October knew, of course, that the action of turning a page, of ending a chapter or of shutting a book, did not end a tale. Having admitted that, he would also avow that happy endings were never difficult to find: "It is simply a matter," he said to April, "of finding a sunny place in a garden, where the light is golden and the grass is soft; somewhere to rest, to stop reading, and to be content."
-- from The Man Who Was October by G. K. Chesterton / Library of Dreams
- Neil Gaiman, Season of Mists

"The Man Who Was October"
As I said, I love October.

If they made a movie about October, it would be a film about regret and loss and the bittersweet sorrow that comes at the end of things, and the strange sense of pleasure that can be found in such. It'd be lovely.

And October would be played by Morgan Freeman.

"Women and the Books"
Kate Jeffries and I try to go to Barnes & Noble every week. Now that Dawson's is dead, these little trips are the lynchpin of our friendship. Or at least, I like to pretend they're the lynchpin of our friendship, that way I don't have to admit to myself that I actually just like having Jeffries around, because I like to believe that I could just pack up and take off at any minute and wander the earth and get in adventures like Caine from Kung Fu without thinking about curly haired girls from Texas and what they're doing without me.

Uh, so anyway, me and Kate go to the bookstore right? Well usually, we just sit in our respective chairs, she reads "fucking Vonnegut" or the newest bestseller or a play, and read real literature (and yes, by that I mean comic books), and we have a nice time and maybe some ice cream.

But sometimes, when Jeffries really likes a book, she tries to trick me into reading it by saying that she's, like, 50 pages into the thing, and I could never catch up.

It's only worked once, and that was with The Boy Next Door a novel which was written by the author of The Princess Diaries and somehow managed to change my life.

We're talking Harold and Maude changed my life here.

Well Jeffries' Gellaresque taunts have bested me once again. This time, it's Steve Martin's new novel The Pleasure of My Company which seems pretty good even though it's not on Kelly Ripa's book club.

I wonder what changes are coming down the pike now...

"The Fifth Short Story by L. F. Clark"
For all my talk of wanting to be a writer, I don't do much actual writing (unless you count class essays, stick figure comics, or this freaking blog -- and I sure as hell don't). Now this not writing thing isn't usually a problem (unless you consider a pathetic lack of ambition to complete my life goals a "problem" -- and I sure as hell don't), but I told the stupid professor in my stupid writing class that I'd write a stupid story by Monday, so now I gotta (which is fine because I'm clearly very articulate these days).

And so I'm going to spend this weekend writing my fifth short story. What's it going to be about? Well, they say to write what you know, and it's a suggestion I've taken dear to my heart. (It's the reason I don't write erotica. The only reason.)

So it's a story about looking for heroes. It's about how Humberto Ramos draws Spider-Man. It's about how whenever there's another black guy at a party I always have an urge to say "Excuse me, I'm sorry, but I'm supposed to be the only black guy at this party," and about how I should have gotten an internship, or at least gone to NYU and read Walt Whitman and never met any of you. It's about Darius Rucker fistfighting Sean Combs at the Grammy's and other "What If?" comics I'll never pen. It's about the preacher named Priest in his mountain hideaway, and the chieftain of a small African nation no larger than New Jersey...

And hopefully, it'll be funny, too.