Maria Alexander News and Updates from TheHandlessPoet.com

January

Surprise: ADT accidentally sets off all three alarms at the house. Police get involved. Robie gets involved. No one is hurt, but we are ultimately fined by the city and have to pay for an alarm license. Bastards! Bonus surprise: Health problems!

Lube: SINS OF THE SIRENS is released. Signings, interviews and reviews ensue.

February

Surprise: Writing for Hong Kong Disneyland eats my life. Incredibly annoying health problems continue.

Lube: The Late, Great Pirate Booty Leap Year Birthday Surprise.

March

Surprise: The World Horror Convention nearly kills me between extreme dehydration and food poisoning.

Lube: I become the proud mother of a baby iPhone. I start studying non-fiction writing with the amazing Rita Williams.

April

Surprise: The Frenchman is hit on the head by a midlife meteor. The resulting cranial wound makes him decide it's time to drive a semi through the wall of his emotional zoo. He lets wild gorillas escape to piss on the cheese plate he calls his life -- especially me. I am covered in gorilla pee. I barely refrain from killing him and try to coral his gorillas.

Lube: Two stories accepted for publication within a week of each other -- "Though Thy Lips Are Pale" for DDIII and "In Her Mirrors, Dimly" for Unspeakable Horror: From the Shadows of the Closet.

May

Surprise: My friend and co-worker Jeff is killed in a motorcycle accident. The Frenchman reveals that he is, in fact, a narcissistic, egomaniacal, misogynistic ass. I DTMFA.

Lube: This portrait of me by my sweet Katelan. And the BEA. Also, tons of love from my friends and family.

June

Surprise: Major problems finding a new place to live. An apartment manager in NoHo promises me a place, then reneges and charges me a $525 holding fee anyway. The credit card company is called. Hilarity ensues. Meanwhile, the Frenchman earns the epithet of "French Balding Bastard Jackass" and I can no longer stand the sight of him. He moves out and runs off to Middlebury.

Lube: Hee hee!. Also, I find a great townhouse in a beautiful location and move in with the last-minute help of my fabulous friends Lisa and Ricky.

July

Surprise: I'm curled up like a pillbug from a world of hurt. I'm also so angry that I don't just want to kill The Frenchman, but I want to go back in time and kill his mom before she gives birth to him.

Lube: The Fabulous Dresser. Dr. Horrible. The Dark Knight.

August

Surprise: I visit my parents and find Cairo in terrible health. I rescue him. My own health takes a nosedive and a specialists diagnoses me with a painful, chronic condition. (The year is just getting better and better!)

Lube: With the great tutelage of Rita, I finish and deliver the Massive Book Proposal to my agent. I have double teh kitteh lurv. Robie thinks Cairo is a chew toy. I visit the San Francisco Bay Area for my birthday and 10 days of much-needed fun.

September

Surprise: Cairo is diagnosed with diabetes -- just 15 minutes before I go live on the air with the BBC in Venice Beach.

Lube: The Massive Book Proposal goes out to THE WHOLE WORLD. I see The Fly Opera with Keith and Faust. I do a two-hour show with the BBC. And Uncle Walt makes a very impressive offer of employment. I accept! I start going to the gym 3x a week. And my "chronic condition" disappears the same day the stock market crashes. Hmmm...

October

Surprise: Fires careen toward my town, but they're stopped in time. I discover that The Frenchman was in a new relationship by the third week of September. I restrain all homocidal and vandalistic tendencies, but I torture him gratuitously in email. My computer chokes and vomits up every firewall and anti-virus software I feed it. Most of THE WHOLE WORLD passes on the book proposal.

Lube: Mickey Mouse! Wheee! And a night of absinthe. Photographic evidence that The Tart at Large is back! Woof!

November

Surprise: None! None surprise butt secks! Wooooooooo!

Lube: OBAMA! Also, I'm invited to pitch projects to Imagineering for Walt Disney World interactive attractions. And make/shift magazine buys a sleeker, slimmer version of my essay, "Dogma, Darth Vader and My Sexual Awakening."

December

Surprise: Cairo's tail explodes. Three tumors are removed in (almost) emergency surgery. I exacerbate an old rotator cuff injury. Pain is a drag. Kinda gettin' tired of it.

Lube: Cairo's surgery is successful. No cancer! Fun ensues on a two-hour interview with Talking Sex Radio. Still haven't heard from a half dozen major publishers about the Massive Book Proposal...


Wishing everyone a 2009 filled with far less surprise butt secks and far more fabulous, lubricating goodness!

As reported to me by Del Howison:

Intro - Jeff Gelb
Foreword - Steven Weber
Children of the Vortex - Simon Clark
Mist on the Bayou - Heather Graham
In the Mix - Eric Red
Resurrection Man - Axelle Carolyn
How to Edit - Richard Christian Matheson
A Haunting - John Connolly
Church Services - Kevin J. Anderson
Starlets & Spaceboys - Joseph V. Hartlaub
A Nasty Way To Go - Ardath Mayhar
The Flinch - Michael Boatman
Tyler's Third Act - Mick Garris
Though Thy Lips are Pale - Maria Alexander
The Slow Haunting - John R. Little
Food of the Gods - Simon R. Green
Do Sunflowers Have a Fragrance? - Del James
The Wandering Unholy - Victor Salva
Man with a Canvas Bag - Gary A. Braunbeck
Fetch - Chuck Palahniuk
The Architecture of Snow - David Morrell
One Last Bother - Del Howison

Unfortunately, Clive had to withdraw his promise for an epic poem. But I'm happy with the lineup as is.

You were a damned talented woman.

Salon publishes the article none of us wants to read about the state of the publishing world.

The glimmer of hope I saw for myself -- and believe me it was no more than a speck of glitter on the bathroom mirror -- was about HarperStudio. They still have my book proposal. They've had it since the beginning of September.

The article talks about the publishing houses having to learn all at once to become more flexible, and how the small presses are already poised to death with the economic crisis. But me, I'm thinking it's time to get creative.

At the request of my coworkers, I read "Though Thy Lips Are Pale" to a room of about nine people today. I don't think it was everyone's cup of tea, which is fine. But the universal response was that I read very well. My manager commented the most about this, seeing as how his background is in film. A few people have asked why I don't put out a collection of my short stories on CD. I have to explain that a CD has only so many minutes and that stories like the one today that's around 5000 words take up the entire CD.

But it's something to think about.

What a glorious, quiet weekend!

Yesterday I had a lovely lunch with the beautiful Lady C and it was the last thing I did in contact with humanity. The rest was spent writing, watching Hellboy II (Legolas gone wrong -- hawt!) and cleaning like hell. Oh, and going to the farmer's market, where I purchased a complete set of gorgeous Mikasa-Narumi bone china with Grecian-Art Deco black and gold designs for $55. I don't even want to think how much it should have cost. Let's just say the creamer and covered sugar bowl I got for free are worth about $100 alone.

Cairo has been healing well. He's lost another 1-1/2 pounds. This means much of the weekend was also spent with a water gun in hand to discourage him from jumping on the kitchen counters and getting into the cupboards. I'm going to Home Depot tomorrow night to get, among other things, stuff to child-proof the cupboards. The big freakout went down when he chomped down on a bag of coffee, which is really toxic to cats. Fortunately, he merely managed to puncture the bag and didn't consume it. He did manage to get into a box of crackers to which he laid waste. Aluminum paper did nothing to discourage.

Robie is, of course, monkey see, monkey do, which made it so much more fun.

I've had some breakthroughs with the novel as I've been working and mulling things over. I've just been so damned unwilling to make certain decisions about my main character. I also made some bigger decisions about his personality. I think he's going to be a lot more likable.

Okay, I've got another hour or so to write. Hope you've all enjoyed your Solstice.

The snow dusting the peaks of the San Gabriel Mountains is beautiful this morning. I had some particularly lovely views as I cruised into the San Gabriel Valley to take Cairo to Dr. Doolittle's office. He is having his tail surgery this morning to remove the tumor.

I'm not feeling the season very much. Last night was almost a total wash because I'd forgotten my ATM card at a restaurant I went to lunch at with coworkers in Burbank. I didn't realize it was missing until I was at CVS after work. As I came back, a freeway closure created a major problem getting home -- or, at least it seemed that way. iPhone to the rescue! And I'd just been wondering if I should upgrade early next year, telling myself I didn't need expensive gadgets. Time is money, baby. Or mime is money. Whichever works at Christmas.

I was worried about getting home because the writing is barely moving forward. I've got to keep at it, but I feel behind on everything. It's like Black Pete's bag of nasty is sitting on my head. Bah!

I must say, though, that this year is better than last. I'd much rather be nursing a sick kitty after surgery than a bastard with a bum knee. Wouldn't you?

I'll let you know how it goes.

The show last night was a great deal of fun. Due to some big changes coming up for Talking Sex Radio, the webcast won't be posted to the site for some time. So if you missed it, you'll have to wait to see the devilish deeds of yours truly and filmmaker Devi Snively together on a couch that just begged for girl-on-girl snuggling. When Boogie the production manager discovered Devi and I had a thing for Darth Vader, he tried to titllate us with his imitations of the Dark Lord of the Sith. I particularly loved the Kinku -- that's kinky haiku. Hilarious stuff.

I gave the chat room a choice of which story they wanted me to read -- the evil anti-Christmas story or a scary kinky story. To my surprise, they chose "Coming Home." I think they dug it. I tend to sing the Christmas carol parts and I was delighted to have surprised The Rev Mel with my voice. Devi read a bit of inspired prose she'd scribed that morning about zombie sex.

The best part, I think, was when Colin Sir (a well-known dominant in the Los Angeles scene) rocked the house with a donation of $500 dollars from the Society of Monarchs. He also announced an upcoming fundraiser to help Talking Sex Radio, as the Rev Mel moves TSR from Ning.com to its own domain. I've always thought well of Colin and this just proves his awesomeness.

I'll let you all know when it's up!

But then I got to bed late and Cairo kept waking me up. He didn't mean to, I think. He would sit next to me and purr so loudly it made the bed vibrate. And then Robie climbed on my chest and purred like a Boeing 747 while trying to touch his cold wet nose to mine. Fantastically cute, but it was just too much. I finally put Cairo in the kitty gaol and tossed Robie out of the bedroom. Terrible offenses! Purring! And Eskimo kisses! What's the world coming to?

At 8:00pm on December 15th, won't you join me, filmmaker Devi Snively, and the delicious Reverend Mel for a couple hours of ink and kink?



The first hour is interview with some reading and then the second hour will be interactive silliness as the audience writes a "novel" with us. Considering the big topics in the chat room are usually butt plugs and dildos, this should be interesting to say the least.

Devi and I are old friends who met up in San Francisco 12 years ago. We bonded in a taxi cab one day when we discovered that Darth Vader was our sexual awakening. We've been through a lot together over the years. I'm so looking forward to this!

To tune in to the live web cast, just go to Talking Sex Radio and in the "TV or Radio" menu, select "Live TV Show."

I turned in "Nickleback Ned" last night to the anthology editor (he knows who he is). I'm never quite sure with these things if an anthology invite means my story gets extra consideration or if there is some kind of implied guarantee that it will go straight in the bin. Wouldn't that be brilliant? Invite the people you absolutely do NOT want stories from and that way reject them all for irritating, minor reasons to get them the hell out of the way. Or something.

Oh, toss it. It's done, at any rate.

Now it's time for Cake -- Detective Henry Cake, that is. He's my main character in the incredibly silly book I'm scribbling. Not that anyone cares. Detective Cake only stumbles around in my head, not anyone else's. Yet.

What has come out is Unspeakable Horror: From the Shadows of the Closet. Woohoo! Grab one of the TWO COPIES on Amazon -- quickly! -- and read my story, "In Her Mirrors, Dimly." It's grim and dreamy and has lesbians.

You love that. Admit it.

And this is where I trot back to work for Uncle Walt.

Dear Santa,

I've requested that The Frenchman return my absinthe spoons that he packed by mistake and I've been met with frosty silence. One of the spoons was from Antibe, France, when we went to the absinthe bar, Balade en Provence. While they have a lot of sentimental value, I'm also unable to properly prepare my absinthe.

And that really makes me sad.

So if you could please send me an absinthe spoon from my Amazon wish list. It's the only thing I really want for Christmas. Well, that and an accident involving a swift kick to his left knee, but I'll be good with a spoon. I'll even leave out a glass of the good stuff for you. :)

Thank you, Mr. Red Guy!

Maria

When I heard yesterday about Forry Ackerman's passing, I was affected more deeply than I'd expected, knowing he was already well on his way to the big Ackermansion in the sky.

If it wasn't for Forry, I'd not have ever been a screenwriter, much less a produced screenwriter. Way back in 1995, friend and director Brian Benson convinced me to try my hand at screenwriting so that he could make an installment of a direct-to-video horror anthology called TALES FROM THE ACKERMANSION with a producer named Scott who lived with his mother, wore oddly white clothes and fed people really bad tuna sandwiches. I'd never written a script in my life, but it sounded fun and they'd already shot scenes of Forry being the "crypt keeper" who introduced each tale. Unlike a lot of my male friends, I'd not grown up on Famous Monsters. I'd not heard of it until Brian told me who Forry was. I recognized Vampirella, though. That got me on board swiftly and I wrote a 30-minute Lovecraftian pastiche piece called "The Dark Sight." It was filled with kinky sex (mais bien sûr), Maori magick and a monstrous Lovecraftian alien who sucked out people's eyeballs in exchange for an unblinking psychic stare at the true masters of the universe.

While I wasn't thrilled with the final product -- which was never released anyway -- it was my introduction to The Man.

Shortly after my script was shot, I found myself on the slippery slope to screenwriting. My brief film mentorship with Clive pushed me off the San Francisco cliffs and I landed with a thud in downtown Hollywood.

It was also because of "The Dark Sight" that I met one of my oldest and dearest friends in the world, The Marquise, who starred in the film.

As for Forry, I avoided meeting him for a long time because my guy friends warned me that horny Forry would literally chase me around his mansion. I called him once, though, and we had a great chat. Many years later, I finally decided I'd head to Dark Delicacies when he was signing his Ackermanthology. I approached him and introduced myself as the writer of "The Dark Sight."

"Scott -- that worthless sonuvabitch!" Forry said with way more venom than I'd anticipated. Forry was not remotely interested in my tits, as I'd been grossly overwarned. Rather, he wanted to hunt down that producer and do awful things to his scrotum with choice items from the tool shed. Knowing what happened to that project, I can't blame him.

I loved 4E. He helped midwife me into my writing career in a round about way in addition to his tremendous contribution to the world of horror. Loved, and never to be forgotten.

Are there any PHP folk out there feeling charitable with their skills?

Just got word from the Reverend Mel that Ning -- the site that allows people to create social networks -- has decided to shut down her site, Talking Sex Radio. The bastards have taken her content hostage and so far won't give her a tool to help her migrate to another site, which she has to do by January 1, 2009. Why? Because they claim websites l;ike ours are "beginning to demand too much attention and occupy too many resources of the company."

Fuck you, Ning. You just can't handle all the anti-sex, anti-whatever asshats from pouring in hate mail about things they don't approve of. The CEO Gina Bianchini actually said:

Advertisers don't like it, Bianchini said. "Our ad partners aren't big fans of the adult networks and therefore require us to identify adult networks or risk our healthy advertising revenue," she explained. "We don't want to be in the policing business and, unchecked, that's where this is heading."

Hello? You are in the policing business as of December 1. From now on, you'll not only have less traffic, but a nauseating policy of intolerance. Don't worry. I'm sure all the Bambi Fan Groups will come rushing to fill the void. And they'll probably get hit with just as many DMCA notices as anyone else would.

Mel created TSR and pays a monthly fee to Ning to keep it running so that people could gather and talk about whatever they want, including and especially adult subjects like sex. She wanted it to be free to everyone who wanted to join.

Anyway, Mel can pay for the PHP, just not a lot. If you know someone who's down with the cause, please let me know.