The Obligatory Cleveland Post-Season Playoff Post

"So why even watch it, then?" My wife is 100% sincere when she asks me this, eyeing me with a mixture of annoyance and concern while I hurl a few choice obscenities at the television, the officials, the opposing team and our own team's lackluster play. It doesn't matter the sport, the season, the year, the players. I've been through this a dozen times since I can remember. They really could win it ALL this year ... They being the Browns, Cavs or Indians. No matter how many times I've explained The Truth before, I always find myself forced to impart my wisdom once more.

God just doesn't hate Cleveland. He/She/It hates me. Period.

On December 27, 1964, Cleveland won its last championship in a REAL sport. (Sorry, all you Hector Marinaro fans. Bush League Soccer doesn't count.) Exactly one month later, January 27, 1965, I was born. As a card-carrying skeptic, I'm not one to believe in curses or supernatural whammies. Except the one where the entire universe and all its forces are poised against me. Somewhere jotted down in the Book of Life, right between the Big Bang and the Apocalypse, is a quick note by the Almighty that reads, "No Cleveland Championships while Mark Kozak is alive."

Look, I've heard all you Pollyannas before. My whole effing life as a matter of fact. From "We've got a lot of young talent" to "Don't worry, we'll come back" to "Wait til next year", I've watched Cleveland fans contort themselves through every permutation of positive thinking in the vain effort to shake a fist at the Iron Will of Divine Providence. Ain't gonna happen, folks. As long as yours truly breathes, Cleveland is destined to come up short time after time after time after time after .. well, you get the picture.

The worst part are the slogans and songs. "Rutigliano's Super Bowl Team," "Bernie Bernie," arrghhhh!  Listen, if you go into a Cleveland playoff game armed with banners and bromides, you will have your heart ripped out with the added of privilege of being permitted to see the beating, bloody pulp before you die. Instead of the "All In" or "Witness" gear, how about fitting fans with some good old fashioned hair shirts?

Post Season Sports in Cleveland is not a celebration. It's a penance we all pay for the sin of hope that someday, some way one of our teams will alter ALL natural laws and win a championship. Instead of cheering, we need to be flagellating and scourging ourselves in an effort to extinguish every last vestige of optimism from our sickeningly indomitable spirits. Maybe then, God will take pity on our wretched souls and give us a freaking ring. I mean, hell, we've tried building bullpens, drafting franchise players and bringing in proven genius coaches. Why not try marching en masse around the banks of the Cuyahoga with crosses on our back?

Cat & Cat - new hardcover and audio editions; White Picket Jungle and Stalking Mule

All the pieces and funds are finally together for the hard cover version of Cat & Cat. I just put money down at the printers, so there's no turning back now. To everyone who told me, "I can't read ebooks, but I'll buy it when it's a real book," you're all on notice. The hardcover should be available in May, and I'll keep you all posted.

I also have some readings scheduled for the summer, and I'm willing to go pretty much anywhere to hawk the book. So if anyone knows a venue that hosts first-time, self-published authors, please let me know.

Other Cat & Cat news -  I'm currently looking into recording an audio version of Cat for those - like me - who prefer listening to fiction. I'm not sure yet if I'm going to attempt the reading myself or find some voice talent for the endeavor. Forthcoming details here, on Facebook, Linked-In & Twitter, and at zakomark.com.

For those awaiting Stalking Mule and my short story collection, White Picket Jungle, I've made real progress on both this week, and I hope to have some more details later this spring. Thank you all for your patience. It goes without saying that finding time to write can be a little difficult when you have a day job and family responsibilities. I'm hoping the warm weather will give me more opportunities to propel these projects forward.

Plagiarism: What It Is and What It Isn't

Okay, after being harangued by dozens of friends and family, I finally listened to Robin Thicke & Pharrell Williams' "Blurred Lines" versus Marvin Gaye's "Got To Give It Up."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yyDUC1LUXSU

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fp7Q1OAzITM

I did a quick comparison and found ... this is the most ridiculous plagiarism case victory I've ever encountered. Yes, they sound similar. DUH!!??  So do a lot of other tunes when compared to other tunes in the same vein. But is it plagiarism? Let's dig a little deeper.

First off, I need to confess one thing right off the bat. I know Marvin Gaye's music because it's in my wheelhouse. All I know about Robin Thicke is that he's Alan's kid. Although I may know today's pop artists by name and sight, I never heard "Blurred Lines" until a few days ago. Similarly, I can't identify one Taylor Swift, Justin Beiber or Ariana Grande song; nor do I know ANYTHING current on the pop or country charts unless it's been tastefully redone:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6-FS96IlOFg

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCgZKAYFU3Y

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_VBTH72bS8

When I do listen to rock/pop music (which is often), it's The Guess Who, Paul Simon, Hall & Oates, Blood Sweat & Tears, Chicago, The Jess Roden Band, Long John Baldry, Billy Joel, Elton John, John Mellencamp, or Nora Jones. Stuff played and sung  by musicians that makes musical sense to me. Just so you know my prejudices. You can now judge what follows and trust that I'm not impartial, nor would I ever claim to be. I'm a trained, schooled musician  - jazz, classical & rock - descended from three generations of successful professional musicians who all supported their families playing and making music. Yes, that makes me a musical snob. Deal with it. 

That being said, I'm not going to bore non-musicians with a bunch of talk about chord progressions, bass lines, drum beats, etc. All I'm going to say here is that musical elements ARE NOT copyrightable (yes, that's a word) in and of themselves. Take the "Bo Diddly Beat" for example:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yeZHB3ozglQ

Now listen to Buddy Holly and Blues Project use the same beat:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyTtFNGzFsE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ua3zDatgVo4

If musical motives like this were subject to copyright, then over 50% of classical, jazz, rock & pop music would be in violation of plagiarism laws. So now, as a service to anyone interested, let me present a brief overview of what constitutes musical plagiarism (IMHO), and what doesn't.

The Doors "Hello, I Love You" vs. The Kinks "All Day & All of the Night"

Listen for yourself and join me back here when you're done:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hzM71scYw0M

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMWNwHof0kc

And here's a mash up that pretty much makes it so clear a child can understand:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSPQFD4FzZQ

Despite Robby Krieger's protestations to the contrary, I have to believe Jim & The Doors knew they were on thin ice here, British courts sure thought so, which is why UK royalties  for "Hello" are paid to Ray Davies & the Kinks.  My verdict? This case is dicey. Similar? Hell yes! Especially when compared to "Blurred Lines" and "Got To Give It Up." But, honestly, "Hello" & "All Day" are different despite the obvious common elements.


The Romantics "What I Like About You" vs. John Mellencamp's "R.O.C.K. In the USA" vs. John Cafferty's "On The Dark Side vs. Neil Diamond's "Cherry, Cherry

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rqnw5IfbZOU - Romantics

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLQrAKhg-4c - John Mellencamp

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EWQ-6IAS1cc - John Cafferty

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hlcuAsgc5-c - Neil Diamond

Anyone with even a tin ear knows these songs are essentially the same. They all even use the same clap on the off-beat against the the guitar riff. Bar bands have been mixing and matching and mashing up various elements of these tunes for decades. Just search Youtube and you'll even find Lady Antebellum poking fun at their audience with this inside musical joke:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jumv9vmxe6Y . Once again, these songs are all waaaay closer to one another than "Blurred Lines" and "Got To Give It Up." But no one ever sues over a riff, just like they don't sue over chord progressions. And that leads me into jazz and classical music.

A big part of be-bop music rests in taking standard chord changes, such as found in tunes like "I Got Rhythm" and "How High The Moon," and then writing new melodies over the progressions:

"I Got Rhythm": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-cej-5dkc0

"Rhythm-A-Ning": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Di_mswqhLU


"How High the Moon": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T8Ji4uG4cac

"Ornithology": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LphuCadyQi0

To non-musicians, "Rhythm-A-Ning" probably sounds completely different when compared to "I Got Rhythm," the same way "Ornithology" seems like a different tune than "How High The Moon." But to jazz musicians playing these tunes, they are infinitely more identical than "Blurred Lines" and "Got To Give It Up"; so much so that early be-boppers got in a lot of trouble lifting standard chord-lines, applying new melodies and crediting themselves as composers. If you still don't hear how "How High The Moon" is "Ornithology," I'll just let Professor Benny Golson demonstrate:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wq0MuQQLoG8

Play the tunes at the same time, and they layer over each other perfectly.

Plagiarism? HELL NO. You may as well accuse Mozart of ripping off Haydn, and then Beethoven for plagiarizing both of them. Or any other classical composers for taking folk melodies or popular arias and reconstituting them in their own symphonies, concerti or tone poems. Musical elements are like colors in a painter's pallet. It's what you do with them that defines whether you are creating something new (even if it is derivative) or just copying or mimicking.

So what, then, is musical plagiarism? My best case is actually hypothetical. What if Weird Al Yankovich recorded "Eat It" or "Another One Rides the Bus" or "White & Nerdy" and didn't credit Michael Jackson, Queen or Chamillionaire respectively. THAT WOULD BE PLAGIARISM. If you want a real example of real plagiarism, I'll point to Robert Van Winkle's direct lift of the bass line from David Bowie's "Under Pressure", adding a quick grace note while keeping the accompanying piano chords for the intro to "Ice Ice, Baby."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kk6NhjD3Dbg

I understand I'm on shaky ground here because "Ice Ice" is a completely different song than "Under Pressure." But since I've already confessed to my prejudices above, I guess you'll just have to consider the source.

What you shouldn't have to consider is whether Thicke & Williams' "Blurred Lines" plagiarized Gaye's "Got To Give It Up." They didn't. Just like countless bands who've written tunes over the Bo Diddly Beat (see above), they lifted a "feel" - a drum beat and a similar bass pattern. The chord progressions are distinctly different, however. Listen to them again now in light of what we've just explored.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yyDUC1LUXSU

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fp7Q1OAzITM


Do they sound similar? Sure they do. But now that we've reviewed songs that really are more identical, can you hear that "Blurred Lines" was NOT PLAGIARIZED. Thicke and Williams are hacks I wouldn't cross the street to hear for free. But they're not .. I repeat NOT plagiarists. Obviously, however, I must not know what I'm talking about because a jury of their peers heard the case and sided against them.

A jury of their peers? Really? Thicke and Williams may be devoid of any real talent (IMHO), but they're still working song writers and performers. So a true jury of their peers wouldn't consist of convenience store clerks or accountants, but rather other working song writers and performers. You may as well have retail clerks and salesmen judging whether two rival nuclear physicists violated a patent on a super-collider. Hell, I'm even 100% confident Marvin Gaye himself would have laughed at the idea that Willams and Thicke plagiarized him. I know Marvin's music, and he let his influences seep into his songs all the time. It's called music. Like it, hate it, ignore it, it doesn't change what it is and isn't. And "Blurred Lines" isn't "Got To Give It Up," at least not in any universe where I reside.

From my Scribd Library - Slender Man - 34 Most Asked Questions on Slender Man by Walter Rodriguez

The Cy-buran Legend of the Slender Man or Slenderman (SM) is one of the most fascinating, original subcultures spawned from the internet. I myself was a typical goon lurking and occasionally posting on the forums at somethingawful.com when SM first appeared in a somewhat random post by fellow goon Victor Surge (aka Eric Knudsen).

The concept behind SM was simple enough. Surge created a skinny, tentacled, faceless ghoul, inserted him in various news stories and photographs, and created a fictitious folkloric history akin to the Vanishing Hitchhiker, Hook Man or Bloody Mary.  I found the meme amusing and many of the subsequent SM tales spun by other goons (called creepypasta) to be creative and amusing. To be honest, though, I never really considered SM groundbreaking or revolutionary. Imagine my surprise, then, when I started reading news accounts detailing violent crimes and eventually an attempted murder committed in the name of Slender Man.

Since encountering these horror stories come to life, I've felt the need for a definitive scholarly study of the Slender Man meme-omenon, one that addresses not only his whimsical origins but his collaborative, ad hoc development and unique stature as the first true internet-created folk legend. Unfortunately, Walter Rodriguez's poorly conceived, barely intelligible effort isn't the book the world is waiting for. https://www.scribd.com/book/246753839/Slender-Man-34-Success-Secrets-34-Most-Asked-Questions-On-Slender-Man-What-You-Need-To-Know  Only my fascination with SM allowed me to choke down prose that isn't even lucid enough to be deemed turgid. In fact, Rodriguez's relentless abuse of grammar, vocabulary and punctuation makes me question whether he speaks English as a second or even a third language:

"Professor Sira Chess of the University of Georgia has marked that the Slender Man exemplifies the resemblances amid customary legends and the open origin ethos of the Internet, and that, dissimilar these of customary monsters such like lamias and werewolf/werewolves, the Slender Man's Mythos may be followed and signposted, assigning a strong perceptiveness in to in what way legend and legends shape."

If you can read and comprehend the above passage, then you're a better man than I, Gunga Din. My eyes start glazing over by the time I reach the phrase "open origin ethos."

Look, I'm not a jerk. I understand that my above critique may strike many as snarky and downright cruel. I myself hesitated before clicking PUBLISH. However, I feel not only compelled but justified in my criticism seeing as I actually endured every word of Rodriguez's book.

All writers owe it to themselves and any potential readers to at least present a clean, edited copy for consideration. Had Rodriguez collaborated or consulted with a writer or editor, the information he presents may have actually added to the understanding of Slenderman and this new breed of folklore - the oral tradition gone viral. Instead we are left with a muddled and missed opportunity to shed light on this newest, darkest aspect of the modern myth-making.

For those of you piqued to investigate Slender man further, I can point you to Wikipedia :: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slender_Man :: and numerous other web entries involving the attempted murder of twelve-year-old Payton Leutner, e.g. http://www.people.com/article/slender-man-stabbing-suspects-speak-interrogation-videos .  As for me, I'm going to keep scouring online resources until I find a scholarly study worthy or my time and hard-earned disposable income.

Unsolved I - Gone Missing - Nicole Louise Morin, Etobicoke, Ontario, Canada; July 30, 1985

In my January 22 blog, I reviewed the book Unsolved: True Canadian Cold Cases by Robert J. Hoshowsky. At that time, I briefly recounted the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of eight-year-old Nicole Morin from an apartment building in Etobicoke, Ontario on July 30, 1985. If you know me or have read my novel Cat & Cat, then you're already familiar with my obsession for missing persons cases. Frankly, they haunt me. Always have, ever since I read my first collection of unsolved mysteries, C.B. Colby's Strangely Enough when I was, coincidentally, eight years old. (More on this very influential book in a later blog. Promise.)

Over the last thirty-odd years, I've made it more than a habit to follow every mysterious disappearance that crosses my path. Among the cases I follow - cold and hot - I read every update while continually theorizing about the whos, whats, whys and hows of every case. As such, I've always kind of regarded myself as an unofficial expert when it comes to souls who've gone missing. Imagine my surprise, then, when I cracked open Hoshowsky's book and found an undiscovered country of vanishings and unsolved mysteries I'd never encountered before. Of all these fascinating cases, the disappearance of Nicole Morin is the one that truly grabbed me by the short hairs.

For those of you with Scribd, I wholeheartedly encourage you to read Hoshowsky's entire account, which begins on page 187: https://www.scribd.com/read/230100891/Unsolved-True-Canadian-Cold-Cases . For those who haven't invested in Scribd, I'll do my best to recount the details below:

Tuesday July 30, 1985, is remembered as a hot, sticky, sunny day in an endless succession of hot, sticky, sunny days that hung over Ontario that summer.  Nicole Marin's family lived on the 20th floor penthouse of a condominium complex. Late that morning, Nicole prepared to go swimming with one of her friends, Jenny, in a pool located right by the complex. She wore an orange bathing suit and carried a peach towel along with a plastic bag containing her goggles, a white T-shirt, green, white shorts, a pink hairbrush, and a bottle of suntan lotion. Shortly before 11:00AM, Jenny buzzed the Marin's apartment via the downstairs intercom, spoke to Nicole and told her she was downstairs waiting. Nicole answered that she'd be right down. She said goodbye to her mother, exited the apartment and presumably walked down the hall towards the elevators. I say presumably because we really don't know what happened after she left the apartment.

What we do know is that Jenny waited approximately fifteen minutes for Nicole and buzzed the apartment again when Nicole didn't appear, Jenny spoke to  Jeanette Morin, Nicole's mother, and informed her that Nicole had never come down the elevator to meet her. Jeanette told Jenny not be concerned. that Nicole often liked to ride the elevators up and down and that she'd be there shortly. After waiting about another fifteen minutes - half an hour total - Jenny decided Nicole must have come down the back stairs and left for the pool without her. Jenny left the building, then, and headed to the pool alone. Jeanette,fully believing that Nicole was at the pool with Jenny, never grew concerned about Nicole's whereabouts until she never returned in the afternoon. Police were finally called around 3:00PM that afternoon, and thus began investigating one of the most confounding missing persons in Canadian (make that recent world) history.

Police determined that Nicole had made it down to the lobby. A witness who lived on the building's seventh floor placed her there. This witness was the last person to see Nicole. The only other person who may have seen Nicole was a mysterious and still unidentified woman spotted on the building's 20th floor, the same floor as the Morin's apartment, approximately forty-five minutes before Nicole went missing. Described as mid-thirties, Caucasian, pretty, thin, with dark brown hair parted on the left, this mystery woman wore a white or cream-colored blouse with a white and black skirt and light shoes. She was seen standing at the opposite end of the hallway from the Morin’s penthouse apartment and holding a notepad. And that's it. Literally.

Hoshowsky's detailed account tells about the numerous false leads and dead ends encountered by investigators. For the sake of brevity, however, I'll dispense with all this and refer you to his work for a clearer picture of the investigation's scope and history. For the remainder of this blog, I'm going to look at the facts as relayed above and posit some questions and theories that strike me after careful consideration.

1)  I find Jeanette Morin's reaction to Jenny's initial concern puzzling and troubling. A normal kid doesn't ride the elevators for fifteen minutes. If my mom thought I'd left a friend waiting in the lobby for fifteen minutes, she'd sure as hell track me down and find out why. That's odd.

2)  Jenny says she waited half an hour down in the lobby. And she only called up to the apartment once? Really? Kids aren't that patient. Especially eight-year-olds. That's definitely out of character.

3)  A witness saw Nicole in the lobby. So where was Jenny? She waited there half an hour. If Nicole was in the lobby, as the witness states, then Jenny wasn't.

To my eyes, the whole timetable is off. Reconsidering all the "facts," I find myself questioning whether Jenny was even in the lobby when Nicole headed downstairs. It's more logical to presume that Jenny buzzed Nicole, was told she'd be right down, waited one or two minutes, and then headed to the pool herself without Nicole. Nicole, delayed and dawdling the way kids do, didn't leave the apartment for another five to ten minutes (probably closer to ten). This is when she said goodbye to her mother. She then came downstairs and was seen by the witness. Not finding Jenny in the lobby, Nicole left the building herself to go to the pool. This is when she was abducted.

After fifteen or so minutes at the pool, Jenny grew concerned when Nicole didn't arrive, and that's when she went back to the apartment, buzzed again and spoke to Nicole's mother. Being a kid, Jenny didn't want to say she'd gone off to the pool without Nicole, so she told Jeanette she'd been waiting the whole time. Jeannette wasn't concerned, however, because dawdling Nicole had just said goodbye and left a minute or two earlier - not fifteen minutes. Not seeing her friend now, Jenny probably did wait a few minutes for Nicole, but then just presumed Nicole had left the building some time before Jenny returned to the condominium building and was already at the pool waiting for her. That's when Jenny went back to the pool. As Jenny had just spoken to Nicole's mom about Nicole's habit of riding the elevators, it's not a stretch to think that Jenny believed Jeannette caught Nicole goofing around the complex and brought her back to the apartment for punishment. All this explains the inconsistencies in the timetable.

As for the mystery woman on the 20th floor, if she does exist then I think it's safe to presume she's involved somehow in the disappearance, either as a perpetrator or a witness. The fact that she never came forward after all the publicity is odd unless she has something to hide. Perhaps, she was scouting the building for kids, maybe writing down apartment numbers in the building with kids. Then she went outside in the parking lot in the interim when Jenny went to the pool and Nicole hadn't come downstairs yet. When Nicole did come down, the woman and maybe an accomplice took her on the way to the pool. They were gone, then, by the time Jenny returned looking for her friend.

The above conjectures are based upon the details as I know them. I tried my hardest not to take any kind of poetic license with my theory, like I would if I were writing a story. The reality of crimes are rarely as sensational when the unknowns become known. I'd like to know if any flaws can be found in my reasoning or if I missed anything crucial in my analysis. I not only invite criticism in this case, I welcome it.

Dennis Lehane's The Drop - the evolutionary process of a great novel

Art doesn't originate and emerge fully-formed from a vacuum. Novels, symphonies, films, plays, poems - they're all as much about imitation and amalgamation as perspiration and inspiration. Those of us who strive creatively lift elements from our self-appointed mentors often and with no apologies. Van Gogh worked closely with Gaugin. Beethoven regularly paid homage to Haydn & Mozart. Faulkner looked to Sherwood Anderson.  Lew Tabackin draws from Coleman Hawkins, Don Byas and Charlie Ventura. I could go on, but that's really not the point of this post.

One lesson repeated ad nauseam in many creative workshops is to work a piece until it's done, and then set it free into the world to live on its own. I know why teachers impart this wisdom. The urge to continually revise, redirect and redact our "babies" can stultify and eventually extinguish our purest conceptions. On the other hand, slavishly adhering to this principal can also severely limit our creative output. If Beethoven had stuck to this rule, portions of his Creatures of Prometheus never would have found new life in his Third Symphony. Similarly, Dvorak's Slavonic Dances would have remained piano etudes and never realized their full potential as orchestral masterpieces. Da Vinci's Mona Lisa would have come down to us as a great portrait instead of an icon. Billy Bob Thorton's Sling Blade would have always been just an odd short film.

Sometimes a piece isn't finished the first time around. Sometimes we "steal" as much from our earlier efforts as we do from the masters. Dennis Lehane's tale of a seedy Boston bar and an abused puppy bears testimony to this simple fact of substantial art. Originally entitled "Animal Rescue," Lehane's first go around at the characters and incidents appeared in the anthology Boston Noir ( https://www.scribd.com/read/247764287/Boston-Noir ). The story is haunting and captivating, so much so that Hollywood wisely optioned it as a screenplay. Forced to revisit his source material in more depth, Lehane not only fleshed out the tale's main characters, he also fully explored tangential plot points only alluded to in the original story.

By the time he's finished, Lehane's reworking becomes a truly well-crafted film, The Drop. In the hands of gifted actors like Tom Hardy, Matthias Schoenaerts and James Gandolfini, the likes of Bob Saginowski, Cousin Marv and Eric Deeds truly benefit from an infusion of fully realized motivations. Even the abused dog evolves from the rather nondescript Cassius into the more engaging Rocco. Additionally, Lehane's creation of a brand new character, Detective Torres, rounds out his gritty tableau and introduces a real sense of urgent crisis into the life of stolid, taciturn Bob Saginowski. 

Fortunately for us, Lehane didn't end the creative process with his screenplay. Once more tackling the grimy backdrop of Cousin Marv's bar, Lehane transforms a great film script into an even more compelling novel. Pathos, poignancy, heroism - The Drop serves us five full courses of the human condition in sharp, often bitter, slices of life. The novel also demonstrates that sometimes it's not over when it's over. Sometimes the fat lady gets an encore or two, and when we finally leave our seats we're truly satisfied.

Writer's Block Isn't What You Think

When I was in college, I wrote a short story entitled Agoraphobia that recounted the aftermath of a teenage boy recovering from his first real heartbreak. In order to jolt him from his doldrums, the boy's father takes him to their family's summer cottage by Lake Erie and has him chop a few cords of wood. As the boy starts attacking his chore, he listens to nearby seagulls, starts thinking of his ex-girlfriend's laughter, which eventually transmutes into the laughter of every other girl in his future destined to break his heart. The more laughter he hears, the more ferociously he chops the wood. His interior monologue is filled with self-loathing, misogyny and paranoid delusions. When he's finished, his father walks up, satisfied that he's taught his son a valuable object lesson about using manual labor to mend a broken heart. The boy, exhausted and a bit crazed, looks out at the roiling lake and wind-swept acres of land and experiences an epiphany of apoplexy while he considers the vastness of life, heartbreak and pain awaiting him.

You know, the story doesn't sound half bad when I retell it now. Back when it was written, however, it was nothing more than a histrionic, not-so-subtle rip-off of James Joyce's Araby ( http://fiction.eserver.org/short/araby.html  ). My profs liked it, though, and it ended up included in my creative thesis years later. So why am I recalling this somewhat juvenile effort now? Because I'm in the middle of almost four months of writer's block, and whenever I'm creatively constipated I invariably remember the conclusion of that story: the final image of all that open space and the resulting terror of confronting life's countless succession of eventualities, permutations and failures.

Writer's block is often described as fear of the blank page. This may be the case for some writers. But for me, writer's block is creative catatonia brought on by the endless open vista of ideas whirling around inside my brain. My friend and long-time collaborator Tony Lewis jokingly refers to me as The House of Ideas because I have a tendency to call him whenever my brain conjures its latest Big Idea. He's seen me through the script of Worlds Apart and the completion and publication of Cat & Cat. He's read my early drafts of Stalking Mule, as well as some of the stories in White Picket Jungle and outlines for three upcoming Chris Telamon novels after Stalking Mule. He's also been my sounding board for countless other "projects" I've conceived over the years:

Mighty Men, a graphic novel set in the 1800s featuring Paul Bunyan, Davey Crockett and a host of other folklore heroes pitted against a villainous Count St. Germain.

Zeitgeist Protocol, a novel about a failed artist turned detective in 1880s Austria investigating a series of Jack the Ripper-style slayings.

Fuges, an alternative-history novel about modern-day fugitive recovery agents in a world where the Union did not win the American Civil War.

Most recently, I called him to brainstorm an idea for a novel featuring Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart as a Masonic secret agent caught up in the political intrigues of mid-late 18th century Europe.

Add all these creative germs to my unrealized movie scripts - a comedy about a guy who wins the Lottery and decides to have the best work week ever; a psychological thriller about a guy who ends up volunteering to search for a missing child; a comedy about a guy trapped in a weekend professional development seminar run by a New Age Cult ... honestly, the list goes on and on and on and ooooon. So, for me, writer's block isn't about fear of the blank page. It's about the knowledge that I'll never be able to cultivate all my potential novels, plays, screenplays and other high-minded concepts to fruition. Which puts me right where my teenage narrator was in Agoraphobia, frozen by the revelation that I am cursed with limitless possibilities in a very limited life.