Howard Owens gets a job and shakes hands with a Moorhouse - By N.L. Belardes

Former newspaper nemesis Howard Owens has decided to move on from the sweaty confines of Bakersfield proper. And not quietly so. He went public and announced his transition from Bakersfield to Rochester, New York on howardowens.com.

What's this? My former blog sparring partner has jumped into another ring?

Why would I announce such?

Maybe the blogosphere in Bakersfield has been just a little different since his ousting from his high-and-mighty VP chair at the Bakersfield Californian. He was let go. But why? Does Howard even know? The subtleties in his posts are intriguing as I always wonder, What does Howard really mean? His love for the media industry that shines through his blog might just begin to suffer since he will be the director of Internet Publishing at Gatehouse Media, a conglomerate operating 450 small dailies, weeklies and shoppers.

There's an interesting history between myself and Howard. We once eyed each other over burgers at Jerry's Pizza: blogger meets News Media Internet Pimp VP. We left the pizza-a-go-go with guns drawn—though no shots were fired—yet eventually we had some skirmishes online that I think were tantamount to a small town blog war.

Has the dust really settled, Howard?

Howard drove his yellow pony Mustang and parked it right in front of the Californian building and waited outside for me to arrive. I felt like a reckless teenager as I saw him standing in the shade. He looked like he was about to spray paint "howardowens.com" on the side of the newspaper building. Would I have stopped him or just snapped a photo?

"Want to get a coffee?" I asked.

"Sure," he said. He left his yellow pony right there in front of the Californian building, a big yellow pustule on the street that I half expected to be cleansed by the time we got back.

Suddenly I stuck my hand in my pocket to see if I had any money. It's never any good to ask someone for coffee and then have to borrow five bucks. Just ask Monty Byrom. I pulled out about fifteen.

"I hope you're buying. All I have is a dollar," Howard said.

"Don't worry. I got it."

At Dagny's we didn't get coffee at all. He got a black iced tea and I got my usual strawberry smoothie. This was an important meeting. I was tempted to ask for a whipped cream topping. I held back.

We sat near a window and talked about Howard's transition. We discussed the video revolution on the Internet and youtube.com. I mentioned a possible post-modern travel blog project with shozu.com. We spoke dark tales of Bakersfield Lords and of dualistic shadows of people who may still run the city's high powers. I shared my strange "Gay snuff tape" story where an old professor back in the 1980s insisted I do a paper on "gay snuff tapes". If that wasn't admitting that the Lords have a videotape, I don't know what was. Howard shared his own very interesting barbershop tale, and an eye-opening Air Force vignette. We talked about his new job and responsibilities and what life would be like in Rochester, away from family, but closer to baseball. "It's very positive after being ousted," I said.

"We might still be looking at each other with mutual distrust"

"Hey, maybe it's better this way."

Yeah, life's better without so much drama.

But is the blog?

Although I poke fun at the newspaper, I listen to Howard when he gives me advice about how the newspaper industry is run. He makes valid points; his most recent about why Internet content appears missing from the Californian's database. "Archiving is one of the biggest issues affecting newspapers today. Especially when newspapers have to turn to vendors for their archiving. In a perfect world, it would all be permalinks."

Yet I still can't find Bakersfield.com archived articles on the plagiarism scandal that smashed the Bakersfield print media giant last year. Nothing. Google, or the search engine on Bakersfield.com. I suppose I could go ask the paper, and they might say so look at microfilm. But I want the instant gratification of looking on the Internet. Besides, wasn't the plagiarism scandal newsworthy? They did write about it… and they were good articles… but where are they? I'm too lazy to go ask the Californian, and even though many folks over there read this blog, I doubt if they will comment. I think they're too afraid I'm a prowling blogger, ready to pounce on them, the same way a local artist was paranoid I was going to pounce on Camille Gavin.

Maybe Black Dog is the real blogger to worry about. He's scandalous. Just kidding.

Into Dagny's walked the daughter of Ginger Moorhouse. I think Howard mentioned her name was Ginny. When I saw her I instantly wondered if she or another relative would one day be primped to run the family-owned Bakersfield Californian.

Howard stood up warmly shook her hand. She eyeballed me a couple of times as they spoke. Did she recognize me? Was she wondering if we were going to team up and go postal?

As we left I said hello to James Ratliff from the band The Indians. He sat having a drink and was reading about "reason in writing". Such a philosopher is young James the musician and student…Howard made a slight joke about there being "no reason in writing" to James as we headed out the door.

While Howard headed to his yellow pony and I wandered next to him, headed back to my day job, I joked, "I wonder if your car was keyed."

We laughed.

Child Day of The Dead Strikes Bakersfield's Maple Street - By N.L. Belardes

I had just arrived home from work when one of my boys received a phone call that there had been an explosion one street over. I didn't have time to even grab a camera. chingpea had a camera phone and we were off to the scene to see what tragedy had struck our immediate community.


A crowd gathers on the corner of Maple Street and Oleander

It seems anything can happen in the Oleander area: a novel about the creepy old Fritts mansion, stories about a possibly unsafe water park, a house fire, a mugging by 15-20 kids attacking 3 boys after a football game, strange break-ins, and now a mysterious explosion striking Maple Street children, killing two of them.


News crew interview...


A police officer arrives to rope off the area


A relative of the homeowner comes up the street


Roped off...

Were they playing with ammunition that got dumped into a fire/barbecue pit? That's what was told to me by the supposed brother of the man who owns the house where the explosion took place. He had come up the street, holding the hand of a crying woman who walked a bike. He appeared in shock. When they neared she was clearly distraught. He explained to me the panic in the home, the violence of the situation and that he didn't know if his brother would be arrested. After I spoke with him, he and the woman wandered south on Oleander...


A man in shock stands next to a distraught woman right before I interview him


The media were on the east and west ends of the street




A family in shock





I then rushed home and uploaded a quick story onto this site and bakotopia.com. The images were trapped in cyberspace until late this evening.


What is he searching for near the roof of a house?

Tonight I went back to the scene to see lights had been set up in the street. Matildakay brought her camera but waited in her car while I walked down Maple Street. Fire engines, police vehicles lined the street while groups of law enforcement stood in nearby yards. A ladder from a large fire engine stretched to the house. What were they searching for? And why did they need a ladder? One firemen stood on the ladder and looked like a shadow amongst the trees. He shined a flashlight in my direction, after which I snapped a photo of his silhouette.







As I walked away, a news van drove onto Maple Street. The driver stared down the road and eventually turned around and drove off...

*Note: an early story claiming one child died was taken offline by the local paper. Another story appeared at a new web location. And suddenly at 11:56 PM, around 10 bottle rockets started going off on Forrest St., nearby to the Maple St. location of the explosion. Was that meant to rattle the cops, the families, or...?

Did two kids just die in an explosion on Maple Street? - By N.L. Belardes

5:20PM (images on the way)

I live one street over from an apparent explosion on Maple Street in the Oleander area in which several kids were hurt. Several of us entered the scene to see ambulances and fire engines on Maple Street. Two ambulances wheeled out in a hurry onto Oleander, while a man in a white T-shirt searched for his brother, a man allegedly in the house during the explosion…

“I can’t find my brother,” he said. “He was in the house during the explosion. I don’t know what he’s going to do or if they’re going to arrest him… one of the kids threw a round into a pit. There was shrapnel everywhere. I think it must have been a forty. Two of the kids died. One of them was a girl who died. She was hit in the chest. Some of the ages were 9 and 11…I have to go find my brother.”

Was what he said accurate? I don’t know. Details haven’t fully emerged.

I talked briefly with Felix Adamo of the local newspaper, who asked questions of the nearby media in the area… he indicated that he didn’t hear about anyone dying. I told him about the guy in the white T-shirt. “Thanks for the tip,” he said.

As we left the scene, three girls headed up the street, one wearing a red shirt with the words “R.I.P Eric Vick” scrawled in black ink.

A Writer in Yosemite, Part Eight: Photo Essay 2 - By N.L. Belardes

In the workshop, Writing the region: travel writing and beyond, I listened to Malcolm Margolin talk about a travel narrative created in the likeness of old Japanese journey scrolls/. "You won't find them at Barnes & Noble," he said.


The pirate of Heyday listens to his colleagues talk about travel writing


Malcolm reads about room 239


Matildakay is awarded a scholarship certificate for the Mary Wong Lee Memorial Scholarship


As Enrique Fuentes, Queen of the Downtown Fur would say: "Show it off because you can!"


Roxene Lee and Karene Conlin take a picture with their award recipient, Matildakay


Concerto anyone?


Connie Fulmer wins the Yosemite Writers Conference Novel Contest


A touching moment, I was overwhelmed with joy just standing nearby


THE SWAMI who wrote Love on a Rotten Day and Born on a Rotten Day


Night fire...


Sheree Petree works magic... wala!


Cindy Wathen watches her husband jam to the Beatles






T. Jefferson Parker signs his new book, The Fallen


As the Keynote speaker, T. Jefferson Parker told an incredible tale of how he was discovered... too much to tell in this brief photo essay. Let's just say he sold a book on a napkin...




T. Jefferson Parker and Cindy Wathen...




Musician/novelist Christopher Allen Poe and... oops, what is her name? Christopher, help...


At the end of the conference there was still time to chill and talk books
*Carole Sargent is pictured here with Matildakay (facing camera)...

Matildakay reports:

A great literary weekend
What's your type?
The Mary Wong Lee Memorial Scholarship
Malcolm Margolin is Posh
Hanging out with the Pirates of Yosemite and setting the record straight
Kill Your Darlings

N.L. on Paperback Writer reports:

A Writer in Yosemite: Part One
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Two
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Three
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Four
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Five
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Six
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Seven
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Eight

A Writer in Yosemite, Part Seven: A Pirate's Life for Me?

Pirates peer at a scalawag's blog...

You might ask, “What’s it like being a literary pirate?” To some folks I’m just a blogger with a big spoon, stirring as I make my way across the golden Tules and foggy valley grasslands. To others maybe I’m more of a swashbuckling pirate of literary shenanigans, lopping off suspenders and watching drawers comically drop around ankles as I go.

After all, it was Malcolm who looked at me, red wine swishing around the very whites of his eyeballs, and said, “My reputation is in your hands…”



Come now, pirates are entertainers, and we all entertained so well at the Yosemite Writers Conference. There we were: writers, bloggers, a web developer for literary web sites, novelists, a literary consultant, and even a renowned California publisher legend in Malcolm Margolin—a pirate in a commercial sea, yet so loved that even his vessel was allowed to dock in Yosemite. I think his boat was allowed so that a strange pirate beggar like myself could Jolly Roger my way, waving alongside, and happily thumb my nose at the very sleek cruise ship of publishing, that I, well… want to publish the likes of me.

But forget about all that. When you’re with pirates, you practically forget your own name. It’s like when a fight’s about to break out in a schoolyard. Doesn’t matter that everyone has someplace better to go. Everyone sticks around to watch the pummeling of the combatants and then gives their two cents: “Dude, I would have raked her head over the asphalt, then tied her hair to her shoelaces…” Admit it, you once gawked.

(I’m telling you, if I grew up in Central Valley farmland like chingpea, I would have stayed for the animal bloodlust too).

Those of us at the pirate table were very into the conversation. Matildakay got called a Goth. I drew swords against a writer who politely sidestepped. And then there was the big Berkeley pirate battle that rocked our ship of rebel-hearted fools. Malcolm sat across from a rapscallion named Laurie—she was dept at lawyer-speak—and in a moment of cleansing her life from literary rejection, launched into an anti-Berkeley tirade that had even the polite Malcolm raising his voice. Two literary agents sitting at the next table seemed to enjoy the fracas as voices raised to the point that nearby redcoats almost made the entire table walk the plank.


A pirate battle begins... notice the agents in the background


No, not an imitation of a famous painting, but hands in finger-pointing stances


More pirates and Cinema of the Lords on the puter... are you a filmmaker?


The true mystery of room 239 surrounded this plate of cheese

And then the next day, for a few moments I had to turn off the pirate swagger. Gone was my argumentative nature and pirate flag waiving; gone was my thought that I was a great American novelist wrapped in a world where I might see success. I was now just another writer in a crowd of a million writers, and I was checking in with a couple of literary agents to see if my work had enough gusto to interest the commercial world of publishing.

My first meeting was with Irene Webb, one of the most prominent film representation and literary agents in her field. I entered a room with small tables. The room itself seemed a bit stale. I don’t know, what was I expecting, flowers?


A volunteer in the pitch room


Erin Hosier and Irene Webb: two cattlemen rounding up the literary herd

Agents sat talking to prospects while a volunteer organized schedules. I caught a glimpse of Erin Hosier of The Gernert Company and Irene Webb talking and soon made my way to an outside table. Next to the table sat Bonnie Hearn Hill talking with a novelist who I think writes Christian romance stories (I might be wrong on that one). As Irene walked up Bonnie said, “You’ll like Irene, she’s very nice.”

Irene smiled while I just tried to break the tension. “Bonnie winked,” I said.

I sat down and pulled out a stack of thirteen ideas, some finished, some not. “Some of these ideas are OK,” Irene said. Is that good? After we talked for a few minutes she asked which stories I thought were most important.

“That’s a tough question,” I admitted. Aren’t they all? Oh man… That put me on the spot. Eventually we discussed some books I thought were important.


Irene Webb ponders my stories...

“Send me a few chapters,” she said. Was this a good sign? Does this mean she was interested? She must be or she wouldn’t have asked, right? Later, Cindy Wathen said, “Nick, you need to be more positive.”

Gulp. She’s right.

My next meeting was with Erin Hosier. Erin is interesting to look at and to speak with. She’s a bit dark in dress, though fashionably so. She’s hip. She likes quirky, decidedly dark fiction. I write decidedly dark fiction, I told myself 150 times before sitting at her table. Go figure; I never actually said out loud to her that I write decidedly dark fiction.



What I did talk about was my Paperback Writer blog, my novels, and about one of my novels that really grabbed her attention. “Send me a few chapters,” she said.

I got up from the table, shook her hand, snapped another photo, mumbled it was sexy and made my way out into the Tenaya Lodge hallway, wondering if I had just made headway in my literary career. She did say to send a few chapters, right?


Erin Hosier ponders our brief meeting...

In fact, that’s that Malcolm ended up telling me about one of my books. “Send me a few chapters,” he said.

The pirate consultant ended up saying, “I’m passing this book onto an editor who I know… after I finish reading it…”

So that was good too. Four opportunities. Four leads. Four doorways. Four windows. And it’s all because I never give up on my dreams and goals no matter what people have said to me. Sure, pirates have dreams, just sometimes rebellious ones. Doesn’t make us bad people, just maybe indicates to others that we don’t bathe enough.

Driving home from the conference I kept rethinking the weekend. Was every writer from the conference rethinking the weekend? What could I have said differently? How could I have better spoken with agents and writers about who I am and what I write about? As I passed endless farmland and a strange golden grass-covered area, I swore I could hear Malcolm’s voice saying over and over, “My reputation is in your hands…” while I imagined red wine and goldfish still swishing around the very whites of his eyeballs.

Matildakay reports:

A great literary weekend
What's your type?
The Mary Wong Lee Memorial Scholarship
Malcolm Margolin is Posh
Hanging out with the Pirates of Yosemite and setting the record straight
Kill Your Darlings

N.L. on Paperback Writer reports:

A Writer in Yosemite: Part One
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Two
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Three
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Four
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Five
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Six
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Seven
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Eight

A Writer in Yosemite, Part Six: Photo Essay 1 - By N.L. Belardes

The Yosemite Writers Conference was filled with interesting faces, committed writers, instant friendships and more... here are a few images from part one of my photo essay:


Heyday Books had a table at the event. I've read Blithe Tomato. I'll start the Filipino memoir, Oracles within a few days.


Malcolm Margolin of Heyday Books sets up a table with some of his company's finest literature, history, memoirs and more...


Master of Ceremonies talks to THE SWAMI (Hazel Dixon-Cooper).


Delicious morning fruit energized me each morning at Tenaya Lodge


Bonnie Hearn Hill's book If It Bleeds...


A crowd of writers readies for the conference workshops and panels


Executive Director Cindy Wathen


The first panel of the conference: (Right to Left) Kristen Godsey, Andrea "The Bulldog" Brown, Doris Booth, Anne Hawkins and Stacey Barney


Be afraid. Be very afraid...


Kristin Godsey caught deep in thought


Novelist Connie L. Fulmer was a pleasant voice to greet throughout the weekend. She had a great victory at the conference for a novel she wrote...


Scholarship winner Matildakay at Jackalopes...


A high-powered lunch with Bonnie Hearn Hill (far left) and her agent Laura Dail...


Literary Agent Irene Webb gave one of the most informative and interesting speeches of the day as she spoke on writing for Hollywood. Her anecdotes kept the class amused, on the edge of their seats, and informed as to Hollywood writer realities...


Bonnie Hearn Hill is as witty and funny as a writer gets. She even gave me a hard time


In Bonnie's workshop on advanced writing tips


A writer next to me takes notes...


Stinky feet? I promised not to tell...


CAUGHT SLEEPING!!!


Malcolm Margolin of Heyday Books at the pavilion...


Cindy Wathen and Malcolm Margolin make small talk as only a writer and such an intriguing man of the world could...


Christopher Allen Poe reads an excerpt from his novel. He's also in the band, Insect out of Sacramento.

Matildakay reports:

A great literary weekend
What's your type?
The Mary Wong Lee Memorial Scholarship
Malcolm Margolin is Posh
Hanging out with the Pirates of Yosemite and setting the record straight
Kill Your Darlings

N.L. on Paperback Writer reports:

A Writer in Yosemite: Part One
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Two
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Three
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Four
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Five
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Six
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Seven
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Eight

A Writer in Yosemite, Part Five: The Attack of the Literary Agent - By N.L. Belardes

There’s a woman who works in the corporate world who I call a bulldog. She’s territorial. She doesn’t piss on herself, but she would on you if you crossed her. She’s got a thick invisible chain on her neck that makes her resemble some kind of metaphoric West Coast rapper who would pull a semi-automatic pistol just for you having food on the corner of your mouth. She’s that tough.

Of course I’ve never actually met a literary agent before, but I did try to corner one today who reminded me of the corporate bulldog. Ironically she also reminded me of my Mexican grandmother who used to wear leopard print jumpsuits, big blonde wigs, but who cooked the meanest homemade tortillas in San Jose, California. Only my grandma would invite you in for food. Not the literary agent. She would gobble all the food for herself and had a bite that would have left teeth marks in my ego if it weren’t for my humorous take on the entire dreaded affair. “Your titles are horrible! And you don’t get the age group you’re writing for!”

Ouch. Maybe I needed that. Here, take my leg too...

I wanted to get defensive. I might have been a little snooty. I can’t remember. But that’s what I get for cornering a bulldog. You never know. She may have been hungry. She might have needed to use the bathroom. I always used to tell myself about the corporate bulldog that if I brought little presents it would be like scratching her chin, stroking her scruff… She liked lottery tickets. But what did I have to give the literary agent? Four sheets of paper? Four proposals meant for minds sucked into the zaniness of Cartoon Network… stories meant for kids who sit sucked into Spongebob and who could turn off the boob tube and peer into the literary landscape of Harry Potter. A surefire mix.

Or maybe not. It wasn't like I had more than ten seconds with the bulldog. Do you realize how many bitemarks you can get in such a short amount of time??

Although I had good consultations with two literary agents today, I have to say that I was looking at the conference as the Haves and the Have Nots. Getting noticed in the literary world in part is an interesting competitive game. Elevator speeches are a must, and bulldog mentality sometimes comes out in a toughness because literary agents are salespersons. It’s very much about money and what’s hot for the Haves who often don’t want from the Have Nots…

Did I learn anything? Sure. I learned that it’s good to go through the ropes, that an attack makes you a better person (As long as you can still spawn children afterwards); and that when all is said and done, you can still be yourself, go sit at a pirate table, hoist a flag and tell stories.

Storytelling is beautiful when you’re sitting with Malcolm Margolin. He’s known some of the most wondrous characters who have stepped from pristine art, experimental and reknowned literature and culture into his life. I learned more about myself and my interests from such vigorous storytelling: a World War Two Japanese man who saw on radar the plane headed for Hiroshima and tried to warn his fellow countrymen, an artist who painted birds who once courted a baby owl that was carved up and eaten, and magical artists from India who traveled America and wondered about local products and culture. We sat and spoke about our common yet uncommon pasts. Each of us at the table escaped estranged childhoods yet cling onto our cultural upbringing as a means to uphold an essence of self and humanity.

Sure, there was a literary agent attack… but there was healing as well, and there was storytelling that surpassed the drooling jowls of the publishing industry.

Matildakay reports:

A great literary weekend
What's your type?
The Mary Wong Lee Memorial Scholarship
Malcolm Margolin is Posh
Hanging out with the Pirates of Yosemite and setting the record straight
Kill Your Darlings

N.L. on Paperback Writer reports:

A Writer in Yosemite: Part One
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Two
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Three
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Four
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Five
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Six
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Seven
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Eight

A Writer in Yosemite, Part Four: Writers and blogging - By N.L. Belardes

When Kassia Krozner, Genevieve Choate, and Erin Hosier talked about blogs at the Yosemite Writers Conference I was reminded that many writers just aren't on blogs. Why not? I have no idea... maybe it's age? Lack of marketing know-how? Or preconceived notions as to what blogs and myspace are... Hey, if you're a writer, just get started... Here's a snippet of the conversation...


KK: …the more words you put out there, the people are going to find you. I’m a huge fan of focus blogging. Forget about cheese sandwich blogs. Those get into the minutia of everyday life. A focused blog is a blog on your area of expertise. …area of expertise is critical. You want to set yourself apart from the crowd. It’s ultimately about what you want to read about… voice gets you coming back.

GC: It best to post often and consistently. They’ll also be higher up the list if you blog everyday. Use headlines. Those are the #1 search criteria. People find blogs mostly by search.

KK: I blog everyday. I tend to write for multiple sites. I write for booksquare maybe 3-4 times a week. I practiced for a month before I went live. An abandoned blog is worse than no blog at all (Check out Confessions of an idiosyncratic mind on crime, fiction and more for a good example on a writing blog).

Q: Should I write about nursing or writing?

EH: Definitely about nursing. Let your anecdotes about nursing make your writing shine. I have a client who blogs about New York taxi driving titled New York Hack. Hundreds of thousands of people go to her site…

KK: You start building your expertise online. No matter your profession. That’s how you start doing it.

GC: You have to have thick skin. How personal is it? Do you want the whole world to know? Search engines cache everything even if you take the information offline. You might post photos for the whole world to see but you don’t know who is looking or their intentions… you can go in, read what other people are doing and decide on a focus. If you don’t like it, start over. And start reading other blogs too… If you find something interesting on a blog, leave a comment and a url back to your blog.

KK: Is it safe to use your email and url?

GC: It’s great information about you… they may link to you in the future…

KK: You need to participate in what’s called your back blog… if someone leaves a comment and asks a question, you need to answer them.

EH: I encourage all my writers to use myspace.com to promote their work. Is it gross to promote your product on myspace? People know that’s why you’re there. They’re looking for product… everything has a myspace page now… if people feel like their your friend hopefully they will go out and buy your book… if a book has been published you don’t want to give the cow away for free but you can promote…

GC: Trolls get you upset, offtrack, and do everything they can to get you flustered. If you’re using blogging software, you can use moderating software and block them out. I think if they’re calling me out it reflects on them. Hijacking is when someone comes in and talks about something different than the conversation and talk about a different thread. There are paid blogging positions out there. Some pay for posts…

KK: Some people get paid for their personal blogs like on Gawker.com. Blogging is a job for a lot of us.

GC: We have folks who use the staff blogs on the Bee. Some of the folks get published in print.

Q: What kind of blogs might an agent read?

EH: I read six blogs faithfully, things I am really interested in. Entertainment gossip or fashion. I’m looking for a fresh voice. It’s important to me personally that I don’t just write a rehashing a blog. I would want a fresh manuscript on a subject…

Matildakay reports:

A great literary weekend
What's your type?
The Mary Wong Lee Memorial Scholarship
Malcolm Margolin is Posh
Hanging out with the Pirates of Yosemite and setting the record straight
Kill Your Darlings

N.L. on Paperback Writer reports:

A Writer in Yosemite: Part One
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Two
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Three
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Four
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Five
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Six
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Seven
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Eight

A Writer in Yosemite, Part Three: Bonnie Hearn Hill panel talks point of view in fiction - By N.L. Belardes

Yesterday I walked in on Bonnie Hearn Hill as she talked fiction with a class. The energy was high and the laughter just as fun. She gave me a hard time and I was a bit bashful as I wandered to the front of the class, only because I didn’t want to steal Bonnie’s thunder… just kidding. She took off her shoes, kicked back and talked about advanced fiction writing tips…

I promised I wouldn’t write about “angry nipples”, so onto today’s workshop on ‘Point of View in Fiction’ as I attempt to blog as the panel speaks: Bonnie Hearn Hill, Irene Webb, Jeff Parker, and Andrea Brown…

BHH: It’s about whose voice you’re in and how the scene is focused. It’s how you see the story through a visceral camera. We all look at this room in a different way through our eyes… What POV does the panel prefer to write or sell?

IW: I love a really good first person narrative. I think it comes from my childhood… books about girls telling their story… generally speaking my favorite aren’t in the first person… suspense actiony…straight ahead storytelling.

JP: POV is real interesting and relevant to voice and storytelling. I really have to know the tone and atmosphere before starting a book. Sometimes I try a journalistic approach, and then maybe change to a first person…I’ll see how that feels… then after experimentation you know which one is best because it just feels right… it’s like a shoe and you go, “Yeah, this is it.” A third person you see what happens in a character they don’t see in themselves… a good work of fiction is very flexible and can have competing levels…

BHH: POV ping pong is not omniscient... When I read California Girl it starts in first person and then went on from other points of view… how did you do that?

JP: California Girls is structured now then, now, forward plot. The hardest part was to make the decisive lead clear… I led each chapter with a year to make it clear.

AB: I don’t believe in writer’s block… means you’re writing the wrong thing… try something else. Never tell anyone you have writer’s block. Makes you sound unprofessional.

BHH: How many POV for a first time writer?

IW: When picking up a manuscript by an unknown writer… if POV changes and verb tense changes, that’s a disaster. Simplicity is the best approach. What you want is the person to read your material, fall in love with the characters… if you’re trying to impress, you won’t get any of those things…

BHH: Sometimes best-selling authors see someone like Jeff Parker who does multiple POV very well… they learn a lesson publicly if they can’t do it… stick to one until you’re really comfortable.

JP: …if you’re doing it right you’re readers won’t notice it… if by page 300 they still haven’t figured out your POV, then you’re successful.

IW: I feel in adult literary fiction of any kind, first person makes it feel kind of small… like it’s a little story… doesn’t feel like it’s going to be a best seller. It’s the exception if it’s a first person novel that everyone’s talking about.

AB: You’re limited in first person. Think about a 500 page novel in first person. It’s limiting. Why not want to give yourself as much freedom as possible?

BHH: I think new writers are just looking for their voice when using first person… get your stride… get your voice… I personally could not write a whole book in first person. I would bore myself silly…

AB: Writers guide to crafting stories for children by Nancy Lamb… a great book for POV. Perspective of a story and the way a story is expressed…

BHH: Most books define but don’t tell you how to do a POV. Just knowing what those terms are isn’t enough…

If you want more info, there’s a CD of the entire Yosemite Writers Conference that will be available…

Matildakay reports:

A great literary weekend
What's your type?
The Mary Wong Lee Memorial Scholarship
Malcolm Margolin is Posh
Hanging out with the Pirates of Yosemite and setting the record straight
Kill Your Darlings

N.L. on Paperback Writer reports:

A Writer in Yosemite: Part One
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Two
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Three
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Four
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Five
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Six
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Seven
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Eight

A Writer in Yosemite, Part Two: The Pirate Table and Room 239 - By N.L. Belardes

"We're all writers who started off not believing in ourselves... our reward is seeing you bloom," said Cindy Wathen, one of the major organizers of the Yosemite Writers Conference.

We sat in a room called Salon 1 and while she spoke I reflected on a morning of interesting conversations. I gave Malcolm a copy of Lords, which embarrassed, he made me sign for him. After all, I had to give the publisher of Heyday Books a copy of the very book that had been rejected. Malcolm had set up a Heyday Books booth. He tossed me the book, Oracles, by Pati Navalta Poblete in exchange for my scandalous romp through Bakersfield's decrepit past. Oracles is not officially released and is a memoir about a young Americanized Filipino girl suddenly faced with four grandparents who arrive from the Philippines. Can you imagine the love and the pain? Oh yeah... chingpea will surely have a comment...

Who knows, maybe I can give Malcolm nightmares like I have a few of the folks who've written to me about the creepy Yokut ghost in my work... and then there's the chick lit writer C. L. who phoned me one day to say, "Your book ruined my sex life."

Now that's success!

"Do you have a photographic memory?" Malcolm said.

"It takes fuzzy pictures sometimes."

"I hear more about you than I do my own children."

Malcolm and I then talked about an arts collective and models that might work for Bakersfield and about cross promoting Heyday Books with Noveltown. "Noveltown doesn't have a catalog of books. If we had an arts collective/bookstore, whose books do you think I would be pushing hard in the valley...?" Heyday of course.

And so on went that conversation.

In the Salon 1 room I wasn't getting my hair done, though I did feel like I got my attitude rearranged, nipped and tucked by the tough literary panel of Kristen Godsey, Andrea Brown, Doris Booth, Anne Hawkins, and Stacey Barney. Sure, they were all funny. But they were intimidating as well. Some of my favorite lines were: "Don't pitch me in the bathroom," "I don't care if you pitch me in the bathroom," "Work on a two-line Hollywood pitch," and "Don't stalk."

Stalk? These high-powered ladies must have had some interesting experiences with serial killa writers circling them like vultures. I instantly felt like some kind of vulture in a cartoon landscape, but I didn't mind. I like cartoons, and the metaphor seemed fitting. I think every writer in the room suddenly looked shifty-eyed at each another, unwilling to admit their own plotting. The rest tucked their tails between their legs.

Later I heard Irene Webb talk about agents: "The most important thing is to have an idea and to convey it... Some of the most famous books ever were found in a slush pile... and if it captures us, we'll keep reading. If it doesn't, it's over."

Over? ouch... Like over over?

Bonnie Hearn Hill later chimed in about the agent from hell she once had (Sadly enough, THE SWAMI once had an agent from Pluto... and don't forget folks, that's just a micro-planet now). "The agent from hell never edited for me... and we had to do an intervention to get Hazel to get rid of her agent." What's the deal with bad agents? If you have a good one, that's a healthy marriage. If not, someone will be sleeping in the doghouse...

Irene Webb, who I have a meeting with today (gulp) said to a group about writing for Hollywood, "I had dinner with Mel Gibson and he didn't get drunk... and Placido Domingo was there..."

Webb talked about how screenwriters have barely a chance to make it unless they're in Hollywood, or tapped into a network of filmmakers at a film school. I think that's what's great about the Bakersfield Renaissance. Film, art, theatre, writers fuse with the media to promote and create...

But will that get any of us anywhere? Sure, just ask Hectic Films. These guys take creating short films seriously. And Bakersfield is in Hollywood's Backyard after all... we're all amateurs until we suddenly get better, and near our goals...

"Hollywood wants what is going to be fresh and original. You have to literally see the billboard, have scenes ready for trailers, and roles for male motion picture stars..." Webb said.

Was Irene planting seeds of thought? Is that reality: male dominated Hollywood movies, or is that just what she can sell the best? I swear I just saw the Devil Wears Prada... But then Irene knows her stuff. She has brought more than 150 books to film, and sold the rights to 1500-2000 others. Her credentials include: Witches of Eastwick, Patriot Games, Clear and Present Danger, Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Friday Night Lights, Men in Black (at the time she wanted to make her two-year-old happy).

In the end, Irene said about screenwriters, "It's really up to you writers to come up with what's new and fresh that's in the zeitgeist..."

If you move to Hollywood that is.

Thank goodness I just write cheesy novels that get rejected and end back up in the publisher's hands who rejected them. Just kidding, Malcolm. I think he knows I like to give people shit. He later said at the pirate table about a mutual strange and loveable friend we had, "Don Ackland was brilliant. He would wear a suit everywhere he went. He knew a bit of everything. He was the most in touch and the most out of touch character you could ever meet..."

Oh, the pirate table? That came later in the evening in a bout of typical artistic rebelliousness. Carole Sargent from Georgetown University hoisted a pirate flag and guerrilla marketed a meeting of rebellious minds in a secretive pirate society invite which read, "Pub Q&A tonight, 6pm, Jackalopes, by the fireplace."

What's this? pirates?

Publisher Malcom Margolin was there looking like a swashbuckling pirate with his swashy beard, hairs bristling from his chin and face like bolts of rebellious lightning electrifying those around him. Zap! Matildakay donned a hat as did a lawyer with a devious set of eyes and blistering manner of verbal attack that infected the group. They both love Johnny Depp and seemed to spout a few "Argggs" out of the corners of their mouth about Ichabod Crane; not a pirate, but piratey I should add. A tech writer, marketing girl, and web developer were also onboard. They clinked their glasses and all took part in the seaworthy pirate table. As for me. I know I'm a pirate. Don't have to ask me twice to be a fly on the wall. I manned the guns.

And that's when the debates started. Fingers pointed, wine poured, grimaces were made, cheers went all around, and just like any group of pirates, we couldn't even agree on our own shadows, let alone a plan of attack. We spoke highly of treasure and treasure maps. We talked loudly, drew swords (at each other) and merrily hugged that perhaps our voyage would get us equal plunder, except for that mad captain Margolin who admitted, "I live in my own world because of the world I created around me." Damn pirate. I hate those kind. He's as lost as a castaway with a fully stocked bar, coconuts galore and island babes on each arm.

Maybe that's the worst kind of pirate...

The rest of us were hell bent on not being shipwrecked. Carol lent us a few maps even. After a while the group began talking of hair-raising literary schemes. Some of us moved to another table while the lawyer and Malcolm aimed pistols at one another, screaming, "You're no pirate, ah ya scalawag curmudgeon! It'll be off with yer barnacle intellect if I have me way!" And so on. They were drunk.

At the secondary pirate table we talked Noveltown, Lords, and Arthur Chilling... all fine topics for pirates.

And then the mystery of room 239...

What's this? An invasion? mystery? Intrigue? More plotting? The entire Tenaya Lodge suddenly seemed like a great vessel we'd just stormed. And our march up to the very poopdeack seemed to tip the very vessel.

Or was that just the wine?

Matildakay reports:

A great literary weekend
What's your type?
The Mary Wong Lee Memorial Scholarship
Malcolm Margolin is Posh
Hanging out with the Pirates of Yosemite and setting the record straight
Kill Your Darlings

N.L. on Paperback Writer reports:

A Writer in Yosemite: Part One
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Two
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Three
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Four
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Five
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Six
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Seven
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Eight

A Writer in Yosemite, Part One: Malcolm Margolin prepares for speech at Yosemite Writers Conference - By N.L. Belardes

The drive to Yosemite's gateway was uneventful, except for the samurai guys in the white van who seemed to be following myself and Matildakay. We passed the dirty white van down the bumpy 99. I looked in the rearview mirror and these samurai jokers just seemed like they were off to some wicked Central Valley farmland to practice their warrior moves... eventually we lost them as we made a pit stop in Tulare for some Calvin Klein shopping moments (don't ask).

In a mysterious set of circumstances, Matildakay and I went through our usual ritual where we each said, "Where do you want to go to eat?" We almost went to a Japanese restaurant, almost stepped into a Chinese joint, and thought about some country kitchen before wandering into The Velvet Rose, a second story Italian restaurant in Oakhurst filled with paintings of roses.

As soon as we sat down I noticed the publisher of Heyday Books, Malcolm Margolin sitting by himself next to a wall covered with eleven paintings of roses. In the middle of the wall were two fake doors. Above those hung dried roses all wired together in a beautiful banner. Malcolm wore a light blue shirt that contrasted with the mauve of a painting near his head. His grey beard, twisted and wiry, stood out like a beacon, while his glasses gave off a faint sparkle, a telling moment that he was in deep thought.

I wandered over anyways and said a hello. He mentioned he was writing a speech for the following day. "I wanted to get away, so I came here to think about a speech I'm supposed to give tomorrow. Do you know about the Book Fair in Bakersfield?"

"A book fair in Bakersfield?"

"It's in November..."

What a strange a beautiful place--deep in thought near to a wall of rose paintings that seemed as still in their paintings as he seemed sitting in his chair before I headed over. Eventually he passed by our table and greeted Matildakay. He remembered her from the Great Valley Books Writers' Conference in Merced. I invited him to sit, but he wasn't nearly done with his speech and so begged off and disappeared carrying a notepad with plenty of scribbles that certainly needed rearranging...

Matildakay reports:

A great literary weekend
What's your type?
The Mary Wong Lee Memorial Scholarship
Malcolm Margolin is Posh
Hanging out with the Pirates of Yosemite and setting the record straight
Kill Your Darlings

N.L. on Paperback Writer reports:

A Writer in Yosemite: Part One
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Two
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Three
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Four
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Five
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Six
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Seven
A Writer in Yosemite: Part Eight

Bonnie Hearn Hill’s ‘If It Bleeds’ is second book to hit bookstores in less than a year on scandalous Central Valley newspapers - By N.L. Belardes

The new blood-and-guts companion to books about newspaper
corruption in conservative Central, California...


Lords of the corrupt Central Valley publishers?


The San Joaquin Valley in Central and Northern California—also known as the Great Central Valley. How great is such a valley with nearly a dozen river systems feeding its soil-rich farmland? The hydraulic society of the world’s hydraulic societies, an artificially controlled hydrological network of agricultural landscapes with canals and rivers, with some that can reverse flow, and a giant aquafier in the Kern Water Bank neatly tucked away in the Kern River Alluvial deposit, not to mention oil rivers below ground in crisscrossing streams that feed America’s hunger for petroleum-based products. It’s the literal land of milk and honey, with golden grasslands to prove, right?

Don’t forget I used the word, ‘artificial’. Such a landscape is man-made, built with millions of dollars of hybridized agriculture and mechanical waterworks, and controlled by corporate landscapes as tricky and complex as reversing the flow of metric tons of H2O. Don’t forget the Kern Water Bank can hold one million cubic feet of water—that’s the largest in the world—no wonder it’s a bank many moguls would like to crack. The water and oil that flows in the valley are the valley’s liquid diamonds, with agriculture just as wealthy and sparkling on the vine.

The cities and the towns of the Central Valley boast all-American status, and can be as quaint as a roadside fruit stand surrounded by grape vineyards—the very places where the Central Valley breadbasket meets its highway roots, the very places where bodies are sometimes left for farmworkers to stumble across.

A discovered body could lead to a big news story. And a big news story in the Central Valley tied to a body found in agriculture fields could lead to who-knows-where—a bleeding front page news story perhaps? When working in a newsroom there might even be an axiom to live by—for journalists that is. They might say, “If it bleeds, it leads.” Maybe such an axiom just depends on the mantra a particular newspaper wants to exercise; maybe that’s just a way to say gruesome stories are always at the top of the news in the Central Valley: a landscape of many socialites with deep pockets, some of who have been tied to a murderous past.

Sure, there is my book Lords: Part One based on the ‘Lords of Bakersfield’ news stories about a citywide conspiracy of murder and newspaper corruption. A fictional newspaper called the Tule Reader harbors a publisher with a mind-controlling agenda over his fundamentalist readers so despicable that corrupt lawmakers and city officials would lead hidden gay lives that preyed on the hopeless. A local Bakersfield theatre director would tell me after reading the book, “Even though it would make a good movie, no one will make a movie about it. It won’t sell because it’s about Bakersfield.” Oh it wouldn’t? No one wants to read about the land of Buck Owens, Korn, and newspaper conspiracies? Then why did such dark news stories get picked up even by the Main Stream Media (MSM) in 2003? Popular stories breed in the public consciousness. They make for good movies that society can relate to. And just maybe such a brooding work about Central Valley newspaper corruption isn’t alone…

September 1st marks the mass market paperback release by Mira Books of Bonnie Hearn Hill’s newsroom thriller, If It Bleeds, a book loosely based on Central Valley happenings within the corrupt side of the newspaper biz. Echoes of Santa Barbara newspaper scandal ringing in your ears? (Not to mention the local Bakersfield Californian plagiarism scandal last year that I can't find on their new website. Click for dead links. Now why would the news suppress the news about their own scandal?). Read Hearn Hill’s fictional account of newspaper drama as it unfolds in conservative Central California city life. Follow investigative reporter Corina Vasquez as she explores murder and intrigue surrounding her own Valley Voice newspaper. Will she find the killer of the city’s mayor? Does the plot deepen to a wider conspiracy regarding the city’s corporate elite, rich builders and some rather stereotypical conservative bigots?

Brutal murders, big headlines and a conspiracy as deep as the plot of Lords: Part One? Yes, of course. If It Bleeds is definitely a collector’s item for people wanting books not just by Central Valley writers, but about the conspiracies of the Central Valley. There’s a lot of truth in such fiction. Who would have thought that two books about Central Valley newspaper media machines would hit bookstores less than a year apart?

And Hearn Hill is no newspaper slouch. She’s a self-made insider of the newspaper game who worked for the Fresno Bee for more than two decades. I’m thinking she may have seen her share of murder stories, interdepartmental newspaper shenanigans and newspaper scandal. There just has to be a tie-in to If It Bleeds. A big “no comment” from her on the topic. Writers tend to resolve their own distant past. As she said in a recent interview with me, “Fiction is the lie that tells a truth.” So she tells it. Her truth-telling is just woven with some good storytelling is all.

If It Bleeds storms its way into the world of psychological thrillers and leaves readers wondering just what their newspapers are up to behind closed doors and brick walls. In part one of the trilogy, Bonnie Hearn Hill takes sentences filled with narrative sarcasm, a healthy dose of mostly hidden novelist agenda, and spins a fiction about secret newspaper power trips, sexual corporate escapades, thrilling intrigue, and sprinkles her work with a journalist bent on a mission not to necessarily do good, but to find the truth no matter the cost. Hearn Hill’s ability to squeeze every last drop of plot and structure is why her novel works.

There’s no doubt, If It Bleeds is the blood-and-guts companion to Lords: Part One. If you own one, you need the other. Get If It Bleeds September 1st on Amazon. September 2nd, get your book signed in The Big “No” Barnes and Noble (Fresno).

(*If you're in Bakersfield, pre-order from Russo's Books)
Read more about Hearn Hill’s trilogy and If It Bleeds
And her purple gloves get interviewed by Authorlink
Bonnie Hearn Hill Official Site
Get If It Bleeds on Amazon. Pre-order for September 1st delivery
Try my novel for size if you want more on Central Valley newspaper corruption
Coming soon: a review of another valley writer: THE SWAMI…

Bakersfield, art as it should be - By N.L. Belardes

Now we're talking spin-off logo. Only took me ten minutes and didn't cost $65,000.

Imagine, no city folks twiddling their thumbs. Good golly!

If you want, you can get the real deal, including the 'Bakersfield, Life as it should be' gag gift coffee house blend here.

Otherwise, you'll have to wait for the T-shirts or spray-painted grafitti logo on your friendly neighborhood city and media buildings.

Maybe the broken paintbrush was a bit much.

Big thanks and a question about the idea of social critics - By N.L. Belardes

I can't begin to describe how nice Bryan Tebow of kerngamers.com was in donating his time Saturday to work the film and projection art portion of the Downtown Sculpture and Assemblage Show that Noveltown was a part of. He brought the laptop and projector (donated for the evening), and in the very hot basement, stayed for 7.5 hours. Les Paw from Fatt Katt and the Vonzippers donated his sound system for the projection art. And let me tell you, it was hot and heavy carrying that equipment down stairs.

Thanks for supporting the arts, guys.

Of course, there were some bumbles as well, one which I am really steamed about. I was basically not trusted and told not to write anything bad about the local paper as it might ruin it for local artists.

What the hell?

You tell someone something in confidence, and just because you're a writer, they tell you not to write your own opinion just because they don't like it.

Tell me if that isn't a little controlling. I don't tell artists how to paint their canvas. Just ask Hectic Films. "Skip" is their creation. And don't confuse themes with dictating or controlling art. If a theme is industrial-themed poetry, then stick to it...

Check out this post about blogging that I found just today on howardowens.com titled, "Who Let the Blogs Out? Legal Experts Offer Tips on Avoiding Trouble". There's an interesting bit in the article about the washingtonpost.com's blogs where they state in their blog rules, "We encourage users to analyze, comment on and even challenge washingtonpost.com's articles, blogs, reviews and multimedia features."

Wow, a major newspaper allowing blog criticism. And here we have someone telling me that as an artist I can't be a social critic if I felt like it?

And worried that I won't protect the integrity of local artists?

Ahh, but there is more... let me bring you all back up to date on Danielle Belton, former entertainment writer for the Bakersfield Californian. I criticized her and called for her to be fired. Why? Was it all my idea? No. She was being complained about by artists of the community for not reporting enough in 2005 on local arts: musicians, theatre folk, literary arts folks... but alas, let me tell you all right here and right now that I strategically took a fall for the art community. I know the local newspaper sometimes shuns those who cross its power. I'm not dumb. Certain people wouldn't be afraid if there weren't a truth to that statement. Now, if I would have gone out and taken quotes from all the local artists complaining about Danielle Belton, that might have ruined their chances of getting in print. And I wasn't out to ruin the art community. I was bent on being a social critic; and in that I wanted to prod the local media for not covering local arts.

So I took the heat, while protecting the artists. I was kicked out of the Californian's blog community and told it was because of my views against Belton. And I knew they would kick me out even after I was told they could take criticism, that they were now progressive and could accept criticism. Right. I remember saying, "I am going to criticize you. Are you sure you can take it?"

So why would I criticize the Californian now and ruin local artists chances of getting into the local paper? I'm not interested in breaking up friendships between media and artists. I would love to see local art coverage. But let me say this... if you criticize 'Bakersfield life as it should be' with all the corruption and bad air, and gangbanging, then why is the newspaper wearing an immunity idol?

Because artists want coverage.

Ask yourself if you're an artist and a social critic, or a selective social critic, afraid of media repercussions because of fear? Fear of what? Failure because the local paper won't write about you?

Is that the measure of your success?

I just spoke yesterday of starting an arts collective. But then, why would I do that if I am distrusted for being a social critic, something that the Washingtonpost.com encourages. Bakersfield art as it should be? A far cry.

Is August 22nd a doomsday joke? - By N.L. Belardes

Here's an interesting article on ABC News about tomorrow (August 22nd) being a symbolic day of reckoning for islamists. Hezbollah in America? Paranoid fluff? Airliners exploding over the star-spangled seas?

I don't think the problem is something accidentally happening. It's the freak fanatics who purposely control power and millions of lives who can turn people and machines into slaves for their end-of-the-world aims...

Read:

While no extra safeguards are in place, U.S. law enforcement are not ignoring the possible significance of tomorrow's date, August 22, a date that marks an important historic event on the Islamic calendar.

Internet websites have been full of speculation that it could be a target date for terrorists in commemoration of the return of the 12th imam, a supposed day of reckoning for Shiites.

August 22 was rumored by intelligence experts to be a possible date that the London plotters would blow-up passenger planes headed towards the United States, though it is not known if the suspects were Shiite extremists.

This year, August 22 marks the holy day on the Islamic calendar that is the day of reckoning for Shiites...

(read the full article on The Blotter)

Projection art, film, poetry and more at the Downtown Sculpture and Assemblage Show - By N.L. Belardes

“Your TV sculpture is falling…”

“I know. It’s an organic piece.”

“It’s going to fall.”

“I know. Cool, huh? Let it crash. I’m not worried. Kerngamers.com offered me five bucks for the whole mess.”

I arrive downstairs just in time to see the red-and-orange lights inside shimmer as the sculpture wobbles, snaps from the ceiling and smashes on the ground. Or should I say, plop on the ground. The sculpture is really light and airy.

Besides the art piece is more of a joke and was really meant to see if I could make a sculpture out of nothing. And to test lights. I wanted something I could do to test independent LED lights and lithium batteries for some other upcoming projects. They seem to work as soon I break into my own fallen “Drama TV” sculpture and take lights out. I put those lights on broken robot’s “pigmy beer tap” toxic drum sculpture. Why not others be organic?

Yeah, the lights work although most people who walk by my sculptures just sort of keep walking. They didn’t even really look. I don’t mind and giggle. I think many miss the hidden glowing joke and hide their own thoughts, like, “What the hell was this guy on when he was making this strange glowing beast thing?” Or something of that sort.

If any other artist would have created such a weird piece of art for the Downtown Sculpture and Assemblage Show there probably would have been hell to pay by the curator and Art Czar, A.S. Ashley. Nah. A.S. is a sculpture whore. If he saw a tumbleweed shaped like Mother Teresa, I have no doubt in my mind he would pluck it from the ground, put some random name on it and sell it as “Mother Nature Teresa Thorn”, and sell it for 500 clams.

Here’s my photo essay of the Downtown Sculpture and Assemblage Show by Bakersfield Art Rave. Round two will be next Saturday, 5pm-Midnight. There will be no round three. Show up and buy some art.


Picture of my fallen glowing art: "Drama TV" and "Geezbot".
Landen Belardes in background edited the Noveltown projection art entry


Noveltown projected poetry...


...and art in an industrial-themed collage


Watching projected poetry to industrial sounds


Broken Robot's hanging industrial art






"Geezbot" later got more organic as Hectic films and Kerngamers.com
ripped the babybot from its loins


It's maddening and intricate...


Ceramic fairytales


How to date men... find a big knife... and...


Sculpture abounds


Bug art of the creepy beautiful kind


Hectic Films mingles with the crowd as they plan a Zowietown film shoot


Hectic Films short killer flick, "Skip" made stomachs churn


Jason Sanders of Hectic Films captures a creep moment of
guests watching their film

Hectic Films sunglasses taken hostage - By N.L. Belardes

I'm thinking Rickey Bird of Hectic Films was so scared of his own slasher film that he bugged out of the projection art portion of the Downtown Sculpture and Assemblage Show without his cool shades.

I talked to him on the phone today and seriously said, "We've taken your sunglasses hostage."

"I didn't get any calls or anything," he laughed.

Oh no?

Here's your phone call, Rickey.

Now pay the ransom... before things get as slasher-like as your serial killa flickas...


We're dialin' your numba.


Who has the cool shades now?

Dual-ethnic thoughts at Narducci's Latin Cultural Revolution - By N.L. Belardes

Damas talks to artist Marisela Oropeza
Her Chicana art has rich themes of Feminine male imagery and music

There’s so much more culture and history I would learn in my own city of Bakersfield if I just understood more of the language of my own heritage. I listen to Latino radio here and there, dabble in the language, but I admit, I am far on the fringe of understanding Spanish. What I read about Latino culture must be in English. Exposure to language and big groups of people and Latino culture is like walking into a candy store without your senses turned on. I see images around me. But I don’t know what anything tastes or smells like. It’s a kind of cultural blindness and if forces me to be away from people as well (or them from me).

As a dual ethnic Chicano artist I don’t look like I’m Mexican-American at all. I can’t speak Spanish, though I understand a little and by looking at words I can somewhat tell what I’m reading if I have some time to sit and concentrate. I don’t really have friends, just acquaintances mostly, though many people read this website and think they know me. That’s wrong. Read my artwork, my novels, then you might start to know me. It’s like claiming you know Mento Buru without listening to their music.

“Oh yeah, I know them. They’re a band.”

Whatever. Go read my book if you want to get to know me or cheer for me.

It’s kind of weird. It’s not like I get invited to people’s homes even though I may have written about people, give them hugs in public, stood up for a major cultural cause, or only have small or long conversations. Is that the boon of a disheveled writer? To be a hermit of sorts, off in a corner and just observing culture taking place? To be the intelligent weirdo in the group people whisper about? Or is it a problem with being dual ethnic, having grown up thinking I was white even though my father had extremely dark skin. It was his own doing. He told his own kids, “You’re white.”

Why?

I was at Narducci’s last night and I saw a sense of family. Sure, I kind of thought I belonged. I was asked to read a poem. I took photos. I had a few little conversations that weren’t about me. I was asking people about themselves, about their art and music. So they talked. No one asked me anything about me. I was a lurker in a room with a camera. But what was I to the people in the room?

Maybe people think they have me all figured out, so they don’t ask questions in return. Maybe it’s the dual ethnic ‘white guy’ stand-offishness I get because I am Chicano, but my language doesn’t show it, my looks don’t show it, and my writing doesn’t always emulate the Chicano side, unless people read Thick White Crust, the most Chicano piece of fiction ever to come out of Bakersfield.

Maybe people think I wear my culture on my sleeve to show off. Fuck that. I embrace who I am and if people don’t like that I say I’m Chicano they can shove whatever prejudiced thought they have up their ass.

Yeah, I’m a rebel. So what?

The family that really touched me last night that I observed and gained an instant respect for was the family of Chelito Miranda, and her sons Damas of LIKHY2 and Jesus (Chuy) of Reckless Guns. At one point Chelita brought in a book from all her youthful success while a musician in Mexico. She lives in Bakersfield now, but when she was younger, she entertained with the most well-known musicians that graced the cities of Mexico in the 70s and early 80s. The book was filled with articles, fliers and photos. I could tell she was proud of her distant youth. Yet she seemed humble, almost embarrassed to show strangers such personal information. She was in touch with her cultural past and present and even sang a few songs and performed on the guitar with a back-up musician. I was touched by one of the cumbias she strummed. Her son Damas filmed her performance, while her other son, Jesus had performed some rocking songs earlier. He’s definitely a Slash of Guns and Roses fan with his big frizzed rocker hair and intricate guitar-lick metal riff style and cool poses.


Chuy gets ready to rock, Slash style. Yes, he can shred.


Damas talks about his mother's history


The young Chelito Miranda


Still beautiful and her songs are magical

I felt their strong sense of family, even though last night in the end, I felt out of place. Sure, I was supposed to give a poem. But then I wasn’t even told when I wasn’t giving it. I was ignored. That happens I guess. It’s a dual ethnic issue. A few cheers for the writer… but poem written for the occasion, left out… Was someone afraid I wasn’t going to stay if they didn’t tell me? I walked out because I wasn’t given the simple respect of being told, “We’re not presenting poems tonight after all.”

Was it really because five minutes on a stage during a 4-hour+ evening was too much time? Or are there deeper, dual ethnic issues in a Bakersfield that wants media coverage, but won’t support in return if someone looks white, but who wants to provide cultural imagery?

As I walked out I was spotted and told, “Hey the atmosphere wasn’t right,” or some bullshit like that.

Atmosphere? What?

Like I need an atmosphere to grab a microphone and inspire a group of people. I’m an artist. I can create an atmosphere with words and speech. It’s the tiny gift God gave me. He didn’t give me a lot, but it’s enough for me to survive and to be able to say, “Hey, God gave me something…”

I headed outside of Narduccis. I saw Chelito and made a point of telling her that her music was wonderful. I gave a bow, almost as if I had to show a deep respect for such a musical mother having been among such youthful culture exploring their own music and art. For a brief moment I imagined what her home must be like: the smell of food, the people and cultural language and maybe a TV blaring… I imagine colors and music and flowers. I could see photos on walls of a family that stretched into a distant cultural past that far exceeded one tiny room on one forgotten night of music, art, and shunned poetry. I could see cars in a driveway and stares out of a kitchen window, and children and cousins, and smiles.

I was reminded of my own poem, a Chicano poem, another forgotten blurb about our mythical valley of history and present, of dreams and ideas, longing and pride. The poem goes hand in hand with my Chicano novel, Thick White Crust:

There’s an immigrant in all of us, waiting…
There’s a ghost slipping down my esophagus I can’t swallow.
Red lights mean bravery goes wrong in rancid gunfire and death,
While green lights are your H20 sparkling firefly dust.

There’s an immigrant standing above the Central Valley
He’s a giant. Orange and lemon blossoms grow from his beard.
He sips the shadows of rivers.
His arms are covered by a thick white crust of bones.
Peppermint rain drips from his lips.
Scars of bones line his belly.

He lays down, slips beneath the valley soil.
He’s the god from where every dusty sprig grows.
Now you walk down your urban streets, fix your make-up,
Pull up your boxers, kiss your mother, say “Hello” to Mary,
Creep for baby Jesus, gang bang race down East side Narducci Streets.
You leave an echo of yourself in the giant’s arms.
And you live life all the way home.

As I turned away and headed for the parking lot I was suddenly more aware of my dual ethnicism. The darkness of the parking lot seemed darker; my friend Matildakay who I’ve known since the 7th grade suddenly seemed a distant moon. The giant of my poem rumbled under my feet, blinking in a moment of awareness deep beneath the valley floor. It was a toxic moment as I was aware of having a poem shunned, and reminded of my own brown-skinned father who might have simply been embarrassed if he were to ever tell his white-skinned kids they were Chicano, Latino, or Mexican.

Hectic Films to premiere most disturbing film short ever out of Bakersfield, California - By N.L. Belardes

"It's an intensely disgusting two-and-a-half minute rollercoaster ride through serial killer hell," I said as I drove from Meathead's house where I picked up a new copy of the Cinema of the Lords contest promo. I had picked it up for tonight's disturbing poetry and film portion of the Downtown Sculpture and Assemblage Show. Meathead gave me a hug. I still felt squashed even several blocks away.

My stomach was still in knots after seeing the short piece, "Skip", and I'm a lover of horror movies.

If you're some kind of weak human who can't stand horror images, just stay home and lock your doors. The boogeyman's gonna get you anyways. We don't need you to wander into our disturbing showcase...

But then, if you think you can handle it, come and see poetry, sculpture, assemblage, and Hectic Films' "Skip"... and pray it's not real.

Should the Beauty and Fashion Industry and bloggers embrace? A view of the Pierce Mattie round table discussions held in New York - By N.L. Belardes

In case you’re not aware, blogging is not a Bakersfield or Central Valley phenomenon, it’s a global phenomenon. There are industries, topics and a network of bloggers far outside of Bakersfield worthy of online exposure. Sure, you’ve tapped into bakotopia.com or the local newspaper blogs for a snuggly sense of community. And more people in the Southern Central Valley are writing everyday, or I should say, more people are acting like writers everyday. Many blogs are one-hit wonders and sputter out like Fourth of July picnic fiestas in a crowded park of celebrations. Often the writing is just plain bland. Might as well serve them up with a plate of noodles.

But what about bloggers who stick around, who are decent writers, and who influence the masses with magnetic discussions on any issue—even global topics?

Those bloggers enjoying a global awareness have the ability to grow their own sense of community into like-minded networks that take them outside of their city and town communities. Yes, to simply blog within your community in the end might be short-sighted when you can be a part of a social network of online spinsters that fit a global interest.

Maybe you have arts to grow, interests to sell that can be capitalized on more than just a localized level. So you focus on a new kind of community. Should that community include businesses and products? Do you trust the product companies who want to woo you?

And how do you cross over without sounding like a sell out?

“I get my underground Bakersfield news from nlbelardes.com. I don’t want to read ads.”

Or do you? Maybe that just depends on how products are written about. You’re tricked everyday in major magazines that place product ads right next to articles that hype certain products without you even realizing…

You don’t even notice when you’re walking out of the store with the product in your hands.

Recently a PR company called Pierce Mattie sent out invitations to bloggers in