Please check out this post on Tia Nevitt's Fantasy Debut.
epic fantasy, virtual tour, Fantasy Debut
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
The naked truth
Guilt is a powerful emotion.
And long-lasting.
About twenty years ago, I did something that still haunts me.
Back then, I worked an evening shift -- 4 to 1 -- at the St. Petersburg Times. On this particular weekday, it was around noon, and since my wife worked a day shift and both my young daughters were in school, I was alone at the house.
Our washer and drier were in the garage. I had just gotten out of the shower and was starting to dress when I realized that I was out of clean underwear. But no problem. The previous evening, my wife had done a load of underwear, and it now was sitting in the drier, waiting to be folded. Since no one was around, I dried myself off and walked naked into the garage.
The bare cement felt cold on my feet. Halfway to the drier, I sensed movement in my peripheral vision. To my horror, a rat came charging out of nowhere. And then, to my even worse horror, it attempted to run up my leg.
If anyone at that moment had had a video camera and had filmed what occurred next, that person would be a millionaire a dozen times over. I did the Jim Melvin version of the Wattusi, hopping and squealing as the rat attempted -- with great deliberation -- to clamber up my bare leg. Finally, it gave up and skittered away, hiding itself amid my shovels and rakes. Somehow I managed to rush to the drier, grab the underwear, and then escape into the safety of my house. It might well have been the closest I've ever come to having a heart attack.
The next day, I was in the garage -- this time fully dressed -- and the rat charged out and again tried to climb up my leg. I hopped and skipped and escaped.
The day after that, I heard my wife squeal. This time she had been attacked.
It was time to draw the line. The rat had taken control of my garage, and I needed to get it back.
Being a good American, I bought rat poison. Lots of it. And put it in several places. Soon after, I discovered that one of the boxes had been "tampered" with.
The next day, just before my family was to sit at our dining room table for a meal of roasted chicken, potatoes, and salad, I discovered the rat trembling in the center of the garage, in almost the identical place of the original attack. He was dying.
Only ... he wasn't a rat. Now that I could get a close look at him, I realized that he was a gerbil. And quite a cute one at that. My young daughters were horrified. As was I. Later that evening, I buried him in our back yard.
Two days later, there was a knock at my door. A well-dressed dad and his young daughter were standing on my porch. The little girl spoke first. "We live in the house behind yours. My pet gerbil, Hermy, got out of his cage. Have you seen him?"
"Uh ... no."
They left.
To this day, I'm not sure what's worse. Killing the gerbil. Or lying to that little girl.
epic fantasy, virtual tour
And long-lasting.
About twenty years ago, I did something that still haunts me.
Back then, I worked an evening shift -- 4 to 1 -- at the St. Petersburg Times. On this particular weekday, it was around noon, and since my wife worked a day shift and both my young daughters were in school, I was alone at the house.
Our washer and drier were in the garage. I had just gotten out of the shower and was starting to dress when I realized that I was out of clean underwear. But no problem. The previous evening, my wife had done a load of underwear, and it now was sitting in the drier, waiting to be folded. Since no one was around, I dried myself off and walked naked into the garage.
The bare cement felt cold on my feet. Halfway to the drier, I sensed movement in my peripheral vision. To my horror, a rat came charging out of nowhere. And then, to my even worse horror, it attempted to run up my leg.
If anyone at that moment had had a video camera and had filmed what occurred next, that person would be a millionaire a dozen times over. I did the Jim Melvin version of the Wattusi, hopping and squealing as the rat attempted -- with great deliberation -- to clamber up my bare leg. Finally, it gave up and skittered away, hiding itself amid my shovels and rakes. Somehow I managed to rush to the drier, grab the underwear, and then escape into the safety of my house. It might well have been the closest I've ever come to having a heart attack.
The next day, I was in the garage -- this time fully dressed -- and the rat charged out and again tried to climb up my leg. I hopped and skipped and escaped.
The day after that, I heard my wife squeal. This time she had been attacked.
It was time to draw the line. The rat had taken control of my garage, and I needed to get it back.
Being a good American, I bought rat poison. Lots of it. And put it in several places. Soon after, I discovered that one of the boxes had been "tampered" with.
The next day, just before my family was to sit at our dining room table for a meal of roasted chicken, potatoes, and salad, I discovered the rat trembling in the center of the garage, in almost the identical place of the original attack. He was dying.
Only ... he wasn't a rat. Now that I could get a close look at him, I realized that he was a gerbil. And quite a cute one at that. My young daughters were horrified. As was I. Later that evening, I buried him in our back yard.
Two days later, there was a knock at my door. A well-dressed dad and his young daughter were standing on my porch. The little girl spoke first. "We live in the house behind yours. My pet gerbil, Hermy, got out of his cage. Have you seen him?"
"Uh ... no."
They left.
To this day, I'm not sure what's worse. Killing the gerbil. Or lying to that little girl.
epic fantasy, virtual tour
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Mystified at 50
It happened again. I'm 50 years old, and have a 24-year-old daughter. Though I'm not what you would describe as balding, the hair on the back of my head has thinned noticeably. And I've grown a beard that is at least 20 percent gray. Yet I was carded again today, this time at a Wal-Mart, while buying a six-pack of beer. Could anyone tell me what the heck is going on????
epic fantasy, virtual tour
epic fantasy, virtual tour
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Update on ordering books one, two, and three
For reasons I can't discern, Amazon has not yet ordered more copies of books one (The Pit) and two (Moon Goddess). Book one already sold out through its first stock, but more have not yet been ordered, which has created a waiting period that really seems to have hampered sales.
If any of you are waiting for this to be resolved before you place an order, you also can order books one and two directly from the Rain website (click here). And book three will be available there in just a couple of days. I'll put in another update when the Amazon situation is resolved.
Sorry for the inconvenience!
In other news, I was mentioned on a sfsite.com as a new arrival.
If any of you are waiting for this to be resolved before you place an order, you also can order books one and two directly from the Rain website (click here). And book three will be available there in just a couple of days. I'll put in another update when the Amazon situation is resolved.
Sorry for the inconvenience!
In other news, I was mentioned on a sfsite.com as a new arrival.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Another talk with Michele
Please check out my recent radio interview on Michele Paivo's insightful show, Off the Mat.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Never enough sleep
Sleep is such an important part of our lives. So many of our body's dynamics depend on it. But I find that I can never seem to get enough of it. Because I'm so damn busy, I'm rarely able to get to bed at a decent time. I usually average about six hours of sleep, while my body craves more like eight. I've always thought that if days were 26 hours long instead of 24, I'd be in great shape.
Insomnia has never been my problem. I'm almost always asleep within five minutes of lying down and usually much quicker than that. But over the past 10 years, I found that I was sleeping less and less comfortably and that I could no longer remember my dreams. To make matters worse, I would wake up most mornings with back pain and stiff joints.
About six months ago, my wife and I gave up on our futon mattress and spent more than we should have on one of those space-age foam mattresses that "conform to the contours of your body." My wife was against buying it. She despises anything unnatural or made with "chemicals." But I put my foot down, arguing that the futon was literally killing me.
The first night I slept on the new mattress, I couldn't stop smiling. Never before had I slept so comfortably. Even my wife had to admit that it was fantastic. Since that night, it's only gotten better. I often find myself waking up in the same position that I fell asleep in, while before I would toss and turn all over the place. And I'm remembering my dreams again. I must be sleeping far more deeply.
It's not all good news, though. I still don't go to bed early enough. It's almost midnight right now as I'm typing this. And my wife and I have become so spoiled by the mattress, we don't sleep well anywhere else. Twice recently we've been to nice hotels, and both times the beds felt lumpy and awkward. Too bad our mattress, a super-king, is too damn big to carry around with us.
Well, I'm off to bed. Since tomorrow's Sunday, I should be able to squeeze in a full eight hours! Still, Sunday night is looming, followed by the much-dreaded Monday morning.
Is there any way we can pass some sort of resolution to lengthen days to 26 hours?
Insomnia has never been my problem. I'm almost always asleep within five minutes of lying down and usually much quicker than that. But over the past 10 years, I found that I was sleeping less and less comfortably and that I could no longer remember my dreams. To make matters worse, I would wake up most mornings with back pain and stiff joints.
About six months ago, my wife and I gave up on our futon mattress and spent more than we should have on one of those space-age foam mattresses that "conform to the contours of your body." My wife was against buying it. She despises anything unnatural or made with "chemicals." But I put my foot down, arguing that the futon was literally killing me.
The first night I slept on the new mattress, I couldn't stop smiling. Never before had I slept so comfortably. Even my wife had to admit that it was fantastic. Since that night, it's only gotten better. I often find myself waking up in the same position that I fell asleep in, while before I would toss and turn all over the place. And I'm remembering my dreams again. I must be sleeping far more deeply.
It's not all good news, though. I still don't go to bed early enough. It's almost midnight right now as I'm typing this. And my wife and I have become so spoiled by the mattress, we don't sleep well anywhere else. Twice recently we've been to nice hotels, and both times the beds felt lumpy and awkward. Too bad our mattress, a super-king, is too damn big to carry around with us.
Well, I'm off to bed. Since tomorrow's Sunday, I should be able to squeeze in a full eight hours! Still, Sunday night is looming, followed by the much-dreaded Monday morning.
Is there any way we can pass some sort of resolution to lengthen days to 26 hours?
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About Me
- Jim Melvin
- Clemson, SC, United States
- I was born in Poughkeepsie, N.Y., but grew up in St. Petersburg, Fla. I graduated from the University of South Florida (Tampa) in 1979 with a B.A. in Journalism. I now live in South Carolina near the Blue Ridge Mountains, a pleasant setting for writing, to say the least. I was an award-winning journalist at the St. Petersburg Times for twenty-five years and I currently work at the Charlotte Observer. I am married with five daughters.
The author
Jim Melvin, a veteran journalist, debuts as novelist.
