The pier putting-in of which I wrote about in my last post went very well, even though we soon discovered one of the support pieces had been broken–somehow–during the off season.
Good fortune, though, as I have had an extra one stored under the cottage for the past few years, and with some adjusting and finagling, we made it an almost perfect fit–even better than–the one that had broken.
The weather was ideal, thank you, and we completed the job in just a little under two hours, even with the slight hitch in the process.
Now, I’m busier than ever getting all things ready for the early morning drive back up there this Friday with two loaded cars to “officially” open the cottage. As such, my blogging time and keeping up with my good friends out there is pretty much shot for the next several days.
Once opened and settled in up there by early next week (Memorial Day), I’ll jump back in here and resume my regular posting. And that goes for my weekend feature of One Good Thing as well. Stick with me, folks, I’ll be back.
In the meantime, I wish everyone well during my little respite and look forward to getting this all going again with much to tell you from our little cottage by the lake. Smiles… 🙂
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.
This week…
Back in March, I tried my hand at writing a piece of flash fiction at thestoryshack.com, which features a new writing prompt generator. I had been alerted to this wonderful feature by Luanne over at Writer Site and was eager to try it out.
Story Shack, founded in November 2011, is an on-line literary magazine featuring illustrated flash fiction. Its focus is to bring together the worlds of fiction and illustration by fostering relationships between authors and visual artists.
Using the writing prompt generator, I wrote a story titled “The Baker’s Tale” (apologies to Mr. Chaucer!) Afterwards, I checked out how to go about submitting the piece and decided I had nothing to lose, so–following the stringent submission guidelines–I sent “The Baker’s Tale” on its merry way for possible future publication in the Story Shack on-line literary magazine.
I didn’t think anything more of it, except to share it with readers in a post I wrote about the experience and how much fun it was to use the generator as a means to kick-start one’s writing, especially on those mornings when nothing seems to be inspirational or the ideas and words just won’t pop.
Fast forward several weeks to this past Tuesday when I received the following e-mail:
TO: Mark AndersonSUBJECT: Your Story Shack submissionHi Mark,Thank you for submitting your story 'The Baker's Tale'
to The Story Shack. I'm happy to tell you that it has been accepted.The piece has been scheduled for publication on Monday, August 29, 2016. You will be placed in touch with an illustrator at least three weeks before it is due to go live.Have a great day!All the best,Martin HooijmansEditorhttps://thestoryshack.com
Needless to say, I was surprised and delighted at this piece of good news and am looking forward to seeing how the whole process plays out. No, I won’t receive any compensation for having it published, but that’s not the important thing here. Instead, I will have the opportunity to work with an artist and, hopefully, gain some valuable exposure “out there!”
It proves once again that if we take a chance and cast our lines, we might really catch something!
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.
This week…
I didn’t post last weekend due to being away from the old “writing machine” for longer than I had expected. It has been a stretch of days where the weather has been such that the duties outside took precedence. Besides, when it’s finally in the 70s and absolutely gorgeous out there, I find it very difficult to be inside at my desk trying to concentrate on writing!
At any rate, there are many good things of which to write, and they all rank very high on my personal scale: Weather; grandkids; Carolyn’s job.
Late-afternoon fire on the patioAs I’ve written recently, the weather has finally come around to provide us the opportunity to get outside, to breathe the good air, to soak up the warmth of the sun, and to watch the grass, plants, and trees come alive.
The farmers have begun getting their fields ready for planting (corn or soybeans) and it’s always a good feeling to know that soon new life will be sprouting all over this part of northern Illinois.
The writing front…
Having been a bit lax and negligent of seriously getting work done on my current work in progress, a novel titled Birchwood’s Secret, I chiseled out time this past week to actually make some progress with it. It was a good time to look with a fresh vision at what had been sitting for a while. I was glad to be back among my characters at the resort where I left them. I think I’m ready to move the whole thing along to a conclusion. Stay tuned!
Soccer & retirement…
Saturday morning—a perfect one it was—found us at our grandson’s first soccer game of the season. The event was even more special for my wife, Carolyn, since it was the first time she’d had an opportunity to see the boys play soccer–or anything else, really–on a Saturday because she’s always been at work during those times.
After 46 years, a celebratory beverage is in order!After 46 years of working as a hair dresser, she’s finally calling it quits on May 25th. Recently she began the process by “phasing out” the Saturdays and is now down to just two days a week. She’s excited, yet will miss her many clients and co-workers.
The road ahead…
We will be able to plan more things to do together and enjoy both of our retirements more fully. Her retirement will also mean that this summer will be the first one she will actually be able to spend more time at the lake cottage.
Plans for a trip to Alaska in 2017 are in the planning stages as well as fall and winter road trips and little excursions to see things in our own backyard.
When I sat down to write this post, I wasn’t entirely certain which direction it would take. But after a couple of minutes, I realized that I didn’t have to sweat it at all. It’s quite clear that I have so much for which to be thankful, and that’s always easy to write about.
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.
I haven’t written about things I’ve read lately, so that will be the subject of this weekend’s One Good Thing, since this past week found me finishing a very good “old” book that I discovered by chance in a local second-hand store.
Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson has been around for a while. Published in 1994, it is a story set on San Piedro, a rather secluded island in Puget Sound. Its main industries are fishing and raising strawberries and various other fruits, and the residents pretty much keep to themselves.
The story is set during a powerful snowstorm in the winter of 1954, where Kabuo Miyamoto, a Japanese-American fisherman, is on trial for the murder of his childhood friend Carl Heine. Carl was found dead and tangled in his own net after a foggy night on the water, and the likely culprit is Kabul.
Exactly why he is the major suspect is developed as the story moves along.
Ishmael Chambers, editor of the local paper and childhood sweetheart of Kabuo’s wife, Hatsue, is in the courtroom to cover the proceedings. And it is through his eyes and point of view that we learn the “backstory” leading up to the current situation.
Through a series of flashbacks, which Guterson handles with skill, keeping the reader wondering what the next twist or turn in the story will involve, editor Chambers takes us back to his seemingly lovely island childhood where he and Hatsue discovered first love.
Unfortunately, after the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, Ishmael’s and Hatsue’s youthful emotions and budding feelings for each other are lost when she and her family are banished to a Japanese internment camp.
Hurt and bitter with the loss of Hatsue, Ishmael found himself in the service and sent to the Pacific theater, where he ended up losing an arm in the battle of Tarawa, merely adding to the major losses in his life.
The book is a good one, clearly showing the kinds of prejudice that were prevalent at the time. With Guterson’s clear prose and description of a heartbreaking tale in a lonely place, I can see why Snow Falling on Cedars received several awards.
I’m not sure how I never found this book a long time ago or saw the film adaptation of it, but I’m glad I found it tucked away on a shelf in that second-hand store. It cost me fifty cents, and that was quite a steal for the quality of the writing and overall story which I thoroughly enjoyed.
I’ve decided that it’s a pretty good idea to check those shelves in those old stores. One never knows what hidden treasures are waiting to be discovered!
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.
This week…
I read a post recently that dealt with some people who find it hard to write/post when they have other important stuff on their minds. I suppose this past week could be considered that very type for me, friends.
Without going into too much detail here, suffice it to say that I’ve had a lot on my plate here as of late. Nothing critical at this point, mind you, but enough to take my mind’s focus away from the flow of being able to write—anything!
I’ve never been one who can “slog on” when something important is staring me in the face, and I truly admire all of those folks who seem to be able to do so. Carolyn is like that, for whatever reason.
Not me! Instead, it eats away at me to the point of raising my blood pressure and adding to my discomfort level exponentially.
That’s just the way I am! But enough of that, already. My mind is clear now, and my concerns are quelled, so it’s onward and upward!
Good things from this week:
I added several new books to my “Soon-to-be-read” shelves. They are The Aviators by Winston Groom; Betrayal, by Charles Fountain; and American Gospel, by Jon Meecham. The first two are ones I purchased for my own enjoyment, and the third one is for our next Men’s book club in May. Can’t wait to get started on them!
We had a nice Easter afternoon with our son’s wife’s family and our grandsons, although I came down with a nasty head cold. (Love all the watery eyes and constant sneezing!) All better now.
I received my $130 check for serving as an election judge a few weeks ago. As wild and crazy as the whole day and late and rainy night turned out to be, I figured they might fail to pay us. How wrong I was!
I spent some time—although briefly—with the grandsons after picking them up from school Thursday. What is it about the more they grow older, we grandparents fade from the realm of importance? Wasn’t it just a few years ago that we were pretty much “up there” on a pedestal of importance? Go figure…
All of our lawn equipment for the spring and summer are ready and functioning well after the season’s first use (see previous post).
I’m sure there are many more “good things” from this week, but these few are definitely at the top of my list. I hope your week has been good, for whatever reasons, and the week ahead will be good to you as well!
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.
As usually happens, my week has been filled with plenty of “good.” What stands out particularly for me this week, though, is that major league spring training is under way. For non-baseball fans, that bit of info probably doesn’t mean too much. For those who are fans of America’s greatest pastime, however, it’s one of the happiest events of the year!
I must confess, I’m a lifelong Chicago White Sox fan. When I say lifelong, I mean lifelong! I have some upcoming posts regarding just how that all came about. For now, though, all thoughts are on spring training and the beginnings of a brand new season.
photo courtesy of digitalballparks.com
Last season’s depression has been shunted into the never-want-to-think-about-it-again vault, replaced by nothing but happy, positive thoughts of maybe…just maybe!
Promises of fun times once again at the old ballpark brighten winter’s gloom and transport me back to so many wonderful days of summers spent riding the waves of my White Sox fortunes–or lack of same.
Growing up, I would forget about my White Sox during the winter months. Not because I didn’t care about them, but because I was too caught up in playing hockey and doing school things.
Then, as February got going during those years, I began to see small stories on the sports pages and perhaps a brief mention every now and then on the evening TV sports that Major League spring training camps would be opening pretty soon.
And I would begin to think about those wonderful spring days ahead, and winter wouldn’t seem so long.
Spring training in those days always seemed so very far away. Sarasota, where the White Sox trained and played their spring games at Payne Park, was way down in Florida, as were most other teams’ camps.
Having never been to Florida, or anywhere else in the South for that matter, I was quite unfamiliar with the lay of the land, other than it must be vastly different from my home in Huntington, Indiana.
Places like Sarasota, Pompano, Fort Lauderdale, Fort Myers, Tampa, Bradenton, and Vero Beach sounded like sunny villages far, far away. And, I guess, to a young boy of 11, they probably were!
In my mind, I tried to picture and imagine what these remote, out-of-the-way Florida outposts looked like. Were there palm trees in the outfield? Or the blue Gulf of Mexico just over the outfield fence?
Did White Sox players spend hours every day shagging so many fly balls in the outfield under the hot sun? Were there orange groves all around? What did the players do when they weren’t working out or practicing? Oh, so many youthful questions! And since there wasn’t any TV coverage then, my young imagination was in overdrive.
Remembering the innocence that was my youthful imagining of White Sox spring training all these years later, has me eager for the new baseball season.
The White Sox haven’t been in Sarasota for several years, moving spring operations to Glendale, Arizona, in 1997, but I’m pretty sure spring training in the Arizona sunshine has created vivid images in the minds of young Sox fans the same as they did all those years ago for this not-so-young-anymore fan!
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.
(Note: Yesterday, I posted part one of a story I’d written back in the 80s titled “The Day the Heat Came.” Here is the conclusion of the tale that was a lot of fun to write.)
The old, shady maple-lined street was now a river of pitch-black sludge, tar, asphalt, and crushed stone—now liquefied beyond belief!
Good old Maple Street had seen its share of weird things, but this was the doozy to top all doozies! Not even the rain of bowling balls a few years back, or the monsters coming to Maple Street out of the Twilight Zone, could top this.
Photo courtesy of olmparish.org
A minute later, Mr. Beasley, the mailman, floated by in his mail truck as though he had set sail on a voyage on the rushing torrent of black goo.
Florid faced and hair wild, Mr. Beasley was desperately trying to get the truck into gear, but there was no more street left on which to maneuver. He was losing the battle quickly as the vehicle of the United States Postal Service began to cant and tilt and was soon swallowed up by the roiling river that had been Maple Street.
Not far behind was patrolman Nace Wimbish, frantically trying to extricate himself from his police cruiser that had begun its river-like journey. Seconds later, he and the blue and white squad car met the same fate as Mr. Beasley and were suddenly sucked under the whirling and swirling flow of asphalt and tar–gone for good.
As this was happening, all of the trees that lined the once-peaceful street began to droop and wilt and turn to sodden piles of vegetation.
Boz Corndexter, the town drunk, was next! All that remained of his 400 pound self was oozing and sloshing around in Mable Froom’s rain barrel, into which he had stumbled when the heat came. Ol’ Boz’d had the misfortune to be sleeping off one of his mean drunks in the shade of the old widow’s back porch. Wrong place, right time!
Witnessing all of this, Eve and Tommy began to feel trapped and afraid and alone. Aunt Gert had gone off to her weekly poker game at the Ladies League of Elkville, so chances were pretty good that she wouldn’t be home soon–if at all–as things were developing.
“Do you think we’ll die like them?” Eve was trembling now, more worried than before, staring out at the chaotic scene outside.
“Let’s hope not,” Tommy said, moving closer to his little sister. “I have big plans for my life.” He glanced at his book of Jack London stories he’d been reading on the porch and imagined that he’d be able to overcome whatever this evil force of nature was that was causing all of this mayhem.
Tommy and Eve stayed at the window for the rest of the afternoon, looking out at more and more of the craziness enveloping everything about the place. The thermometer on the porch had reached its highest calibrated marking and then, without any warning, burst and cracked and splashed itself into oblivion. Almost at once, the pungent odor of burning wires and metal crept through the vents. The temperature outside was now beyond measurement!
At that exact moment, the porch swing that had hung on the same rusty chain for forty years, suddenly screeched and screamed, seemingly in agony, and then crumpled and gushed into a puddle on the battleship gray porch floor.
Eve and Tommy were stunned as they stood and watched things melting all around them, realizing that it had been only a short time ago that they had been reading Jack London stories and playing make-believe with dolls and otherwise whiling away a summer’s day on that same swing. Now it was no more!
There was silence in the house now, except for the grinding and throbbing of the air conditioner that still seemed to be trying to right itself, and Aunt Gert’s tiny fan that kept at it like The Little Engine That Could.
Despite the terror that was going on outside, the air inside was strangely fresh and very comfortable. The curtains fluttered ever so slightly as the coolness wafted up from the floor vents below. The acrid hint of smoke that had been drifting in moments before had as quickly disappeared without a trace.
Outside, the sky was a fierce red, and the steam and heat all around their neighborhood continued to take its toll on things. A few houses like Tommy and Eve’s had managed to avoid whatever miserable force the deadly heat had brought, but most of the others were gone or soon would be.
Tommy realized at that moment that life as everyone had known it had quickly descended into the furnaces of hell and would probably never be the same again. He wondered, too, if others were watching in horror behind their windows?
Nothing was moving out there now, other than the flowing Nile that had been Maple Street just a short time before.
Poor Boz Corndexter! Going out in a rain barrel was no one’s idea of a classic exit from the here and now. And Nace Wimpish would be hard to replace as the town’s best cop–that is, if there would ever be a need for a cop again! Whatever was happening, a future in this town seemed pretty bleak.
Tommy could see something lying on the far corner of the next door neighbor’s steaming yard near the flowing street. It was Mr. Beasley’s mail pouch, which at that moment exploded and hurled its contents soaring, scattering them high into the heated atmosphere where they immediately became engulfed in flames.
Tommy and Eve felt as though they couldn’t watch any more; they’d seen enough of the horror that had come their way. But despite their efforts to turn away from the morbid scene, they couldn’t force themselves to look away from the nightmare outside their window.
After a time, though, and after they’d seen all they cared to see, the two young people turned away from the window and slumped down to the floor and knew that life as they knew it would never be the same again. The whole apocalyptic inferno had pushed them both past any sort of rational sanity.
The air conditioner, finally having worked the kinks and gremlins out of its system, steadily hummed away now. Aunt Gert’s tiny fan whirred gently on and on. And the heat kept on coming and the river that was Maple Street oozed and slurped its way forward, intent on swallowing the rest of the town.
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!
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.
Scrivener talk
Earlier this week, a writer friend asked me what I thought about the writing program Scrivener and if I thought she should try it out or not. And since I enjoy sharing things about Scrivener, I realized that I had my One Good Thing to share with everyone.
Yes, I have written about Scrivener in the past, and about how much I really feel comfortable using it to do all of my writing (blog posts, short stories, novels). Although in the beginning I wasn’t too sure about it due to my comfort level in using Word for all things writing.
Plus, like anything else that is vast and complex, there is a pretty fair amount of time required to invest in understanding Scrivener. Like so many others who became frustrated and overwhelmed by it, I thought I had to know everything about it in order to make it work for me.
Consequently, because I was unsure about most things about it, my grasp of the powerful writing program was nearly nonexistent, even though there’s a pretty good tutorial built into the program. In short, I was ready to forget the whole idea and scurry back to the familiar world of Word.
Fortunately, before giving up completely, I found Gwen Hernandez’s Scrivener for Dummies, followed by her online courses in Scrivener “basics,” and things began to look less daunting and frightening! A simple truth revealed itself, finally: One need not use every feature of the program to accomplish one’s writing goals!
After using Scrivener for four years now, I still use very few of the wide array of wonderful features or parts of it. What’s good for me, may not be good for another. And various things others find useful in their writing may not be good for my needs.
And that’s one of the real strengths of Literature & Latte’s Scrivener: One can pick and choose and put to use any parts that make writing work for him or her.
Here are some of the Scrivener features I like and use most often:
“Compose mode”-Allows me to write without distractions.
Binder organization-I can move scenes or chapters around as I see fit.
Writing Progress Targets-I can set a desired word count “target” and will be notified whenever the word count is reached.
Compiling-Although it’s a bit tricky to understand and fully use without some really good guidance from folks like Gwen Hernandez, it’s a very powerful way to get my work formatted and “out there” in the form I want to publish. (E-book, paperback, etc.)
I learned a long time ago that whatever makes one comfortable in the creative process is the best regimen to follow. Some like to write things out longhand or use an old typewriter or voice their words or type away using one of the zillions of writing programs available.
Whatever mode best helps one get to the finish line of a piece of writing is the best mode for that person. As for me, I’m most comfortable with Scrivener, and I’m always happy to have the opportunity to talk about things I like. Glad my old friend asked me about it this week!
It’s time for the weekly post of a new 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.
I love to read fiction, particularly mysteries full of suspense and intrigue. Of course, I have my favorite popular authors of that genre. Lee Child, John Sandford, and Stephen King come to mind immediately.
Yes, most of their books are formulaic and predictable, but there always seems to be something more within the context of the stories. For example, Stephen King usually has some surprises wrapped in and around his tales of horror, and I find those tales fun and enjoyable to read. Escapism at its best!
Regardless of the book’s premise or overall concept, I know what I’m going to get when, without hesitation, I place an order with Barnes & Noble for the newest release by Child, Sandford, or King.
I also enjoy non-fiction, and I have favorite authors within that genre, too. Homer Hickam and Bill Bryson come to mind quickly. Again, I never hesitate when it comes to buying something new from each of these two wonderful writers. Perhaps it’s because, like Child, Sandford, and King, they’ve a proven track record.
“Comfort Zone”
Whatever it is, it’s a very pleasant and cozy “comfort zone” in which I find myself happily ensconced. But what happens when I am “forced” out of that comfort zone?
Why should that ever happen, you ask? Book Clubs.
I belong to two of them. One is a small group of men from our church who get together the first Saturday morning of each month from October through May. Most of the books are non-fiction, although we’ve hit upon some good fiction from time to time. (The Art of Racing in the Rain, An Officer and a Spy, All the Light We Cannot See)
We meet for an hour, and it’s something to which I look forward to. We drink hot coffee, nibble on muffins or other treats one of us brings in, and chat about various things that tie-in with the book we’re all supposed to have read. The fellowship is rewarding, and it’s good to talk about various books and how they relate to our own lives.
The other book club is made up of friends from our former city. Unlike the men’s group, this one consists of fifteen to twenty folks, all with distinct interests and passions. We don’t meet as often as my men’s group—usually every couple of months—but our discussions are lively and, at times, fiery.
Using a “blind” draw or a pick-a-number, we choose our titles from an ongoing list of books suggested by the group. This has always seemed fair, although some of the book choices have been less than fun to read.
On the other hand, there have been books that I would probably never have chosen without it being the one “next up” for discussion at the next gathering, and those have turned out to be fascinating, good, and enlightening. All because I was forced out of that reading “comfort zone.”
My favorite titles these groups have discussed include the following:
The Warmth of Other Suns
Enrique’s Journey
One Summer America: 1927
The Greater Journey
The Big Burn
Deep Down Dark
The Wright Brothers
An Officer and a Spy
Of course, there are others, and I won’t dwell on those titles which I didn’t care for. After all, this feature is for finding the goodand positive!
Suffice it to say, being in a book club (or two!) is a wonderful thing. Believe it or not, it’s good to get out of that reading “comfort zone” every now and then and explore new genres. Sometimes it’s all worth the trip!
The pier putting-in of which I wrote about in my last post went very well, even though we soon discovered one of the support pieces had been broken–somehow–during the off season.
Mr. Chaucer!) Afterwards, I checked out how to go about submitting the piece and decided I had nothing to lose, so–following the stringent submission guidelines–I sent “The Baker’s Tale” on its merry way for possible future publication in the Story Shack on-line literary magazine.
something!
longer than I had expected. It has been a stretch of days where the weather has been such that the duties outside took precedence. Besides, when it’s finally in the 70s and absolutely gorgeous out there, I find it very difficult to be inside at my desk trying to concentrate on writing!
Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson has been around for a while. Published in 1994, it is a story set on San Piedro, a rather secluded island in Puget Sound. Its main industries are fishing and raising strawberries and various other fruits, and the residents pretty much keep to themselves.
Down Many Roads... 