Matthew Wayne Selznick

I’m in a yucky place right now. Don’t know why, exactly… except that I do know that my moods are like this. Creative highs are rapidly followed by lows.

Back when I was a rock star, and even when I was a coffee-singer, this happened after almost every single gig. I got to the point where I was surprised when post-performance depression didn’t set in.

I remember one night… I think it was a gig at the Coach House in San Juan Capistrano. It would have had to have been the night we opened for the Havalinas and Mary’s Danish. My sadness was crushing after that gig — after playing in front of a thousand people, and playing really, really well. It was a home crowd, friendly, wildly supportive. The whole place, and good ol’ Smutty, the bassist from the Havalinas… they all dug us.

It didn’t matter. By the time I was back at the Loveless Loft (yes, we named our trashy bachelor rock and roll pad — we were in our twenties) I didn’t want to do anything. It took CJ, singing Blondie to me over the bed, to bring a smile to my face. There are few moments in my life when I was that grateful for the right woman in my life.

So, now. I’ve written a book, it’s doing well on the scale that it is, I receive letters from strangers telling me they like the words I’ve put down on paper, people give me money in exchange for space on their bookshelves. It’s crazy… it’s what I’ve been wanting.

But an old friend, a guy who has made his living writing nonfiction… he’s in the middle of his own first novel. I send him a word of encouragement. Like Charlie Brown at his mailbox on Christmas, I check this guy’s LiveJournal to see if he’s acknowledged my comment. And… nothing.

I don’t expect anything. He doesn’t respond. Ever.

We were best friends, long ago. I know I wasn’t the best friend, but then, neither was he — it was high school, and in the throes of growing up, you sometimes betray one another. But he still stood at my side at my first wedding, and I was still the guy he called when his girl left him.

Somewhere along the way… I don’t know. I don’t even know if I miss him, or the memory of him, or the concept of a best friend. I live in this desert town where… ah, well, I’ve bitched about this town before. Search “redneck” or “conservative” or “NASCAR” on this blog, you’ll see. In any event, I don’t relate to the people I’m surrounded with. I grok people who are hundreds and thousands of miles away.

Anyway… yeah, I know I’m rambling. Scribtotum isn’t about writing, it’s about talking with you. So listen, or click away.

My old friend’s book will be done soon, I hope. I’d just like to see what he comes up with. I’d like to help him, if I can. Once upon a time, he said that he credited me with getting him started as a writer. We’ve both lived another lifetime since then. Water under the bridge, no?

I reckon not.

Well, I’ll let you know if he finishes it, no doubt. I’ll buy one, if he publishes it. I’ll take what I can get.

Gadzooks! A few short chapters makes this a mega-episode! Dig in!

Chapter Thirty:

– “…in Mr. Byrd’s third period Algebra class…”

Actually had a math teacher in High School named Mr. Byrd. His son went to the school, too, which had to have been weird for the poor kid.

Chapter Thirty One:

– “I’m taking you out of school.” When I gasped, she said, “You can do the same as Lina, do home study.”

I was on independent study, as they called it at my High School, for an entire quarter of my sophomore year. There were no mad scientists after me; it was punishment for skipping class so much. I was also grounded and on phone restriction, and the drama of that time period would make a whole Young Adult novel of it’s own.

Speaking of which — because the protagonist is a teenager, many folks have been calling “BMR” a Young Adult novel. I didn’t intend it to be… what do you think?

Chapter Thirty Two:

Good thing Nate’s not on phone restriction!

Chapter Thirty Three:

– “Yeah - they’ve got this big long building off the Bendis Parkway exit on the Five. I see it all the time.”

This time the comics nod goes to modern comics author Brian Michael Bendis, who’s characters in Ultimate Spider-Man, Daredevil, and Powers is even more wordy than mine in BMR.

I’m a fan — when I grow up and write comics, I could do worse than be like Mike. Of course, I’m actually a month older than he is, so I’d better get a move on.

– “Lina was in a school play in eighth grade - she played Portia in an abridged version of Julius Caesar.”

I was Julius Caesar in a sixth-grade play. I got to wear a toga with plastic bags of red food coloring taped inside. When I got stabbed… bloodbath! My mother nearly fainted in the audience.

Having Lina play Portia is a nod to the real-life person on whom I based Lina’s physical appearance. If you’re out there, say “hey!”

Chapter Thirty Four:

– “I dug into my wallet and pulled out the tattered, folded sheet that held my phone numbers.”

I carried a folded-up sheet of graph paper with all my phone numbers in my wallet through grade school. As it turned to lint or started to get unreadable, I would re-copy it and start over.

Just to turn curmudgeonly for a second: do kids today even know their friends’ numbers, since they all have cell phones to remember for them??

– “Mel adopted a bad Peter Lorre hiss. “All right, Nick and Nora - fill me in, or hit the road!”

Yeah, yeah. I know — but I wrote it was a bad Peter Lorre hiss, okay? Jeez, at least I don’t sing in this episode.

Chapter Thirty Five:

– “…until the Phil Donahue Show came on.”

Phil Donahue was the proto-Springer, the proto-Geraldo, the proto-Oprah, all rolled into one. His talk show aired from 1969 to 1996, and was the first of its kind.

Chapter Thirty Six:

– “She flexed her arm and made hydraulic noises. “Like the Six Million Dollar Man.”

The Six Million Dollar Man was a very cool super-hero / cyborg / bionic television series that also provided the world with a bionic dog and a bionic woman, who had her own series. The show played fast an loose with the laws of physics, but it was a blast!

– “He ran his fingers through his short hair. “Game over, man. Game over.”

Okay, so by now I hope you’re used to my weaving pop culture references into the fabric of BMR. This is taken from the movie “Aliens,” and the character of Hudson, played by Bill Paxton. He had all the best lines in that flick, which didn’t come out until 1986.

– “I almost said, “Jinx.”

This is a weird schoolyard thing with many derivations and rules. Check this out for way too much information on the subject.

– “That helped… so long as the bear-bum wasn’t still hanging out there.”

Can I tell you, I had to re-take that line about four times to keep it from sounding like “bare bumm.” Maybe it still does.

Ah well. This is one of those things you don’t catch when it’s on the printed page..!

I need to kill the focus-killers.

This means I’ve seriously pruned the list of blogs I read, and the list of podcasts I listen to is next. No offense to anyone; I simply need to spend less time doing things that don’t have any practical value. It’s too easy for me to spend time reading blogs, posting comments, reading posts on the seven mailing lists I subscribe to, etc. Suddenly I find that the day is gone.

I have to view hours as billable, even if there’s no income involved. I can bill for time, too — bill myself, I mean. You know?

Thing is, I’m getting a little freaked out, because this is my shot, pretty much — this is my time to do creative things and see if I can make a go at it. The positive feedback I’m getting from BMR comes in on an almost daily basis, so that tells me I can write stuff — I should dedicate time to writing things. I should spend less time — and money, in some cases — on things that don’t bring me feedback or other, more tangible rewards.

This means… less time on e-mail. Less time doing things for free for other people, unless it fits in with one of the several projects I have running. I’m not cutting back to be selfish, or an asshole, or anything — it’s just that I have to think about what I’m getting out of these hours, days, and weeks I’ve been given since I left the Cursed Day Job. It’s gotta matter. It’s gotta count, cuz i don’t know how long it’s going to last.

I’ve made it no secret — in fact, I’m pretty darn vocal about it, perhaps stubbornly so, if you give me half a chance — that I am opposed to digital rights management and corporate or government control over how we use creative media that we own.

The Senate of the United States of America has introduced a bill called the “Digital Content Protection Act of 2006.” This bill would introduce “broadcast flags” into recorded digital media of all types, requiring special hardware to listen to MP3s, watch videos, use CDs and DVDs, watch television… in other words, new hardware for all your entertainment. And it doesn’t stop there.

Full details, as well as a pre-made letter opposing this bill that you can automagically send to the appropriate Senator, are here. Please help squash this latest attempt by the RIAA, the NAB, and the MPAA to police our content!

Thanks to Cory Doctorow.

You never know what you’re going to find. I wasn’t even looking for a Japanese version of Spider-Man from an old 1978 television show, with aliens and giant robots.

But that’s what I found.

Holy crap.