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Dido, the Published Author
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1234
Dido the Author in again, little photocopied copies of his book for sale, a "hand-colored" black and white bad illustration of a mountain, sea, and sun on the cover, he's colored it in with highlighter, the whole collection of 3 short stories runs maybe 28 half pages, he's typed the text but hand-numbered the pages, so 15 8X11 pages all told and he's charging $12.50. He'd been in before, I'd expressed interest, he's calling me out on it, now is not the time, there's not a dime to spare, I've been half-supporting BatSh*t, not him now as well, but he's only got the single book (a half-dozen copies), and so he waits and writes and reads books and plays on his laptop while I work the 3 hours it takes to afford it, buy a copy...
The whole time he's only drunk a glass of tap water, he's squatting our cyberspace, he's pleased I bought the book, in two years this makes almost a dozen he's sold, and now he's telling me about the other books he's going to write, a book about how to write books, a book on how to be a waiter (and he wants my advice, and I want so badly to tell him he'll find service improves greatly when he starts becoming a customer, but I don't...), so many books to write, he's low maintenance, conversations are short, I have other customers and I pretend to be busy with them...
...finally, the last hour he's had the place to himself, he gets the hint, we should get together, hang out, we could collaborate on a book, I could help him with his webpage, I've got my own creative projects I tell him, don't need this collaboration, "like what...?" he asks, then guesses writing, and - now, being a published author these past 2 years, he lords it over me..."Let me give you some advice...3 pieces...the second is...um..." and he's thinking, confused..."...um...just write whatever you want...and don't feel you have to start at the beginning, anywhere will do...and...well, I'll think about the rest..."
He wants to write a book on how to write a book, remember.
***
I read the book when I get home, it's about his kayaking adventures off the Haida Gwaii, Queen Charlottes', only there isn't any adventure, it's more about how he felt, about how he talked with the Sea Lions "Arrr Arrr Arrr" and there's a lot of that and then there's the telepathy with the whales, and there's the feelings of wonder, of loneliness, of man's place in the universe, it's like an even worse version of "Jonathan Livingston Seagull", if you can imagine, imagine it written by a lonely middle aged guy in a Kayak with the mental age of a developmentally delayed 12 year old and you have the idea. He paid an editor, 6 weeks it took them, not very well, proper editing would have had it tossed into a fireplace and one's hands warmed in front of it for the 30 or 40 BTU's it would have been worth...it'll be a fine Xmas gift for someone I haven't met yet I'm sure...That said, he's a "published author" and I gotta get off my ass while there's still time...
Vulcan at his forge
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1643
Vulcan, the blacksmith, in his forge, a sooty, greasy, black and white saturnine face I can almost recognize, wide, passed it on the highway to Nelson, now I've stopped, I want to grab my camera, he's hammering and twisting a piece of metal, and while he's huge he's using a small ordinary hammer, his arms aren't what I expect, and when I ask about the great hammers blacksmiths usually use he sighs, yes, but he doesn't any more, and he gets me to move the piece of twisted and flattened rod over to a large model of a plane, he wants it set on top, it will hold the windshield...
...Upstairs from the garage, a warm house, older, from an imagined childhood, a younger man, maybe 50, and his father, 70ish, and a child, running about, there's something wrong with the child, autistic, maybe, but he's taken to me, and they ask me if I speak English, well, I tell them, well enough, French? Not so Well, Italian? Only curses, and they confer among themselves, the little autistic kid is running around touching everything, looking for batteries, there are none, and I offer to drive him down to the local store, take him by his hand...
...wet, dark outside, leaving by the front door we walk over 2 big old doors set into the front stoop, root cellar, and I want to lift them, see what's downstairs, in the basement, the boy doesn't know, we carry on...drive down to Balfour, town, Balfour not Balfour, Balfour with a bunch of inviting cosy old restaurants on the top of a hill on this rainy Kootenay evening, people inside, we find the store-not-Balfour store, get him his battery, I want to go in to the restaurant, have a bite to eat, but I've got to get this kid home, I have a feeling they have a proposition for me, teach the kid English, better English, and maybe I can fill in the gaps in my finances...
The long ride from the dark side
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1065
And, on the camera, this video, 22 minutes of the ride from the "Dark Side". It's brilliant, after it's fashion, and I'm wondering "WTF" and he explains it to me...about how he wants me to dub it with Princess Di's voice, it's to be the opening scene, he has a clip in mind on VHS if I could just overlay it for him...
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And there's another story there, but I'll let you wait a bit for that, but maybe, without giving too much away I could hint at who just got engaged and just how much does he look like his pa anyways?
Batsh*t, The Musical
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1285
An enigma wrapped up in a riddle, no real name, a series of real events (death of son), as well as a series of what are most probably - certainly - fictional events, constant in the retelling, he's written down the lyrics of the love song that Mother Theresa wrote for him "I LOVE YOU ***** *****, I LOVE YOU..."...and I have the inspiration, the documentary, for sure, he's too entertaining to be kept here, but - maybe - a Broadway styled musical, the children of Calcutta singing "We love you *****" to him as he and Mother Theresa deliver the gold to the orphans, the countless misremembered jingles and lyrics that adorn his artwork, the random appearance of celebrities, the whole Baron Munchausen take on a life more richly lived......now he's talking about all the places that have banned him from their premises, the hot-springs, the post office - "...I mean, girls send me naked pictures of themselves all the time, I'm an artist!!!" (he'd made the mistake of opening his mail at the post office), and here he does the craziest impression ever of people telling him that he's been inappropriate, the fire chief on the East Shore, only when most people do impressions of people they change the voice, it's a bit comic and weird and exaggerated, only his voice - nasal, stringy, is suddenly exchanged for a "Normal Voice" - insane, it's like he's channeling every mockery of normal, you can't help but laugh out loud, and he's there, gesturing wildly, throwing his hands back, one mitten on, the other off, layered clothes, toque, hoodie, coat, vest,...the Sorceress, a new theme he's hinting at, the new chapter of his life, a lady, lives off in the woods, might be able to cure his tingling left hand, his drawing hand, it's been useless since the stroke, he's had to use his right, he's not right handed, she might be able to fix it, he's not holding his breath but there will be some new scrolls coming, a new chapter, I'm looking forward...
Meanwhile, this last batch, a Batsh*t original detailing how I should be suing the hot-springs on his behalf, "Lawyer Litn'n Rod", about how I'll sue for $5 million and get a 1.5 million "Out Quart" settlement, in Deutsche Krugerrands, an old Polaroid of a jeep in some sand dunes - a treasure map, drawn on a coaster, gangsta chases and cars, recipes, a map of Nelson that he's dubbed Twerpsville, the stone ground coffee he brings me, did I know he does it himself between rocks in the forest and I believe him, see the coarsely ground coffee, the pine needles poking through the bag...
I dug out an old HD Camera from the locker here, gave it to him with vague instructions, in return I get a long video - as long as the Ferry Ride, from the East Shore to Balfour, from inside the cafeteria, through the rainy window, a cup of coffee poured deliberately in front of the lens...long pause, a thermos is deliberately nudged, slowly, in front of the lens, then lifted up, it's hilarious, he's experimenting, figuring it out, and while this is insane there's great promise...other videos, he's now interviewing people on the Ferry, on the ride in to Nelson, asking inane questions, now he's the one making documentaries..."ha ha I ain't trimmed my toes in haf time 'roun the sun", - a detail from one of his scrolls...
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