What's New?
Search This Site

Follow me on Twitter @jamieford and on Instagram jamiefordofficial

Entries in Seattle (7)


Hotel on the Corner of Stage Left

Due to the recent fury of writing I've been lax in mentioning that Seattle's Book-It Repertory Theatre is presenting a unique literary stage adaptation of Hotel. The production features a cast of 26, and costuming, set design, music, and rehearsals are well under way.The world premiere is September 22nd (I'll be there!)

The run has already been extended to October 28 and tickets are on sale now.


Google+ and other social mash-ups

I'll be hosting another Writers Hangout next Weds.Remember AOL? What about Myspace? I’m in awe of how obsessive we can be about these things and how easily they’re tossed aside like used Kleenex. That’ll never happen to Facebook, right?

Then, along came this strange thing called Google+.

I’ve been on for a week and I’m loving it so far, though I’m not sure we’ve seen what it will actually become. It feels like a set of legos and eventually someone will build something truly remarkable and we will all go, “Ohhhhh…why didn’t I think of that.” In general, it doesn’t seem like the Facebook or Twitter killer it’s purported to be. More like the Blogger killer, but Blogger was already losing steam to Facebook…

One thing I do like about Google+ is the Hangout feature—basically group video chats, which are incredibly easy to use. Think Skype with up to ten people, which would be perfect for a long-distance book group discussion—or a Writers Hangout, as proposed by author, Mary Robinette Kowal.

The idea is to break up the monotonous, cloistered, unibomber-esque workday of most writers, chat for 15 minutes, write for 45, rinse, repeat, etc. Not a bad way to get some writing done. This is one of the many reasons I like to write at the public library (and why Willie Vlautin writes at the racetrack, while drinking and betting on horses).

Oh, and I’ll be back in Seattle this weekend. Tea at the Panama Hotel. JamFest. Bon Odori. Mariners Game. Soccer hooliganism...

(Is it technically soccer hooliganism if I headbutt someone while wearing a Mariners jersey? May have to wear a tie. I want to look nice for my mugshot, bail hearing).


In the big city, just the eight of us

* Rubbing the sleep from my eyes *

I'm still recovering from a whirlwind trip, California to Seattle, where Leesha and the kid posse (all six of them) met me for a weekend of frivolity and fundraising. The latter at the Wing Luke Asian Museum's annual auction/fundraiser/soiree.

As a board member, I was happy to see nearly $300,000 raised. As an auction attendee, I was happy to walk away with two pieces of art and a set of Mariner's tickets. (In the words of Dave Niehaus, "My, oh my!") And as an auction item, I was sold for $1,200. They must not have realized how cheap, tawdry, and angst-filled I really am.

Speaking of angst, I loved walking around Seattle with our brood of brooding teens. Leesha and I are big believers in dragging our children out of their comfort zones. With today's couch-driven technology, it's tragically easy to grow up knowing everything, but experiencing nothing.

Which is why I love hearing about writers like Willie Vlautin, who does most of his writing at the race-track, while betting on horses. What a great venue to see the best and worst aspects of humanity all in one place—joy and hope, and loss and despair—with table service and free drinks.


When I arrived at home I found two packages on my doorstep.

One was the copy edited manuscript of my next book which shall be titled Songs From the Book of Souls, or Whispers of a Thunder God. I think there's some debate brewing. Either way, copy edits means I'm this close from putting this sucker to bed and that much closer to it being in your hot little hands.

The other package was equalling exciting (to me). It was a copy of Weird Fantasy #18, (1953). In addition to featuring an early Ray Bradbury tale, this issue has a famous story about a planet with blue robots and orange robots. The robots have identical parts on the inside, but are segregated, based on the color of their metallic skins. The blue robots ride in the back of the bus, are forbidden from using the orange-only recharge stations, live on the bad side of town, etc. It's a phenomenal story that created quite a scuttlebutt by jabbing its finger into the eye of racism in the early 50s.


Okay, enough lollygagging on my part. I have editing and packing to do. Tomorrow I'm off to Duluth for a community read, and then I head to Flagstaff for the weekend's Northern Arizona Book Festival.

Page 1 2