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Canvas Blues – LXVII: Yesteryears

05 Wednesday May 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXVII: Yesteryears

Brendon had no real words for that first kiss. The slush coming down, spattering across Casey’s Mustang. The vibrations of the wipers as they struggled to clear the water. The chill that seeped in through the floorboards. The contrasting warmth blowing on his arm. Those were the things that would forever drag him back.

He knew he’d been second-choice, second best. And yet, in that moment, he thought he’d won. Casey’s mouth warmer than the heat purring from the engine, his hands gentler than the rain, and when he sighed and settled his forehead on Brendon’s shoulder Brendon simply held him there.

A moment etched in time. Casey’s stress sliding away. The anger fizzling, struggling to gain purchase, but like the slush coursing down the windows, Brendon stroked down Casey’s back until there was nothing but warmth where there’d been fire, nothing but contentment where there’d been bitterness.

Their lips, soft, open, became a conduit. Years of desire, years of confusion, all coming to a head as tongues darted carefully, reaching for the empty feeling in order to fill it up, twist it about, make it tumble away. Brendon shivered, numb and hot and kissing in a state of shocked happiness. Finally having a taste of what-could-be, what-might-be. That kiss drew, like lines in his sketchbook, shading and coloring until the entire world blended together— Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXVI: Yesteryears

28 Wednesday Apr 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXVI: Yesteryears

They drove down Grant’s Lorry Road, fast enough they took that bump at speeds that sent their stomach’s dropping. Casey huffed and ground the pedal down further when they turned down Old Sycamore Road, the canopy above their heads barren, clawing, like dying dryads, and the road slick and overrun with icy water in the worst of places.

Chilly wind whipped in through the millimeter gaps where the rubber pulled off the windows and Casey’s iPod sang glory rock through crackly speakers.

“She’s nothing but a cow. Been handed through every guy on the varsity lacrosse team and some of the JV as well. Can’t believe he’d let a slut like that catch his eye. Idiot never could keep his liquor.”

“You’re not really mad at Evelyn,” murmured Brendon, but he stopped short of defending her. He should have, he realized later, but fear kept his filters up and his throat closed down.

“She’s not worthy of me being mad at her,” Casey agreed. “Fucking Robbie though.”

“Why’s it matter?”

“Because he looks down his nose at us, like we’re nothing but dirt.”

“Have you talked to him?” Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXV: Present

21 Wednesday Apr 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXV: Present

Brendon should have spent the rest of the day working. He had three active commissions that called to him, a few emails that begged responses, and a gallery showing to plan for the end of next month, but he found himself, just as Orion probably knew he would, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a giant binder and a mass of contracts and papers, wishing he had already hired someone to sort the logistics of his job into legible order.

How exactly did one go about calling up old clients and customers to ask, “Hello, has the painting not swallowed or spit out anyone who’s viewed it? No? Thank you. Please don’t call the psych ward. Have a good one.”

His internet search skills left much to be desired as he had a tendency to buy books he could pore over for information rather than reach for a computer or phone or anything in between. Maybe if he’d been more of a digital artist…

Evening had turned the studio into a red cloud by the time Brendon realized a generally easy solution. Why, call and let all previous customers know about the new gallery showing. Now, to figure out how to call each and every one of these customers without letting the phone grow horns and eat what social skills he possessed…

No, that wasn’t a good solution either.

Brendon found himself sitting at his paint-speckled work table late into the evening typing in names and addresses and feeling like a stalker. He found nothing and more nothing. Lists of honor rolls dotted with first and last names unconnected. Continue reading →

Coffee & Conversation: What’s your take on copyright? (1 of 2)

19 Monday Apr 2021

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What’s your take on the current copyright law?

This is based on the law in the United States.

There’s this persistent, nefarious belief that authors should not be allowed to hold copyright of their work for any decent length of time (the going argument is copyright should only last 20-30 years after publication). I hope, rather than know, that these beliefs are only held by a loud, uneducated minority, but since there’s probably a lot of misunderstanding concerning copyright, I wanted to talk about it.

Let’s first talk about what copyright is:

Copyright is the ownership of one’s words (or other creation). In the United States, copyright lasts for 70 years after the author’s death. [There are other, slightly different, time frames when doing things like work-for-hire, etc.] For the sake of this post and the next, I will be talking about copyright mostly from the perspective of writing.

You gain copyright of your words the moment you write them. Not when you register a copyright, not when you show your words to anyone, not even when a book is published. Your copyright is yours the moment you write those words. They could be on a napkin. Or a piece of fabric. Or even written on a wall. Doesn’t matter. They are yours. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXIV: Yesteryears

14 Wednesday Apr 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXIV: Yesteryears

The day Casey found out Robbie had sex with Evelyn Yert was a cold, slushy day in mid-January. He came roaring up in that blue Mustang of his, exhaust cut short as if he thought the world wouldn’t notice him otherwise. He wore no coat, not even a rain jacket to hold off the mush occasionally sluicing down for minutes at a time.

Short-sleeved and angry, Casey banged on the door, setting off Mom’s angel prism to spinning tortured rainbows across the entrance. From down the hall came her voice, her ears attuned to the chaos that was Casey.

“You tell that rascal not to punch my door, Brendon. Tell him I’ll not invite him to a single casserole dinner if he can’t find some quiet in his crazy.”

Red-eyed and rough, Casey scowled the moment Brendon opened the door.

“Not inside. Can’t be cooped up. Not now. Come on.” He turned before he’d finished speaking, sure in the knowledge Brendon wouldn’t resist.

He was bouncing on his toes in the wet street, hands shoved into his pockets and breath coming out in dragon steam puffs by the time Brendon joined him, handing a second coat over. Casey merely laughed miserably and climbed into the driver’s seat, so that coat went into the back, crumpled to the floor where it lay forgotten for three weeks.

“Did you know?” Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXIII: Yesteryears

07 Wednesday Apr 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXIII: Yesteryears

The fact that Tori Kel no longer hung around Robbie, rubbing in Casey’s face all that he could not have, became a springboard for that rubber band to return. The two of them called a grudging truce one random day, with not an iota of advance warning or thought to it.

“Can I sit here?” asked Robbie that April, tray of sloppy joe and french fries held balanced in one hand with his red bookbag hanging from the other.

Casey looked up with mouth frozen half-open and for once didn’t seem to have a word to say, though his gaze bounced all around Robbie and down to his hand where the splint had been a mainstay for many months during middle school.

“Sure,” said Brendon with a raised brow toward Casey. He scooted his sketchbook down, away from danger, and crumpled his trash to a more reasonable diameter. “Read any good comics lately?”

“Oh man,” said Robbie with a grin for the ages. “You know that one you really like about the mage with the tattoos? The guy who wrote it just came out with a new webcomic. It’s about a werewolf patrol that falls into a different dimension. It’s pretty good.”

“Send me the link.”

After a few moments of painfully awkward silence at the table, Casey cleared his throat and said, “Saw a new BMW in your driveway last week. Parents get a new car?” Continue reading →

Coffee & Conversation: What are some of the hidden difficulties of being a writer?

22 Monday Mar 2021

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What are some of the hidden difficulties of being a writer?

Last week I chatted about a couple of the more obvious, oft-talked about difficulties that writers have in the industry. This week I want to talk about some of the more hidden, possibly insidious difficulties that writers face.

1) Reader Retention

Reader here can reference anyone from general audience to editors and publishers to even agents.

Most people write on the side rather than as a full-time gig because of spotty payment, lack of health insurance, and inability to pay bills on that level of income. This means that writing can often take a secondary or even backseat to other priorities, which can lead to a less consistent output than in other industries. Couple this with the difficulty in actually selling stories, first to agents or editors, and then to readers, there can be some lengths of time between publications. (Both of which I talked about last week.)

One of indirect results is that readers will forget you. They’ll forget your name, forget the stories, the way those stories made them feel, etc. Editors/publishing houses will then take that into consideration when deciding to buy the next book, because why buy a book that might not make as much as someone else’s?

Example: one author I know of had started a well-selling series, but then had some life difficulties. 11 years later, he tried to sell the next book in the series to the same publisher, who turned him down because of that giant gap in time would lead to less readers.

Now, most authors don’t wait 11 years to write the next book, thus that is a more extreme example. However, in publishing, despite how slow they seem, there’s a high expectation of constant and quick publications. If you’re not publishing at least 1 book a year in traditional publishing, you’re too slow. If you’re not publishing every 3-4 months as an indie author, you’re too slow. Continue reading →

Coffee & Conversation: Who have you lost touch with?

09 Monday Nov 2020

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When I first chose this question, I had the idea that the answer would revolve around all the people I’d known in high school or college. All those friends who ended up being circle-friends, ie, the friends you only have because you run in the same circles, chase the same goals, see each other daily. Those people who feel separated from your life as a whole despite being so much a part of your life.

And then, when that section of your life is over, when you graduate, move on, move away, change jobs and the circles change and change again, you find that you never really had those friends in the way you thought you had. They’d never really been there. They’d just be…there, in that physical location.

But then I got to thinking…

It’s been a few years since I last published anything. In that time, my presence on social media has become spotty. My writing has gotten out of sync with my life. I have attempted to put more and more on my plate as if more will somehow be better, when in actuality, more is just making life harder and me less efficient.

I know that the people who focus on one thing at a time are the people who succeed the most, the fastest, the easiest. And yet, despite knowing this, I struggle with it. Maybe it’s in the stars, that I’m to be forever jumping between projects, constantly getting interrupted. Maybe I’m just making poor decision after poor decision, getting further and further behind, feeling lost when I sign back into technology, to sites, to processes that I thought I’d known by heart.

So, in answer to the question, I guess the real answer, the answer that actually reflects the true crux of something meaningful, is me. I’ve lost touch with what I like, why I write, why I work so hard. I’ve lost touch with why I did this in the first place. Continue reading →