Site update

Just a quick update. The Paradise Squandered page is now up and running. You will find the link on the upper navigation menu. It has (you guessed it) information about my novel, Paradise Squandered, and links to related information, including sites where it can be purchased in both eBook and paperback versions.

10 Disturbing Products for Kids

While digging through a writing forum earlier this morning, I stumbled upon a website called The Macaw and a post entitled 10 Disturbing Products for Kids. Trust me, the list lives up to its title.

Explosions vs Tyvek

I couldn't sleep last night. Rain usually helps me sleep, but the sound of raindrops on my roof kept getting interrupted by periodic bursts of noise that sounded somewhat like short claps of thunder; it rattled my bedroom windows and kept me on edge most of the night.

On Twitter, people in #Tacoma were posting about something going on at Joint Base Lewis-McChord. War games, or something. The base is ten miles from my house, but my house was shaking from the explosions anyway.

Anyway, at one point last night I started thinking about this crappy apartment I lived in in Bellingham that was missing most of its siding while it was getting remodeled (for about two and a half years), and when it got windy, the Tyvek stapled to the exterior walls would flap and flutter and be incredibly loud and obnoxious—and it inspired some pretty weird dreams.

The apartment that Andrew Banks moves into in my novel, Paradise Squandered, was also inspired by that apartment. There is a part in my book that is based on that very (very obnoxious) feature. This is the part in the book I'm referring to:

My notebook is tucked firmly under my arm as I drag my comforter behind me through my bedroom door and trudge down the dark hallway toward the living room. As I stretch out on the all-too-familiar, microfiber couch—a hand-me-down from David's parents—my mind flashes back to weeks of restless nights spent sprawled out with my feet propped up on one armrest, my head pressed against the other. I remember waking up from rare moments of sleep drenched in sweat, gasping for breath after so many guilt-induced nightmares and then feeling even worse, more remorseful, upon realizing what I had done to the couch. It used to be so much more sanitary than it is now. It definitely smelled better before. David kept telling me not to worry about it. He said his mom had been looking for an excuse to upgrade the furniture in the rec room anyway.

I'm lying on my side with my comforter haphazardly spread over most of my body. Summer has been cool so far—even for this part of the country, way up north near the Canadian border—and this old apartment is poorly insulated and drafty; it doesn't smell all that great, either. I'm looking down at my open notebook on the cushion beside me, staring down at my to-do list, my mouth agape:

1.Unpack boxes
2.Find a glass studio
3.Learn how to cook
4.Get a job
5.Apply to WWU

As I ponder how I've failed to cross anything off—not even the first item on the list—I sketch an airplane crashing into a mountain in the margin and exhale sharply, feeling ridiculous for feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of even trying to accomplish anything. Then I flip through pages until I find what I started writing earlier:

The wall outside my bedroom window has no siding. I've been lying in bed for well over an hour trying to fall asleep, but the sound of Tyvek rustling in the breeze outside my window is driving me insane. I was already in a terrible mood after I got back from Scarlet's place. I'm pretty sure I hate her friends. All of them. I'm not even sure why I went over there in the first place. To finally meet Steven, I guess. David keeps telling me I should talk to him, that we have a lot in common. Apparently, Steven is “an artist of sorts,” whatever that means. David also said that he would be there, at the party, or gathering, or asshole convention or whatever took place earlier, but he wasn't.

I close my pen in my notebook and toss it on the floor, disgusted by the frivolity of my writing, and at the fact that I expend so much time and energy documenting the trifling ways in which I choose to occupy my time, like it will somehow be worthwhile in the future to read and reflect on exactly how I wasted my past.

I sigh and roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, at the abstract patterns of light and shadows cast by unknown sources somewhere on the other side of the living room windows, and try to convince myself to do something worthwhile in the morning.

Now on Goodreads

Paradise Squandered is now on Goodreads! Are you? If you are, I'd love to connect with you there!

Polystyrene

I was catching up with an old friend earlier today, and somehow the conversation turned to earthships, and it reminded me of all these other conversations I had in college, and how I really wanted to get involved with green construction and sustainable design. It also reminded me of just how cool it could be to live in a custom-built, Japanese polystyrene dome.

With the impending success of my novel, Paradise Squandered, I'm pretty sure that one day soon I will be be able to afford to move my family into a technologically advanced Styrofoam hut. I can't wait!

Paradise Squandered: Official Press Release

PRESS RELEASE

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Contact: Alex Stefansson

(425) 218-9269

alexstefansson@hotmail.com

BLOG: alexstefansson.blogspot.com

Sex, drugs and existential angst

Paradise Squandered, the ambitious debut novel of writer Alex Stefansson, is a raw, powerful portrait of a disaffected generation in an empty, consumer-culture world.

Tacoma, WA – Alex Stefansson grew up angry and cynical in the suburbs of Seattle. Now he taps that experience in his insightful and compelling debut novel about a cynical teenager's naive artistic aspirations, and his pining love for a girl he is too afraid to actually talk to.

Paradise Squandered is a story of what it is like to aimlessly trudge along that strange and uncharted course that is life after high school. Andrew Banks returns home from a long-promised graduation trip to Hawaii and re-enters a bland, suburban landscape of privilege and indifference.

Talented but uninspired, Andrew knows he wants to pursue his art, but he has no idea how. He resigns himself to going through the motions of his own life, until the night he overhears the disturbing truth of his father's death. He instantly decides he has to leave his childhood home forever, and a darkly hilarious odyssey ensues.

Andrew moves to a new city with his best friend, David, who is going to college in the fall and has big plans for his future. Andrew's plans are far less academic. He meets Steven, a highly ambitious artist with questionable motives, and a mysterious and alluring young woman who keeps him coming back to the same coffee shop, day after day. Andrew eventually discovers that some things are actually worth pursuing.

Reviewer Jon Perkins says:
"Stefansson has written a literary masterpiece, this generation's Catcher in the Rye. He has a unique ability to capture the feelings of angst that many young people experience while transitioning to adulthood. The imagery is superb, the characters are real."

Paradise Squandered will appeal to fans of classic American literature as well as readers of modern American novelists such as Bret Easton Ellis, Chuck Palahniuk and Christopher Moore.

About the author

Alex Stefansson's writing is often influenced by sleep deprivation and too much caffeine. He grew up in the Pacific Northwest and currently resides in Tacoma.

Paradise Squandered: A Novel

By Alex Stefansson

On Sale Now * 146 pages (print version) * $9.99 paperback * $4.99 ebook

For more information about Paradise Squandered, or to arrange a book signing or interview, contact Alex Stefansson at (425) 218-9269.

Paradise Squandered is now available on SmashWords.com, Amazon.com, BarnesAndNoble.com and CreateSpace.com.

###

Butter

I love butter.

Perhaps this is part of the reason I currently weigh twenty-five pounds more than I did when I was eighteen. Maybe. I don't know.

It's not like I've gotten fat, though. I've just dramatically increased in mass. And, well, yeah, I guess some of that additional mass has come in the form of fat.

When I was eighteen, I used to exercise all the time—and this exercise had nothing to do with my health, either. My diet was fairly horrible. But it didn't matter, I still had almost no body fat. For some reason I can't explain, I just always felt compelled to spend my free time snowboarding, or mountain biking, or climbing up stuff, just to see if I could. I took up hang gliding the summer after I graduated from high school. I learned how to surf.

I used to go snowboarding three or four times a week in the winter. I had a season pass to Steven's Pass. I would ride down anything. I dreamed of going pro, of getting sponsored and getting free gear.

I was so sure of myself, of my abilities. I didn't waste time questioning my decisions, or worry that maybe I was wasting my time and energy on frivolous activities. Riding a snowboard off a cliff seemed to have some intrinsic value. And what I was doing at the time always seemed to be the most important thing in the entire world, and nothing could stop me. I was driven. I was focused. I was invincible.

I recently started biking again, and yes, it's mainly for the exercise. I used to go jogging for exercise, but these days my knees hurt pretty bad after running very far on pavement. Every time I go on a long ride, I find myself thinking back to my earlier years, when my joints didn't ever ache, and I never wondered about how many calories I was burning. I find myself pondering just how much my world view has changed over the past decade. I find myself grinning at just how misguided and naive I used to be. And then my thoughts inevitably snap back to just how much my ass hurts—I hate bike seats.

This year, I want to make it up to Steven's Pass one time. This year, I will forego the terrain park, though. Instead, I think I'll concentrate on butter. Mmmm. Butter.