Author Archives → David Eric Tomlinson

Small Victories

My wife Lisa and I went out with some friends of ours to a posh local dance club in Dallas Friday night. Lisa’s physician friend was able to “get us on the list” and the four of us arrived around 9:30 pm – late for us but the place was still empty – a pert, tanned graveyard of bouncers, bartenders and idling go-go dancers waiting for the real fun to begin.

We milled around for awhile, touring the multi-level dance floors and checking out the pricey VIP rooms, equipped with flat screen TVs, red velour couches and large balconies overlooking Main street in downtown Dallas. I told Lisa we were “living a short story” right then – the atmosphere was so strange and comical, and the four of us were so obviously fish out of water in the loud neon blare of the place.

Around 10:30 people started showing up, and the scene reminded me of a Sadie Hawkins dance in grade school – everyone was in their 20’s or so (except for our group – all of us pushing or having broken past 40), but instead of getting their groove on the crowd stood expectantly around the disco ball brightness of the dance floor, waiting for something to happen. Finally, after waiting for what seemed like an eternity, Lisa and I walked out onto the dance floor and started grooving.

And that was the tipping point – the entire place took our cue and erupted into hours of vapid, oversexed gyrating. At one point the go-go dancers came out with dollar bills stuffed into their skin-tight dance shorts, the word “S-E-X” spelled out in pink rhinestones on their butts in case we were somehow unable to receive the message being transmitted by the jiggling of their silicone-enhanced curves. I also vaguely remember a scene from the movie “You Got Served” being re-enacted, with a girl and guy performing an aggressive kind of mating ritual / dance-off right before our eyes, surrounded by a howling bunch of hooligans.

My right ear is still ringing from the booming drone of the house music, but knowing that we were able to show those young whippersnappers how to cut a rug made my month.

Summer Reading List


My viewing of “Terminator: Salvation” yesterday afternoon was the official psychological beginning of the summer season for me here in Dallas. Despite having read some flaccid reviews I actually loved it, though I wish I hadn’t seen the previews because they gave away a critical piece of information which would have made the movie much better.

We’ve fired up the Weber grill, dug around in closets and found our swimming trunks, purchased buckets of sun screen and insect repellent, and are making plans for a 4th of July trip to Michigan to see my little sister.

Here’s a list of things I’m reading this summer as I finish another few short stories and start on a novel of my own:

Dream Big

After seeing a letter to my 6 year-old from someone named “Eddie”:

“Who’s Eddie?”

“A silly boy in my class.”

“What’s he like?”

“He wants to be a clown when he grows up. And Sarah wants to be a State Fair owner. She’s going to have Eddie come and be a clown at her State Fair.”

Run With It

I used to be a pretty good athlete, decades ago. In high school I was the Oklahoma state champion in the pole vault 2 years running, and took second place another year. Over the years, I’ve kept in shape by approaching workouts like eating, or sleeping: something that has to be done almost every day, no matter how small or insignificant the workout might seem.

After the holidays, getting back into the gym can feel demoralizing. Whereas before the break you might have been running 3, 4, even 5 miles a day on the treadmill, after all of the eggnog, turkey and chocolate from Xmas you’re lucky to get 1 or 2 in. I used to beat myself up about a bad day at the gym, which would make me want to go there less and less, until I realized that the important thing is not “how hard” you work out when you’re there, but just that you motivate to get yourself there in the first place.

Writing is very similar. Some nights I pound out 1,000 words in nothing flat and feel great – others I goof around in my notebook writing down vague ideas that may never turn into anything at all. The important part is not “how much” you’re getting onto the page, the important part is just showing up at your desk in the first place, ready to think about writing, ready to actually write, ready to edit, ready for whatever happens.

Someone told me once about a playwright who would write for at least an hour, every day (I can’t remember his name). One day he sat down to write and wrote “The …” – then paced in his office for 60 minutes, finally finishing the sentence “… hell with it.” But at least he was there, ready for the lightning bolt, should it strike. Ready to run with it if the ideas were flowing.

*Update* 05/31/2009

In a surprising development, my writing regimen is cutting into my running regimen. I’ll need a new belt soon at this rate.

Go Big or Go Home

It’s been a trying couple of weeks here in Aspiring Authorland. After plodding along at a pretty regular clip on a novel and completing about 1/3 of the first draft, I submitted it to an editor and asked for some objective input on how it was going.

Needless to say, his eyes didn’t open wide with delight like Simon Cowell’s did a few weeks back when Susan Boyle opened her mouth to start singing. His feedback was to stop, go back to the beginning, and start over from scratch. As hard as that was to hear, I actually agreed with him.

But while he was evaluating the manuscript, I shot out of bed one night with a perfect idea for a short story. I finished the final draft last night. It’s called “Animal Control” and it’s beautiful. Really. I showed it to this same editor, worked with him briefly on it, and submitted it this morning to “The New Yorker.” As crazy as this sounds, I think it actually has a shot at being considered for publication there, or I wouldn’t have sent it in. I’ll post an update here once I hear back from them.

What did I learn from all of this?

  • Go Big or Go Home

Write what you love. I was writing a formulaic novel because I had been reading agent blogs, editor blogs, publisher blogs and the like for months, and thought that if I could just piece together something that made sense and had a semi-interesting hook, it would sell. The problem with this approach? My heart wasn’t that into it.

The exact opposite happened with the short story. It appeared one night, fully formed, demanding to be written. I will probably not make much, if any, money off of it. But it’s pretty damn good. It’s heart is in the right place, because I put all of myself into it.

Word Play

Today after karate class the girls and I were eating dinner at a greasy spoon, waiting for our grub, and talking about imaginary karate techniques. It went something like this:

“I’m training for my rainbow belt.”

“Well I’m training for my one thousand black belt.”

“The rainbow belt is after that. Duuuuh!”

“It is not.”

“Is too.”

“Then I’m training for my pink belt.”

“Do you know Red Apron?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t get your pink belt. That’s required. You know … RED. PINK.”

“And so is Evading Form Seventeen.”

“Do you know Shattering Mirror?”

“No, but I know … Dubious Reflection.”

“What about Stare of Death?”

“So what you just … look at them funny and they die?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know that one either.”

“You better get on that.”