Author: Eric M. R. Webb

Yes, it’s a made-up word. Of the several books I have read since my last regular postings, I have found one new-to-me author who has really stirred my imagination. He writes science fiction in the vien of William Gibson or Bruce Sterling.
I must warn that I enjoy reading science fiction and it functions as one of my favorite pastimes. The opening of the near and far-future intrigue me, challenge me, and entertain me. Often I cannot get enough of a book, and then the challenge is putting it down so I can really get on with my life (including writing my own science fiction). So, after reading one of his books, I could not help myself from continuing in seeking out the others.
Charles Stross is a writer who seeks out the human stories in the near and far futures, as one can tell by his treatment of characters both human and no-longer human. Where will evolution take the homo sapien, when he can create tools to meet nature’s challenges? Mr. Stross provides a new angle of vision on that question, as well as creates characters who lure your mind and heart into caring. Accelerando was the first book of his I read, and since then I have sought out and read each of his other novels. I await anxiously for more.

In another note, I am currently reading through the 2006 issue of The Year’s Best Science Fiction, 23rd Annual Collection, edited by Gardner Dozois. It is full of short stories from some of the biggest names in the genre, including Stephen Baxter, Alastair Reynolds, Bruce Sterling, and many others. For me, it represents an excellent chance to study not just the genre, but the current subjects and styles in a wide range of settings. Seeing how a breadth of authors deal with characterization, plot and detailing, for instance, allows me to make my own work that much better. Nearly all the authors are award winners, and for good reason, they are at the top of their game. For anyone interested in the science fiction genre, I highly reccomend this anthology.

Until next time,
Best Wishes.

edit – ps- a thought for the day:
They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.
-Ben Franklin

Yes, by now I am down to zero readers. Updates have been few and far between. Now, hopefully, I will have a more regular schedule. Along with more frequent and interesting updates, I propose to also have a regular schedule of posts… I haven’t exactly determined what yet, but some things I am thinking: A regular posting schedule, with specific types of post each time. Something like this:
Monday, a new or revised poem
Wednesday, a new book or story review/impression/or something
Friday, a few open ended thoughts (maybe an essay?)

Start looking this week for more frequent updates!

April Fool’s Day

I would like to research
this holiday. Who
was the hapless fool who’s
foolishness caused a
celebration in his honor?
Or could it have been
her honor? We all
have been fools, and been fooled,
and so know how it feels.
Who was this person
who’s foolfulness transcended
the bounds of the average,
the mortal? I fear to look,
to find out: The fool is me.

First April Shower

Light April rain – almost
mist – falls with the sound
of a mis-tuned a.m. radio,
static of soft noise on
the asphalt, on the concrete.

It falls with a sshh…
like a shower in an open
bathroom three rooms
away. For a moment while
the roads and people
are silent, if falls like static
electricity on the radio
in the shower three rooms away.

For a moment…

Light April rain – almost
mist – falls with the sight
of a mis-dialed analogue TV,
static of soft snow on
the screen, on the CRT.

It falls in black and white…
like a video tape run out
in a darkened den three rooms
away. For a moment while
the roads and people
are still, it falls like static
electricity on the TV
in the den three rooms away,

For a moment…

Father

What I remember
about my father
is this: one afternoon,
it was spring or summer,
and he was on leave
from the iron-gray
floating dungeon fortress
that kept him prisoner
months on end,
which explains why
it was afternoon and not,
say, 0600 hours; why
he was shaving in his
bathroom in the afternoon;
also, possibly, why
he was drinking a beer
in an ice-cold glass
while he was shaving
in the middle
of the afternoon. That might
explain why, when
I wandered in, he lathered
shaving cream on my face,
shaved the peach
fuzz off my child’s cheeks
and allowed me a sip
of his beer, which
I promptly spat in the sink.

Later, I found his razor
refills, sliced open two
fingers on my right hand,
and before calling for Mom to help,
watched the bright claret run,
watched it splatter like light April rain in
the bowl of the white porcelain sink.

I’ve recently been debating whether or not to remove all the actual poetry from this site. This is my reasoning: I am preparing to begin submitting my work (some of these included) to journals or other publications. The question I am asking myself is this: If I placed a poem on this blog, would that count as “previously published?” While I intend this forum as more a place to get feedback on these poems, that has not really been happening… So would this count as ‘publication’ or not? I have no actual idea about the answer to that, but it has been bugging me, which is why I’ve not put several newer poems up… I think I need professional help with this one.

What is it we love about the mundane, the everyday, the commercialism? I love the beautiful weather, the flexibility of being in classes, and working part-time, and being able to appreciate that beautiful weather. I love the phone call of a good friend. It always comes at the right time. Sometimes, it doesn’t come when you need it. Or when you want it. Sometimes you just crave that contact, that honest interest in you. I crave that… It’s one of those things that makes your day wonderful, that takes the rain from depressing to something to celebrate. I am slightly needy. I need confirmation from people outside of myself. I have confidence, I know I am smart, and I know I am (somewhat) attractive, and I know that people like me. I know I am a good poet. I am a damn good poet. I know I could be a better poet though, also. Sometimes, I really need to hear these things. When I’m under a lot of stress, when the tests are all coming up one on top of the other (and not just school tests. sometimes friends like to test you, too). When work does not leave me time to study, when there are three dogs in the house that won’t stop barking, when the rent is due and the money isn’t there. That is when I need to hear someone say, “Hey, you are doing really well at _____,” or “Wow, you are really hot tonight,” or, say, “I read that new poem on your blog and I thought it was great,” or even “I thought you could work on that and that in your new poem.” Sometimes, I need to hear that, and believe it. I am not really a people person. My friends can be counted on one hand or so. I rely on them to know when I need to be needy.
I know you need to be recognized, too, and I try. Honestly I try to be earnest and listening and insightful for you when you need it. I am a good listener. I listen, and respond, and I try to use the effective communications techniques I have learned about in my Interpersonal Communications class. The problem is, we have to actually be talking to utilise those friendships in a way that is supporting and fair for everybody.
To be honest, I don’t even know why I’m rambling about this right now… I am kinda bored and when I get bored, I like to read or write. So I am writing.

There are times when everything seems to go wrong at once. When stresses approach a breaking point, when the crack of that breach seems to reverberate all through a mind. It is a point everyone reaches in life. We all handle it differently, as well. Some people cry. They stay home, buried under sheets and blankets and comforters and pillows and cry until life does not make sense. They continue to cry. It is a cycle. A spinning drier drum of despair. Eventually, the depression is only about being depressed and unable to pop the balloon of hopelessness. Some people eat. They eat because it is comforting, allowable. At least I’m not consuming alcohol at this rate. Some people do turn to alcohol. They nurse it, drink it, gobble it, savor and guzzle and shoot and sip and swallow it. They lust, crave, want, need, desire, and yearn for the nectar’s sweet escapism. This too is a cycle.
These cycles (there are many more) consume us in guilt. They cover us with the comforter of avoidance, and we are becoming more than adapt at slipping so easily beneath them, that like a comfortable friend whom we do not realize is essential until she is gone somewhere on vacation. It is not necessary to avoid problems. I think counselors and shrinks generally tell people to confront problems. But it is so easy to lay down. It is easy to not think about the problem. With avoidance, one can say, “I don’t understand,” “I don’t get it,” or any such variation of the same thing. In confrontation, one must be able to say, “Ah, I see where this is my fault.”
I personally do not like being at fault. But I often am. I find myself wondering about the whys and hows and often come to looking in a mirror. Not that I am to blame for someone dying, or someone quitting, or someone having a chemical imbalance, or someone not having a timeline for the project, or for conflicting schedules. I know I am not. But I can talk to someone more before they die. I could encourage better training at a job. I can offer suggestions for next year’s project. I could urge a visit to the doctor. I could offer a better schedule. I’m flexible. I don’t really think that is a problem though.
In a skidding car you turn into the skid to retake control. One must trust physics to accomplish what must be done. Number the mounting problems. Understand them. Begin with small, easy tasks and address them. Redress them. Take them to task for attempting to bring you down to the bottom, for offering the sweet avoidance in return for… What? In return for not sending them out of your head. But taken care of, they magically disappear, like the genie into his oil lamp when that last third wish has been uttered. Ah, magic.
I love magic. It makes me smile like a child. It makes me laugh, because everyone knows that the magician is also a comedian. Like God, sometimes.

After 2 hours of 24, and some random procrastination TV after, I finally got down to all my image editing I had lined up tonight. Just finished and burned everything about 15 minutes ago. Mostly rotating and cropping photos of paintings so they can look amazing when published. I used a couple of nifty freeware editors, GIMP 2.0 which I find just as useful as Photoshop, only more legal, and 11View, which I used for all my batch image conversions.
My biggest problem was that the images were all in jpeg format, though they were burned on CD before much degradation happened. So I copied and then converted them right away to bitmaps. The worst to deal with were those over email. But GIMP has a pretty good scaling algorithm, so I could bump them up a bit with not too much loss of detail. The final images are saved as bitmaps, tiffs, and uncompressed jpegs, just for compatibility purposes. Each should scale very nicely to fit on a 9×6″ page. At least I hope. I spent too much time for them to not. At any rate, time for a little nap before I get started on the copy editing for all the writing. I’ve already marked up hardcopies, just have to type the corrections in. Wish me luck for waking up early enough tomorrow. Err… Today.

Posted before my full two hours of 24 started… Enjoy!

In a vision I see my fingers
slide along her warm taut
slightly pneumatic (as Huxley
would say) belly where her
tight white shirt is pushed
up against the underside
of her breasts and
steal beneath the elastic band
of her thin floor-length
skirt and slowly pull it
off her hips while my tongue
and lips caress every curve
of her subtle belly and each
slight indention bend of her
skin and the sweet salt
of smoothness where leg
and hip and belly meet

a NY Times article about a food critic working as a server…
I found this at the WaiterRant blog… which I also want to point out again.

If you’ve ever wondered how to behave, how to tip, or how to treat your fellow humans bringing your food and drinks, please check these out.
The added benefit is that The Waiter is very funny. If nothing else, you can get a good laugh.