuesday).  This sounds a lot like assault and battery to me, though, so you might want to consult a lawyer before you decide to become a Dyngus-participant.

Anyway, I’ve been pretty busy recently. Doing more attorney work, researching potential career paths, and spending time with the significant other and family—my schedule hasn’t been so packed since 2013. It’s been tough setting aside time for writing, and depending on where my career(s) take me, I might have to learn to better finagle my schedule to get some writing in (and more time to read other people’s blogs).

Despite being busy and whatnot, I’ve been slowly rewriting the horror/supernatural novel I wrote for NaNoWriMo 2015. I want to rewrite this entire supernatural project before I start another rewrite of my YA Sci-Fi (which may no longer be a YA by the time I’m done with it).

Wish me luck, and Happy Dyngus Day.

Don’t Worry (or Rejoice) Just Yet, I’m Still Here

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I’ve been distracted for a while, and I’ve been busy with non-writing work for the last two weeks. Though I haven’t been writing and posting as much as I’d like, I’m definitely not throwing in the towel yet.

Novel #1: Still working on polishing the first novel. After the last revision (which, as I may have stated elsewhere, was the final major revision until I get an agent or professional editor), I sent the manuscript out to beta readers: two re-readers and five new folks; all writers. Waiting to get feedback from at least half of them before I apply some changes and make a final Hail Mary pass for traditional publishing; if no one has the hands to catch the damn ball (perfect spiral and all), I’ll finally invest in going indie by hiring an editor.

Short Stories and Breadth of Style: Starting in June, I’ve been trying my hand at short stories and have churned out a bunch of crap and several pieces which I think are pretty darn decent. For some of these, I deviated from the PG-13-esque style of writing I use in Novel #1 in favor of something darker. This came about from a mix of influences, including but not limited to: On the Road which I’m rereading for the first time since college, bits of David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest, and the unfiltered language of the television show Californication (Hank Moody’s writing seems a bit on the purple side, so I’m trying not to pick up too much of that).

Other Novels: I should update the “My Novels” page. The so-called Urban Fantasy novel I was outlining has changed drastically, and the original intended title no longer makes sense. I’m about 6,000 words into the first draft (i.e., “zero draft” or “junk draft”) and I’m hoping this novel will be more of an obvious high concept work than Novel #1. The superhero project is on the back burner; and I’ve gotten several thousand words into a contemporary (non-genre) novel. Notably, none of these projects are YA (whereas Novel #1 is).

A.D.M. Was Here: Paris, France

After being ferried over the Adriatic from Greece, I jumped on a series of trains up to Paris. Arriving in the middle of the night at a hostel in Montmartre, a district of Paris known to me only as the location of the Moulin Rouge, I secured my bags and walked around the neighborhood before I attempted to get some writing done in the lobby. While trying to be productive, I noticed a tall, skinny guy with a  giant beard pacing the lobby and mumbling to himself; he was somewhat unnerving.

I doubt I got much work done (probably ended up on Facebook) before I eventually tried to settle in for the night. I couldn’t sleep, though; the room smelled like ass. More accurately, it smelled like you’d expect it to smell with five sweaty men trying to sleep in relatively close-quarters with a window opened only a crack (couldn’t let too much of the Winter air in).

Not a fan of man-stink, I went into the front desk and asked if it was possible to switch rooms. The guy up front, who I’d spoken to briefly while I was writing, was nice. However, the hostel was booked up. There was a guest who hadn’t shown up to check in yet, though. Seeing as how it was after midnight, it was possible the guy wouldn’t show at all. Neither of us felt comfortable stealing the guy’s bed right away. So, I sat and waited for a while before we began to look into alternatives.

The front desk guy said, if I didn’t mind, I could sleep in the common area or the laundry/storage room. The problem with the common area was that it was filled with people’s bags, guests would be coming in early all morning to get their stuff, and there was no way to turn the lights off. That seemed somewhat acceptable, but he also took me into the back to show me the laundry/storage room.

When the hostel guy put the key into the laundry room door and turned, there was a snap. The key broke and he and I worked for a bit to finagle it out of there before we could get inside. The laundry room itself was fairly large, and he could get me some kind of mattress to sleep on in the corner. However, he then also informed me that hostel employees would come in early in the morning to wash sheets and what-not. By this time, it was about three in the AM and he and we decided that I should just steal the no-show’s bed. So, I slept in a non-smelly room. Evidently, unlike the other five men, my new roommates had heard of showering. The only caveat was the creepy, pacing beard guy was on the bunk above mine and he didn’t seem like he slept all night.

The next morning, having not been murdered in my sleep, I checked my bags and joined a tour. It was another free Sandeman walking tour (you tip the tour guide at the end). The group met in front of the Fontaine Saint-Michel—

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Archangel Michael standing on the back of Satan; Fontaine Saint-Michel.

The tour brought us down the Seine, past museums and toward some park where you could see the Eiffel Tower in the distance. On the way, we came to the Pont des Arts, a bridge on which the rails were covered with “love locks”—padlocks couples put onto the bridge before throwing the key into the water as some sort of symbol of their unending love. The government decided to destroy these people’s love by ripping the railings down (the cumulative weight of the locks was getting hefty and posed somewhat of a danger, plus the locks  looked rather ugly from afar—like a dump site full of scrap metal).

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The Seine, I think.

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Some of the love locks on the Pont des Arts.

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More locks.

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Some locks had cuter (or more depressing) words than others.

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The Louvre with horrible lighting.

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Whatever the hell park this is.

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People who don’t enjoy being photographed.

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It’s no London Eye, but at least its surroundings aren’t as cluttered.

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People, trees, and a lot of sky.

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Pretty much my first view of the iconic tower.

After getting our somewhat distant glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, everyone tipped the guide and the tour disbanded. There was an attractive young woman on the tour alone who, naturally, gravitated toward me. I don’t recall how we started talking; she probably asked me where I was from. While the others dispersed, we decided to continue being touristy in a group of two.

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A.D.M. Was Here: Athens, Greece

The bus from Sofia brought me into Greece and, after a pit stop in Thessaloniki, I went straight down to Athens where I stayed for two nights (i.e., more than I’d stayed in the previous three countries combined). I spent these nights in the Apollo Hotel which was reasonably priced and only a short subway ride to the city’s main attraction: the hills and temples of (and around) the Acropolis.

Now that I think about it, I may actually have gone from Bulgaria into Greece on Christmas Eve as opposed to Christmas day. Anyway—

After finally getting some rest in a proper bed (and not the Train from Hell as described in my last post), I took the subway in the A.M. to Acropoli station and began to explore. The first place I tried to get into was the Acropolis to see the Parthenon, but the place was closed for Christmas.

It wasn’t a big deal, though, I just had to come back the next day; there was still a lot of Athens to see. Somewhat aimlessly, I wandered southeast to the Arch of Hadrian and followed the road up to Zappio Megaro where there were a bunch of people doing holiday stuff, and tiny horses which now reminds me of Parks and Recreation:

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Arch of Hadrian. Not to be confused with the other ones in Italy or Jordan, or Hadrian’s Wall in Northern England (aka The Wall keeping out the Wildlings).

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The view of Temple of Olympian Zeus… from over a fence.

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