Ryan McFadden

Down below, you’ll see some funky letters. It’s a new verification system as the spam bots were happily sending away notices for Cialis and Runesgold. Now, normally I’d be pissed that they were sending me information through a commenting system.

But they were pretty accurate. My D&D page primarily got Runesgold notices, and RyanMcFadden.com got primarily ‘you have a 3 inch willy’ notices. How they know that, I don’t know.

Either way, this will begin to combat the spam bots. The downside is that this doesn’t effect old stories — so they’ll still be able to spam those unless the owner wants to go through and personally update each story.

Anyways, give it a try. Let me know of any errors that you receive.

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Look, a blasted landscape.

Yes, all my initial thoughts of Winnipeg were confirmed this weekend. It’s cold. It’s flat. And it’s cold. With no pants it felt even colder.

Bev hosted Eileen and me this past weekend to do some writerly things. Writerly things usually involves lots of alcohol and running around naked but this time we decided to focus on writing (I know, weird).

I submitted my latest story (Face of Evil) to Talebones magazine after a couple of edits from the gals. After Eileen and Bev decided to go to bed early at 1am one night, I decided to stay up and do some more work; submitted Curse of the Black Swan to Roc books.

Then we pestered Bev into submitting one of her stories. I have this weird theory I keep telling her about — that if you want to publish, you have to submit. I know, I know, it’s a crazy theory, but one worth exploring.

On Friday night there was Indian Food (one of the best Indian restaurants I’ve been too). June Cleaver…I mean Bev, was a fantastic host.

Started on a new short story (Performance of a Lifetime). Didn’t get a huge word count (1500 words) but I wasn’t too upset — these short stories normally take a while to write. As we discussed on the weekend, with short word counts (under 4000), you really have to find the story. Almost a little slice of life (but still with beginning, middle, and end).

All in all, a great weekend. Winnipeg is a great ‘far-away’ destination for me. From London airport to Winnipeg airport is usually a 3 hour door to door trip. I get to the airport 45 minutes before departure, and the flight is 2 hours. Since both airports are small, there are no crazy lines and security is quick.

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This ain’t Fargo.

At the beginning, it feels similar (using some of the same conventions: scenery as a character; characters that have been born out of that scenery — as an alternative universe within the US), but the ending will leave you far less…well, I won’t say. No Country for Old Men is a riveting movie, one that has a unrelenting anxiety level and unadulterated violence (I’d make the case that this is more violent than Fargo).

And while there are similarities to Fargo, No Country is more complex, operating on various levels — so much so that a single viewing wouldn’t be enough. As not wanting to fill this post with spoilers, I won’t spill many of my theories here though I’m tempted to just for myself — so in the years to come I can see how close I came to getting a read on this puzzle.

There were a lot of angry people when the movie ended. A lot of WTF moments because if you blink, you’ll miss it. And while I hate to say ‘they didn’t get it’…they didn’t but I don’t blame them, nor did I 100% ‘get it’ (I’d say I was around 50%) but this movie percolates far after you’ve left and that ending was right.

If you found the Sopranos unsatisfying, then you’ll be tossing your popcorn at the screen for No Country (though the Sopranos, ultimately, DID have the perfect ending…but I don’t want to spoil that either).

I haven’t seen There Will Be Blood…but I find it hard to believe that anyone could take the Oscar from Tommy Lee Jones playing the Sheriff of a small town in Texas. And Chigurh (the embodiment of not just death, but evil, I’d suggest) definitely deserves consideration. Don’t I just feel silly…TLJ isn’t even nominated for this movie…it’s for another movie he’s in. Oops.

This is not an easy movie. Nor is it particularly satisfying with easy answers. I haven’t gotten on the Oscar bandwagon in years, but I think I might have to watch all the Best Picture nominees simply so I can see how No Country will fare.

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You know the one. The one that tells you ‘you’ve forgotten something’. I had that on my trip to Winnipeg. But now, as I arrived, I realized what I had forgotten.

Pants.

Oops.

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My poor baby is sick. Little Cordelia has her first real bout of sickness (she’s almost two, so I can’t complain). 40 degree fever, listlessness, and generally feeling unwell. So yesterday, while cleaning the basement for a showing, I had to carry her around.

In a completely unrelated story, I installed hand rails for the basement stairs.

In a third completely unrelated story, I wear slippers when in the basement. The ceramic tile down there is quite chilly on the feet.

And while the three stories are unrelated, they came together yesterday. I decided against using the handrail because my hands were full with baby (toddler?). Yet I chose to wear my slippers up said stairs.

Slippers are a funny thing. You can spend a lifetime of happiness together, but the moment you turn your back, they turn on you. Or in this case, trip you. At the top stair. With a sick baby in your arms.

Must. Protect. Baby.

Falling. Caught myself, fell again, caught myself, use knee to stop descent (the cracking sound is knee on tread). Protect baby and continue falling. Wait, that wasn’t so bad… I think I stopped — crap!

Then I hit the stringer and did a flip around (reminiscent of Paige’s fall of 06 where she did a full 180 in the air).

Must. Protect. Baby.

At this point, she’s screaming (my descent has taken about 2 seconds…which for a fall, is a long time). Then I flip and smack into the ceramic. Luckily, my faster than cat-like reflexes allow me to absorb the blow…with my elbow. On ceramic. Nice.

And yet Cordy is safely nested in the arm like a football with a pile-on, screaming her head off. I think I’ve broken my sick baby, but when she sees the blood on the ceramic, she stops crying. My elbow — well, it’s fine. Unbelievably. How I didn’t break it or the ceramic tile is beyond me.

But what’s the morale of this story? If your kids are complaining or crying, try showing them your blood. Quiets them right up.

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