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About C. A. Sanders

Hi, everyone. I am a semi-established writer of fiction and non-fiction. I live in Rockland County, NY, where I ply my trade and occasionally get paid for it. You can see my full website, with links to published work and my blog, at www.casanders.net

Upsomnia

It’s 4:30 in the morning, the sky is black as a locked closet, and I am awake.

I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m not happy about this.

I woke up around 4 and hoped that I could fall back to sleep, but I can’t. I fought with it, wrestled with it, pleaded, negotiated, bribed…nothing could convince my body to go the hell to sleep. I have Upsomnia.

It’s not exactly insomnia. I can fall asleep at first. It’s more that something wakes me up after a few hours and my mind won’t let me get back into that sleep mode. Today it was a bad dream that hit me right in the insecurities. I have a lot on my mind, and I’ve been feeling a bit of the “spring fever,” where my thoughts are everywhere.

I’m not wide awake either. Actually I’m heckin groggy. I’m in that awful land between sharp and smooth. I’m a dull knife, and everyone knows that they hurt the most when you stab with them.

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Maybe this is good. I write better when I’m angry, and lack of sleep makes me…well…you know. I’ve been having trouble writing anything coherent in my latest novel. Maybe this will focus me. I have to let the hate flow through me like lightning and embalming fluid.

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My Friend the Rapist

Warning: This post deals with some heavy stuff about rape. It might be hard to read for some of you.

A few months ago, I found out that one of my best friends from my teenage years is a serial rapist. He will never be charged with these crimes. He will never go to jail. How many people he violated, I don’t know, but I know at least a few. But it’s not just his crime, it’s mine. It’s ours.

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The Truth About Writing…and Pants

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I think the world should know that the best part about writing is that I can do it while lounging on the couch without pants. Pants are prohibitive to the writing process.

I guarantee that 90% of all writers write without wearing pants. This is a scientific study that needs no peer review because I have already decided that I am right.

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Surgery…Also Iron Fist Sadness

It’s been over a week since I posted, so I thought I’d give you an update:

I had surgery on Monday to remove a growth and have it checked out. It wasn’t too bad, but I’m in a fair amount of pain now. I go back in two weeks to get the results and stitches taken out. Unless of course it turns out to be something serious, in which I’ll hear from the doctor right away (I hope).

Let Me Write Iron Fist Next Time!

Powerman (Luke Cage) and Iron Fist was one of my favorite comics growing up. It was one of the comics that the Lampstons by my apartment building always carried, so it became a fav by default.  My friend Frashard and I used to run around the playground in front of our highrise (we lived in Co-Op City, in the Bronx) and fight the Kingpin and his dastardly thugs. He even had a tiara made of tin foil, like Powerman. Growing up in the Bronx in the early 80s, it wasn’t that hard to imagine their world.

I was thoroughly disappointed with Iron Fist. It’s not that it was terrible, but it wasn’t nearly on the level of the other Marvel shows, and they didn’t even try to get his character personality right. They took the most mellow, unflappable, most in control of his emotions character and made him a loose cannon anger ball. Danny Rand is supposed to be the voice of reason, not reckless anger. I feel like they rushed through the whole writing and shooting process just to get it done. Not to mention that the fight sequences were mediocre, and Danny was humorless. I mean, he’s not a wisecracker in the comics, but he has a certain amused persona.

Powerman Iron Fist

I understand that he needs some sort of conflict. If I wrote the show, I would’ve had his conflict as more of a “fish out of water type,” confused at how the world has changed in the 15 years that he’s been gone. He should be trying to figure out how a smart phone works, and asking people to drive him around (there’s no way he should drive a car). He should be giving money to the poor, simply because he lived the last 15 years in a cosmic monastery. He should be confused by the internet (where’s the dial-up sound when you connect to AOL?) and why is there a starbucks on every corner?

I liked that he was easily duped and manipulated though. That made sense.

I would’ve also made a secondary internal conflict be whether he’s a man or a weapon. He said that fighting gives him focus (and that’s true to the comics) but what is he if he can only find peace in pain? There should’ve been more flashbacks to K’un L’un, to show how different his life was there, and the extremes of his training.

Oh well, memories are like food: you leave them out too long, they go bad.

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Rambles, Rags, and Riches

The title won’t make sense until the second half of the post…except for the rambling part 😉

So, I guess I went missing online for a little while, at least of the blog. I’ve been pretty busy working on my new novel and also some short stories.

I also started a new job, which I’m very excited about. As some of you know, I am a former special ed teacher that had to drop down to a substitute because of chronic illness. Subbing is not nearly as satisfying as actual teaching. You’re just a warm body in the classroom to keep the kids from (sometimes literally, depending on the type of class) killing each other. I miss teaching.

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A Dead Leaf in a Snowstorm

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I am on my couch, looking out my window. The snow comes down, sometimes hard, sometimes soft, like the sky and ground tumbling together in white sheets. Just outside the window stands a mammoth, gray, gnarled oak that wraps the smaller trees in its limbs. One dead leaf clings to a small branch.

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