Friday night concerts provide astonishing variety to ones life. I suppose that a writer must be well educated in all forms of humanity.

On to the reviews…

With a name like “Cancer Bats” it is relatively easy to assume that as a band they belong to the most base remnants of society.
Perhaps it was my terribly closed mind that refused to allow me comprehension of the harshly screamed words – yes, perhaps that is it.

I suppose that when the pounding in your head synchronises with the pounding in your ears you might consider yourself to be on some kind of unnatural high – or in hell. Either-or really.

There is certainly an art to the way they flung their hair – strippers would be jealous of the skill those boys possessed.

You just knew they had to be playing sober or they would have been falling over themselves after a few moments of their frenzied gyrations.

In the darkness of the arena you could see the young in the crowd bobbing along like so many marionettes.

My greatest excitement induced from this performance was the fact that it has given me something to blog about.

I don’t understand the point in shaving the sides of your head and leaving the middle long. Especially when it is left un-spiked. If you can explain this minor confusion away for me I would appreciate it greatly.

In the end I was left with only questions – one in particular is burnt into my mind. Were those really words??

Listening with great attention to the ‘music’ – I could almost appreciate the skill – if only he would have stopped screaming at me.

/end Cancer Bats

The stage was cleared – and replaced by ‘Against Me’ – a band I was much more capable of appreciating. All dressed in black – they sported more normal hair which I found a great deal less distracting. The flashing lights involved in their performance made writing difficult, though I suppose I can’t really blame them for that. After all I’m sure not many writers scribble in notebooks while at a rock concert.

My final opinion was that their music was great – though as entertainers they did not do much to get the crowd going – truly men of few words.

After the delightful reprieve to my senses – Alexis on Fire just had to take the stage.

By the screaming of the crowd I could assume that they were popular. But there was little noticeable difference between them and the Cancerous Bats. No. I stand corrected. There was an occasional verse that was sung and not howled, blatantly landing them in a higher category.

At one point I heard an opinion voiced, they described Alexis on Fire’s sound as a “Steamroller over a cat.” I am inclined to agree.
If they euthanized the screamer (he blatantly lives in constant pain) I would accept them back into society.

I observed a ritual that made little sense to me – a hat tossed back and forth above the crowd. Significance??

The band said they were trying to get a message across but their words were so unintelligible – no one would ever understand. One phrase was clear – “There’s no police, ok now what?” I fear they will be trying to get their point across for aeons to come, with little success.

Am I too young to say “is this what punks these days listen to?”

If I had a chalkboard spine and Alexis on Fire were finger nails scraping along it – I think I may have enjoyed the experience more.

As I sat back and waited for the last act – I could only hold my breath and hope it would be all worth it in the end.

Billy Talent were – Billy Talent.

There were no crazy theatrics like the gouts of flame from the Three Days Grace concert which resulted in a somewhat warped ceiling.
Damaging a public building – not so great.
Flames that can be felt across the building – well that’s just hot.

However I can say, even with my limited musical knowledge – that they have a sound absolutely unique to them. A feat that can be attributed to their 34 year old lead singer.

A man who I am inclined to like due to the Crosby jersey he pulled on during his performance. Any man who blatantly shows his patriotism to dear Canada I must like.

End decision: The concert was worth it – if only for Against Me and the enjoyment of seeing Billy Talent live and indeed – talented.

As the multitudes of people who read this blog have likely noticed, I have made a few changes in the past few weeks.

You can now easily share any posts with the handy “share” tool at the top of the right hand side bar. A small advertisement has appeared, which I hope will not detract from your enjoyment. And I now have a counter – which will display unique visitors from today onwards. More to assuage my curiosity than anything.

Other minor changes will likely occur in the future as I experiment with additional ideas. Thanks for all your patience and the lack of rotten tomatoes thrown in my direction.

P.S. The next post will be infinitely more interesting. Promise. I can’t tell you what it will be about, as I don’t know yet. If you want to have a say in the topic of my next blog – then make a suggestion in the comment box. If not – well then you’ll just have to put up with whatever pops into my head.

Thanks for tuning in.

Nearly every morning I wake up to the clinging, permeating smell, of a recently angered skunk.

A smell, for those of you who are sadly unaware – that is worse than that of every domestic animal on the planet. Excluding perhaps the delightful stench of pigs wallowing in their own filth.

They take devious delight in exuding their smell at ungodly hours of the night. It is my firm belief that they lie in wait beneath bedroom windows until the hapless humans are fast asleep. Then of course, the inevitable. They only leave when they hear their victims wake up choking and fumbling about to close the window and find a pocket of air, any air, that smells a fraction less rank.

They do not bother tormenting the human world when we are up and at work. No – it is our precious sleep that they rob us of.

Perhaps it is their way of fighting back. The only effort they are capable of making to reclaim the homes that we so carelessly steal, and pave. For we humans tear up and destroy the only world they know. Transforming it into a hazardous wasteland filled with concrete and speeding death traps. Dare I say that we accept the lack of sleep as a minor punishment, for it could be much worse.

There is one great tragedy of every great book. Its ending.

It doesn’t matter if it is a brilliant book, or if the ending was as sweet as can be. I always feel a sense of loss when a great book comes to an end.

I hear people declaring the wonders of a stand alone book – but for me, I love the series. Show me the worlds you have created, let us explore every facet before you put it away on a shelf. It was too long in the creation for it not to be fully appreciated.

Well I’ve done it. I closed my eyes, hit send. And put my first story out there in the world.

And hopefully within the next six weeks I will hear some kind of reply. Until then I fear I will be a jangling ball of nerves.

Ah well – on to the next story. Can’t take a break just because I’ve put something out there that might be rejected terribly.

Yeeps.

T~T
T-T

I have spent the weekend polishing a short story for submission into an anthology (if it is liked). I can’t remember the last time I finished something – other than things like dinner and dishes.

It is 520 words of story, and I will be submitting it today. As long as I am not overwhelmed by nervousness.

I’ve always been terrified of the rejection that inevitably comes with submitting stories. Even short ones. I know that if they don’t like it I simply must try again, and do even better next time. It’s a simple fact. You don’t give up. Ever.

But when it really comes down to it, that doesn’t really help the butterflies in my stomach.

Wish me luck? I’m off to write my cover letter and re-read the story 84 times to make sure I really do think it is ready.

I’ll let you know when the deed is done.

-wobbles off nervously-

News: Pyr is now accepting submissions. Agented and… here’s the kicker – Unagented submissions.

Keep in mind, before you pester them with your thriller or romance; they only publish science fiction and fantasy.

For more details on novel types, length and submission information, view their post.

I get a thrill whenever I see a call for submissions. Despite the fact that my novel is no-where near being done. Submit yours today, and wish me luck in the future!

to be Vague [veyg]

1. to encourage those around you to throttle you

2. a way to minimize production

3. to decrease your appearance of intelligence

With my working days filled with the inevitable fluff that comes with working in… the industry I work in, I find it increasingly difficult to write about more serious matters when I get home.

That’s not to say that fluff isn’t important. Even the darkest books need an iota of fluff to make them worthwhile. Yet gallons of the stuff is almost more than I can bear.

What should a fluff-loving person, such as myself, do when the fluff count just gets too high?
Even worse I think, are all the people who are trying to manufacture fluff. Trying too hard to create something perfect. I think if they are trying so hard to make it, there must be a lack of fluff to work with. Never a good sign.

So relax people, if the fluff is there everything will work great. But your obsession with polishing it till it glows is ruining my appetite.

Besides. Everything is better when it’s natural. Fluff included!

I wrote a line today. And I loved it.

You may not think it much. But it is better, say I, to write a small fragment of perfection, than a book of mediocre attempts.

Though I would strive for a book of perfection..