Getting Old

I am officially old.

I came to the conclusion today.  It did not hit me all at once of course.  It is simply a combination of recent events that has led me to this conclusion.  Let me recap my week.

ESPN did a story about Barry Larkin’s son who is the star point guard on this year’s University of Miami basketball team.  Now if you are not a sports fan this may not mean much to you.  But I remember arguing with my brother about this new rookie shortstop for the Reds named, Barry Larkin.  My brother thought he was a sure All Star; I was not convinced.  I just looked it up… that conversation took place 27 years ago!

 

I pulled an oblique shoveling this week.  Seriously, my side feels as if it went ten rounds with Mike Tyson.  It is throbbing as if it's been peppered by right jabs.  Let me repeat… I hurt myself shoveling. What’s next...pulling a hammy while golfing?  Man, am I old.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My sister sent me this really cool skit of Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake doing a take on The History of Rap.  The thing is… I knew all of the songs in the skit.  Every single one!  It was THE HISTORY OF RAP and I knew every single song.  I am as old as Rap!

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EPl0OGz2Cg

 

 

 

 

 

I play basketball on Saturday mornings in a Men’s league.  The High School season is over so many of the guys brought their teenage sons to play with us this week.  Thinking of myself as spry, I stepped up to guard these young whippersnappers.  Ten minutes later I was sucking wind, my back was twisting into knots, and I had given up a triple double!

 

 

I went out to dinner this week at 4:30 in the afternoon.  I was the only one under 80 in the place.

 

 

But what really put me over the edge was a conversation on the radio as I drove home from work.  The fact that I was listening to talk radio should have been signal enough that I was old. But it was the conversation on the radio that opened my eyes to how the years have passed me by.  They were discussing how the Los Angeles Times announced this week that they were cutting back on their newspaper coverage and cutting out the box scores in the sports page.  Their reasoning was that most people get their news through the internet these days and this made box scores obsolete.  What?  Wait a second… I used to spend hours as a kid reading over the box scores in the paper.  I used to love sitting there and letting the games play out in my mind as I read the stats.  I didn’t need ESPN or YouTube or Bleacher Report.  I had an imagination.

 

I can’t believe that kids today have no need for the box scores.  What do they do while eating their Pop tarts and getting ready for school in the morning?  Am I that much of a dinosaur that I like the feel of a newspaper in my hand?  Am I that old that I prefer to let the games play out in my mind instead of seeing hyped up replays flash across the screen at a techno pace? 

 

How did I get so old?

 

It is 8:30 pm on a Saturday night, I am tired and I am going to bed to ponder this very thought!

 

 

 

Lessons Learned at McDonalds

I am just about through the birthday gauntlet!

January and February are like a landmine of birthdays for my family.  I have three family members who celebrate birthdays in January and another three in February.  That is six presents, six cards and six family parties in the span of eight weeks.  Coming off the Christmas holiday, this stretch can break even the strongest of birthday party-goers. Add in two weeks of classes in Vermont and I am pretty much exhausted.

So, I admit I pulled a truly bad uncle move this week.  I combined two of these birthdays into one trip.  That is right- I took my two nephews to McDonalds to celebrate their birthdays together.  Hey, it sounded good at the time.  I would get a little nephew-uncle bonding time.  I would give my sister a bit of a break.  I would get two birthdays out of the way.  And I would come across as the fun uncle. 

 

Now, anyone out there with kids is laughing at me right now.  Because a trip to McDonalds with a four and six year-old is not as easy as it sounds.  Let’s just say I am out of kid shape!  I have muscles that hurt that I never knew existed. 

Here are the lessons learned from my innocent birthday trip to McDonalds:

 

Houdini would have had a difficult time getting out of a car seat. 

How many buckles do these things have anyways?  And of course one kid can easily undo the seat and jump out of the car while the other is stuck like he’s in a straitjacket.  Kids don’t wait patiently by the car for their brother either.

 

People go through the drive-thru because they are in a hurry. 

Seriously, it was like Frogger crossing the parking lot.  I don’t even think people slow down at the window, they just speed right through.  It was like Mario Andretti snatching a Happy Meal! 

Kids don’t do well with lines.

                They can’t stand still and have the attention span of a gnat. 

Kids can smell a crappy Happy Meal toy a mile away.

There is no pulling one over on kids.  They may be young but they understand a scam when they see one.

Chicken Nugget is false advertising.

                That wasn’t chicken is all I’m saying.

McDonalds Play Land is about as sanitary as a still pond in the Amazon.

The little kid drooling all over the slide put me over the edge.  I didn’t know this was a water park!  And unlike every mother on this planet… I do not carry hand sanitizer everywhere I go. 

Ice Cream cones are not designed to be eaten over time.

I consider my nephews pretty bright but why they couldn’t figure out that ice cream melts, I have no idea.  And unlike every mother on this planet… I do not carry wet naps everywhere I go.

Kids, for some unknown reason, enjoy screaming.

They enjoy screaming at one another, at other kids, at adults, at mirrors, at slides, at windows, at tables, at milkshakes, at store clerks, at climbing ropes, at ball bins, at ceiling fans, at French fries, at the ketchup stand and at one over-stimulated uncle!

 

Gobs of dried and crusty ketchup are just gross!

                Do kids dip their fries right on the table?  Seriously?

 

Kids have worse hearing than old people.

I vote for hearing aids for all kids under the age of eight because they obviously can’t hear the words, “it’s time to go home.”

 

Kids that can climb twenty feet high through a tiny little slide tube have the upper hand on adults.

                A parent elevator would have come in handy, Mr. Ronald McDonald!

 

 

And speaking of Ronald McDonald… he is one creepy dude.

                What is he?  A clown?  I’m not sure what’s going on with that guy.

 

Video games are melting kids’ minds.

With a huge climbing apparatus, numerous slides, a gigantic tub of balls to crawl in and new Happy Meal toys within arms-reach my nephews only had eyes for the little video game station in the corner.  I would have NASCARed it through the drive-thru, taken the food home and sat on my sister’s couch if I wanted to watch them play video games.  Get outside kids!  Run around!  Be creative! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Perhaps I should have gone back to school to become a video game designer and not a children’s writer.

 

 

 

 

Flowers, Literary Agents and My Mother

Tom Waits is “big in Japan.”

David Hasselhoff is huge in Germany.

I, however, am big… at the Janesville Rotary Botanical Gardens!

That’s right.  Thanks to the mega-marketing machine called Mom, the employees of the Botanical Garden are discussing my blog while pruning petunias and trimming tulips.  In the span of a week my mother has managed to double my readership.  Check out my newest readers at the below link… and tell them that Jeff sent you… fine tell them that Jeff’s mom sent you!

http://rotarybotanicalgardens.org/

I have no smooth transition from flowers to literary agents so I won’t even try.  I will just abruptly change topics on you.

I recently read an article that compared finding a literary agent to choosing a marriage partner.  I will admit as I was reading the article I had some trouble with the analogy.  Sure, I get it… if you are going to choose a literary agent to represent your work you need someone you can completely trust, someone you can work with, someone who will guide you and be there through the good times and the bad.  On a very simple platform this analogy works.  However, what if you were a dork?

Let me explain.

Look at this picture of me in high school.  This is me at graduation surrounded by several of my friends.  I am the one in the middle behind everyone.  What do you notice about this picture? Okay… stop it… it was the eighties and we all looked that way back then!

Do you know what I notice?

I notice the fact that I am in the back, behind everyone else.  This is pretty much where I was in every picture back then.  I never liked to stand out. I never wanted to be the center of attention.  I was quiet and shy and comfortable with standing in the background. In other words I was a dork.

You know what else I notice about that picture?  There are no girls around! None. Zip. Zilch. Nada.  In fact, the only picture of me with a girl back then would be if she happened to walk by in the background while the picture was being taken.  Look at the girls in this picture.  I am the farthest thing from their minds. Girls didn’t even know I existed back in high school.  Girls had more lively discussions about the rat in the gym locker room than about me.  You could take the five most popular girls in school and they may not even remember me.  I was not even a blip on their radar screen.  In other words I was a dork!

So to me… finding a literary agent is not like finding a marriage partner.  To me it is more like being back in high school and trying to date the most popular girl in school… the most popular girl in school who doesn’t even know I exist.

Literary agents receive hundreds of manuscripts a day.  They represent big name authors who win flashy awards and actually make money on their books.  They entertain the captain of the football team while everyone else is trying to get their attention.  They are the prom queens of the literary world.

I am once again a dork.  I am in the back trying desperately to be seen, too shy to step from the shadows.

I beg you literary agents… don’t overlook the shy kids in the back.  There might just be someone there who is full of potential and talent.  Someone who is willing to work his tail off to be special.  Someone who will go head over heels for you if given the chance.  Someone who could change your life. 

Give the kid in the back a chance…

… otherwise he will sic his mother on you!

 

 

Calling for a Cream Cheese Hiatus!

After such a long hiatus I must begin this blog by quoting the great philosopher Eminem:

Guess whose back

Back again

Jeff is back

Tell a friend

Guess whose back… Guess whose back… Guess whose back

Oh, it has been such a long time since I have written a blog.  It feels great to be back in the saddle again.  Aerosmith!

Okay… okay I will stop with the musical references.

What have I been doing since my last post you ask?  Let me catch my five readers up on what has been happening in my life.

Work

Finishing my creative thesis

Work

Progress on two manuscripts

Work

A graduate lecture

Work

Holidays

Family

Work

MFA Graduation

And more work!

That about sums up my time.  But enough of what has happened in the past.  We must move forward.  What lies ahead is what is important, not what is behind.  Carpe Diem… or something like that.

The Jeff Schill blog is back and better than ever.  I am back to regular posts on life, writing, reading or any other ramblings that may pop into my mind. 

In honor of my return I have decided to make a list of things I wish would go on a hiatus much like my blog did.  Here we go.

1)      Lindsay Lohan – seriously, how many times can one person avoid jail time

2)      Emotional Adverbial tags – I said excitedly!

3)      Abraham Lincoln – don’t get me wrong I like him as a president.  I just don’t need to see him slaying vampires or reenacted by Daniel Day Lewis

 

4)      People who say LOL or OMG during conversation

5)      Spinach – I know it is good for me, but no matter how you cook it… it still tastes terrible

6)      Justin Bieber ‘s white Lamborghini

7)      Cream Cheese – what is it?  It is neither cream nor cheese

8)      Kim Kardashian – while I’m on the whole Hollywood thing, I might as well throw her into the mix as well

9)      Deer Antler Spray – really? Athletes are putting this under their tongue?

 

 

10)   The real housewives of Atlanta, New York, Los Angeles, Beverly Hills, Orange County, Basketball Players, Soccer Players and wherever.

11)   Hibiscus shampoo – what is hibiscus anyways?

12)   Snow – I am tired of shoveling and scraping my windshield

 

 

 

I feel much better now that I got that out of my system.  I promise to make this blog a delightful reprieve from all the things that drive us crazy.  Tune in and read… you never know what I will lament on next.

 

If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

Am I a writer?

Merriam Webster simply defines a writer as, “one who writes.” 

Am I a writer!

I sit at my desk every evening tapping away at the keyboard.  That must make me a full-fledged writer!

But wait…

Dictionary.com defines a writer as, “a person engaged in writing books, articles, stories, etc., especially as an occupation or profession.”

Now what does that mean?  Especially as an occupation or profession?  I certainly don’t make money from my writing.  Forget supporting myself as a writer, I can’t even afford an ice cream cone from my writing income. 

But that word especially is a bit of a disclaimer isn’t it.  Does a person need to get paid for his or her work to be a writer?  How much money exactly do they need to make from writing for it to be considered a profession? Does a person need to be published to be a writer? 

Much like a tree falling in the forest… if no one reads my stories are they really stories? 

Am I a writer? 

Sure, I tap away every evening on my computer creating characters and plot lines but no one ever reads them.  Okay, okay, sure my wife reads them.  My writing group reads them.  And hopefully they make their way out of a slush pile and an agent or publisher reads them before sending back my rejection slip.  But after a while they simply go into a file on my computer and I start over with something new. 

Am I a writer?

Benjamin Franklin once said, “Either write something worth reading, or do things worth writing.” 

Wow!  Can you imagine being in a critique group with this guy.  Talk about pressure.  But he begs the question, if you don’t write something worth reading are you truly a writer?

Am I a writer?

Am I a writer?

Am I a writer?

Ernest Hemingway said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

Well maybe I am a writer after all!

Broken Suitcases

I hate it when my suitcase breaks!

As a business traveler I pride myself on not looking wrinkled and disheveled while carrying heavy bags through the terminal.  I avoid long lines by constantly scoping out the TSA path, careful not to get behind old people or strollers.  I never carry liquid in my carry on, never buy a belt with a metal latch and I only wear slip on shoes.  That is why I absolutely hate broken luggage. 

Yet, there I was on a recent trip to Brevard County, Florida hunched over, lugging my forty-five pound suitcase across the rental car parking lot because the handle on my suitcase would no longer work. 

It doesn’t take much to break a suitcase.  In fact, I go through at least two of them a year.  And the majority of the time it is the handle that does me in.  The handle slides up and down on two thin rails and all it takes is one heavy bag to come down just right and the track is bent and the roller won’t move.  I tried every tool available in a hotel room to fix the handle (yellow pages, coat hanger, bible, towels, and the flimsy room service menu). Nothing worked. 

The good news out of all of this is that as I was hammering on the rails with a Marriot pen it suddenly dawned on me what was wrong with my story.

My desire line was bent!

A character needs a clear desire line that smoothly moves all the way through the book much like the track on my suitcase.  If my desire line gets bent or moves off track in some way the story is not going to flow smoothly from beginning to end – and like my suitcase, the story will be broken.

So, I took my Marriot pen and outlined my character’s desires and needs on a tiny hotel pad of paper.  What I found was that I was off track.  I was writing scenes that were getting away from my desire line.  Thank goodness for broken luggage!

More good news… When I got home I saw that Kohls was having a sale on luggage… I wonder if I can buy a story while I am there as well!

Burying Saints!

Two weeks ago we decided to put our house up for sale.  It has been a whirlwind ever since. 

 

Get an agent!

Clean the house!

Get storage unit!

Move excess household items to storage!

Meet with financial guy!

Clean the house again!

Open House!

Bury St. Joseph!

Wait… what… did that say bury St. Joseph?

That is correct; an old Catholic tradition states that when selling a home it is helpful to bury St. Joseph upside down, facing the street.   Once the sale is complete St. Joseph is dug up and displayed in a place of honor within the new home. 

Our house had not been on the market for no more than a few days when I received a package in the mail from my Aunt Laverne.  Inside was a statue of St. Joseph with burial and prayer instructions.  Thanks Aunt Laverne!

The very next day my wife and I dug a hole.

We gently buried St. Joseph upside down facing the street.

 

We said our prayers.

We expect an offer soon!

But while I am waiting for that offer I have decided to do a little research to see if there is a Patron Saint of Writers.  Guess what I found?

St. Francis de Sales!

 

That’s correct; St. Francis is the patron Saint of Writers.  

The story goes that St. Francis traveled through the mountains of Switzerland spreading the word of Catholicism.  However, Switzerland at the time was staunch Calvinists and refused to even open the door when St. Francis called.  So he took to writing them notes and sliding them under the door.  Soon he had converted 40,000 people to Catholicism and was appointed the Bishop of Geneva in 1602.

I have currently ordered every statue of St. Francis I can find on the internet.  I am tearing up the floorboards underneath my writing desk and plan to bury every single one of them face down directly underneath my computer.

 

Hey, I will take any help I can get!