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 Tuesday, May 29, 2007
The WD/BEA Embedded Blog, Lemon Drop Shots, and Things to Do in Wrentham, MA
Least Obvious Internet Search of the Day That Turns Up My Blog: "Christian Magazine Opinions on Anna Nalick" Worst Clif Bar Flavor of All Time: Apricot Unrequested Anecdote from my Family Life: I've just spent Memorial Day weekend on a family vacation in Bermuda, which is probably the most beautiful, friendly and exotic place that you can get to from Boston in less than two hours, outside of the Wrentham Village Premium Outlets. My mother and sister and I went on the trip with our dearest family friends, and, because I lack the financial wherewithal and dental insurance to provide for myself, I was forced against my will gleefully shared a room with my mother. Most of the stories from my trip are boring (example: I ate and enjoyed an egg white omelet, and normally I don't even like omelets!!!!) or embarrassing (I spent much of the first day in the Bermuda Hospital emergency room, where a nurse was forced, against her will, to examine, touch then bandage my left foot, as I'd ripped the nails off of during a clumsy intoxicated fall), but there was one event that my mother will never forgive me for worth sharing with the general public: 1. My mother--who usually never drinks anything that isn't Newman's Own Virgin Lemon-Aided Iced Tea-- did the first alchoholic "shot" of her known life, a "lemon drop". The effects of the jolt of alcohol were palpable, especially when she confided to me that she "felt goofy" and then started telling mortifyingly personal anecdotes from her college experience in the 70s. Lesson: Unless your mom is Dorothy Parker, encouraging her to do shots will always end poorly. Moving on... This is a big week, friends, and not just because it's short. As you may have noticed from the advertisement above my blog, the Writer's Digest/ BEA Writing Conference is on Wednesday, followed by the Book Expo of America, the Book Industry's answer to Nickelodeon's Kid's Choice Awards. It's a time when the publishing houses pull out all the stops, revealing their big guns, newly annointed stars and catering services (sometimes with open bar!) in an effort to woo booksellers, librarians and Writer's Digest Contributing Editors. And I will be there in NYC all week, first wandering aimlessly around the Writer's Digest Conference, then aimlessly wandering around the BEA, while my editor Maria openly questions why she lets me come to these things each year. But--in an effort to make myself seem valuable, or better, invaluable-- I'm going to keep a daily embedded journal of the Conference and Book Expo for those of you who want to know what happens when book industry people stop being polite, and start being real. It'll be just like that episode of the Real World: Hawaii when Teck and the drunk chick went skinny dipping, and everyone else felt uncomfortable...but with, like, agents and stuff. So join me all this week, as I'll be dropping the most insightful, concise and unavoidably irrelevant points of interest from the book industry's biggest week, all while trying to figure out where in God's name the good people at the Jacobs Javits Convention Center keep their bathrooms. And if you happen to be attending either the Conference or the Expo and you see a striking, partially well groomed man with a shaved head and pre-distressed jeans pretending to scribble feverishly in a notebook, feel free to interrupt and say hello. I won't actually be doing anything, anyway. Questions to Ponder: Will Rosie O'Donnell definitely accept Lizzie Hasselbeck's inevitable request to be Godmother to her next child? And--assuming they knew how to save a life--do you really think the Fray would stay up with you all night? Guilty Feet Have Got No Rhythm, Wham Ps- pictured below: The second sweetest place to go during a Memorial Day weekend and me and a bunch of my golf buddies living la vida loca in 'Muda Shorts after six or seven Lemon Drops.  
Tuesday, May 29, 2007 4:37:56 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00) 
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Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Life Changingly Awesome Query Letters: Part 1: Outside Magazine
Brief Pop Culture Sidenote re: Bachelor: Officer and a Gentleman: See? It was Tessa!!! When has the NY Post ever been wrong about anything? According to the results from the Bachelor, never. Lesson: Never trust women named Bevin. Always trust the tabloids. Always. Moving on...Were you worried, friends? Did you think I had gone underground? Or quit to pursue a career in urban dance? Or just become lazy and depressed, like AJ on the Soprano's? No. Unlike the NY Post, you got none of that right. The real reason I've been on radio silent was because I had to write and turn in in my actual magazine column, which kept me from blogging. And exercising. But now I'm back, eating a Peanut Butter Cookie Luna Bar (Just for Women, my ass) and ready to introduce a new installment on the blog: Life Changingly Awesome Query Letters. Expect a new one to a different magazine every few weeks. Or better yet, don't expect one. That way, you'll be totally surprised when it comes. To:Christopher Keyes Editor Outside Magazine From: Kevin Alexander Re: Query!!!;) Dear Mr. Keyes, ROAAARR!!!!! Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. You're quite safe. Physically at least. But your mind is about to be scared out of its complacency. What you just read was the sound that a bear makes. Transitionally, did you know that Panda Bears cannot walk on their hind legs? Of course you didn't. You're just one man. Which is exactly why you need my services. Plus bears, like hippies, live Outside in the wilderness. Vis a Vis: they are a natural fit in your magazine. When Calvin Coolidge said, "Time heals all wounds," he'd obviously never seen the wound inflicted by a bear on a moose in the driveway of a couple in Alaska that I just watched on Youtube. You should Google it, it's horrible stuff. But what would be more horrible for the readers of Outside magazine is if you don't include the obvious Best American Travel Writing 2008 story I'm about to drop on your ass. Here's the payoff: I'd like to write a 6000-7000 word personal essay about my experience with bears. Now, because I've never actually seen a bear in person, a lot of this (3000-4000 words, at least) will be focused around a dream I had several years ago involving Daisy Fuentes, my Physics teacher from senior year of high school wearing a Skip-it, and a player from the Chicago Bears. The other 2000 words will probably be a pro-con list of reasons to keep a bear as a pet (example pro: companionship). Also, I can totally see a sidebar that lists famous bears and where they are now. And don't get me started on the art!!! Although, admittedly, I haven't actually read your magazine myself, one of my good friends, Geoff, won a subscription when he switched over his credit card and so I've seen your covers. Fit, handsome men with a penchant for wetsuits and Dri-Fit workout gear, mountain peaks, and other worldly pleasures. And while these things are very nice (I myself am a very fit, extremely handsome man), have you considered the bump in circulation you'd get if you threw a Panda mountain biking on the cover? Plus--and now I'm just thinking aloud--if the Panda wasn't wearing a biking helmet, wouldn't that sh*t be illegal and thusly controversial? Like it or not, controversy and Panda's sell f*cking magazines. That's just a fact. Anyway, I should wrap this up, because I know you like things to stay on one page, but this is the portion where I list my qualifications. I'm a writer, Chrissy, a writer with a (newfound) passion for bears. I've written for a sh*t ton of magazines, I've got infinity clips, but I also have dreams, some of which involve bears, which I wrote about in the third paragraph. So how's about you and I get together over some lunch (Nobu is fine) and make this magic into a reality? It's the least you can do. ROAAARRR! (Jk, Chris. Jk) Kevin Alexander ps- I know we're supposed to negotiate for payment, but I'll tell you: you give me 50 cents 4 bucks a word right now and I'll take the photo's of the Panda myself. pps- As a bonus showcasing my photographing acumen, I've also enclosed a photo of my nephew playing in the yard, who, you must admit, is very cute (strong genetics). But I'm going to need it back. And before the holidays. Pictured Below: A Non-Panda trying to burn off the calories from the moose, and a Skip It, the "in" toy of 1987.  
Tuesday, May 22, 2007 4:21:01 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
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Monday, May 14, 2007
Mission Semi-Impossible: Days Eleven Through Fourteen; the Big Reveal
The Mom Shout Out: Yesterday was the day of Mothers, the day where we celebrate the beautiful yet sometimes overtly hostile women that created us, named us, and grounded us for several weeks for experimenting poorly with Tequila and Diet Cherry Coke at Mike Hogan's dad's house while his parents were out of town. And although she may not read my blog because she's in the "like the Beta Max VCR, the Internet is just a passing fad" camp, I still want to say to her, Happy Mother's Day (yesterday), Mom. Thank you for not judging. Publicly.
Anyway, as you may or may not have realized, more than two weeks have elapsed during my documentation of Mission Semi-Impossible. I am now back in Boston, where the weather moodily swings 40 degrees day to day, having come back sans any sort of proof that I was in a place known for its beaches and clever vanity license plates (TRPHY WFE being the classic example of which I actually saw two different versions).
And it pains me to announce that the mission, friends, was not completely successful. As you may have noticed from the highly varied word counts day to day, my pre-occupation with things happening on certain daytime talk shows and nighttime reality television match-making events, my propensity to spend inordinate amounts of time highly focused on other trivial things, and my futile search for the key to my father's liquor cabinet, getting 28000 words in that amount of time was a wee bit optimistic. So, on the face of it, I have failed. I am no Ethan Hunt as played by Tom Cruise, I have not been awarded the Freedom Medal of Valor from the International Association of Scientologists or worn sunglasses that will self-destruct in five seconds, and I broke up with Katie Holmes during the second season of "Dawson's Creek" when I felt like she'd gotten "too Hollywood".
But, friends, do not fret. The hope spring is still on, and eternally, um, springing. Let's look at the bright side: I did get over 20,000 words, I am a mere 30-40 pages away from completion, I have a very good idea of where the book is heading and the changes I will have to make during Round 2, I actually think I might understand some of my character's motivations, I've been drinking a lot of water, which is good for flushing toxins out of my vital organs and providing a moist environment for my ear, nose, and throat tissue, and my father and I have basically become aloof, on edge and distant even in close proximity best friends.
I still plan on using the next two weeks to finish off this draft, before I start summer courses for my MFA, splitting the time between the journalistic duties to which I'm financially bound and the novel to which I'm emotionally wed, so there will be a light at the end of this tunnel. And you, friends, won't have to read the same type of post day after day as I struggle to come up with variations of the sin gluttony.
So, in conclusion: apologies on the failure to launch complete mission semi-impossible, thank you for all of your support, stories, grammar checks, pop culture updates, and the like. I still plan on dropping the knowledge a few times a week, throwing in some new, different kinds of posts (I would try and be more vague, but it's impossible) so check back frequently, because, let's face it, I get lonely.
Question to Ponder: Will the Bachelor rose ceremony really be the most dramatic rose ceremony ever? Or does the fact that the NY Post leaked that one of the contestants already admitted to winning (i don't want to spoil it for you...but her name rhymes with Nessa) make that statement technically impossible?
KLF is gonna rock ya (are you ready?),
3 A.M.,
Eternal
PS- pictured below: Katie Holmes in sleeveless flannel and Ethan Hunt as played by Tom Cruise as played by Xenu, intergalactic warlord dictator and action film buff.
Monday, May 14, 2007 6:26:46 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
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Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Mission Semi-Impossible: Day Ten: I'm Running Out of Titles
Much Needed Yet Completely Off Topic Pop Culture Rant: As much as I hate myself for it, I can't stop (won't stop?) watching "The Bachelor: Officer and a Gentleman". I just can't. Now is this because I believe that Bevin might actually be the first contestant to commit a felony assault on network television? Or because I could actually physically feel the awkwardness that Andy (the Bachelor who, it should be pointed out, does not move his facial muscles or open his mouth when speaking) felt when he realized that one of his top four contestants (Amber) was basically a 23 year old drama seeking sorority chick without parental approval to be on the show? Or that the most normal girl left doesn't even like him and seems freaked out by the entire premise of the show? Or that people still believe that maybe, maybe someone will actually get married at the end of a reality show contest taking place over six weeks? Or that the girls that go on it still express surprise and anger at the fact that he's also dating other women, even though they were the ones who tried out for the show knowing full well what it entails?? Or that I've actually spent time thinking about these things when I could have been doing other, important things like thinking up solutions to global warming or, I dunno, writing something? Whew. Sorry. I needed to get that out. Words: 1216 Feelings: Renewed Curiosity in Unimportant Details Fears: Mental Facilities Failing, Getting Overwhelmed with Changes I Need to Make Early in the Book, Not Eating Enough Protein, Women named Bevin Thoughts: Like most people born in the 80s, I have undiagnosed problems paying attention to things for long periods of time. Whether you blame it on the Internet, or the proliferation of Text Messaging or the Rain, the point remains: I have trouble remaining occupied by one thing for more than a 20 minute block. Some of this is productive. I come up with my best stuff wandering around a room, mumbling to myself, which--i've come to find out--is generally frowned upon in country club dining rooms. But other times, it's just that I feel this all-powerful urge to find out What Other Cooler Things Are Happening Elsewhere. I've touched on this before and I don't necessarily mean it in a physical sense, but more in the sense that I have all of the power of the Internet and my Cell phone and everything else in front of me. And so, you know, maybe I want to check and see if there is anything in the news on the NYTimes website or Boston.com or any one of the other news sites I convince myself I need to read, or on Slate, or on any of the blogs that I check out, or maybe I want to see what the stock market is doing, or the latest publishing news, or check out what profiles have been updated on Facebook, or Google myself, and then do it again using a different set of words, and then again. And knowing this about myself just means that I have to change up the way that I write, especially when I'm going on a two week binge to try and finish a novel. So my solution usually involves locking myself in a public place without free access to the Internet (read: Starbucks, Barnes and Noble, well-lit movie theatre lobbies) where other people will be working, which encourages me to work, and keeps me off the 'Net so I can't go browsing Zappos for the latest in mens footwear, or make hypothetical trades on stocks I just heard about in the boo-yah free zone on Jim Cramer's Mad Money. And even after taking all of this time and all of these pre-cautions I sometimes can't stop (won't stop?) going back in my book, looking at the pages of drivel from early in the book when my character outlines consisted of one sentence bio's (example: Tristan: cool guy, but not totally a cool guy?) and feeling this overwhelming sense that I need to go back and fix everything right away. So, friends, my point in all of this is that: writing is f-ing tough for me, and writing a novel if even more f-ing tough than all of the other stuff that I imagined I'd do, and writing a novel that doubles as your thesis that you want to be proud of and that you hope that your friends will eventually steal from their local public library is the toughest, most mentally demanding thing that I've done since I got braces. But, hopefully, like those same metallic, socially crippling attachments of my middle school years, I will look back on this not as a time of ridicule and pain, but as a process that will ultimately make something beautiful. Like my smile, post braces, pre-me not wearing my retainer. Question to Ponder: Is it normal that I can only remember sex scenes in any of the five or so Ken Follett novels I've read? Every Rose Has It's Thorn, Poison PS- pictured below: a typical Orthodontical funfest, googles included. 
Wednesday, May 09, 2007 9:18:57 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
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Monday, May 07, 2007
Mission Semi-Impossible: Day Nine: Back in the Game, Sort of
Bad Excuse Introductory Sidenote: Like a pregnant Elisabeth Hasselbeck and the rest of the View posse, I took the weekend off. Some people might call that selfish and lazy, and those people would be my father, but I call it regeneration, a chance to build back the atrophying muscles in my legs and behind and start anew. Or fresh. Or something. But that doesn't mean I didn't write. No sir. It just means I didn't write well. Or as I probably would've said before re-reading this, goodish. Words: 1834 Feelings: Confusion, Urgency, Emotional Misgivings Fears: My book's ending can't possibly make sense, I have an urge to take off my silk writing gloves and slap one of my characters, that despite getting 150 million in box office sales (just in Canada and the US), Spiderman won't be able to escape his inner demons. Thoughts: The thing is, your writing doesn't always have to make sense, right? Like, for instance, say you get through 1800 words and realize that, you know, maybe some of them aren't actually words (constabulating?) and that all a lot of them don't actually help do anything to the plot or character development so you spend a goodish length of time talking to one of your friends who is in the midst of law school finals asking him to help explain some of your character's motivations and he tells you that this is impossible for him seeing how he has never read the book nor does he wish to, and that, maybe, at some point in the future, if the book was published and out in hard cover, he would make a point of possibly checking it out of the library but right now he has to finish an exam on Contracts and, unless you are willing to tell him some potentially viable information re: the laws of Contracts, he has to go, and, by the way, those two new titles that you came up with for your book are not only not funny, they don't even really make sense and could turn off the three or four readers that are actually willing to purchase your book, but you should call him next week because he will be in NYC and maybe when you are there for the WD Conference and the BEA, you guys can get some drinks and talk about professional sports. That's totally fab okay, right? Question to Ponder: Has it ever really paid off to buy the " full week VIP bracelet package" from your super fun STA rep while on Spring Break? Join me tomorrow when I realize that writing in Baskerville Semibold isn't as intensely bold as it sounds. More than Words, Ex, treme PS- Pictured below: Two dudes high fivin' post purchase of their VIP bracelets, and an accurate drawing of the muscles in my legs.  
Monday, May 07, 2007 8:41:07 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
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Thursday, May 03, 2007
Mission Semi-Impossible: Day Eight: The Big Let Down
The E Hasselbeck Pregnancy Watch: Thanks to Trina, who thanks Yahoo news, who thanks the Associated Press, who thanks the unnamed writer of the story, we have confirmed that the View's Elisabeth Hasselbeck and her tooth brushing ploy didn't have any effect on her husband's libido: She is pregnant again. No word on what they plan on naming the baby, but sources close to the state of Washington inform me that it probably won't be "Raven". When asked to comment, Barbara Walters said, "Wait. I thought I was on 20/20."We will continue to bring you information you probably don't need about a show only I seem to care about as it becomes available. Words: 1045 Feelings: Let Down, Disappointment, Fatigue, Athlete's Foot? Fears: I can't think of anything to write about, I can't develop any of my characters in the ways that I want to, E Hass won't even consider naming her new kid (boy or girl) Kevin Alexander because she's selfish and doesn't check her email, I have what looks like a splinter in the side of my face which explains my father's sudden desire to "get take-out", I was not invited to be a contestant on the new CBS reality show called "Pirate Master" (seriously. that's seriously a new show) . Thoughts: Looking back, it was inevitable. You write a crucial climatic scene, you feel good about it, your word count is high, your cholesterol is low, you don't have any splinters and definitely none near your face, you just have to expect you're going to get burnt. Out. And burnt I got, to the tune of 8 hours, 1000 words. According to my math background that's like one word every... um, sh*t. See how hard this is? I tried, friends. I tried so hard to keep it going, but I literally couldn't think of anything to write. I knew that the chapter following the big climatic chapter would be sort of a transitional chapter, a "come-down" chapter, I had a vague (three line) outline of what needed to happen in said chapter, I refilled my Earl Grey tea four different times, I was wearing comfortable pants and clean undieskins, and still, still...empty. The fact that I managed to even get 1000 words is a testament to my refusal to get up and use the bathroom until that was so, even though almost everything I wrote was a self-parody of a self-parody of my actual work. Even enjoying a California Club Pizza from CPK in the company of my father did nothing to shake up the "creative juices". "I believe the term is stir up the creative juices," said my dad. See, friends? See the environment that I'm working in? How can anyone get good work done when their father clearly doesn't love them? Or, maybe worse, does love them, which leaves them with no angst, bitterness or pent up aggression to pour onto the page? Join me tomorrow when I overcome these setbacks and drop 2000 words worth of digitized magic before finding out that the splinter in my face is just an ingrown hair. I Guess You're Just What I Needed, The, Cars PS- Pictured Below: The Show I couldn't get on, Barbara and Rosie in a rare embrace, and the pizza that, despite being delicious, failed to get me my groove back.
  
Thursday, May 03, 2007 8:18:55 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
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Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Mission Semi-Impossible: Day Seven: Return to Glory
First things first: All apologies to anyone who tried to get on the blog on Monday and found it crashed. Apparently (and, let's be honest, understandably) our server can't handle pictures of Sgt Slaughter next to a shirtless Steve McQueen. Lesson learned. Next order of business: Frequent Blog commentator Trina dropped a hint yesterday that Elisabeth Hasselbeck could be pregnant again, which forced me to release the Google hounds in a search for more info. According to Celebrity Baby Blog, my source for all news and politics baby info, there is reason to believe both sides: on one hand, they point out E Hass is wearing flowy clothes but, on the other hand, they make the very necessary point that "Elisabeth mentioned on the show a few times last fall that she is trying to stay away from her husband (Seattle Seahawks QB) Tim to avoid getting pregnant again! She joked that she brushes her teeth for a very long time in hopes that he will be asleep by the time she gets to bed!" Icing her husband with long teeth cleaning and wearing flowy clothes? I dunno, kind of smells like a rocky marriage to me Trina... Anyway, if I had to venture a guess about the alleged Hasselbeck pregnancy, I would contend that they're waiting until they lock up Raven (or Tom Cruise handcuffed to Psychiatrist) before she drops the P word to maximize a total ratings bonanza!! And you thought this was just about writing... Final Pre-Writing Pop Culture Related Editorial Sidenote: The other day(s) I accidentally watched three episodes of the latest Bachelor: Officer and a Gentleman. And while he may be an Officer, he certainly is no gentleman. (Bonus Prediction: Assuming Bevin Doesn't Kill Everyone, My Lock to Win Ms. Gentleman: Danielle. She's a handsome woman, and according to previews, her father appears to be the real life version of the Muppet Beaker) Whew. Good talk. Moving on... Words: 2343 Feelings:Elation, Invincibility, An Increased Sense of Self Worth Sins: No sins were committed in the making of this blog post.. Fears: My computer would melt from the speed I was typing, that someone would interrupt my barrage of perfect ideas for pushing plot forward and I would accidentally throw them down the stairs, going back and revising the chapters I wrote years ago, that I'll never ride in a limo with a hot tub. Thoughts:My friend and fellow world traveler Casey, aka The Big Cat, is a man of many sayings. One of those sayings is "Don't stay up staring at me when I'm sleeping. Seriously, it freaks me out" but the more important and relevant saying for today is "Just Do It". Now, whether he ripped Nike off or Nike ripped him off is irrelevant, the point is that sometimes you have to quit your talking, quit your stalling and just...um, well, you remember. So finally, finally, I wrote the climatic scene. I stopped playing around and did it. It took less than 3 hours for me to write all 2300 words, which never happens. And I was into it. It was a tense and confrontational scene, and I found myself sweating and nervous as the words flowed out of my fingertips like pseudo lava in one of those science experiment things thats actually just baking soda, vinegar, and red food coloring. When it was over, I knew I had nothing left in me for the day. I was physically, emotionally, and mentally drained. I felt like I'd just worked out, then taken an AP Latin exam and then broke up a (potentially rocky?) celebrity marriage. But, like, in a really good way. Questions to Ponder: Can I keep up the scalding pace? Do I keep pushing forward or take a step back and outline? Will my father reveal where he keeps the key to the liquor cabinet in exchange for a free Steve McQueen ringtone? In the Hot Tub Poppin' Bubbly, Big, Pun PS: Pictured Below: A rare photo of Danielle from the Bachelor's father, the actual Bachelor copping patriotic but ungentlemanly feels, and below: a romantic first-date location.
  
Wednesday, May 02, 2007 7:25:53 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
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