My thoughts on turning books into movies....

My thoughts on turning books into movies can be found at fellow fantasy writer Andy Remic's blog, where I've written a post called "Your Book Would Make a Good Movie! (And Why I Know It Wouldn't). While I would be happy to cash any checks Hollywood would care to write me, I tend to have a dim view of the rubberstamp tendency to turn any successful book into a film.

In other news, I'm keenly aware that I haven't produced a blog post here for over two weeks. Eek! I've been staying up late at night working on my kindle edition of Bitterwood, designing covers, troubleshooting fonts, and writing supporting copy. And, at last, it's live! Woo! Anyway, I should soon return to the regularly scheduled programming of offering assinine opinions on subjects that no-one has asked me about. I've got an idea for a further article in my "ten reasons to believe in God" series. Technically, it will the the eleventh reason, but it's a good one, maybe the best one yet, the ultimate truth of why atheism will never truly surpass theism as a way of life. So, keep checking back. This next post is going to be so good, they'll want to make a movie out of it.

Fishing in the Rain

I'm down at the beach this week, making a feeble attempt at relaxing. As always happens when I have time off from my day job I have massive writing goals before me. I'm prepping Bitterwood for Kindle, and I've decided to do a full rewrite. I'm not changing the story much, but I am polishing the prose a good bit. I'd like to finish by Friday, which means I'll likely put in a full fourty hour week.

The other thing keeping me from fully embracing the vacation is the absence of my father. Beach week was fishing week for us. I went fishing last night and spent the whole time thinking about him. It was a dark and stormy night, literally, with lightning far out on the ocean and a steady wind blowing a light rain that never quite reached a level where I decided to give up. The fish weren't biting. But, I had the pier mostly to myself, and there was a beauty to the dark horizon, with the ink black sea rolling beneath black clouds that would turn incandescent as lightning jagged within them.

I stayed out there for hours, thinking about what my father had taught me about fishing. Not much, really. He liked fishing, but wasn't very good at it. But, in the end, fishing isn't really about the fish. I don't think my dad ever said these words, but he taught me the lesson all the same.

And tonight, I'll go fishing again.

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