Wintry, Sunday thoughts…

More White Stuff…

Woke up to another day of snow this morning, as this winter just keeps rolling right along. We can get out if we need—or want—to, so it’s not as though we’re “snowed in.” Today, however, it will just be easier to stay in and not have to navigate the streets and roads in and out of our small town. Living out here in northern Illinois, surrounded by open fields, we get a lot of blowing and drifting. Thus, the roads are often more treacherous than those closer to cities and larger towns and villages.

I don’t have a problem with any of this, by the way. It’s OK to be tucked inside today. After all, I have many long-neglected writing “chores” to attend to, and there’s really no place we have to be today anyway. So I’ll launch Scrivener, knock the cobwebs off my work in progress, and spend a few hours seeing if I can make some headway on the revision/rewrite of a story that just continues to hang on and beg to be finished–for better or worse!

Recently, I have read a couple of very good blog posts by blogging friends that have rekindled my desire to “hit the keyboard” again. There’s nothing quite as nice as reading how others cope with getting their writing jump-started. A special word of thanks goes out to Francis Guenette at her wonderful blog Disappearing in Plain Sight for her inspirational posts.

After spending time writing away the morning and into the afternoon hours, and after this current snowfall abates, I’ll go out and see about clearing the driveway and sidewalk. The current temperature of 25°F isn’t so bad, and the wind is minimal. The fresh air will be good. For now, though, let it snow, and let my fingers find the right words on the keyboard!

A Great Read…

On another topic altogether, I’ve been reading—and enjoying—Bob Drury and Tom Clavin’s book, Valley Forge. I suppose, given our current weather, it’s quite easy to “get into” the overall tone and point of the book about that miserable winter of 1777 George Washington’s Continental Army spent there. But it would be truly unfair to compare anything of what we have to “endure” today with what these people suffered through during our Revolutionary War. Under supplied with food, clothing, ammunition, and shelter, they still managed to hang on and do what was necessary to achieve what they were fighting for–our independence.

The book is very good at illustrating how critically close to the brink of extinction Washington and the whole of the revolutionary forces were. As students and readers of history, we often gloss over the entire picture of the struggles and perils the Continental Army went through. Read this book to re-connect with the overall truth of that moment in our history. And even though I’m warm and snug as I read it now, it doesn’t hurt to have it cold and snowy outside—as a sort of tribute to those hardy souls who persevered–starved and half naked–at Valley Forge.

What’s Ahead…

Other than our seemingly daily battle with the on again-off again snow, we’re at a pretty calm period of the year. It doesn’t look as though an annual late-February trip to Florida is in the offing this year.

I guess I can live with this, given that we had a marvelous January cruise to and thru the

Enjoying the sunshine on the Lido Deck in January

Panama Canal. The memory of those glorious warm days of shorts, short sleeve shirts, and sandals will have to suffice until spring arrives around here in late March/early-April. I had hoped to take in a spring training game or two this winter down there in the Florida sunshine, but I’ll have to plan for that next year.

Time spent right around the old homestead is never a bad thing, and that’s where I’ll be. Happy rest-of-winter to everyone. Until next time, stay warm, all!

 

 

My vault of forgotten short stories

One Good Thing…

It’s time for the weekly  post of a feature I’ve chosen to title “One Good Thing.” Each weekend, I’ll post something about what has been good to—or for—me during the week. 

Earlier this week, as I was delving into various cabinets, file boxes, and folders (with the intention of “cleaning house”) I happened upon a thick and worn notebook that I hadn’t seen for years. Inside were bits and pieces of things I had written a long time ago.

Looking through them squelched any thought of “cleaning house,” and, instead, I spent a good portion of the morning reading—and remembering—the time of my life when I first wondered what all it would take to become a writer.

Once in a while we come upon unexpected remnants of our past, and they often serve as reminders of dreams and goals we’d once had. For this weekly feature of One Good Thing, I thought it might be a fun thing to share one of those “first efforts” from my “forgotten archives.”

One such lost “treasure” was written sometime in the early 80s for a short story writing class I was taking. Because it is a bit lengthy, I’ll break it into two parts. Part two will be posted tomorrow.

The story, based on a prompt we were given, was lots of fun and whetted my appetite to write some more. I’d like to think I’ve grown as a writer since those “early days” when I thought seriously of being a writer. Regardless, I had an extremely good time writing this one.

The prompt: Write about a day that begins in typical fashion but for some reason takes a very different direction.

Without further ado, from my vault of forgotten short stories, never before seen by anyone else, here is…

THE DAY THE HEAT CAME

July 23—The day the heat came…

Tommy Edgeworth and his sister Eve sat rocking gently back and forth on the weathered swing that hung on the wide front porch of the old white clapboard house, where they lived with their Aunt Gert, when it came.

Tommy, reading Jack London’s “To Build a Fire,” and Eve, carrying on a conversation with her Barbie doll, never saw it coming. Until that very moment, nothing was unusual about this typical summer day.

photo courtesy of weather examiner

It was exactly 11:53 a.m. when the mild, gentle morning breeze ceased completely, replaced by an oven-like atmosphere. Exactly one minute later, the neighbors’ chimney melted.

The orange-red bricks all ran together and oozed down the steep pitch of the eighty-year-old house and plopped over the edge to the ground far below, as though some careless kid had spilled a super-sized ice cream sundae all over the driveway.

Tommy and his ten-year-old sister were spellbound! She began to whimper a little but stopped because that caused too much discomfort in the increasing heat. Tommy took off his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his body, which by now was beginning to look like he had just stepped out of the shower.

“I think we better go inside and crank up the air conditioner,” he said, his voice weak and drained from the rising heat that was  now radiating all around them.

In they went, just as the Wupperman’s TV tower across the street suddenly bent limp like some wilted iris in the garden out back. There wasn’t any crashing or rending of metal, merely a quick squishy sound—like molding clay would make…or silly putty…in a kid’s clenched fist.

Tommy and Eve raced through the house, slamming windows shut and drawing shades and curtains closed for added “protection.”

Precisely two minutes later, Tommy clicked the thermostat on the living room wall to start the air conditioning unit that had reposed quietly out behind the lilacs alongside the house for most of the pleasant summer—until now. The old A/C compressor seemed to awaken with a startled, wrenching groan.

“Eve, run quick, up to Aunt Gert’s room and bring her little fan down!” 

Beginning to worry just a bit more, but without saying anything, the young freckle-faced girl dropped her doll and chuffed up the eighteen steps to the second floor.

By the time his sister had come back down with the small General Electric table fan, its cord trailing off behind, Tommy had established his lookout post at the front window directly above a floor vent, which was trying mightily to crank out cool air.

He grabbed the small fan from his sister and set it on the highboy chest next to the window and plugged it in and turned it on. The little fan whirred gently but didn’t do much to provide any real relief, other than moving the air about.

Looking out and down the street, beyond the melted burnt orange steaming pile that had been the chimney of the house next door, Tommy could see Mr. Cloon’s Buick crumble into mega zillions of dust particles on the street in front of his house.

No one was in the car, thank goodness, but what startled Tommy most of all was that there wasn’t a trace of oil, gas, or any other motor fluid of any kind—anywhere! A once healthy automobile had now heated to the extent that it had simply turned to dust.

A split second later, old Mrs. Clechmeyer, who was out for her late-morning stroll, suddenly became a boiling mass of goop and glop. For one brief, desperate moment, she tried to shout, but no sooner had she opened her mouth when her face completely melted away. One second she had been walking upright; the next she was diminishing into a non-human puddle of muck and mire!

In a most bizarre sort of way, this wretched scene reminded Tommy of his favorite moment from The Wizard of Oz. He could almost imagine Mrs. Clechmeyer’s words—had they been able to be vocalized just before she melted away—to be, “I’m melting, my little pretty!”

“Tommy, do you think we’ll be ok?” The fright in his sister’s voice drew Tommy’s attention away from the morbid scene outside.

“I don’t know, Eve, but it sure is weird. Nothing this strange has happened since the time it rained bowling balls for three days. Remember?”

Eve thought for a moment, continuing to stare at the wicked tableau outside.  “Yeah, I remember that. Uncle Mavis really got nailed when that happened.”

Tommy said, “And we would’ve gotten nailed, too, if we hadn’t ‘ve been down in the root cellar with Aunt Gert, helping put up canned tomatoes and pickles.”

Eve shook her head and said, “At least this time it isn’t so loud—just way too hot!” She had moved over beside her older brother at the window. The air conditioner and the whirring of the little fan were the only sounds they could hear, and, fortunately, the house seemed to be holding its own against the inferno outside. 

Neither spoke for a long time, each wondering when their house would meet a furious, fiery fate. Nothing much happened for the next few minutes, until a loud, gurgling sound out in the street erupted, sounding like a giant drain being unclogged. What they saw, as they peered once more out the window, was that the gurgling from the street was the street itself!

To be continued…

Until next time, that’s one good thing!

 

That unexpected happening…

Something unexpected happened yesterday, and I’m kind of hoping that the same thing will do so again today. Of course, then it wouldn’t be unexpected. But enough of splitting hairs.

I have been struggling—for longer than I care to even think about—with the novel, Birchwood’s Secret, which I began years ago. It is to be my third book published, and a continuation of the lives of the two main characters, Rick and Karen Brenson, who performed so bravely in Black Wolf Lodge. That one came out in 2010, after many starts and stops along the way.

This current adventure in which Rick and Karen find themselves involved was actually begun long before Black Wolf Lodge. For whatever reasons, I simply wasn’t enthused about working on Birchwood’s Secret and pretty much abandoned it altogether. The rough outlines and ideas remained tucked away in the depths of a manilla folder, in the depths of purgatory in my writing file box. It was then that I plunged into writing Black Wolf, a couple of short stories, “Hobo Willie” and “Pinewood Farm,” and a very fun book titled The Good Luck Highway.

What was I going to work on next? About that time, November rolled around and NaNoWriMo reared its beckoning head and drew me in. And then it hit me that I had a wonderful opportunity to finally do something with all of the notes, scribblings, outlines, etc., still serving out their sentence in the confines of that manilla folder. Thus, the beginnings of my current work in progress began to come together.

At the end of the month, I had accumulated well over the 50,000 word target, but the work itself was scattered, unorganized, and full of problems too numerous to even mention here. Suffice it to say, I was once again ready to re-commit this whole thing to the darkness of the writing file box and some out-of-the-way abyss in a Scrivener Projects folder on my Mac.

But that didn’t happen. I actually went back to the beginning of the novel and began to rework it and attempt to develop it toward some kind of logical and satisfying conclusion. As before, though, that process didn’t go as I’d liked, and the frustration and inability to write much of anything grew and grew.

From the very beginning, I’ve always known what the main premise of the story is all about and who the main characters and the roles they’ll play are. It took me a very long time, however, to know how the thing would end. And that’s when yesterday’s “unexpected happening” happened!

Yesterday, as I try to do on most mornings, I sat down at my Mac and opened my Birchwood’s Secret Scrivener project and re-read what I’d written just a few days before. And for whatever reason, I suddenly knew that a couple of characters needed changed as to their roles in the story, and that another major character (main villain) would have to be worked in.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Realizing this, it became clear in my mind how I could finally build things to the conclusion and outcome that has been eluding me for a long, long time. And I was able to crank out well over two-and-a-half hours worth of writing, the words seeming to flow as they hadn’t in such an extended stretch of time. And, to be honest, it was a wonderful feeling!

Now, as I wrap up this post, I will pour another cup of hot coffee, jump back to dear, old Birchwood’s Secret, and hope that yesterday’s magic shows itself once more.

Hanging-files, annoying beeps, and other stuff!

I made the mistake this morning of thinking that I was going to spend this very frigid January day getting some good, quality writing done (something I haven’t been very successful at these past weeks), and the bigger mistake was that I opened the drawer to the hanging-file cabinet that sits to the left of my desk.

I was merely planning on putting away a receipt into its proper folder, and as is usually par for the course, I had to thumb through the crowded, not-very-well-organized files which rest in various hanging-file folders with nifty tabs and labels. Mind you, I created all of these hanging-file folders with the nifty tabs and labels shortly after we moved in here in December of 2007. And though my intentions were good—that I’d be able to maintain some semblance of order and organization therein—it became, more or less, a mishmash of unorganized chaos! A compendium of confusion, if you can imagine that.

To be honest, I have known for quite some time that the thing needed a good weeding out and tidying up, followed by a marathon shredding session. And since I don’t really make formal New Year’s resolutions and make a big to-do about them, I hadn’t a date set aside to tackle the weeding and tidying and shredding—just that it needed to be done “down the road.”

After finally locating the folder I was looking for, I made the fatal mistake of reaching for, and opening, another folder containing something or other: Old teaching evaluations? Medical and prescription information? Grad school transcripts? Oh, so many things I had forgotten about and had saved for whatever reason, probably because I figured they should be saved in case I ever needed them!

This was all of the prompting I needed to begin the process of cleaning things out. Before I knew it, I had gone through most of the files and created an Everest of old and forgotten forms, letters, retirement benefits statements, etc., etc. Soon, I fired up the shredder and fed it generously for the next hour before breaking for a nice winter’s breakfast where I fed myself generously of eggs, bacon, English muffin, and good hot coffee.

Re-fueled and content, I returned to the scene of the weeding and tidying and shredding. I didn’t spend too much more time on this process since I’d succeeded in making the large file drawer a neater, better-organized, happier place. Plus, I did want to get some kind of writing done, albeit the blog rather than back to work on the elusive novel of mine—Sandbar’s Secret. (There’s also a couple of short stories I’ve begun…) Thus, I finished cleaning up the remaining remnants of my day’s adventure and smiled at my laptop awaiting patiently on my writing desk.

OK, with quite a bit of the afternoon freed up, I could tune in my favorite All Mellow Jazz station on the Internet Radio through iTunes and lose myself in my writing. It wasn’t long, though, before that magic was broken by a short beep, followed by another of the same a moment later, and another, and another…

Yep, the smoke/carbon monoxide alarm battery was apparently low and was begging for help. It was one of those occasions when I hoped against hope that it was just a fluke and that it would go away, righting itself without any further beeping. That’s what I hoped, and, of course, that was far from the reality of the situation. It kept at it, taunting me and daring me to ignore it any longer!

So much for getting into the writing moment. Reluctantly, I pushed away from my MacBook Pro, pulled the ear buds out, and headed out to get the ladder from the frigid garage and to see if there was a battery in the container in the closet off the laundry room. As I’ve found, it’s not a difficult task to change the battery, and luckily there was a fresh replacement 9-volt Duracell right where it was supposed to be. A few minutes later, a fresh battery installed, the Kidde Smoke/Carbon Monoxide Alarm/Detector was back in its state of silent vigilance.

Now, I finally could get to that writing, but I was informed that I had to take the garbage can out to the street and go fill the wife’s car up with gas so it would be ready for work tomorrow. Out came the ear buds once more, and I backed up my Scrivener project with intentions of getting back to it before the day completely dwindled away.  As darkness began to settle in, I was on my way to the curb with the garbage can and then to the gas station. I wonder if thinking about writing counts as writing?

Oh, well, so it goes…

Busy times, a new computer, and “unhibernating” the novel…

It hasn’t taken very long for my life to get extremely busy once again! Not complaining, mind you, just mentioning that everything seems to begin to happen all at the same time, and it’s not always easy to get going again, to get “back in the flow.”

Not so long ago, I was writing about how things had slowed down to a crawl, especially with my regular writing routine. But these past couple of days, that aspect of my life has gotten a good jump-start, for a couple of reasons: First, I went computer shopping at the Apple Store in Naperville yesterday and bought a 15-inch MacBook Pro with an AirPort Time Capsule (which I’m anxious to figure out). I was going to go with the 13-inch screen, but the kind wife that I have insisted that I should have the larger screen (old eyes, you know!) and that the money would be there for it. Hard to argue with that line of thinking!

Second, Gwen Hernandez’s Scrivener for Mac-Intermediate class began this morning, and I’m mentally “back” into all things Scrivener after completing lesson 1. I can tell just from the first lesson, that it’s going to be another worthwhile and valuable class for the next few weeks.

But there were a few obstacles I had to work around in order to be ready for the onset of this morning’s first lesson. The major concern was my being without my ancient MacBook (late 2007), having left it at the Apple Store yesterday to have all of the data, Apps, programs, files, etc., transferred to my new MacBook Pro. This presented a problem at first, since I would be without my laptop at least until Thursday and would put me behind in Gwen’s

Deutsch: Apple MacBook Pro 15″ (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

class.

Then it hit me! I could use my wife’s MacBook to access the class forum site and be able to download the lessons without missing anything. Of course, my wife doesn’t have or use Scrivener at the moment, so that was another concern. But one of the beauties of Literature and Latte’s Scrivener is that they offer a 30-day free trial.

With that in mind, I downloaded it to the wife’s computer and am able to move ahead with Gwen’s class and resume work on my novel–waking it from hibernation–without missing any time. And as it will probably turn out when things are back to “normal” around here and I’m back on my own laptop with my own registered Scrivener, the trial version will expire. But the wife just might be interested in using it for her genealogy and ancestry stuff and will probably purchase it as well.

And so my week has begun with a flurry of activity in things computer and Scrivener related. Then there was the “gathering” on Sunday we had to prepare for last week. As it turned out, we had a wonderful dinner party here on Sunday with nearly thirty folks from the wife’s place of business in attendance. It was a wonderful time, great food, and many laughs and bits of conversation, but there’s that thing called “clean up” and getting chairs, tables, coolers, dishes, etc., back in their proper places. Though we’ve made a pretty good dent in getting that all taken care of, there’s still more awaiting–as soon as I can find the “spirit” to pull away from my writing!

Now, I am eager to hear from the good folks at the Apple Store that my new computer is all set up and ready for me to pick it up on Thursday morning when I’m taking one of their One-to-One “lessons” to go over the new operating system and other things on how the MacBook Pro works. In the meantime, I’d best see what I can do to move my novel along, further out of hibernation!…CortlandWriter

Re-discovering John Updike & a short visit home…

(Writing from home in northern Illinois)

Following the wonderful 4th of July weekend that was filled with kids and grandkids and plenty of

4th of July or Fourth of July (Photo credit: Creativity+ Timothy K Hamilton)

fun in the lake and in and around the cottage, I decided it was time to  venture back home for a few days to attend to those persistent “calls of  necessity.” Those, of course, include taking the recycling containers to the drop-off place at the nearby landfill, shopping to re-supply the essentials for the cottage, doing the laundry, and mowing, trimming, and edging the yard that is healthier than it’s ever been!

Regardless, it was time to come home. I was last home in early June, and today I feel kind of like a stranger in my own house. My routines in the kitchen, which are pretty automatic in the morning making coffee, taking care of clean dishes in the dishwasher, etc., aren’t so automatic at the moment. I find myself pausing to remember exactly where things go and the gentle order of operation when I’m here on a regular basis.

So, today I did the various shopping “runs” to Sam’s Club and Wal-Mart for those items I will take back to the cottage two days from now. I also put back on my bookshelves those books I finished reading during the past few weeks up at the cottage.

Cover of Pigeon Feathers and Other Stories

One of them, Pigeon Feathers and Other Stories by John Updike, re-affirmed my desire to get back to writing those short stories I keep meaning to finish. It was very good to read those stories I’d first discovered in my American Lit courses at Kent State, back about 1970 or thereabouts, and I saw things this time through that I failed to do then. Could it be that I’m older and wiser now? (Well, older anyway!)

I had two very good–uninterrupted–weeks of working on my novel, Sandbar’s Secret, but I had to shut things down with company and the festive weekend that was the 4th of July celebration.

And I didn’t mind shutting the old MacBook down one bit. Dragging the grandsons around the lake on a tube, dodging the insane “Weekend Warriors” on our lake, was fun, to say the least. The old 90-horse Yamaha outboard ran as smooth as ever, propelling our Tahoe pontoon around and through the waters without a hitch.

Now, with today’s “chores” finished, I can settle in and finish catching up on other e-mail and reading posts from my blog friends and offer a comment where appropriate. Tomorrow’s plan is to do the yard work early in the morning and take care of any other household duties which I haven’t gotten to as yet.

Before I know it, Thursday morning will roll around, and I will be packing the Chevy Equinox once again to return to the cottage on the lake. It’s good to know that there’s still plenty of summer left for writing and reading, and I am most anxious to get back into my novel WIP, Sandbar’s Secret, and find time to read the new biography, Updike, by Adam Begley. We have no company coming this weekend, so that is a good thing!  I love friends and family when they come spend a few days and nights with us, but I also savor those weekends when there are no such visitors!

And so, here’s hoping things are well in your world. I send you good wishes from a beautiful day here in northern Illinois, where today’s list has been checked off, and I prepare for tomorrow’s…CortlandWriter

Related articles

• Biography offers an enlightening view of John Updike’s work.
• John Updike’s Life and Writing
• Style and the Man: On Adam Begley’s Updike
• ‘Updike,’ by Adam Begley

Update from the hinterlands…

Hello, friends and fellow writers! Just a quick post this morning from my self-imposed exile here in the southwest Michigan hinterlands. It’s a very unique morning, in that the sun is shining, the lake down below is calm and inviting, and the overhead skies are not one massive gray ceiling, promising rain.

Most days and nights during this past week (since my last post) have been chock full of rain, punctuated with thunder and lightning. Thankfully, there has been little wind to contend with. However, yesterday’s early morning “monsoon” not only created little ponds and lakes out on the back lane behind the cottages, it also caused some damage to one of our neighboring cottages just down the way a bit.

Situated under these old and tired oaks and maples and ashes, the cottages–and everything else–is in constant peril when storms decide to do their thing. And it’s those  stately ancient trees that get the brunt of the storm’s fury. It’s truly amazing how fortunate these 101-year-old cottages are to have withstood the ravages of nature.

I have been busily at work on my next book–Sandbar’s Secret–and I have taken advantage of the stormy weather to make wonderful progress, particularly since it’s the perfect kind of “indoor” weather for doing so.

I hope that your week is moving along well and there are no storms with which to contend….CortlandWriter

Back to a summer writing routine…

Settling in for the summer once again…

Sunset at Sister Lakes, Michigan (Photo credit: Fox Valley Voice)

It’s wonderfully peaceful and a bit on the dreary side this morning here on the banks of beautiful Magician Lake in southwest Michigan. And it’s good to be able to enjoy it all without having to travel anywhere, no company to “entertain,” and no major tasks that need doing. It’s simply time to get writing. To knock the dust off my Scrivener projects, in other words!

I have been reading more than writing so far this summer, and this past weekend the place was “headquarters” for our annual NASCAR “Race Weekend.” And as much as I look forward to it each year and all of the fun we have from beginning to end, I’m relieved that it’s over with.

What now? For the next week, I will be here all by myself and will have no excuses not to attack my writing projects: a couple of short stories (sort of sequels to the other two I published last year—“Hobo Willie” and “Pinewood Farm.” And, of course, there is the next novel that has been hibernating and “cooling off” as it awaits my attention.

In short, there’s plenty of work to be done, and I suppose I’m finally in the proper frame of mind to re-establish my daily writing routine: up early each morning and at the MacBook by 7:00 to pound out the words and then wrap things up by 9:00. Of course, those times aren’t chiseled in stone by any means, but the earlier in the day I write, the more productive I seem to be. That way, I have the remainder of the day to take care of anything that needs tending to around here and/or to spend some quality time out on the water on the pontoon.

I plan my weekly visits to the laundromat and the grocery store either for Wednesday or Thursday mornings. On those mornings, I have to re-adjust my writing time—often in the evening—but I’m very flexible once I re-discover the discipline it takes to immerse myself into the writing routine. Of course, when it’s a rainy or otherwise crappy “lake day,” employing the writing discipline and tuning out all of the surrounding distractions is not an issue.

Even now as I type this post, rumblings of thunder sound off to the west, and I know that I’ll manage to accomplish much on this first day of getting back to writing. And there’ll also be time to catch up on reading other blog post from my many blogger friends.

And so it is. Time to get the mellow jazz on iTunes Internet Radio for my background inspiration, and get to gettin’!….CortlandWriter

Summer reading & “Race Weekend” on the horizon…

So far in the two weeks that I’ve been up here at my summer place of exile, in the land of southwest Michigan, I’ve read a number of fun and interesting pieces of writing. And though I should be devoting more time at this point to doing my own writing and working on my next project, I have found the reading life much more beneficial at this point. I know, as in summers past, I’ll get the writing juices flowing about this time next week. And there’s a good reason for this. But first, my thoughts about what I’ve managed to read up here on the shores of Magician Lake.

Philip Caputo (Photo credit: Airstream Life)

I began my summer reading with Philip Caputo’s delightful book The Longest Road: Overland in Search of America, from Key West to the Arctic Ocean. It’s an easy and pleasurable read, mainly because I love stories of folks who have “hit the road,” and it is one that makes one wish to pack up and join up with Caputo and his wife and their two English setters as they roll along, mile after mile, in their pickup truck with a vintage Airstream in tow.

Of course there is much more than a simple reporting of the various places they pass through. More important, there are the people whose lives, for one reason or another, are forged in the towns—dying or thriving—where they live in today’s America. It’s this very thing that is the force behind Caputo’s purpose of making the long trip in the first place. As he travels along, the question, what holds us all together, surfaces at every turn, in a light and humorous voice every mile of the trip. It’s a wonderful read!

My other is A Study in Sherlock, a collection of short stories based on the Sherlock Holmes Canon, and I found each story therein to be well written and equally as fun to read as Caputo’s book.

Being a longtime Holmes fan, I enjoyed the offerings of featured writers such as Lee Child, Jerry

English: Sherlock Holmes (r) and Dr. John B. Watson. Illustration by Sidney Paget from the Sherlock Holmes story The Greek Interpreter.  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Margolin, S.J. Rozan, and Dana Stabenow, to name a few whose work makes up the contents of the book. I was familiar with Lee Child from his Jack Reacher books, but most of the others were new to me. I must say, that their stories in this collection have whetted my appetite to read more by each of them. I suppose that’s how we increase our reading wealth.

Now, as for my own writing efforts to finally get kickstarted next week is simple: Our cottage is busy with our two grandkids for a few days, followed by our annual NASCAR “Race Weekend”  beginning this coming Thursday.

For many years, several relatives and friends gather here for a multi-day party leading up to our trek over to Michigan International Speedway very early Sunday morning for the race. We’ll return that night and everyone will filter out for their homes in Illinois, Ohio, and various other points on the map on Monday. After a brief recovery period, I’ll be ready to get my writing routine in full gear when it will be just me during the weekdays.

And so this will probably be the last post until that time. I’m sure I’ll have some cogent points to make about “Race Weekend,” so come on back next week. It’s sure to be worth the effort. Until then…CortlandWriter

The grandstands for Michigan International Speedway in Michigan. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

My writing friend & mentor…

email (Photo credit: Sean MacEntee)

Every once in a while, I like to write to people and make sure all is well in their world, especially if I haven’t heard from them in a very long time. And so yesterday I sent a brief e-mail to a friend and his wife to let them know I was still alive and kicking and hoped that they were as well.

Both of them are in their 80s and really not doing very well at all. I knew this from the last communication I had several months ago, but I always am holding out hope that the good Florida sunshine and climate will be an elixir that is good for what ails them.

When I checked my e-mail early this morning, there was a reply from my old friend telling me that his wife was no longer able to feed herself or manage any of the other necessary functions and was now a resident of a nursing home. I wasn’t a bit surprised, but it was still sad as I thought back to our first meeting back in the mid-90s, the both of them vibrant and healthy and happy-go-lucky.

I became acquainted with Dick one evening by chance back in the America Online days, when all this Internet/Web stuff was new to most of us. His online name—something indicating that he was a writer—caught  my eye, and I dropped him a message telling him about my same kind of interest in writing and publishing.

And as it turned out, he was a transplanted, retired Chicagoan living in Florida, and he was very interested in my desire to be a writer, having written and published several books himself. From that very first meeting online, we exchanged long and wonderful e-mail letters (most of which I still have in a three-ring binder) for many years.

English: email envelope (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was still teaching middle school, and every March Carolyn and I, our two kids in tow, would head off to Florida for spring break to spend the week with her parents in Sarasota.

The year I met Dick, we made plans to meet with him and his wife, Alice, while we were down there for spring break. Dick and Alice lived farther north,  near Clearwater, so they suggested they’d drive down in their camper to a campground of which they were familiar in nearby Sarasota and have us join them for dinner and a get-to-know-one-another visit.

That turned out to be a wonderful time as we enjoyed a real face-to-face meeting and shared our personal stories of our lives, families, and interests. I could tell that Dick was sincerely interested in being a sort of mentor to me in getting started in writing seriously and, eventually, publishing.

I learned a lot from that first meeting, not the least of which was that to be a writer, one must have discipline—a word that Dick would remind me over and over again in e-mails and conversations in the ensuing years.

And though I puttered and tinkered with my writing during those years, it wasn’t until I retired from teaching in June of 2007 that I sat down and told myself that all of the dribs and drabs and various drafts I had started over the years needed my serious attention. In short, I found some of that discipline which Dick liked to talk about and began in earnest to write my first novel. It turned into Black Wolf Lodge, and I even paid tribute to my friend Dick in the story as the “wind chime man,” a person who had inspired the main character, Rick Brenson, to pursue his dream of writing.

Over the years, the e-mail communications slowed and then all but petered out, for one reason or another. I never knew if I had said or done something to offend my friend, but those long and newsy e-mails stopped coming. Carolyn and I did stop and see him and Alice a few years ago on our journey through that part of Florida, but things just weren’t the same. There was an obvious tiredness in the man, and Alice was frail beyond belief.

Sadly, Dick had lost his zest for writing and now spent most days forwarding news items about politics and the great divide this country has experienced. Instead of reading and enjoying things sent from this man—my writer friend—as I did for several years, I now simply hit [DELETE].

Though it was wonderful to receive an actual e-mail note from Dick yesterday, it was also sad and heartbreaking to realize that age and health have caught up with him and Alice, and those glorious days of “getting to know you” are but a memory—yet a good memory!…CortlandWriter

Taylor Lake Park, Largo, Florida. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)