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Showing posts from October, 2016

Rocket Man

I was thinking about a clever title for this. Something involving a messenger with winged boots, but in the end, Sir Elton John's 1972 classic summed it up quite nicely.

I briefly eluded to the saga of the Rocket back in a previous post (which can be found here).
Before I get too far in to that, however, I feel like I should give some background in to TTC (or Todd's Typewriter Curse as I have affectionately come to call it). It seems that when I find a typewriter, there seems to be something about it that's amiss.

There's the Royal that was actually doing well until I pressed on the platen knob the wrong way.   The Safari which the cat seemed to think was it's own (that beauty came from Craig's List).  There was a Royal Arrow that I think it's actually mostly OK. Just needs cleaned. I'm hoping. Otherwise, it might be an issue with the escapement. Fingers crossed that a good cleaning is all it needs.

The last of the typers to fall und…


I'm glad I took the day off work. I have found that taking a day after a major event or weekend to process said event or weekend is a worthwhile thing.  Had I tried to process all of the amazingness of this weekend in the limited span of yesterday afternoon, I know I would have been a zombie today.

I'm still pretty much a zombie, but at least I'm home to process it in my own way (involving shorts and a t-shirt).

Todd--what was this amazing event that has you zombified and in gym clothes?!?

I'm glad you asked.

It was the Annual meet up of Antique Typewriter Collectors.  Or, as it's known by most, "Herman's."  As in, "are you going to Herman's?" or "Can you bring that with you and I'll get it from you at Herman's?"

Herman Price, CPA.  And in my mind the godfather of antique typewriter collecting.  Once a year this man opens his home to people from all over the country and the world to come together and discuss, share the l…

Weekend at Herman's (Pt. 1 of ?)

I'm exhausted. That good kind of exhaustion that comes from laughter, common interests, brain overloads, and of course witnessing firsthand machines that were previously not known to be in existence. Or that people had not seen in decades.

As a writer, there is a certain romantic notion associated with typewriters. All of my writing heroes used typewriters. They are a tool. But they were so much more than than. They were the conduit by which those amazing minds gave birth to the words that inspired me and those like me to finally come to grips with the fact that writing is more than something we do, it's something we are.

And this weekend was all about being in a place where those magical machines are revered.

It's interesting though.  This meet up is made up of some writers, but by and large the people that are here are here because they love the machines. There is a beauty that I can't quite describe. They are feats of engineering. And this weekend I have seen protot…

Of NaNo, Nanites, and One Man's Perfect Bag

Todd's Magnificent Bag
I know, based on the page hits of my last post, that at least 56 of you (OK 52 if I count my page hits) are waiting to see what happens next in the quest to find one man's perfect sac. Er...bag.

My friends, your wait is over.  I have found what will likely be my perfect writing-slash-go-to-he-looks-like-a-writer bag.  It's the Rothco Vintage Canvas Urban Pioneer (with Leather accents).  OR "Canvas laptop bag from the Army/Navy Surplus Store." If you want to keep it simple whilst still basically using the same number of words.

You can find your own here, or on Amazon. Or something similar at your local military surplus store, I'm sure. The funny thing is, I bought this bag a little over a year ago for pretty much the same purpose. At the time I was lugging around a MacBook circa 2009 and sometimes my Chromebook. So it always seemed to be a bit unwieldy.  Now, with the MacBook Air, it works out damn near perfectly.  Here's an action s…

Bilbo Baggins and His Luggage

TV and movie luggage and bags always seem so sleek and stylish. I'll see something and think, "Wow...that is a sexy bag. I need one of those!!"  Yes. I am well aware of the use of sexy and need in the same thought. But...that's the way my mind works.

I might have an obsession with (among other things) bags and cases. I believe that there is the ideal bag for a situation. I believe that there is (for me) a perfect backpack AND a perfect messenger bag. Because, you know, flexibility is important. There are, of course, the sub-categories of day bags, writing bags, camera bags, work bags, and creative go-bags.

No. It's cool. I know I have a problem. I'm well past denial and on to the acceptance phase.

Sexy male FBI agents seem to have the best messenger bags in Hollywood's outpouring. In looking at them, though, I realize that most of them are props (and not really practical) or if they do exist, they are ridiculously expensive. $50-$100 is about my top end f…

Dropping the Asterisk

I have put a few posts up in the past couple of days about the Imaginarium convention I just attended. I expect as I go through and process the events of the weekend that there will be more.

I have spent a large part of yesterday and a good portion of the drive home Sunday trying to put my finger on what made it so amazing and what about the weekend had the most impact on me. Both as a person and as a writer.

And then it hit me. Like a ton of bricks (or whatever cliche that loosely translates to "Well no DUH").

If you'll read up a little bit, you might get a hint.

I'll help you out...see the bit up there where I say as a writer?

There's no asterisk.
There's no condition on that statement.

This weekend I came out of the creative closet. When I had conversations with people, it was as a writer. When I attended panels and workshops, it was to further my career as a writer.

A writer.

I'm a writer.

I don't want to be a writer someday.  I AM a writer.

Not …

Con Funk Redux

My daughter has been to many cons (conventions) in her short life. And she always talked of the 'con funk.' It's a feeling (at least from what I'm experiencing now), of bittersweet melancholy. I never understood it when she would talk about it. I figured it was just exhaustion and she just needed to rest or get to bed early that night she got home so she would be well rested the next day and she would be OK to function back in the real world.
I'm sitting here, though, 90 minutes away from when I have to be back at work. Yeah...stupid on my part not to take the whole day off.  And I'm sitting here thinking....fuck. I really don't want to go back. I still need to process everything that happened at Imaginarium. 
But the truth is, I don't. I don't need to process what happened at the Imaginarium convention this past weekend.
I know exactly what happened. 
I lived a 72 hour waking dream of a (hopefully) prophetic nature.
I saw the lifecycle of the write…

Imaginarium: Day 1

I think I probably warned you that this would happen. So...really, if you keep reading at this point, you only have yourself to blame. My culpability is nil in this endeavor. You're the one reading this.  I'm just the writer.

Just the writer.

The writer.

It's about a quarter to 2 (a.m. for those keeping score) and my brain is still trying to process everything that has happened in the last 8 or 9 hours.

I'll try to recap, but after a beer and several rum and diet Dr. Peppers, there's a VERY good chance that this will be more random and rambly than normal.   I'd apologize for that, but you're the one still reading. I'm just the writer.

This is a photo of me on the way down. There was a gas station I stopped in somewhere before Cincinnati.  This is obviously before I hit the parking lot that was I-71 going through Covington, KY and Florence (Y'all).  Multiple mapping programs said it should take about 3 1/2 hours. And I planned my departure time accor…

He Was Looking For A Place Called Lee Ho Fook's

Warren Zevon notwithstanding, it has been kind of a weird week (and it's only Wednesday).  I'll get back to the only classic rock song I know of that references beef chow mein in a few minutes. First things first.

Dad and I made a quick run down to the Farm on Saturday. Regular readers know that the Farm is pretty much my soul. It's where I go to recharge. When shit doesn't make sense in my life, I make the trek down there.   The 4 1/2 drive is cathartic. Each mile under the tires helps shed some of the bullshit that has accumulated. By the time I get off of 32 on to 1750, I'm focused only on the now. There is some serious Zen in the drive. I hate most drives, but I have found as I do laps around the sun in this lifetime wearing this Todd-suit that when I'm driving to places that make my soul sing, the drive doesn't suck.

And I was road-tripping with this dude, so how could it be a bad day? Seriously have you ever seen two more handsome fuckers than these …