Amazing what you'll find poking around on the interwebz. I have only a vague recollection of "The Politics of Dancing" by ReFlex, and have certainly never seen this video, but wow. If there's a better example of low-budget, British New Wave video-making, I've yet to see it. Roller skates!

Previously on Friday Night Videos... Bananarama.

Now Playing:
Chicken Ranch Central

I like Banarama's song "Cruel Summer," and thought about featuring it today as summer officially ends on Sunday. But the video is serious weak sauce. So instead I'm going with that girl group's other big hit, "Venus." I don't particularly like Banarama's dance cover of this old Shocking Blue hit, but I suppose that's okay, since I don't have much use for the original, either. But the video is absolutely nuts. I mean, it's gonzo insane, makes not a lick of sense even if you turn your head sideways, and looks like it was made for about 300ドル once the wacky costume rentals are paid for. They sure as heck didn't spend that much on choreography. Truly, this is something that could only exist in the 80s.

Previously on Friday Night Videos... Eddie Rabbit.

Now Playing: Gustav Holst The Planets
Chicken Ranch Central

Back the other month, I had an unfortunate incident where the lawn men working on my neighbor's yard hacked up part of my century plant in the front yard and then proceeded to remove a small trellis and mow down a passiflora tenuiloba plant I'd had growing beneath the agave. Needless to say, I was livid, because the tenuiloba, after two years, had finally put out flower buds. I've been trying to grow this uncommon Texas native (it's not rare--it grows wild in parts of South and West Texas, but it isn't in cultivation and very difficult to find through nurseries) for years now, and bad things keep happening to my plants. I put up a new trellis to guard it, put down some organic fertilizer and made an effort to keep it watered during our ongoing drought. I was rewarded with it rebounding quite well, and wonder of wonders, flowering freely for me! The photos below are from the second bloom from the plant, taken with my Canon 7D and EF 100mm 2.8 macro lens utilizing a ring light for illumination.

The flowers are tiny, maybe half an inch/centimeter across, and easy to miss. The pretty colors blend together when just observed with the naked eye, and look like a dark brown. It's not until the flower is magnified that the maroon and yellow in the filaments become obvious. The bad news is that tenuiloba is not self-fertile. I have another clone of the species I bought earlier this summer, but it's showing no signs of flowering. I'm at a loss for collecting pollen from these flowers, as I can barely see the anthers without a magnifying glass. Harvesting and storing the pollen would be a big challenge, especially with no idea if or when the other plant will flower...

Now Playing: Dave Davies Rock Bottom: Live at the Bottom Line
Chicken Ranch Central

So, by now it should be pretty clear to everyone paying attention that I have completed the Chicken Ranch book. Not only that, but I also put together a photo essay/coffee table companion book. With Chicken Ranch publication efforts now relegated to the "hurry up and wait" of the agent hunting process, I've no excuse not to turn by attentions back toward my first love--fiction writing.

Actually, that's misleading. It's more of a love/hate relationship. As is the case with many writers, I kinda hate the actual writing process. It's having written that I love.

To further my ends, during Worldcon earlier this month I rejoined Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America. I'd dropped out a couple of years back, not by any great design on my part. Mostly it was a case of the Chicken Ranch book utterly consuming me, and partly because of burnout. I'd volunteered in various capacities with SFWA since the early part of the decade. It was rewarding to an extent, and I believe in the organization's goals. But in my role of media relations guru, after a few years, some folks started promising me compensation for my efforts, in effect turning the media relations director into a paid position. Which is fine. I was happy to volunteer my efforts, but it's nice to know people value what you bring to the table. In any event, the compensation was a modest amount, but back then finances were tight, and even a little would make a difference. Except... well, good intentions and all that. Compensation never came through, which, again, would've been fine with me, but word got out that I'd gotten a paying gig within the organization. People made comments, putting me on the spot. It got more than a little awkward. So eventually I resigned my position, withdrew from general interactions and then simply dropped out. And to be honest, the notorious pit-fighting of SFWA got to me as well. No matter how benign a proposal, rest assured half the organization was going to feel duty-bound to argue with the other half. This inclination doesn't seem to have abated any during my absence. I missed a contentious expulsion of one member for excruciatingly bad behavior, but there's plenty of other angst to take its place.

Still, lest I sound too negative, the reason I rejoined is the same reason I joined in the first place: The social interaction with other writers and the creative stimulation this imparts. Worldcon drove home just how much my fiction career has suffered from my non-fiction efforts. People remembered me, sure. But I wasn't relevant. I hadn't published anything since 2011, when I had a little short-short in the Vandermeer's Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities. And I can't remember the last thing I published before that. Folks, that's an eternity in the genre publishing world. I had zero dinner invitations during the con, sold no stories, had no discussions of potential projects with other writers/editors. That's a complete 180 from my first Worldcon back in '97, which I--with but one short story sale to Interzone to my name and no scheduled programming--ended up selling a short story and half a dozen interviews over the weekend. I came away from LoneStarCon 3 somewhat dismayed, yes, but determined to rededicate myself to rebuilding what little reputation and presence I once had in genre publishing circles. That, in itself, is a major admission.

Sunday, I completed "A Life Less Illustrated," my first work of short fiction in three, maybe four years. I mailed it off today to Gordon Van Gelder at Fantasy & Science Fiction. Last night, I submitted another story to John Joseph Adams at Nightmare Magazine. I've also got submissions in the queue at Analog and TOR.com. That's four more stories than I've had on submission anywhere in the past four years, so I'm making an effort. But my submission efforts also revealed something else to me--my knowledge of the field is woefully out of date. Looking at the submission tracking system I used previously, I realized several new major markets have come into being whilst several old major markets have ceased to be. That doesn't even scratch the surface of the changes in semi-pro markets and editorial changed. I spent today revamping and updating my submissions list, which is exactly as tedious and mind-numbing as it sounds. But it had to be done, and now I need to keep the stories flowing to get my name back in front of the reading public.

Ultimately it may not matter all that much. Being a relatively slow writer who isn't known for being prolific, there's no way I can make a career out of writing short fiction. Not even a viable secondary career. I just don't have the output to reach the critical mass necessary. If I ever want to be something more than an obscure trivia question, I have to start writing novels. I think, maybe, the intense organization and time investment that went into the Chicken Ranch book can serve me well in that regard. I understand some things about long-form writing now that I haven't previously. Granted, that's a different type of writing, but I'm knee deep in research for Sailing Venus, a YA I've been promising to write for my kids for ages. I think I've got a better handle on some plot issues and pacing that may have confounded me in the past, and I've gotten some great background information from folks like Geoffrey Landis, so that's progress. I expect I'll finish a couple of story fragments I have laying around first, to shake the rust off, and by the end of the month maybe start on the first chapter.

The long and short of it is that I feel like I'm starting new, with zero credits to my name and a very steep learning curve staring me in the face. I've got a lot of work ahead of me, and those stories aren't going to write themselves. Wish me luck.

Now Playing: The Kinks Arthur, or the Decline and Fall of the British Empire
Chicken Ranch Central

Sigh.

Where to begin? Nevermind, this will be a short post.

I already knew last week that as far as Mondays go, today would be a challenge. And today proved me more than right. Work provided plenty of stress and difficulty on its own, wearing me down pretty effectively. But then around 3 p.m., I get a phone call. My grandmother has suffered an apparent stroke, and was admitted to the hospital.

That news is bad enough, but it gets better. I've alluded to our ongoing legal and guardianship battles involving my grandmother here in the past. The short version: A smooth-talking renter convinced her to sign over power of attorney to him (in secret) some years back, and then proceeded to transfer all her worldly wealth to himself. Because of this, we were forced to have my grandmother declared incompetent and gave the state of Texas guardianship. It's a long story, but a longer ordeal. But because of this drawn out fight, the hospital cannot legally release her medical condition to her family, nor are we allowed to visit. The current state worker serving as guardian is, to put it kindly, traditionally unresponsive to any and all attempts at communication.

So now all we know is that my grandmother is in "stable" condition. Whether that's stable following a massive, life-threatening stroke or stable following a minor episode of dizziness and incoherence... your guess is as good as mine.

Seriously, people, if an elderly relative of your begins showing signs of Alzheimer's or dementia, have them tested and declared incompetent if necessary--even if they hate you for it. You will be saving them, yourself and your family extended grief. I wish I hadn't been so averse to confrontation about five years ago, because I'm sure paying for it now.

Now Playing:
Chicken Ranch Central

As I drown my sorrows following A&M's 49-42 loss to Alabama earlier today (really, the Aggies would be well night unstoppable had they even a mediocre defense) I realize there's no need to let a celebratory beer go to waste, even if it has become a defacto consolation beer. And tonight's specialty brew is Old Knucklehead, an American barleywine-style from Bridgeport Brewing in Oregon. I pour in my German glass beer mug, straight from the refrigerator. It pours a clear, coppery red. The head, light tan, is modest and subdued. Lacing is impressive.

First taste is all hops. There's no nuance here at all, like an out of control IPA. Very disappointing. But... I did pour it straight out of the refrigerator. Darker, heavier beers are not usually at their best when served below 50 degrees, so I let it set beside my desk as I work to finish my first piece of fiction since 2011. 2011? Has it really been that long? I'm afraid so. Egads, that's depressing. A steady stream of micro bubbles rise in the Knucklehead, which really is a pretty beer. The color is great. The carbonation is restrained. Despite the overwhelming hops, the mouthfeel is nice--very different from the thin feel of the Flemish sour ale I had last week.

Okay, so I just went and showered. Enough time has passed for the temperature of the brew to climb up above 60 degrees. The scent has improved with temperature. Floral hops still dominate, but now I'm picking up vanilla and some malt earthiness. A little old leather. Hmm. I taste. Wow. HUGE improvement from before. I know we're accustomed to drinking beer ice cold in this country, but with more complex, higher alcohol beers should be treated more like a red wine and allowed to breathe and served a few degrees below room temperature to let their flavors come out. There's definite vanilla from the oak, earthy flavors, a hint of rum as well. The profile of the hops is much more subdued now, balanced much more nicely by the other flavors. Mouthfeel, which was good when cold, is even better now. The high alcohol content isn't obvious at first, but makes itself known with a definite warming of the back of the mouth and throat. The warmer it gets, the more a mellow, caramel-like profile emerges. Not sweet and malty like the dark Belgians I like, but interesting nonetheless. I'm not noticing much, if any, fruit overtones at all.

I've had better barleywines, but damned if I can remember which ones they were, I have the type so rarely. Knucklehead is a solid contender, though, if served at warmer temperatures. The caramel and oak are really coming on strong now, and the hops that were so overpowering at first are now doing a good job keeping everything nicely balanced. This isn't a beer I'd drink every day, but if you're looking for a barleywine to sample to familiarize yourself with the style, you could do far worse than Knucklehead.

Now Playing: Genesis ...And Then There Were Three...
Chicken Ranch Central

I've commented here before on how, despite the huge importance of videos to promote musicians in the 1980 and the arrival of networks such as Country Music Television (CMT) and the Nashville Network (TNN), country music videos by and large sucked. I mean, the sheer awfulness and incompetence of C&W music videos was just staggering on a general basis. Not only did country singers just not seem to get the concept, their record labels--often the same ones who produced slick, cinematic content for MTV--seemingly opted for inexperienced film-school dropouts more often than not if the video involved a country act. The video for Eddie Rabbitt's cover of "The Wanderer," however, is a clear exception. It's got all the cinematic polish one would expect from MTV, but I suppose that's not too surprising, seeing as how Rabbitt has never been part of the Randy Travis/George Strait traditionalist school of country music. Rabbitt has always has a strong crossover element to his work, and when you get down to it, his version of this song sounds infinitely more do-wop than two-step.

Previously on Friday Night Videos... Loverboy.

Now Playing: Clandestine Music From Home
Chicken Ranch Central