My new book, "Milo and Meg are Solid" will be published and available on May 26. I want to thank the many readers who have kept these sneak peeks among this blog's most-read posts over the past year. On May 15 I'll write up a little history of where the story originated. The book should also be available for pre-order around that time. -P.W.
From Chapter 6:
The next day after school Milo and Meg stopped on the hill where the two trees stood next to each other.
They paused for a moment, then Milo squeezed between the trees and was gone.
Meg followed.
As they adjusted to being back in Icarus, they realized something was different. It was quiet.
Where was the usual danger and panic?
A Gort flew overhead, but it seemed to be flying more peacefully than normal; none of the aggressive behavior that they had become used to.
"Ho! Ho! Milo and Meg!" It was Nanette's voice, shouting happily from the door of her hut across the field.
"Let's go," Milo said, and together they ran across the field.
As they came close to Nanette's hut they suddenly stopped running. Happy smiles spread across their faces.
"Wolf!" Meg shouted. "You're back!"
They all shared a few hugs.
Wolf was Nanette's son, grown up, like an older teenager, although sometimes he seemed younger, and occasionally he seemed a little bit older. It was hard to keep track, as his looks sometimes changed subtly, even as they looked at him.
"It was the strangest thing," Nanette said. "This mornin' I was just wakin' up and I heard him snoring like a lumberjack sawing wood. There he was!"
"Where were you?" Milo asked.
"Nowhere," said Wolf.
"He has no memory of being gone," Nanette said.
Milo and Meg looked at Wolf curiously.
"What's you last memory?" Meg asked.
"I just remember being here, talking to the two of you. Then you left, to go back to the solid world..." He paused for a minute. "Later that night, though, as I was falling asleep, I had a strange sensation."
Nanette came over from the stove. "Strange sensation," she said. "Wolfy, what was this here strange sensation yer speaking of?"
"I was going away."
Milo, Meg, and Nanette held their breath.
"You didn't mention none of this 'goin' away' bizness before," Nanette said, sounding slightly worried.
"My feet were going. Even the bed I was sleeping in was going. It was almost like I was falling asleep, except..."
"Exceptin' what, Wolfy?"
"...Except I wasn't going to sleep at all. I was wide awake. I was just disappearing...and then...then...I was...asleep, I guess. Then here I was this morning."
A long silence passed.
"Erased!" shouted Nanette. "You was erased! And then here you are redrawn!"
Peter Wick
April 15, 2020
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
Saturday, March 14, 2020
83. A Great Comedienne's Not So Great Son
I spent today at my mom's memorial service.
It was more a celebration of a life well-lived than a somber occasion.
I recently ran across an online archive of old college newspapers I wrote for many years ago, and discovered something I had forgotten writing. I cannot think of anything better to post in the wake of my mom's passing, then to simply re-print this old humor column I wrote back in college. I am putting it down here word for word as it appeared back then.
A Great Comedienne's Not So Great Son
My mother has a game she plays with her cat. In the middle of the night the cat, who sleeps on the bed with my mother, will walk up onto her face and begin a sort of dance to indicate that she needs to go outside for biological purposes.
My mother will then rise from her bed (without rising from her sleep) and will make her way blindly to the door, and then in the darkness wait to hear the patter of the cat's feet scuffling along the floor to the door.
A few nights ago, my mother related, she groped through the darkness and found the door, held it open and waited, but she heard no foot-patter from the cat.
Being a woman not so easily defeated, she decided to prompt the cat by going through the door first, signaling to the cat the action she was to take.
My mother opened the door wide, took three steps in, and found herself in a rack of my dad's clothes.
The incident impressed me. I did not realize my mother's talent, or the extent to which she taken it. My mother has proven to be one of the last living comedienne's who can successfully execute the oldest and most tested gag in all of comedy; walking into the closet.
I've tried it myself a few times, but it isn't as funny when I do it. Even though my mother has tutored me, I still perform the gag with an air suggesting that I actually want to go into the closet, and I usually seem much too happy once I'm inside.
I often have trouble performing traditional comic gags though, as one recent incident will surely indicate.
A couple weeks ago I decided to rehearse slipping. You know; the gag where a person engages in a headlong sprint, either to save a girl, stop a train, or in my case, to get a piece of paper and a pen. Then, just before the person arrives, he slips on a banana peel, or a sheet of ice, or in my case, a piece of wet plywood.
The buildup to the gag went well. I was in a movement class at the theater, wearing gym shorts and no socks or shoes. I learned that we needed a pen and paper, and so shot out the back door of the theater and sprinted toward the newspaper office just across the way. There is a plywood ramp up to the door of the office, and it was raining, and I was in bare feet, running at a care free pace. So far, so good.
As soon as my feet hit the plywood they flew into the air, and my body began flailing this way and that, giving me the appearance of a rag doll whose five year-old owner is trying to tear the stuffing out of him.
Then I landed and realized how I had misjudged the gag from the beginning. If I had come at the ramp from straight on, and flew into the air just as I had done, I could have landed and continued sliding the length of the walkway and ended up sitting on the gravel. I could have stood up, brushed off and said "Ha ha," and walked off as if I had planned the whole thing ahead of time.
Instead, I came at the ramp from a slight angle. Rather than sliding silently past the door and window, like an angel gliding by, I slid sideways, banged into the wall, the door, and the railing of the walkway, much like a 14-ton block of iron would if it were delivered to the newspaper door.
Not wanting to be shaken from my task, however, I quickly got up and popped in the door. I was met with turned heads, dazed eyes, and the gaped mouths of people who half expected to see a block of iron, and a bloody block of iron at that.
"Are you alright?" one person asked.
It hadn't occurred to me that I wouldn't be alright, so I said cheerfully, "Yes, I'm just here to get a pen and some paper." Then I grabbed the stuff and left in a flash.
Looking back, I can see that my reason for coming did not justify the worries of the people inside. It was a tough situation all around, however, for if I had told the truth, that I had just miserably failed a comic performance, they would have made a quick phone call and some men dressed in white would have been all too happy to take me away.
I can safely say that I have overcome the failure of that incident, and now I'm ready to try a new one. I want to try the gag in which you start up your car, but rather than pulling forward, you lurch backward into the car behind you. My mother did that one once and received a standing ovation.
I don't have a car, however, and I'm having a hard time convincing my friend to let me use his. I've told him that it would just take a minute, and that he would get a real kick out of it if he saw it, but for some reason he doesn't trust me.
-Peter Wick
March 14, 2020 (actually many years earlier)
It was more a celebration of a life well-lived than a somber occasion.
I recently ran across an online archive of old college newspapers I wrote for many years ago, and discovered something I had forgotten writing. I cannot think of anything better to post in the wake of my mom's passing, then to simply re-print this old humor column I wrote back in college. I am putting it down here word for word as it appeared back then.
A Great Comedienne's Not So Great Son
My mother has a game she plays with her cat. In the middle of the night the cat, who sleeps on the bed with my mother, will walk up onto her face and begin a sort of dance to indicate that she needs to go outside for biological purposes.
My mother will then rise from her bed (without rising from her sleep) and will make her way blindly to the door, and then in the darkness wait to hear the patter of the cat's feet scuffling along the floor to the door.
A few nights ago, my mother related, she groped through the darkness and found the door, held it open and waited, but she heard no foot-patter from the cat.
Being a woman not so easily defeated, she decided to prompt the cat by going through the door first, signaling to the cat the action she was to take.
My mother opened the door wide, took three steps in, and found herself in a rack of my dad's clothes.
The incident impressed me. I did not realize my mother's talent, or the extent to which she taken it. My mother has proven to be one of the last living comedienne's who can successfully execute the oldest and most tested gag in all of comedy; walking into the closet.
I've tried it myself a few times, but it isn't as funny when I do it. Even though my mother has tutored me, I still perform the gag with an air suggesting that I actually want to go into the closet, and I usually seem much too happy once I'm inside.
I often have trouble performing traditional comic gags though, as one recent incident will surely indicate.
A couple weeks ago I decided to rehearse slipping. You know; the gag where a person engages in a headlong sprint, either to save a girl, stop a train, or in my case, to get a piece of paper and a pen. Then, just before the person arrives, he slips on a banana peel, or a sheet of ice, or in my case, a piece of wet plywood.
The buildup to the gag went well. I was in a movement class at the theater, wearing gym shorts and no socks or shoes. I learned that we needed a pen and paper, and so shot out the back door of the theater and sprinted toward the newspaper office just across the way. There is a plywood ramp up to the door of the office, and it was raining, and I was in bare feet, running at a care free pace. So far, so good.
As soon as my feet hit the plywood they flew into the air, and my body began flailing this way and that, giving me the appearance of a rag doll whose five year-old owner is trying to tear the stuffing out of him.
Then I landed and realized how I had misjudged the gag from the beginning. If I had come at the ramp from straight on, and flew into the air just as I had done, I could have landed and continued sliding the length of the walkway and ended up sitting on the gravel. I could have stood up, brushed off and said "Ha ha," and walked off as if I had planned the whole thing ahead of time.
Instead, I came at the ramp from a slight angle. Rather than sliding silently past the door and window, like an angel gliding by, I slid sideways, banged into the wall, the door, and the railing of the walkway, much like a 14-ton block of iron would if it were delivered to the newspaper door.
Not wanting to be shaken from my task, however, I quickly got up and popped in the door. I was met with turned heads, dazed eyes, and the gaped mouths of people who half expected to see a block of iron, and a bloody block of iron at that.
"Are you alright?" one person asked.
It hadn't occurred to me that I wouldn't be alright, so I said cheerfully, "Yes, I'm just here to get a pen and some paper." Then I grabbed the stuff and left in a flash.
Looking back, I can see that my reason for coming did not justify the worries of the people inside. It was a tough situation all around, however, for if I had told the truth, that I had just miserably failed a comic performance, they would have made a quick phone call and some men dressed in white would have been all too happy to take me away.
I can safely say that I have overcome the failure of that incident, and now I'm ready to try a new one. I want to try the gag in which you start up your car, but rather than pulling forward, you lurch backward into the car behind you. My mother did that one once and received a standing ovation.
I don't have a car, however, and I'm having a hard time convincing my friend to let me use his. I've told him that it would just take a minute, and that he would get a real kick out of it if he saw it, but for some reason he doesn't trust me.
-Peter Wick
March 14, 2020 (actually many years earlier)
Saturday, February 15, 2020
82. Zenny Lives!!! (in 'Bill and Ted Face the Music')
This is self-indulgent. When I explained all of this to a friend earlier this week, she said, "You're turning this into a game."
Yes, it's a game, but a game that I'm having a lot of fun with, so...hang with me.
In 2015 I wrote the novella, "It Is What it Is," featuring the Dude-inspired character Zenny Zeller. Zenny is a fictionalization of some alternate version of myself, the alternate me who stayed in the music world instead of quitting bands back in the day, the alternate me who remained a drummer.
Zenny is also inspired by the fact that since "The Big Lebowski" was released in the late 1990's, my sister has called me "Dude," consistently ever since. I think of 'Zenny' as my 'riff on The Dude.'
"It is What it Is" is not my most popular book. Others that I've written both before it, and more recently, have been more popular. It's a book I feel a lot of personal fondness for, though. I have tried to find a way to fund a film version of the book. So far Hollywood isn't buying. There is still time, though.
This book was also included, though, when we at Azzurri Publishing recently celebrated our first ever bundle of book sales in China (Stand with Hong Kong!)
This past Monday, on a purely coincidental whim, I responded to an open invitation to be part of a club scene, as an Extra, in the upcoming movie, "Bill and Ted Face The Music." Yes, this is the third Bill and Ted movie.
It was a whim. It was not an important thing I was doing. It was just a chance to hang out on a movie set for part of a day and watch how the crew worked.
On my way to the set, though, I realized something; it's a club scene. I'm the middle-aged 'Dude' going to see Kid Cudi perform. I'm....I'M PLAYING ZENNY!
The idea fit like a puzzle piece you've been waiting to find the right place for. Zenny is in this Bill and Ted movie. This is the character I'm playing.
Back in the day, when I spent a year and a half in the 1990's taking every movie or TV gig I could get booked for, I appeared in a small trilogy of concert/club performances; Aerosmith in "Wayne'sWorld 2" (both the concert scene early in the movie and 'Waynestock' at the end of the film), White Zombie in "Airheads" (read my "Chris Farley" write-up here on this blog), and Babes in Toyland in "S.F.W."
This Kid Cudi scene in 'Bill and Ted,' I realized, is also an extension of those. And...is it possible...that maybe, just maybe, I was ACTUALLY playing a much younger 'Zenny' in all of those movies too?
The answer is...YES! Zenny lives! Zenny is in "Wayne's World 2." Zenny is in "Airheads." Zenny is in S.F.W.
And Zenny is in the upcoming "Bill and Ted Face the Music."
Except...for the one unknown...I don't know if I'll make the final cut of the movie. But, hey, even if Zenny ends up on the cutting room floor, he was there. Zenny made his appearance. And no one could have given a better on-screen reaction to the one moment we all had to react to. I can't say what we were reacting to, because that might reveal a movie spoiler. We'll all have to wait until August, when the movie comes out, to answer all of these questions.
the point is; Zenny lives. Zenny has appeared on screen, in the past and in the present.
Is it all a game? Well, sure. So far IMDb has approved listing my appearance in the movie with the 'uncredited' line "Kid Cudi fan." I'm still working on getting that changed to the actual character name, "Zenny." I won't appear in the film's actual credits onscreen, but if I can convince IMDb to list the character as Zenny, that would at least be a partial battle won.
In the mean time, join the game with me!
Zenny lives!
(The cover image links to the book on Amazon)
Peter Wick
February 15, 2020
Yes, it's a game, but a game that I'm having a lot of fun with, so...hang with me.
In 2015 I wrote the novella, "It Is What it Is," featuring the Dude-inspired character Zenny Zeller. Zenny is a fictionalization of some alternate version of myself, the alternate me who stayed in the music world instead of quitting bands back in the day, the alternate me who remained a drummer.
Zenny is also inspired by the fact that since "The Big Lebowski" was released in the late 1990's, my sister has called me "Dude," consistently ever since. I think of 'Zenny' as my 'riff on The Dude.'
"It is What it Is" is not my most popular book. Others that I've written both before it, and more recently, have been more popular. It's a book I feel a lot of personal fondness for, though. I have tried to find a way to fund a film version of the book. So far Hollywood isn't buying. There is still time, though.
This book was also included, though, when we at Azzurri Publishing recently celebrated our first ever bundle of book sales in China (Stand with Hong Kong!)
This past Monday, on a purely coincidental whim, I responded to an open invitation to be part of a club scene, as an Extra, in the upcoming movie, "Bill and Ted Face The Music." Yes, this is the third Bill and Ted movie.
It was a whim. It was not an important thing I was doing. It was just a chance to hang out on a movie set for part of a day and watch how the crew worked.
On my way to the set, though, I realized something; it's a club scene. I'm the middle-aged 'Dude' going to see Kid Cudi perform. I'm....I'M PLAYING ZENNY!
The idea fit like a puzzle piece you've been waiting to find the right place for. Zenny is in this Bill and Ted movie. This is the character I'm playing.
Back in the day, when I spent a year and a half in the 1990's taking every movie or TV gig I could get booked for, I appeared in a small trilogy of concert/club performances; Aerosmith in "Wayne'sWorld 2" (both the concert scene early in the movie and 'Waynestock' at the end of the film), White Zombie in "Airheads" (read my "Chris Farley" write-up here on this blog), and Babes in Toyland in "S.F.W."
This Kid Cudi scene in 'Bill and Ted,' I realized, is also an extension of those. And...is it possible...that maybe, just maybe, I was ACTUALLY playing a much younger 'Zenny' in all of those movies too?
The answer is...YES! Zenny lives! Zenny is in "Wayne's World 2." Zenny is in "Airheads." Zenny is in S.F.W.
And Zenny is in the upcoming "Bill and Ted Face the Music."
Except...for the one unknown...I don't know if I'll make the final cut of the movie. But, hey, even if Zenny ends up on the cutting room floor, he was there. Zenny made his appearance. And no one could have given a better on-screen reaction to the one moment we all had to react to. I can't say what we were reacting to, because that might reveal a movie spoiler. We'll all have to wait until August, when the movie comes out, to answer all of these questions.
the point is; Zenny lives. Zenny has appeared on screen, in the past and in the present.
Is it all a game? Well, sure. So far IMDb has approved listing my appearance in the movie with the 'uncredited' line "Kid Cudi fan." I'm still working on getting that changed to the actual character name, "Zenny." I won't appear in the film's actual credits onscreen, but if I can convince IMDb to list the character as Zenny, that would at least be a partial battle won.
In the mean time, join the game with me!
Zenny lives!
(The cover image links to the book on Amazon)
Peter Wick
February 15, 2020
Wednesday, January 15, 2020
81. Dogs Do Math
I recently ran across this news item in the journal Science Daily:
"Dogs spontaneously process basic numerical quantities, using a distinct part of their brains that corresponds
closely to number-responsive neural regions in humans, finds a study at Emory University.”
closely to number-responsive neural regions in humans, finds a study at Emory University.”
In other words, dogs do math.
This has profound consequences for the future of teaching. Let’s project forward 100 years and peek
into a math classroom.
into a math classroom.
Charlie peered over his reading glasses at the collection of students seated in front of him.
Charlie is a mix, German Shepard and Lab. He stood erect on his hind legs, the way humans have for thousands
of years. It has become normal, these days, to see dogs standing at the front of a math classroom, dressed in
casual teacher garb; Charlie wore jeans and a tan button front shirt.
of years. It has become normal, these days, to see dogs standing at the front of a math classroom, dressed in
casual teacher garb; Charlie wore jeans and a tan button front shirt.
Today, Charlie thought silently to himself, is going to be a challenge.
“Alright! Students! Let’s try to bring the chaos under control!”
The dull roar of the classroom slowly began to quiet down. There’s always that one student, though, who keeps
chatting away after everyone else has stopped.
chatting away after everyone else has stopped.
“...she totally ripped him a new one, right there in front of everyone, so -”
“Gary!” Charlie barked.
Gary suddenly realized everyone was listening to him.
“Class!” Charlie barked. “Who can solve the equation on the board?”
An awkward rumble whispered its way through the classroom. No one wanted to volunteer.
Charlie slowly moved his gaze from left to right across the room. He snorted quietly and pushed his glasses
back up his nose.
back up his nose.
“Richard!” he barked.
From the back of the classroom Richard’s eyes widened as he sat up and acted as if he had been paying attention.
“Richard,” Charlie said a second time, “Can you please solve the equation on the board?”
“Um...I um….I don’t think so,” Richard mumbled. “I, uh, I can’t see the board from back here.”
Charlie stood motionless at the front of the room, staring at Richard.
“Do you mean to tell me,” Charlies growled, “that you cannot see the board from the back of the room?”
“I have bad eyesight,” Richard said.
“And how long have you been sitting in the back?” Charlie growled.
“Um, the, uh, the whole semester,” Richard said sheepishly.
“Three months!” Charlie snapped.
“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” Richard said.
“For three months you have been sitting in the back of the room!”
“Uh huh.”
“And for three months you have not been able to see the board?”
“Right,” Richard said.
Charlie stared intently across the room at Richard. He flared his nostrils.
"Outside!" Charlie demanded.
"Huh?"
"Outside!"
"What do you mean?" Richard whimpered a little as he spoke.
"Outside for the rest of the day!" barked Charlie. "You need to think about what you've done."
"But it's freezing out there," Richard whimpered. "It's almost snowing."
"Outside!" Charlie snapped. "Now! And no lunch, until you understand the bad thing you've done!"
Richard moped his way through the classroom to the door, head down, tongue hanging limply from his mouth.
The door slammed shut behind him as he stepped out into the cold.
Richard spent the rest of the day whimpering outside the door, pushing uselessly on the door, as if it would open
just because he was sad enough. It was no use.
He learned his lesson, though.
Charlie was sure of that.
-Peter Wick
January 15, 2020
Charlie stared intently across the room at Richard. He flared his nostrils.
"Outside!" Charlie demanded.
"Huh?"
"Outside!"
"What do you mean?" Richard whimpered a little as he spoke.
"Outside for the rest of the day!" barked Charlie. "You need to think about what you've done."
"But it's freezing out there," Richard whimpered. "It's almost snowing."
"Outside!" Charlie snapped. "Now! And no lunch, until you understand the bad thing you've done!"
Richard moped his way through the classroom to the door, head down, tongue hanging limply from his mouth.
The door slammed shut behind him as he stepped out into the cold.
Richard spent the rest of the day whimpering outside the door, pushing uselessly on the door, as if it would open
just because he was sad enough. It was no use.
He learned his lesson, though.
Charlie was sure of that.
-Peter Wick
January 15, 2020
Friday, November 15, 2019
80. Milo and Meg - (sneak peek 3)
[Note: Milo and Meg, my new book featuring a 13 and 12 year-old brother and sister, will be published in May, 2020. You can check out the two previous samples here at posts #'s 71 and 73.]
Milo and Meg stood on the freshly painted grass outside Nanette's hut. They gazed across the long valley that stretched out in front of them; the mountains sloping up on each side, the thick forest of trees at the far end of the valley.
Most of the trees and mountain-sides were painted with watercolors, but a few small areas were still black and white, pencil drawings, like Milo and Meg themselves, seemingly unfinished, but still here. They walked on the grass as if it were a solid world.
Behind them Nanette and Wolf stood together in the doorway of their hut, waving goodbye.
Meg waved back and together Milo and Meg began walking.
"Be careful," Nanette shouted. "If you smell anything wretched or foul, it's one of them Groots. Take cover."
"We'll be careful," Meg said. Then, quietly, to Milo, she said, "Where are the Groots, anyway? Why don't we see any?"
"Good question," Milo said.
"That's all you have to say? 'Good question'?"
"Hey, what else do you want?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe some kind of an actual answer."
They tried to walk as quietly as possible, but the steady 'scrunch scrunch' of their feet on the ground sounded louder than it ever had before.
This was different than their walks home from school, where they knew every detail without having to look. Everything here was new, and...oddly...changing.
"Was that tree there before?" Meg asked, pointing at a medium height scraggly, leafy tree.
Milo stopped and looked at it. Then he turned back behind them and gasped. Meg turned to see what made him gasp, but all she saw was the valley they had been walking through. "What is it?" she asked.
Milo blinked and rubbed his eyes.
"It was the weirdest thing." He blinked a couple more times and shook his head. "When I first turned around, nothing was there."
"Nothing?"
"It was blank, like...like it was blank white paper. but then suddenly it was all there again."
Meg look back at the valley behind them. It was beautiful. the greens of the trees were deep greens. There were yellows and oranges that seemed to jump off the page. She had to remind herself that this was not a normal world, that this beauty - this beauty that she was walking through, was a drawing, and an unfinished watercolor painting.
She turned back to her brother and said, "This is just a little bit strange."
"You think?"
"Yeah, I think."
"Wait a minute. What..." Milo was looking intently at something near the ground.
"Hm?" Meg followed his gaze. "What the - "
Together they bent down close to the ground. There, next to a tree root, barely readable, almost on the ground, but actually floating just above the ground, were letters, letters that spelled the word, "Phoebe."
Milo and Meg stood on the freshly painted grass outside Nanette's hut. They gazed across the long valley that stretched out in front of them; the mountains sloping up on each side, the thick forest of trees at the far end of the valley.
Most of the trees and mountain-sides were painted with watercolors, but a few small areas were still black and white, pencil drawings, like Milo and Meg themselves, seemingly unfinished, but still here. They walked on the grass as if it were a solid world.
Behind them Nanette and Wolf stood together in the doorway of their hut, waving goodbye.
Meg waved back and together Milo and Meg began walking.
"Be careful," Nanette shouted. "If you smell anything wretched or foul, it's one of them Groots. Take cover."
"We'll be careful," Meg said. Then, quietly, to Milo, she said, "Where are the Groots, anyway? Why don't we see any?"
"Good question," Milo said.
"That's all you have to say? 'Good question'?"
"Hey, what else do you want?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe some kind of an actual answer."
They tried to walk as quietly as possible, but the steady 'scrunch scrunch' of their feet on the ground sounded louder than it ever had before.
This was different than their walks home from school, where they knew every detail without having to look. Everything here was new, and...oddly...changing.
"Was that tree there before?" Meg asked, pointing at a medium height scraggly, leafy tree.
Milo stopped and looked at it. Then he turned back behind them and gasped. Meg turned to see what made him gasp, but all she saw was the valley they had been walking through. "What is it?" she asked.
Milo blinked and rubbed his eyes.
"It was the weirdest thing." He blinked a couple more times and shook his head. "When I first turned around, nothing was there."
"Nothing?"
"It was blank, like...like it was blank white paper. but then suddenly it was all there again."
Meg look back at the valley behind them. It was beautiful. the greens of the trees were deep greens. There were yellows and oranges that seemed to jump off the page. She had to remind herself that this was not a normal world, that this beauty - this beauty that she was walking through, was a drawing, and an unfinished watercolor painting.
She turned back to her brother and said, "This is just a little bit strange."
"You think?"
"Yeah, I think."
"Wait a minute. What..." Milo was looking intently at something near the ground.
"Hm?" Meg followed his gaze. "What the - "
Together they bent down close to the ground. There, next to a tree root, barely readable, almost on the ground, but actually floating just above the ground, were letters, letters that spelled the word, "Phoebe."
Tuesday, October 15, 2019
79. Trying to communicate with the black hole that is Amazon
A few months back I used this space to needle Google a little, poke around at the edges of one of the world's most powerful companies, and ask the question, "Will Google come after me in the middle of the night if I make fun of them a little?"
I'm delighted to say that I am alive and well. Google never sought revenge, and they even responded the way I hoped they would in the end.
So...I went up against one ultra-powerful corporation that I do business with and survived to fight another day. Who to fight next, then? Well, if Google didn't come for me in the middle of the night, then surely Amazon will...right?
Well, here goes...
In many ways I am at the mercy of Amazon. Increasingly, the entire world is at the mercy of Amazon. They have cornered the market on...well...on MARKETS.
My books are 'available wherever books are sold.' You can go to your local independent bookstore and, even though you won't them stocked on the shelves (except for a small list of stores I know of) you can go up to the counter and ask to order them. you don't NEED Amazon to order my books online - you can order them through Barnes and Noble - but in the end the vast majority of my book sales are through Amazon.
A few writers have many hundreds, even thousands of customer reviews on Amazon. Compared to these mega-writers I have to humbly hold onto a small number of customer reviews. Those few reviews mean a lot to me.
So...when customer reviews disappear from the site, especially when they disappear for what I am fairly certain are reasons, not of policy or standards, but reason of confusion and miscommunication, it gets under my skin a little.
My Key West series - 1950, corrupt politician vs. a relentless journalist - is really just 2 books in various editions. It is this 'various editions' business that has become a problem for Amazon. the original novel was published in January, 2013 by Wheelman Press, a small independent press in Atlanta run by Greg Banks who, bless his soul, has since passed away (R.I.P. Greg). In 2014 he contacted me to say he was in the hospital and would have to close down his company. He very graciously helped me start my own company - Azzurri Publishing - based on the same model as his company. He transferred all original files over from his account to my new account. The original novel remained available throughout this process, but even though the original novel was unchanged, it now existed on a new page on Amazon. Then I added the "Special Edition," (original novel plus prequel short story).
For a while Amazon managed to understand what was going on, and moved all the old customer reviews over to the new 'original novel' page. Then for a while they 'bundled' the original novel and the Special Edition. I didn't like this. It meant that people who were looking at the kindle page for the Special Edition, then clicked on 'paperback,' were taken to the paperback of the original novel, not the Special Edition. They are different editions, I told Amazon through email, and should not be bundled.
So... Amazon unbundled them. Prior to this they had about 20 customer reviews applied equally to both editions. There was also, somehow, an additional page for the original novel, which I was pretty certain belonged to the old Wheelman Press page. It was all very confusing.
So...in my attempts to straighten out the various different editions and sales pages, Amazon somehow decided to delete a good chunk of the customer reviews.
Are you still with me? This is where it gets good...
I emailed Amazon to try to get the dropped reviews put back up. I received the following corporate-speak meaningless form-letter email:
I'm delighted to say that I am alive and well. Google never sought revenge, and they even responded the way I hoped they would in the end.
So...I went up against one ultra-powerful corporation that I do business with and survived to fight another day. Who to fight next, then? Well, if Google didn't come for me in the middle of the night, then surely Amazon will...right?
Well, here goes...
In many ways I am at the mercy of Amazon. Increasingly, the entire world is at the mercy of Amazon. They have cornered the market on...well...on MARKETS.
My books are 'available wherever books are sold.' You can go to your local independent bookstore and, even though you won't them stocked on the shelves (except for a small list of stores I know of) you can go up to the counter and ask to order them. you don't NEED Amazon to order my books online - you can order them through Barnes and Noble - but in the end the vast majority of my book sales are through Amazon.
A few writers have many hundreds, even thousands of customer reviews on Amazon. Compared to these mega-writers I have to humbly hold onto a small number of customer reviews. Those few reviews mean a lot to me.
So...when customer reviews disappear from the site, especially when they disappear for what I am fairly certain are reasons, not of policy or standards, but reason of confusion and miscommunication, it gets under my skin a little.
My Key West series - 1950, corrupt politician vs. a relentless journalist - is really just 2 books in various editions. It is this 'various editions' business that has become a problem for Amazon. the original novel was published in January, 2013 by Wheelman Press, a small independent press in Atlanta run by Greg Banks who, bless his soul, has since passed away (R.I.P. Greg). In 2014 he contacted me to say he was in the hospital and would have to close down his company. He very graciously helped me start my own company - Azzurri Publishing - based on the same model as his company. He transferred all original files over from his account to my new account. The original novel remained available throughout this process, but even though the original novel was unchanged, it now existed on a new page on Amazon. Then I added the "Special Edition," (original novel plus prequel short story).
For a while Amazon managed to understand what was going on, and moved all the old customer reviews over to the new 'original novel' page. Then for a while they 'bundled' the original novel and the Special Edition. I didn't like this. It meant that people who were looking at the kindle page for the Special Edition, then clicked on 'paperback,' were taken to the paperback of the original novel, not the Special Edition. They are different editions, I told Amazon through email, and should not be bundled.
So... Amazon unbundled them. Prior to this they had about 20 customer reviews applied equally to both editions. There was also, somehow, an additional page for the original novel, which I was pretty certain belonged to the old Wheelman Press page. It was all very confusing.
So...in my attempts to straighten out the various different editions and sales pages, Amazon somehow decided to delete a good chunk of the customer reviews.
Are you still with me? This is where it gets good...
I emailed Amazon to try to get the dropped reviews put back up. I received the following corporate-speak meaningless form-letter email:
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Saturday, September 14, 2019
78. That Time I Tried out for Seattle Sounders
There's an old Jerry Seinfeld joke about all the millions of guys in this world who really believe that they COULD have been professional athletes...IF they had really wanted to. An apple is rolling off a table, you catch it before it hits the ground. "Yeah, I always had it. I could'a played pro ball."
The joke rings true to me, mostly for reasons I'm not sure I want to admit. I've been trying to decide if I want to admit this about myself; at the ge of 13 I felt I had to make a very important, life-changing decision. The decision has gone a long way toward shaping my life ever since, but I've hardly admitted it to anyone. You could call it slightly embarrassing, but whatever. I've admitted enough embarrassing stuff already in this blog. It will hardly hurt my reputation to admit one more embarrassing thing.
At the age of 13 I sat myself down and had a serious heart-to-heart talk with myself. I felt I had to make a decision; which of my two options in life did I want to commit to? What were these two options in my life? I had only two. I was sure of it. Nothing else was in the mix. Did I want to commit to a life in professional sports? Or did I want to commit to a creative life, writing, acting, comedy?
I had to make this decision at 13, I felt, because either decision was going to require 24/7 commitment from me from this day on. If, for example, I was going to be a professional basketball player, I told myself, I was going to have to eat, sleep, breath basketball every moment from now on.
My first love in sports, of course, was always soccer, but these were the years before MLS, and even if there were professional soccer teams in the U.S. it was obvious that professional soccer was less stable than professional basketball.
Sometimes you don't actually make the choice, though. Sometimes the choice makes you. A creative life was an easy decision to make. It came and chose me. The decision was made. My choice in life was clear.
Nothing would ever be the same for me.
And that Jerry Seinfeld joke hangs over me to this day.
If you've ever read George Plimpton's old book from the 1960s, Paper Lion, where he (as a writer, not really as an athlete) takes part in the Detroit Lions training camp, goes through the whole pre-season drill, and writes brilliantly about the experience, then you may get some sense of where some of my athlete-turned-writer impulses were going to take me.
In the Fall of 1994 Major League Soccer was building up to its debut season the following Spring. I was living in L.A. and open tryouts had been announced for L.A. that December.
This was my chance...NOT my chance to become a professional athlete - I had made the decision at 13, you remember, not to go down that road. No, this was my chance to be George Plimpton, to write a book about trying to make it through the tryout process for the new professional soccer league.
At some point I would be cut, I assumed, but I thought I could make it far enough through the process and gain just enough experience, and anecdotes, to fill my book.
I was working out every day, getting myself into the best shape of my life. I had contacted the league and received a letter form them which began, "Dear prospective player..." Yes, it's true, somewhere in these boxes I have lying around, I still have a letter from MLS referring to me as a "prospective player." (I take pleasure in these little things in life.)
Then it all vanished. MLS postponed everything for a year. Instead of debuting in 1995, the new league would (and did) debut in 1996. Open tryouts were cancelled. My whole book idea withered away.
Eventually I got over the disappointment. I moved back to Seattle the following Summer, kept busy writing, and hardly thought about my book-about-soccer idea....until March of 1996, when I saw a small item in the Seattle Times announcing that the Seattle Sounders would hold open tryouts the following Saturday.
I stared at the announcement. My brain did summersaults.
Seattle Sounders were not going to be part of the MLS debut season. They were defending champions of something called The A League, the league that eventually became USL (the second tier of today's U.S. soccer pyramid).
As defending champions, though, and it still being a month before MLS would debut, the Sounders could legitimately claim to be the #1 soccer team in America.
I had to go.
The day went pretty well. I don't think I embarrassed myself. I scored a goal against the Sounders young goalkeeper, a guy named Marcus Hahneman, who would then spend several years in England playing for Reading before coming back to retire after another stint with the MLS Sounders.
Sometime around 2003 or 2004 I remember watching a Manchester United game on television. They were playing against Reading, and of course ManU at that time featured a precocious young Cristiano Ronaldo. Ronaldo made one of his signature runs down the wing, beating several players along the way, lined up a dangerous shot, fired blisteringly at Reading's Goalkeeper, Marcus Hahneman, and...failed. Hahneman easily blocked the shot. I looked at the TV screen and said out loud, "What's the matter with you, Ronaldo? I scored aginst this guy."
Anyway, back to the day I was on the Sounders training field.
I didn't make the team. If I remember right, they only took two guys from the tryouts to move on to preseason camp.
As the day ended I found myself walking alongside the Coach. I wasn't expectig to make the team, I told him. I just wanted a chance to write something about trying to play professional soccer.
"It's a good idea," he said, treating me respectfully.
We agreed that, with MLS about to start, and the Sounders not being a part of it, maybe this idea could be revisited next year or the year after. The Sounders thought at that time that they would be in MLS within a year or two. In the end it didn't happen for another 13 years, in 2009.
My soccer book idea never came together. I've since spent my whole adult life playing in recreational amateur leagues, both in Seattle and back here in L.A. I've managed to play in some pretty good leagues. I've played with and against ex-professionals. I'll be out on a field later tonight, after posting this.
For one day, though, I felt that I was a Seattle Sounder.
The Sounders have a recurring feature on their youtube channel called, "Once a Sounder." Once a Sounder, always a Sounder. I know you guys usually feature former players. You go to Newcastle, England and chat it up witb Deandre Yedlin. You sit down with Mauro Rosales and talk about all the goals and assists he had with the team.
I know I was never officially a member of the team...but, hey...there was one day...All I'm saying is....you know, Once a Sounder....(Shut up Jerry Seinfeld, mind your own business).
Peter Wick
September 14, 2019
The joke rings true to me, mostly for reasons I'm not sure I want to admit. I've been trying to decide if I want to admit this about myself; at the ge of 13 I felt I had to make a very important, life-changing decision. The decision has gone a long way toward shaping my life ever since, but I've hardly admitted it to anyone. You could call it slightly embarrassing, but whatever. I've admitted enough embarrassing stuff already in this blog. It will hardly hurt my reputation to admit one more embarrassing thing.
At the age of 13 I sat myself down and had a serious heart-to-heart talk with myself. I felt I had to make a decision; which of my two options in life did I want to commit to? What were these two options in my life? I had only two. I was sure of it. Nothing else was in the mix. Did I want to commit to a life in professional sports? Or did I want to commit to a creative life, writing, acting, comedy?
I had to make this decision at 13, I felt, because either decision was going to require 24/7 commitment from me from this day on. If, for example, I was going to be a professional basketball player, I told myself, I was going to have to eat, sleep, breath basketball every moment from now on.
My first love in sports, of course, was always soccer, but these were the years before MLS, and even if there were professional soccer teams in the U.S. it was obvious that professional soccer was less stable than professional basketball.
Sometimes you don't actually make the choice, though. Sometimes the choice makes you. A creative life was an easy decision to make. It came and chose me. The decision was made. My choice in life was clear.
Nothing would ever be the same for me.
And that Jerry Seinfeld joke hangs over me to this day.
If you've ever read George Plimpton's old book from the 1960s, Paper Lion, where he (as a writer, not really as an athlete) takes part in the Detroit Lions training camp, goes through the whole pre-season drill, and writes brilliantly about the experience, then you may get some sense of where some of my athlete-turned-writer impulses were going to take me.
In the Fall of 1994 Major League Soccer was building up to its debut season the following Spring. I was living in L.A. and open tryouts had been announced for L.A. that December.
This was my chance...NOT my chance to become a professional athlete - I had made the decision at 13, you remember, not to go down that road. No, this was my chance to be George Plimpton, to write a book about trying to make it through the tryout process for the new professional soccer league.
At some point I would be cut, I assumed, but I thought I could make it far enough through the process and gain just enough experience, and anecdotes, to fill my book.
I was working out every day, getting myself into the best shape of my life. I had contacted the league and received a letter form them which began, "Dear prospective player..." Yes, it's true, somewhere in these boxes I have lying around, I still have a letter from MLS referring to me as a "prospective player." (I take pleasure in these little things in life.)
Then it all vanished. MLS postponed everything for a year. Instead of debuting in 1995, the new league would (and did) debut in 1996. Open tryouts were cancelled. My whole book idea withered away.
Eventually I got over the disappointment. I moved back to Seattle the following Summer, kept busy writing, and hardly thought about my book-about-soccer idea....until March of 1996, when I saw a small item in the Seattle Times announcing that the Seattle Sounders would hold open tryouts the following Saturday.
I stared at the announcement. My brain did summersaults.
Seattle Sounders were not going to be part of the MLS debut season. They were defending champions of something called The A League, the league that eventually became USL (the second tier of today's U.S. soccer pyramid).
As defending champions, though, and it still being a month before MLS would debut, the Sounders could legitimately claim to be the #1 soccer team in America.
I had to go.
The day went pretty well. I don't think I embarrassed myself. I scored a goal against the Sounders young goalkeeper, a guy named Marcus Hahneman, who would then spend several years in England playing for Reading before coming back to retire after another stint with the MLS Sounders.
Sometime around 2003 or 2004 I remember watching a Manchester United game on television. They were playing against Reading, and of course ManU at that time featured a precocious young Cristiano Ronaldo. Ronaldo made one of his signature runs down the wing, beating several players along the way, lined up a dangerous shot, fired blisteringly at Reading's Goalkeeper, Marcus Hahneman, and...failed. Hahneman easily blocked the shot. I looked at the TV screen and said out loud, "What's the matter with you, Ronaldo? I scored aginst this guy."
Anyway, back to the day I was on the Sounders training field.
I didn't make the team. If I remember right, they only took two guys from the tryouts to move on to preseason camp.
As the day ended I found myself walking alongside the Coach. I wasn't expectig to make the team, I told him. I just wanted a chance to write something about trying to play professional soccer.
"It's a good idea," he said, treating me respectfully.
We agreed that, with MLS about to start, and the Sounders not being a part of it, maybe this idea could be revisited next year or the year after. The Sounders thought at that time that they would be in MLS within a year or two. In the end it didn't happen for another 13 years, in 2009.
My soccer book idea never came together. I've since spent my whole adult life playing in recreational amateur leagues, both in Seattle and back here in L.A. I've managed to play in some pretty good leagues. I've played with and against ex-professionals. I'll be out on a field later tonight, after posting this.
For one day, though, I felt that I was a Seattle Sounder.
The Sounders have a recurring feature on their youtube channel called, "Once a Sounder." Once a Sounder, always a Sounder. I know you guys usually feature former players. You go to Newcastle, England and chat it up witb Deandre Yedlin. You sit down with Mauro Rosales and talk about all the goals and assists he had with the team.
I know I was never officially a member of the team...but, hey...there was one day...All I'm saying is....you know, Once a Sounder....(Shut up Jerry Seinfeld, mind your own business).
Peter Wick
September 14, 2019
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