The United States of Oakland

Possibly backdrop for my novel, which is pretty much completed but, uh, needs some backdrop. Anyway, so far this is fiction:

The states were no longer united. Regional interests had become irreconcilable mindsets. Indignation on all sides – secession, once begun, went viral. The federal government tried to hold its military bases, but there were too many in California, some manned by Californians. California broke off on its own, absorbed a few surrounding states, and became The Western Territories. Texas, The Southeast, and The Northeast had large enough armories to form strong groups of their own, especially the Northeast, which held Washington, D.C. The Midwest, however, had primarily agriculture, and insufficient artillery to defend it. It became a battleground, strategically important for the land itself and the people who knew how to work it.

California was its own bloodbath, soldiers and police and gangs, allegiances bought and sold with no national flag to salute. Laws disappeared, it was all a question of power. Murderous alliances formed, composed of allies who did not trust each other. San Francisco tried to co-opt Oakland with money. Oakland responded with explosives and automatic rifles. Oakland controlled Northern California, and they spread across what used to be state lines. They had Las Vegas with them when they hit Los Angeles. They burned it to the ground.

Oakland became capital of The Western Territories. It was run by a coalition of military men, bikers, mobsters, and other politicians. They had many connections and few morals. It took a lot of years, a lot of hits, but the people who ran Oakland weren’t satisfied with controlling The Western Territories. They ordered butchery until they controlled The Midwest, then they hit hard in The Southeast until that was theirs as well. They didn’t have Texas or Detroit yet, but they didn’t really want them. Let those crazy motherfuckers keep killing themselves, that was the word. Pincer The Northeast.

It was bloody, but Oakland was used to that. A lot of people get killed. The difference was, this time Oakland got something out of it. Got to be capital of the newly United States of America.

SWILL 5 COMING SOON

We don't have a table of contents yet, we haven't finished line edits, and we haven't yet responded to all submissions because many of the stories we've accepted are short and may not quite fill an issue. So, in case we come up a few pages short we may accept someone else. However, I have closed the reading period with the expectation that my page estimates are pretty accurate.

Swill 4 may have been our ultimate noir issue. We still love noir, and there is some slated for Swill 5, but our love of plot does not mean that every story must have a monster or a killing. In fact, we've branched out so much in this issue that there are more female writers than male. Which has not been the case in the past. In fact, it was pointed out to me that there were no female writers in either of our last two issues. Which struck me as odd, because cruelty and a sick head are hardly exclusive to males.

So, as we have no idea yet what order the stories will appear in, I'll just list the authors in alphabetical order. Thanks to all, it's been and continues to be a pleasure.

Swill 5 will include new writing by:

Sean Beaudoin
Z.Z. Boone
Sean Craven
Elizabeth Eslami
Chia Evers
Allison Landa
Delphine LeCompte
Warren Lutz
Jasmine Paul
Rob Pierce
Catherine Schaff-Stump
Wendy Sumner-Winter

And here's what I think of public displays of affection

Stop advertising your love
Nobody cares about happiness
Unless it affects their own
So give me some of that
Or get it out of my sight
Cheers, lovebirds,
May you toast yourselves with strychnine.

I'm Not Here

Well, not enough anyway. I stop in periodically and see numerous posts I'm interested in, then try to read the ones I'm most interested in based on the subject. Because...

I'm rewriting the ending of the novel I've been working on, and I'm editing for two magazines (Swill and Monday Night), the former of which is reading submissions right now (www.swillmagazine.com for guidelines, etc.), the latter having moved on to the editors talking about which submissions we're going to accept.

So far, none of those things are financially profitable. As I have a wife and two kids, there is a whole lot of other time going to a job that generates income and to spending time with family.

Oh, and I'm beginning to suspect my next car repair may involve a shotgun.

I know this doesn't matter to that many people, but to the people who read this blog: hey, that's why I may not have commented on a post that would have interested me had I read it. If you've posted something and want my opinion, let me know. If you're someone who doesn't have my email address, send something to editors@swillmagazine.com and I guarantee I'll look at it. However spammy you may appear.

This thing where life is finite just fucks with my schedule. Off to work on novel, ignoring several recent blog posts that interest me. Cheers all.

Everybody! It's Ghandi's Birthday!

Ya gotta dress like Mahatma, don't ya?

Went to get a beer in Oakland

Nine o'clock, Sunday night, wanted a beer. I live in Oakland and the nearest good liquor store is a mile away. It's night, it's Oakland, that's a drive.

Two blocks from my house, police cars are blocking the street straight ahead and to my left, the two directions I want to go. A cop on foot is waving a flashlight. Charades with police, my favorite sport. I turn off the car stereo and roll down my window. The cop meanwhile has stepped forward, eager to send my oblivious ass on its way.

"Where do you want me to go?" I ask.

He could speak now but is apparently too deep into his role as a mime. He points, waves the flashlight. I turn my car to the right. "Thank you."

"You betcha," he says, speaking now that I no longer need him to.

I take a left at the next corner, head down the street to the main intersection. Where there are more cops, blocking the road to the left, the one direction I need to go. I take a right, drive four blocks to the next major street, take another right, drive four more blocks until taking one more right puts me on a major street behind all the action, drive four more blocks and take another right that goes half a mile until I'm at the street three blocks from my house where I was initially headed.

From there it's smooth sailing. A left turn and I'm less than a mile from my liquor store.

Knowing all the road blocks, I took a different route on the way back. What a hassle for one beer. Good thing I was already drunk when I started.

Oh dear, is that black man the President?

I would love to see something about President Barack Obama that doesn't involve race. But Obama isn't the one who initiates race as the context. He is a man who has been given the task of fixing everything broken by his ridiculously inept predecessor. He's trying to choose his battles, because the Bush administration did not leave four years of problems, or even eight. But before Obama can even enter battle he meets flack that has nothing to do with the issues. This may happen with every president, but this is the first time we've elected a black man who is supposed to be our saviour.

It is impractical to try to remove the racial aspects from the attacks against and the defenses of the president. It is absurd to suggest that all these attacks would be taking place if he were white.

I think it's also safe to say that a lot of people would feel worse about being saved by a black man than by being failed by a white man.