Author: R.J. Keller

Eight is Enough

/ R.J. Keller / 2 Comments

I’ve been ‘tagged’ by Jaden @ ScreenWriting for Hollywood to post eight random facts about myself. Here goes:

1. I got my very first crush on Han Solo after seeing Empire Strikes Back at the drive-in theater at the age of nine. I want to be clear about this: Han Solo, not Harrison Ford.

2. I rarely wear matching socks. I hate folding them, so I throw them all in a big basket and most days I just pick out two at random.

3. I cut my own hair because I’m too cheap to go to a salon. I use the money I save to buy books.

4. In high school, I wrote a term paper for a guy I had a crush on. (Not Han Solo.) He got an A. Then he completely ignored me for the rest of our senior year. Asshole. May his pipe never smoke, may his teapot be broke, etc, etc, etc…

5. I once saw Stephen King at the Bangor Mall, back in the 80’s, but I was too chicken to ask for an autograph. Or to do anything except stare at him like a total idiot.

6. My youngest brother now works as an intern for the sports radio station Stephen King owns. He refuses to arrange an introduction. I can’t blame him.

7. I’ve seen Gosford Park 22 times, 6 of those while listening to Julian Fellowes’ DVD commentary.

8. I own the soundtrack to Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure. And I listen to it.

Okay…now I’m supposed to ‘tag’ someone else. I’ll make it Matt, because he’s new to blogging, and Elle, because I want to see what sort of embarrassing stuff she’s got hidden in her sock basket. These are the rules:

1. Each player starts with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged, write a blog post about their own 8 random things, and post these rules.
3. At the end of your post you need to tag a couple others (the number is apparently up to the tagger) and include their names.
4. Don’t forget to leave them a comment and tell them they’ve been tagged, and to read your blog.

Eight is Enough

/ R.J. Keller / 2 Comments

I’ve been ‘tagged’ by Jaden @ ScreenWriting for Hollywood to post eight random facts about myself. Here goes:

1. I got my very first crush on Han Solo after seeing Empire Strikes Back at the drive-in theater at the age of nine. I want to be clear about this: Han Solo, not Harrison Ford.

2. I rarely wear matching socks. I hate folding them, so I throw them all in a big basket and most days I just pick out two at random.

3. I cut my own hair because I’m too cheap to go to a salon. I use the money I save to buy books.

4. In high school, I wrote a term paper for a guy I had a crush on. (Not Han Solo.) He got an A. Then he completely ignored me for the rest of our senior year. Asshole. May his pipe never smoke, may his teapot be broke, etc, etc, etc…

5. I once saw Stephen King at the Bangor Mall, back in the 80’s, but I was too chicken to ask for an autograph. Or to do anything except stare at him like a total idiot.

6. My youngest brother now works as an intern for the sports radio station Stephen King owns. He refuses to arrange an introduction. I can’t blame him.

7. I’ve seen Gosford Park 22 times, 6 of those while listening to Julian Fellowes’ DVD commentary.

8. I own the soundtrack to Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure. And I listen to it.

Okay…now I’m supposed to ‘tag’ someone else. I’ll make it Matt, because he’s new to blogging, and Elle, because I want to see what sort of embarrassing stuff she’s got hidden in her sock basket. These are the rules:

1. Each player starts with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged, write a blog post about their own 8 random things, and post these rules.
3. At the end of your post you need to tag a couple others (the number is apparently up to the tagger) and include their names.
4. Don’t forget to leave them a comment and tell them they’ve been tagged, and to read your blog.

Potluck Post

/ R.J. Keller / 4 Comments

~ Just a reminder that this Sunday Waiting for Spring begins its serialization at Readers and Writers Blog. Don’t worry…I’ll remind you again on Sunday.

~ I love poetry and don’t think it gets enough attention these days. If you agree, then check out PoetMouse and Poetic Extravaganza.

~ If you haven’t read any of Jasper Fforde’s Thursday Next books, then you should get started on them right away.

~ At the moment, it’s a balmy 64 degrees outside, so I would love to open up my windows. Alas! the farmer up the road is fertilizing his fields.

~ A new report suggests that breast cancer tumors grow faster in younger women. If you’re reading this blog then chances are I like you at least a little and would like you to be around for a very long time. So if you’ve got boobs, then take care of ’em. Take care of yourself.

Midnight Chronicles

/ R.J. Keller / 2 Comments

Random notes from three nights on the graveyard shift…

Shift 1

Saturday May 3
11:34 PM: A guy just bought two cans of Bud Light with Clamato juice. That’s right…Clamato. I think I just threw up in my mouth.

Sunday May 4
2:20 AM: A couple just left the store. I recognized both of them from when I used to help the school nurse with the flouride program at the elementary school. Now he’s 16, she’s 14. They bought two Mountain Dews, a bag of M&Ms, and a package of Trojans. (God, I know it’s a lot to ask, but is there any way you could stop time, right now, and let my kids stay 13 and 11 for the rest of their lives?)

3:46 AM-4:15 AM I was propositioned by three men in less than half an hour. Note to self: don’t wear lipstick to work anymore.

Shift 2

Sunday May 4
11:05 PM: Why are out-of-staters so fascinated with red hot dogs?

Monday May 5
1:15 AM-5:15 AM: One customer in four hours. She bought a pack of Marlboro Menthol Ultra Lights. What exactly is an ‘ultra light’ cigarette? And why the menthol? Does it soothe the throat? Open up nasal passages?

Shift 3

Monday May 5
11:39 PM: The 16-year-old boy from the other night just left the store. He wanted to buy a scratch ticket, but I had to turn him down. He’s old enough to fuck, but not old enough to play the lottery. At least he was smart enough to use protection. Do his parents know–or care–that he’s out this late on a school night?

Tuesday May 6
12:57 AM: A group of five 18-year-old boys just bought a twelve pack of Coke. I’m fairly certain they’ve got something back at home to mix it with, but I didn’t ask. I’ve known all of them since they were in fourth grade. One of them was wearing a brand-spaking-new army uniform. I gave him a hug before he left the store. (Please, God, keep him safe. He’s got a really good heart.)

2:00 AM: I can hear a coyote out back behind the dumpster. I think I’ll take the trash out later. Much later.

5:45 AM: The sun spilled its honey over the frozen horizon…

Accountability

/ R.J. Keller / 8 Comments


So, I’ve been struggling with my new novel. I’ve got a rough outline, I’m fairly familiar with my characters, yet I haven’t started writing the damned thing. I think I know why: I’m chicken. You heard me. Chicken. I’ve been working so long on editing a finished, mostly polished product that the idea of starting from scratch again scares the pudding outta me. What I need is a good, solid kick in the ass. And a goal.

Guess what? I found both. I joined the Word Count Union. It’s made up of ten writers (well, eleven now including me), each with a daily goal of writing 100 words. Anyone who doesn’t make their goal gets a public “flogging.” Sounds cool, no?

On a good day, banging out 100 words is easy. However, for those days (like the past several weeks of days) when I sit at my keyboard staring blankly at an even blanker screen…well, since I’m not into S&M, knowing that ten other people are standing ready with the cyber whips is an excellent incentive to get something down, however crappy it may be.

Check out the Union blogroll on the right.

Serial Box

/ R.J. Keller / 4 Comments

I’m excited to announce that Readers and Writers Blog will start serializing
Waiting for Spring on
Sunday, May 11.

Readers and Writers Blog was founded by a gentleman by the name of Sid Leavitt, a retired newspaper editor who once worked at the Portland* Press Herald. The site’s official description: “a combination website-weblog that promotes good writing. We give writers a place to publish their nonfiction, fiction or poetry of any length at no cost and give readers a place to comment on that work.” But what it is, really, is a haven for writers and a treasure trove for readers.

Currently posted work includes Gerard Jones’ Ginny Good; Disconnected by J. Cafesin; and Leavitt’s own Adrift in America. Needless to say I’m rather humbled by my own pending inclusion in this company, and would have touted this website even if my novel had not been accepted. The fact that it was makes it all the sweeter. You should check it out now. And, of course, check it out on May 11.

* Maine, not Oregon

Small town misery

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I’m inspired to post this excerpt from chapter 4 of Waiting for Spring after working an afternoon shift at the store yesterday. (I was covering for a girl who was suffering from Morning Afteritis.) This pretty much sums up about 75% of the customers I waited on:

I stood behind a young woman and her son. He was maybe five or six years old. Both of them were dirty. Smelly. Old, ripped clothes. Her groceries: a candy bar, a gallon of milk and a half gallon bottle of Allen’s Coffee Brandy. I clenched my teeth, because I knew. Even though it’s wrong to judge. Even though I’d been judged–unfairly–too many times to count and knew better than to do it to someone else. I judged her anyway.

And I was right.

I’d never had a problem with the concept of State Aid. Food stamps or MaineCare or even welfare. Because sometimes people fall on hard times. Sometimes people work hard and still can’t afford health insurance. Sometimes they roll out of bed one morning and find that their job has been shipped South or East. And that’s when they need a helping hand. A little something to see them through the rough spots. I’d been there myself.

Then there were people like this woman.

She paid cash for the twenty dollar bottle of liquor. Used her food stamp card for the candy bar and the milk. The milk that wasn’t for her son. He wouldn’t drink it with his supper tonight or dip any cookies in it for dessert or pour in onto his breakfast cereal in the morning.

He looked up and gave me a huge smile, and I smiled right back. He had greasy blonde hair and big blue eyes. Probably the kids picked on him at school because his clothes were dirty. Because he smelled. Because his front two teeth were black and rotten. But underneath the dirt he was a beautiful child.

I wondered how much longer it would be before he realized exactly what kind of family he’d been born into. Before he understood that the twenty dollars his mother was using for liquor should have been used instead for soap and shampoo and laundry detergent. Would he grow up resentful? Bitter? Would he rise above it, determined to make a better life for himself? Or would he grow up thinking that it was normal to live that way?

The woman turned back, too, and glared at me. She knew what I was thinking and I didn’t care. I wanted to say something to her. Wanted to tell her to go get some fucking help. Tell her that twenty bucks would buy a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo and a box of cheap laundry detergent. Or maybe tell her about all the childless couples out there who would gladly take that little boy off her hands and give him a good life. A life that was filled with baths and toothbrushes. With leafy green veggies and cold milk. The kind of milk that was poured over breakfast cereal and not mixed with coffee brandy.

I didn’t, of course, because right now–right now–the boy was at least somewhat content. Living with a mommy who probably loved him at least a little. And he loved her. That much was obvious. Bad days were coming for him. I knew that, too. But right now, to him, today was The Day Mommy Bought Me a Candy Bar. I couldn’t turn it into The Day Mommy Yelled at the Mean Lady in the Grocery Store. So I gave the woman an almost friendly nod, waved goodbye to the boy, and watched them walk away. The little boy was holding his mommy’s hand. Because right now he still loved her.

Reading Isn’t Fundamental?

/ R.J. Keller / 1 Comment

President Bush’s 2009 budget calls for the elimination of the Reading Is Fundamental Program, which has provided 325 million books to underprivileged children since its inception in 1966. I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. After all, both his wife and mother are literacy advocates, and have been involved with RIF in the past.

Barbara Bush served on RIF’s board of directors from 1980 to 1988 and then on its national advisory board from 1989 to 1992 (chairing the advisory board for three of the four years.) Laura Bush served on RIF’s national advisory council from 1996 to 2001.

-SOURCE PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

RIF’s website has a form you can fill out if you’d like to send an email to your elected representative, asking them to protect RIF’s funding.

Cure for writer’s block: get a haircut* and get a real job.

/ R.J. Keller / 3 Comments

Last week a friend of mine, who is the assistant manager at the convenience store down the road, visited me, begging me to go to work for her. Two nights a week, the overnight shift. Apparently they’re pretty desperate for employees who aren’t afraid of mops and don’t think “free” cigarettes are a benefit of punching the timeclock. Since free coffee–on and off the clock–is a benefit, along with a discount on heating oil next winter, I said, “Sure, sign me up.”

This is the second smartest thing I’ve ever done. An unadvertised benefit of working graveyard shift at a small town convenience store: an unending supply of fodder for fiction. Not to make light of misery, but drunk, stoned, lonely people will say and do pretty much anything, and between the hours 11pm-1am (the hour at which Mainers can no longer buy Allen’s Coffee Brandy), the store is full of them. And once my cleaning and stocking is done, I have about 4 hours of nothing-to-do. Since my muse is most active in the middle of the night, and with no internet to distract me, I’ve been getting lots of writing done on book number four.

Inspiration or exploitation? You tell me.

*haircut optional