A swing and a ...

It is baseball season. Which means my brother is probably recording for his First Pitch Strike podcast. And if he’s not working on the podcast, he’s probably watching baseball. I know for a fact he was in Denver yesterday to watch the Mariners annihilate the Rockies in their home stadium.

Baseball runs in my family. My dad was a pitcher in high school. Growing up, the Mariners were broadcasted somewhere in our home, either on TV or the radio - sometimes both. The voice of Dave Niehaus is the sound of my childhood. Even though I didn’t play baseball, there was nothing more special than a trip to the Kingdome to watch the boys of summer play, fireworks ignited every time one of the M’s hit a home run. During my nephew’s high school days in Cheyenne, he was a star pitcher and he’s now returned to join his old team’s coaching staff. So far, two of my five kids have entered the world of America’s past time. Last summer, my eleven year old’s softball team took first place in their league.

Peewee baseball/softball is a bizarre creature. I’d call it organized chaos but there is very little organization present. I’ve observed this curiosity twice now and it wouldn’t surprise me if our youngest follows her older siblings’ footsteps.

First there’s t-ball: everybody swings and everybody runs. Sometimes they run even when they don’t get a hit. This phase is pure comedy. There are kids who don’t know what to do when they hit the ball so they stand at home plate until one of the adults drags them to first base. Other kids run the wrong direction after the hit. Inevitably, the helmets are far too big for some players, permanently obscuring their vision. Once on base, nearly every kid will keep on running until they reach home.

Years later they have it figured out. Uniforms fit and teams are sponsored by local businesses. There are strike outs and line drives. Fielders dive for balls and runners slide into bases. Kids stop swinging at every pitch, they make fewer errors, and teams become more competitive. Wins and losses suddenly matter.

Between these two stages there is another form of the game, one where the rules don’t matter and the goal is giving players experience. This is the transition time, the first year without a batting T. Coaches pitch for their own team and batters are up until they get a hit. Strike one? Cool. Keep going. Strike 13? It’ll happen eventually. Keep trying. Batters at this age are given infinite strikes. The moment their bat makes contact, everyone cheers - even if it’s a foul ball.

In the creation of a novel, there are phases. First is the raw work: plotting and planning, researching, drafting, editing, rewriting, beta readers, and more editing. Eventually you figure it out. There’s a contract signed with a publisher - perhaps with one of the big five or a small regional press or you decide to self publish. Then one day, an author walks into their favorite book store and finds their novel under new releases, debut authors, or local writers. There are no real wrong paths here. Publishing a book is a gargantuan task.

But somewhere between those two stages is something different and a million times more chaotic. Publishers don’t accept submissions from authors but they will accept them from agents. If an author hopes to get traditionally published, they need to find an agent who will sell the book to a publishing house. To secure an agent, authors submit queries to various agents. It is time consuming because every agent wants something different. If you’re not prepared for rejection, it can also be a little soul crushing.

Writers on social media jokingly call this period the query trenches as if we’re dug in for battle and we must be careful not to lift our head above ground at the wrong time.

But for me, it feels a little like peewee baseball - that first year after the batting T is removed. I get infinite pitches. I send agents information about me and my book. That’s the pitch. I’m swinging every time. I’m aiming for the fences. If your query isn’t a good fit for an agent, or they’re just not interested, they send you a rejection letter - usually a form email. That’s a strike. However, don’t despair - just like little leagues, there are no strikeouts. I get another pitch. I get another chance to swing. If it’s another strike, I’m still up to bat.

The writing community is a lot like those little league teams. As soon as an author gets a hit - an agent request for a full or partial copy of their book, or makes an offer of representation, everyone cheers. We don’t care if that author is a friend or a stranger or a competitor. A success for them means we have a chance when it’s our turn to bat. That’s what we do in the trenches. We root for other writers while we swing at pitch after pitch after pitch. From the first rejection to the fiftieth, the only way we can strike out is if we quit playing. As long as our heart is in the game, there’s always another agent.

I’m not a big baseball person. Not like my dad, brother, and nephew. I’ll attend an occasional Spokane Indians game and make it to as many of my kids’ little league games as possible. The only time I’ll watch baseball on TV is if the Mariners are playing. Being an M’s fan is a labor of love. It is truly a practice of long suffering. Perhaps being a fan of the best team to never win the World Series prepared me for the query trenches. At the end of every season, Mariners fans confidently declare “next year will be our year.” In a similar fashion, after every rejection, I tell myself “here’s to the next one.” I step back into the batter’s box ready to take another swing.

Light in the Darkest Hours

It was a song from an underground hip-hop collective: lo-fi beats, heavy turntablism, and cypher styled rap verses: “The Night We Called It a Day” by Deepspace5. This song (along with the rest of their debut album) helped me fall in love with the art and culture of rap music. The track opened with a melancholic acoustic guitar sample and the static of vinyl before the DJ starts scratching records. In the scratches, there’s a single spoken line, broken up with the flick of the DJ’s fingers.

“Those who need light - light-light - for those who need light in they darkest hours - in they darkest hours”

It’s like a grown up version of “This Little Light of Mine” for those who enjoy coffee shops and old school beats. Millions of kids listen to hip-hop as a means of escape. They enter it like a refuge - an oasis in the desert of urban violence. I understand them. I once used grunge and punk rock as a safe place from the torment of the bullies who verbally and physically abused me through my teen years. It was my light in my darkest hours.

Even though it’s been a while since I’ve listened to the song, I still get this Deepspace5 phrase stuck in my head, repeating like a mantra. I walk around with those nine words on repeat. For those who need light in they darkest hours. They darkest hours. Light in they darkest hours. Then I see those in their darkest hours who need some light and feel moved to speak up, to do something.

These days, those who need light in they darkest hours are easy to find. Between school shootings and police violence, natural disasters and pandemics, extreme politics and foreign wars, there’s a lot of light needed for a daunting number of people in their darkest hours.

Not everyone seeks light from darkness. Many seek light in darkness. While it seems counterintuitive, there are those who find light through scary stories. Whether told around campfires, read in pulp novels, listened to in true crime podcasts, or watched on the big screen, the elements of horror can distract us from the frights of real life. Somehow the darkness of vampires, werewolves, ghosts, and aliens are brighter than homes filled with abuse and addiction.

Kids will watch a slasher movie and think “if the final girl survives the masked serial killer hunting down teenagers, then I’ll survive my abusive parents.” Those in pain will read books about an exorcism and think “if the demons can be cast out from this possessed child, perhaps I can conquer my own demons.” Laughing at jump scares in video games help some kids feel less fear when police arrive to defuse a domestic disturbance.

So why do I love the horror genre? I was raised in a safe community by two parents who loved each other with no darkness to escape. My parents were not abusive. Despite being poor, they fed me and kept a roof over our heads. They supported my creative endeavors. I did not endure any major adolescent trauma. I never got into legal trouble. I was socially awkward but still had a few great friends. My parents didn’t even allow me to watch scary movies. Aside from being bullied, I had a decent childhood.

And I have a good life today. My parents are still together after nearly fifty years of marriage. I am married to a woman who loves me more than I knew was possible. I have a great job. I’m DJing and writing and farming and raising kids and have a life so full I could burst. Between the dogs and the horses and the family, I am surrounded by a loving support system and many reasons to celebrate. Yet I still crave books by Stephen King and Dean Koontz. I’m enraptured by movies from Jordan Peele and Guillermo del Toro. I’m still thrilled when a creepy book or game keeps me awake all night. It seems I seek darkness in my brightest hours.

Thanks to the world of podcasts, I think I understand my unique proclivities. While driving around the INW for work, I’m listening to storytellers do what they do best. Hood Politics, Murder Myth & Mystery, The Secret Room, Haileywood. If iron sharpens iron, I hope to hone my own abilities to craft engaging tales.

In a recent episode of Morbid, Alaina Urquhart and Ashleigh Kelly shared stories of haunted lighthouses in America. One of those spooky landmarks is the Bolivar Point Lighthouse in Galveston Texas.

When a hurricane entered the Gulf of Mexico in 1900, H. C. Claiborne (the lighthouse keeper) wasn’t worried. He had purchased enough food to last through the season so he and his family could remain at Bolivar Point for a few months, and the lighthouse structure was strong. Claiborne was confident it could withstand any storm.

image courtesy of Lighthouse Friends

As you could imagine, meteorology was not as technically advanced at the beginning of the 20th century as it is today. No one was sure where the hurricane would make landfall. The big waves thrust into the shores of northeastern Texas became a spectacle with thousands of curious people crowding the beaches of Galveston Island and Bolivar Peninsula. Many of the onlookers ignored the warnings of local officials urging them to move inland and seek higher ground. By the time the storm surge reached land, it was too late. They were experiencing the deadliest natural disaster in American history.

It could have been deadlier - and would have if it had not been for Claiborne. The rising waters stranded a train with more than 300 passengers near the Bolivar Point lighthouse. They waded through the waters to reach the door of the tower. Claiborne opened it up and let in at least 125 of the passengers before he had to close and barricade the door.

Those who sheltered in the stairwell of the lighthouse found safety, but not comfort. Two or three people sat on every step of the spiral stairs, from the flooded entrance to the top level where Claiborne continued to perform his duties keeping the light shining to guide wayward ships into Galveston Bay. In the dark of storm and night, Claiborne rationed his family’s food supplies to make sure the storm’s refugees had something to eat, and the crowd drank rainwater to sate their thirst. What they didn’t know of until after the storm had passed were the bodies piling up outside the lighthouse door.

The Bolivar Lighthouse was a bright spot along the Texas coast. It was a beacon for sailors seeking safe harbor. Yet its greatest moment came when the tower was plunged into darkness and one selfless man saved 125 souls from a hurricane that killed 8000.

Within a week of hearing this story, I listened to a remastered episode of Lore about more lighthouses. The show focused on the reason tales of haunted lighthouses are so prevalent. These landmarks were designed to offer light, guidance, and hope. Yet throughout history, lighthouse buildings have been filled with the loneliness of isolation. They’ve been sites of grief and tragedy; homes to mental anguish, injury, and death. Ghosts may not exist but the reasons people believe they are real are valid.

Then the show’s host, Aaron Mahnke said something that was an a-ha moment for me. From this perspective, it all makes sense.

My interests and pursuits seem unlikely. A good boy raised in a stable Christian home should have never taken a liking to the horror genre. Yet I’ve found myself thriving somewhere between The Tell-Tale Heart and 30 Days of Night. I’ve lived a blessed life while reveling in the macabre.

The book I’m working on features characters enduring some dark events. When I’m done with this, I will begin working on a Christmas themed ghost story about a man haunted by his mistakes. The stories I’m crafting are filled with grief, loss, tragedy, and death - the basis of many of the monsters which lurk in the myths and fables of scary legends and modern lore. It seems Mahnke’s hypothesis is proven in me - my tales of horror come from where my light shines brightest.

In this way, I hope to become what God created me to be: a lighthouse. A place of light and a shelter in storm, often plunged into the agony, muck, and mire of human existence. Then from the darkness, continue to illuminate a way for others to survive the strife of their own lives.

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine, for those who need light in they darkest hours.

Two Towers

On the drive to work this morning, I noticed a cell tower standing in the field north of Cabellas. Actually, I saw two of them in the same empty lot - close enough that you could fly a paper airplane from one to the other. I've passed this plot of land more times than I could count and never recognized the two towers standing there to transmit my LTE signals. I've seen them, but I've never noticed them.

They're there. And they've been there for a long time. Yet I've driven by time and time again completely oblivious to their presence. They have a purpose, fully functional. I can make and receive phone calls because they exist. I'm usually streaming a podcast while I drive that stretch of road, which means my smartphone is accessing the internet carried by one of those cell towers.

I got my first cell phone in 2002. It was a part of a T-Mobile promotion for DirecTV employees. I filled out the application on my lunch break, selected the device and calling plan - voice only, no texts. The only game I could play on it was Snake. In the years since then, as mobile providers expand their coverage and fight with each other to build the most reliable network, the population of cell towers have exploded. They now dot the landscape of every city, town, and village across America. They've become so common they're often overlooked.

Let's be honest though. It's probably best that we ignore the sight of the towers providing our cell reception. They're ugly constructions, not architecturally appealing in any way, shape, or form. They're hideous enough, some people attempt to disguise them as trees like the one near the Daybreak Coffee stand at Prairie and Ramsey in Hayden. However, the nature costume is clearly artificial looking; it's even more garish than the standard cell tower.

Whether incognito or undisguised, cell towers are an eyesore, one we have become so accustomed to seeing they blend into the scenery. On most days, we can pretend they don't exist.

As I turned onto Seltice to cross the Spokane River and continue my morning commute, I observed that which I've repeatedly disregarded. Two cell towers. For the first time since signing my contract with T-Mobile sixteen years ago, I pondered the existence of these towers I've long taken for granted.

It made me think about time travel. What if we jumped in our DeLorean and went backwards thirty years? In 1988, my dad is probably playing a pinball machine in Godfather's Pizza while the jukebox plays Richard Marx's Hold On to the Nights. Cinephiles were in line for tickets to see Young Guns after enjoying Die Hard and Cocktail earlier in the summer. Anyone using satellite service for their television had a twelve-foot diameter dish in their yard. Mark Langston had a great year as a pitcher despite the Mariners finishing last place in their division. A few individuals used cellular phones on a 1G network with bricks that took ten hours to charge and only provided a half hour of talk time. Cell service was a luxury at a cost greater than what most Americans could afford, and cell towers did not dot the countryside.

Could you imagine going back in time and trying to explain a cell tower to a resident of history? Or even attempting to describe one to a younger version of you? Or what if a traveler from the past came to our time and saw these ugly base transceiver stations lurking behind office buildings, attached to billboards, or freestanding in the middle of fields? What would they think? How would we justify their presence? Would they return to their era and convince everyone we need to rethink this cell phone thing?

I am thankful I'm able to carry around one small device in my pocket that replaces a multitude of gadgets my younger self would have never been able to manage. I am grateful my phone is also my camera, video camera, calculator, compass, altimeter, GPS, voice recorder, Walkman, planner, and so much more. I appreciate being able to read the news, listen to the radio, research for my book, watch a movie, take classes, keep in touch with old friends, and go shopping all from the convenience of my iPhone. It's amazing that I can do those things from almost anywhere. However, not all the wonders of our technological advances are beneficial or aesthetically pleasing. Sure, I'm used to seeing mobile phone masts scattered in every community. I've practically become numb to them. However, I sometimes miss seeing unobstructed views of mountains, forests, pastures, and rolling hills. Sometimes, I am disgusted by the towers and monuments of digital progress.

Days like these, I wonder what tomorrow holds. Will the archaeologists of a future society dig up the ruins of our civilization to discover ancient cell towers then describe our people as primitive for using such crude structures to communicate with each other?

The movies of 2017

We are two days into the month of February and I have finally listened to the yearly recaps from my movie and pop culture podcasts: Filmspotting, Relevant, Weekly Planet, and You Hate Movies. Now I am adequately prepared to list my favorite movies of last year. My top ten list has been compiled but first, a disclaimer.

Financial budgets and time restraints mean I'm unable to see every movie. There were movies I wanted to watch yet have not yet been able to do so. I feel as if I've failed as a geek because of these five omissions. I hope to correct my errors as soon as possible.

5. Blade Runner 2049
4. Colossal
3. The Girl with All the Gifts
2. Thor: Ragnarok
1. Wonder Woman

Now, my ten favorite movies from 2017.

10. Bright (Netflix) starring Will Smith and Joel Edgerton. Two cops, a human and an orc protect an elf with a mythical magic wand and find themselves at the center of a dispute over an ancient prophecy. The movie critiques race relations, class warfare, and police corruption in a story that answers what would happen if Tolkien's creatures from Lord of the Rings existed in modern Los Angeles.

9. Kong: Skull Island (Warner Bros) starring John Goodman, Samuel L Jackson, Brie Larson, and Tom Hiddleston. A group of scientists and soldiers are sent to an unexplored island at the end of the Vietnam War in hopes to prove the existence of a mythical giant creature.

8. The Lego Batman Movie (Warner Bros) starring Will Arnett, Zack Galifianakis, Michael Cera, and Rosario Dawson. Lego versions of Batman, Robin, and Batgirl try to maintain order in Gotham as Batman unleashes the villains of multitude of other franchises in an attempt to permanently defeat The Joker.

7. Split (Universal) starring James McAvoy and Anya Taylor-Joy. A troubled teen is kidnapped by a disturbed individual with dissociative identity disorder. The film follows her efforts to escape while interacting with many of Kevin's 23 personalities.

6. John Wick: Chapter 2 (Lionsgate) starring Keanu Reeves. Wick is still can't escape the world of assassins despite his desire to retire to a life of peace. So, he shoots a bunch of people. Again.

5. Downsizing (Paramount) starring Matt Damon, Hong Chau, and Christoph Waltz. After an irreversible medical shrinking procedure, a newly divorced man tries to figure out who his is and his place in this world.

4. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (Disney/Marvel) starring Chris Pratt, Zoe Saldana, Dave Bautista, Vin Diesel, Bradley Cooper, and Kurt Russell. Star Lord, Gamora, Drax, Rocket Raccoon, and Baby Groot face their greatest challenge yet - an absentee father named Ego.

3. Get Out (Universal) starring Daniel Kaluuya and Allison Williams. Chris, a photographer from the city travels to the country side with his girlfriend to meet her parents - a neurosurgeon and a hypnotherapist. It doesn't go well. After hearing racist comments from his girlfriend's brother and witnessing odd behavior from the groundskeeper and housekeeper, Chris begins to suspect something disturbing about the family.

2. It (Warner Bros) starring Jaeden Lieberher, Bill Skarsgård, Sophia Lillis, Jeremy Ray Taylor, Finn Wolfhard, Jack Dylan Grazer, Chosen Jacobs, and Wyatt Oleff. A group of nerdy kids and outcasts collectively known as the Losers Club battle violent bullies, abusive adults, and Pennywise the creepy shape-shifting killer clown who feeds off fear.

1. Logan (20th Century Fox/Marvel) starring Hugh Jackman, Patrick Stewart, and Dafne Keen. Jackman's ninth and final performance as Wolverine is easily the best of the entire X-Men franchise. It also packs the greatest emotional punch. Logan (AKA Wolverine) is getting old and his mutant healing powers are not as strong as they once were. He provides palliative care to a senile and cantankerous Charles Xavier (AKA Professor) in a world where all other mutants have been killed. Logan crosses paths with his clone, a young girl trying to find freedom from the diabolical scientists who have been experimenting on her and her friends. It's a superhero movie, a genre I love, based on one of the first comic book characters I read when I was a junior high student. It's also a mature story with an ending that made me cry ugly tears.

What was your favorite movie of 2017? What did I miss?

Movies, Mahnke, & Money

If you order DVDs through Netflix, old school style, they are delivered in fancy red envelopes. Open it up, watch the movie, insert back into the envelope, and return through mail. Fairly simple. Inside the envelopes, they promote various contests or upcoming events, usually seasonally related. However, the most current contest confused my oldest child.

"This doesn't make any sense." Christian said. I asked him what he meant and he explained, "Why would you bring movies with you if you were going to be stranded on a deserted island? Wouldn't you rather bring some survival supplies? If I was stranded on an island, I'd be more focused on living and getting back home than watching my favorite movies. Besides, what are you going to watch them on? Your laptop? And how long do you expect your battery to last? It's not like there's a TV there. Or electricity. Unless there are other people on the island and they have a TV you can use. But then you wouldn't be stranded. This is ridiculous."

I want to say he was overthinking things. Taking it too literally. After all, it is only a silly contest. But he does have a good point.

---

One of my current favorite podcasts is called Lore. Hosted by novelist Aaron Mahnke, Lore dives into the true origins behind ghost stories, monsters of legend, and modern mythology. I crave a good story and Lore is overflowing with greatness. The show is fascinating, and Mahnke's voice is near hypnotic. My off-kilter timbre landing somewhere on the spectrum between Mickey Mouse and Eeyore is jealous. Beyond his podcast, Mahnke is also an entertaining personality to follow on Twitter. He is witty, intelligent, and articulate. His bias is clear but not in a way to elevate himself as better than anyone else.

Last week, Mahnke went on a tweet spree. This series of tweets cemented his place on my list of people I want to meet some day. Note: this was all in response to people complaining he was "too political."

I used to hope that society could evolve into something more equitable and fair, but perhaps our flaws are too deeply embedded in our core.

— Aaron Mahnke (@amahnke) July 28, 2017

I thought we were moving forward. I thought we were creating a society where you are valuable just because you are here.

— Aaron Mahnke (@amahnke) July 28, 2017

Instead, things outside our control determine our worth in the eyes of the people who rule us. Our race, our gender, our color. It's sick.

— Aaron Mahnke (@amahnke) July 28, 2017

Enough people actually believe in these lies that we can hear their voice shouting over the crowd, and it's disgusting and horrifying.

— Aaron Mahnke (@amahnke) July 28, 2017

All of a sudden, raising my children to believe that everyone is equal and deserves the same opportunities is somehow counter-cultural.

— Aaron Mahnke (@amahnke) July 28, 2017

How the hell did we get here? How did we allow fear to creep in and become the engine that drives us? I thought we were better than this.

— Aaron Mahnke (@amahnke) July 28, 2017

We've made it about faith, or color, or gender, or orientation, when it should simply be about the value of a human being.

— Aaron Mahnke (@amahnke) July 28, 2017

I get it. They want us to shut up. They want us to accept the hate, swallow the pill, & play along. They want us to bend over.

Screw that.

— Aaron Mahnke (@amahnke) July 28, 2017

I'm not here to be silent. I'm not here to say it's OK by not saying anything at all. I'm here to say political, uncomfortable things.

— Aaron Mahnke (@amahnke) July 28, 2017

Don't like it when I speak out about how every person deserves to be treated the same? Then get off the train. I'm driving; not you.

— Aaron Mahnke (@amahnke) July 28, 2017

Reading through his rant, I wanted to jump up and down, throw my fists in the air, and shout, "Me too!" Check out Mahnke on Twitter and do yourself a favor, listen to Lore.

---

Whoever thought that chipped debit cards was a good idea should be fired from their job. Then rehired so they can be fired again. And they should be banned from working in research and development at any company - especially banks. Some people have good ideas. That person is not one of them.

I'd rather swipe my card. I hate those chip readers. Loathe them. They've made spending money more complicated than it needs to be. But this is the world we live in now. Yay for progress.

This is how a real transaction transpires:
"Please swipe or insert card." *swipes card*
"Chip enabled, please insert card." *inserts card*
*waits*
"Do not remove card"
*waits*
"Do you want cash back?" *no*
*waits*
"Please enter your PIN number" *enters PIN*
*waits*
"Do not remove card"
*waits*
"Do not remove card"
*waits*
"Do not remove card"
*waits*
"Please remove your card now." *removes card and machine beeps*
"Thank you for shopping with us, have a nice day.

This is how every transaction feels:
"Please swipe or insert card." *swipes card*
"Swiping not available. Ha ha. Fooled you. Insert card." *inserts card*
"Do not remove card." *waits*
"No, seriously, don't remove your card." *waits*
"Don't even think about removing your card." *waits*
"Don't do it, bad stuff will happen." *waits*
"Do you want cash back?" *no*
"You're thinking about removing your card, aren't you?" *no*
"If you do it, I will break you."
"Please enter your PIN number" *enters PIN*
"Do not remove card." *waits*
"Do not remove card." *waits*
"Because if you do, it will disrupt the process." *waits*
"Do you want to start this process over? DO YOU???" *no*
"Then don't remove your card." *waits*
"Remove your card. DO IT NOW! Hurry up. What is wrong with you?" *panics, grabs receipt instead of card*
"What are you doing?" *removes card as an air raid siren starts whirring*
"It's about time. Thank you, come again."