07/27/2010 :: 05:21 PM

Inception Infection

Utterly fucking brilliant! Made me want to run through the streets shouting and pouncing on the uninitiated. INCEPTION! INCEPTION! INCEPTION!

Not perfect, mind you. Some of it -- especially the whole confessional relationship between Cobb and Ariadne -- kind of left me biting my lip and shaking my head. Lord Arux found places where the film violates the very rules it establishes. He's right. I was asking myself the same questions but let go of the questions in favor of the breathtaking pace and intellectual ambition. I also HATED when one character says, "We only use a small portion of our brains." NOT TRUE. I wish people would stop saying that.

Flawed or not, it's superb storytelling. And you have never seen an audience so wound up, especially in the last scene. People were leaning out of their seats, agape, fists clenched. You could see "GAAAHHHHH!!!!!" rolling across their eyes like a marquee at Times Square.

I found it easy enough to keep track of what was happening thanks to Nolan's beautiful use of color to separate the dreams. And the acting was terrific. Marion Cotillard was especially terrifying, and Leo's acting ages like fine wine.

God, I loved this movie.

I've had a startling dream life of my own. (Here's a taste.) It made me dig up an actual dream I wrote out back in 1995 as if it were a short story. I called it "Finally Meeting Fear." It contained dreams within dreams, with multiple wakings. Not for the faint of heart...

I think I prefer seeing it on screen rather than in my head.

GO. NOW.

07/27/2010 :: 05:23 PM

Camp Thrill Download

Bonjour, tout le monde!

Okay, so, you're probably all wondering how awesome Thrillerfest was. I'll tell you! It was THIS awesome. Not so much New York City, which was as stinky and hot as being rolled up in the carcass of a Tauntaun, and three times as expensive as back home. Somehow I managed to stay sane and cool in the outrageously expensive Grand Hyatt Hotel, where as luck would have it lots of very nice, incredibly generous writer types were hanging out.

Thrillerfest and the people of the thriller genre itself impressed me in many ways. For one, the attendees were on the balance a little older than those at World Horror, and women were far more common. The latter is particularly significant because many of the people writing thrillers come from professions such as law, law enforcement, medicine and science. I can also attest that the brains of the fest skewed high on the I.Q. and low on the nonsense quotient. I loved that. I could have a great conversation with just about anyone, and did.

I learned a great deal about the genre -- mostly that there's hella more money in it than in horror. That's good news. More on that in a minute.

I volunteered. I wanted to meet more people and let people get a chance to see that I don't bite (at least not hard, and not without being asked nicely). I met more incredibly nice people who were tickled to death by Trog. Well, mostly anyway. A couple of folk gave undisguised responses to the negative. (For example, I got an eye-rolling from Harlan Coben when I volunteered to wrangle writers at the author signing. I don't think was a fan of Trog.)

One woman I happened to be walking with said about Trog, "It's a great gimmick."

Whoa! Clearly I wasn't in Kansas anymore, nor was I even in orbit of the planet that contains Oz. I was at Camp Thrill where no one lives with Wild Things. They live with international spies, renegade cops, lawyers in love, and the occasional Templar running amok. I confess that I felt slightly out of place, even though my books absolutely belong here. And to be fair, she probably didn't realize that Trog is my full-time purse who is a world traveler. Yes, he gets a lot of attention and he's very memorable. But the keyword here is he, not me. If they remember me, it's a bonus. (I have plenty of anecdotes to this end, trust me.) I carry him because, frankly, he's the fucking coolest thing on the planet. So there you go.

I met writers. Lots and lots of writers. I even mistook Sandra Brown for someone I once knew. (She's very stylish and gracious, by the way.) I heard Ken Follett speak, which was such a shot in the arm, I can't even tell you. I was teased by David Liss, sweetly indulged by my fantasy-horror peeps (Chris Golden, Doug Clegg, Nate Kenyon, Deborah LeBlanc, Jonathan Maberry, Paul Wilson and Tom Picirrilli), befriended by Michael Palmer, and I generally felt welcomed. And I must mention meeting my intellectual soul sister, Kelli Stanley*. I can't wait to see her again in October at BoucherCon. Upon learning that I was making a "genre shift," people offered all kinds of advice, including and especially the lovely Dakota Banks.

I stalked fellow newbie James Brabson. He put up with me dropping out of the sky in front of him to say, "Watcha doin' now? Huh? Huh?" like every five minutes. Thanks, James. :)

What I savored most about Camp Thrill was the lack of competitive spirit. The pervasive philosophy was that the more good writing there is, the more readers there will be. To that end, I didn't sense any shortage of publishing resources. And I heard a lot of success stories come out of Agentfest, which was awesome and encouraging. (I didn't participate in that, as SILENCE OF THE IAMBS and THE BODYJACKER aren't ready for agent eyes.) So, I'm feeling pretty confident that either or both books will do well, and that's very exciting.

Bon week-end, tout le monde!

*(OMGBBQPONIESKISMET!!11!!!)

07/07/2010 :: 11:05 AM

In the Thick of It

Hi ho, it is I, signing in from here at Camp Thrill.

So, I decided in my infinite wisdom that the best way to get to know people and become more visible was to get involved and volunteer. My crazy genius plan has gone slightly awry in that I'll be passing out tickets and directing people at 8am on Saturday morning for a special breakfast, and the night before that helping with the book signing at 5pm. (I don't really need to eat, right?) The people I've met so far are incredibly nice. And I did get to chat for a few minutes with the always very kind David Morrell. Hopefully I'll soon see a few other familiar faces.

It seems I must go to BoucherCon. Or so I'm told. And it looks like lots of fun, so I suppose I shall.

07/06/2010 :: 11:36 AM

The Fourth of iSky

I'm madly getting my crap together for Thrillerfest, aka "Camp Thrill." It's going to be very exciting to meet new people and see what this new genre holds. It looks like some familiar faces will be there. I'm taking the first 500 words of THE BODYJACKER for the Snap Critique session. Should be fun!

It's killing me, though, that I'll be in NYC and that I can't see my friends. I really, really have to make some kind of a follow up trip to the East Coast sometime soon before (or just after) the snow hits. So my apologies that I won't be available during that time. Lord Arux tells me I must see a Broadway show yet I'm trembling with doubt as I look at my schedule. He's right, though. I need to experience New York properly.

Speaking of friends, Katelan is just finishing my veve for Papa Ghede!

Isn't it -- and she -- gorgeous? I'm dying to see it. Um, figuratively speaking, that is, Baron. Ahem.

I spent a low key 4th with friends in the neighborhood, not feeling up to much socializing. At the height of silliness, a gentleman named Ian who works for Apple pulled out his iPad during the fireworks. When we berated him for not watching the show, someone -- I think it was Marv -- said, "Why are you watching your iPad when you could be watching iSky?!?" Adored hearing my true love sing folk tunes with a long-time friend of his. Also really dug the songs sung by our pal Hunter, who was only too happy to spend the evening abetting any form of corruption in which I wanted to indulge. (Ahem again.) Looking forward very much to hearing him play at the House of Blues!

And the new business cards were a hit. They're very purty in person, as well as snarkalicious. I hope they make the great impression I'm hoping for at Camp Thrill.

Wish me luck!

06/28/2010 :: 02:43 PM

Bad God, No Biscuit!

This grieving shit is an unreal process. I get the whole circle of life-kumbaya-balance thing, but for crying out loud, do we really have to do this part? Really?

Foshizz, though, I'm feeling a lot of love.

Whenever you say anything, just acknowledging what happened, it helps. Tremendously.

And those of you who have picked up the phone, whether I've called you or you've called me, that's been great, too. Because talking is the best thing right now. Granted, sometimes I start feeling myself sliding down the rabbit hole as we're talking and I need to hang up, but still. Thank you. And it's been helpful to let me tell insane stories about my family. (And -- OMFG -- the skeletons in the closet are popping out right now and rattling their bones. In fact, it's a freakin' ossuary over here, folks.)

Ditto for the messages, texts, calls, cards. Really wonderful. Thank you.

If you're a friend and you haven't said anything, I'm assuming that you're freaked out and don't know what to say. It's cool. We're not all the picture of mental health around these issues. I'm not taking it personally. But for heaven's sake I do wish that you'd pick up the goddamn phone. Or something. Srsly. We've all gotta deal with this sort of thing sooner or later.

And thank goodness for my fantastic boyfriend. Holy shit, he's amazing. Like "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter!" amazing. Someone call the factory and order more men of this model -- stat!

Funeral is scheduled for Tuesday morning in the middle of nowhere. Since it's a veteran's cemetery, the flower situation is very limited. So, I'm hoping to set up an account in her name for people to donate funds to the Humane Society. Stay tuned.

06/17/2010 :: 03:24 PM

The Handless Maiden Finds Silver Hands

Please vote for my story in the Dragon NaturallySpeaking competition?

It's the 100% true tale of how Dragon NaturallySpeaking 1.0 saved my life, told in 500 words. A Grimm's fairytale come true.

Thank you so much!

06/13/2010 :: 09:10 PM

Oh, Mother, Where Art Thou?

I lost my mother yesterday. She'd recently been discharged from the hospital, where she'd stayed for about 10 days. Presumably she was medically stable, although we knew she was in general decline. Then suddenly sometime early Saturday, she died.

This was my mother in ancient days, holding my butterball sister as I snuggled up to her hip, wearing something chiffon that had been cloned from an accordion:

Yes, I was blond. (Shut up.)

I drove up on Memorial Day Weekend. I spent many hours with her, just holding her hand, showing her goofy things on my iPhone and telling her I loved her. It was the only time I'd been able to spend with her alone since my sister was born. (That chubby little thing that grew up to be a leggy model.)

I loved her so much. She was a very complicated person, I came to learn, with a strange and harrowing history stretching back to the 1920s.

I guess what matters most, though, is what she was to me. Those who follow my writing are already familiar with her highly unconventional religious life. That was just the beginning. Blend in generous helpings of Project Blue Book, In Search Of..., and Conspiracy Theories 101, and the aroma of synchretism might choke you. Thick billowing clouds of mystery blinded us between Sabbath and the nightly news.

I drew inspiration from the Neptunian fog. I needed it. I was a spooky child and the world was a scary place. I sometimes wondered how much of the UFO-chasing was because of me. Because she loved me and wanted to understand the odd, sensitive child she'd given birth to so late in life.

Born on a Comanche reservation in Oklahoma, she had barely any education and virtually no intellectual curiosity. Yet, she recognized that I needed a lot more stimulation. A simple store clerk, she sacrificed to give me musical instruments, piano lessons, art supplies, books, puzzles, encyclopedias, and much more. She didn't let me skip a grade as the LAUSD had recommended when I hit 3rd grade. She wanted me to stay in my Blue Bird troop with my friends. Although she hadn't many friends herself, she recognized that I needed them and that I'd always keep my mind occupied when school failed me.

There were times when she saved me from dangerous situations. And times when she thoroughly crushed my heart. I once could not speak to her for a handful of years.

She was not perfect. She had moral failings and sometimes demonstrated poor judgment.

She sacrificed the last 20 years of her life to my sister, the leggy model who was in a horrible car accident at 17 years old and suffered a traumatic brain injury. She and my father devoted their lives to being her caregivers. I often didn't agree with their decisions. I think she hung on through two bouts of breast cancer and numerous health problems for the sake of my sister.

Although the anti-Christ litany made me crazy, I kind of feel sad that she didn't see either the return of Jesus or the rise of the anti-Christ. I feel sad that she died without the cadence of some annoying televangelist's voice shouting hallelujah in her ears. It would have given her so much joy.

Maybe she's faded away to nonexistence or sits in some catholic purgatory. But personally I hope she's already woken up in the arms of loving parents. A couple overjoyed to have a newborn baby they thought would never come in their 40s...

The way she felt about me.

05/17/2010 :: 03:03 PM

As I Was Saying...

05/14/2010 :: 01:48 PM

Repuglicans Go BOOM!

Pete Von Sholly brought to my desk yesterday a copy of his brilliant political satire, REPUGLICANS, which includes very funny commentary by Steve Tatham of The Ointment (he is also my colleague here at The Mouse). It's soon to be released by BOOM! Studios.

Pete is a brilliant artist who really hit upon something some time ago when he emailed me his first Repuglican picture. My first response was, "This is hilarious!" and my second was, "Put yer name on this immediately because it's going to go viral!" Until I got the electronic version with his name, I would show people the picture on my computer but wouldn't forward it, no matter how much they begged. I wanted to make sure Pete got all the glory for this amazing bit of satire.

When he told me BOOM! had bought his gallery and that Steve was writing a blurb for each picture, I knew they had something not only genius but potentially incendiary.

I personally cannot wait to see the glow on the horizon...

04/06/2010 :: 05:03 PM

Open Letter to Mike Gatto, Candidate for State Assembly

Dear Mr. Gatto,

I am sick and tired unto death of your damned phone calls. I can pretty much predict on any given day when my phone rings, it is one of your campaign monkeys calling for the fifteen-millionth-effing time to tell me about Mike Gatto and to make sure I have gotten my goddamn ballot.

I've asked to be taken off the list. I've even asked you personally to take me off of your list when I called back one day after seething with resentment at yet another call from your campaign. I caught you unawares and dressed you down for your infuriating techniques. You were a nice man. You heard my anger and apologized. I thought maybe you'd get it.

You didn't.

I hate your campaign so much that it's seeped into how I see you as a candidate -- inept, uncaring, irresponsible, annoying as hell. You might think you're running for a the primary for the State Assembly special election, but you've already won a seat in the House of Aggravating Douche Bags. I usually care quite strongly about politics and always make sure to vote, but this time I'm especially looking forward to it. Why? So that I can NOT select your name. And also so that I will no longer receive calls every freaking day begging me to make sure I have my ballot. So that I can vote. For you.

Which I won't.

And I hope this little missive takes wings on the Intarwebs so that no one else does, either.

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Warning: All text is copyright by me, Maria Alexander, with the Library of Congress and the Writer's Guild of America.
If you are tempted to take any portion thereof and make it your own, my attorneys will catch your foul stench on the cosmic winds
and hunt you down like the Hounds of Tindalos, descending upon you from all angles to
devour the miserable stump of flesh you call your life.

Just so you know.