writer
Wild day at the keyboard. Much accomplished! Close to having the finishing touches on a new/old story. Despaired of this piece for many months, but a parent’s refusal to turn his back on an ugly child may have salvaged it from the fireplace.
Heading home soon. Big day tomorrow with a new commercial gig. Looking forward to a productive morning, and maybe some afternoon sunshine as we find ourselves moseying into the Labor Day weekend.
Long day. No sleep last night. Late afternoon shower to bring along the new lawn. Dinner at the Dale Street as we try to avoid the fumes from the floor sealer. That's it for this evening. Calling it quits and looking ahead to tomorrow.
Many comings and goings today. One step closer to having the kitchen project buttoned up. Last repairs to the basement. Door hardware installed. Wires located and ready for the electricians. Tomorrow will see the last coat of sealer applied to the hardwood.
On a different front, found the ending I’d been searching for, and completed a good draft of a new story. Still some cleanup work to do, but expect the navigation to be easier now that I know the narrative’s destination. Might give it a rest tomorrow and move on to the next piece.
Funny. A good friend posted a number of Facebook entries praising the short story, and what came back in return were comments from folks who, by their own admission, loved short fiction but hadn’t read any in years. Strange, given we live in a day and age in which everything seems to be drifting toward the nano.
So much good writing out there. So many new voices to discover.
Lovely morning. Blue skies, a scattering of high white clouds, and fresh coffee on the porch swing. Wrote till noon. Discovered reason for hope in an old draft.
Strange what time off will do to one’s perception of a piece. Opened four different unfinished stories with the intent of making a few quick edits on each, but found enough promise in the first that I decided to ride it the entire morning.
Never stop trying. That’s the biggest, most important point. Never stop trying to improve your craft. Read more. Reach further. Write decisively, and trust in the skills you already possess. The only things a writer can’t afford to waste are words and time.
Slept well, rose early and went to work with a rested head. Got some good edits in on a piece I started some time back, nearly finished it, then went off in search of brick.
Spent the afternoon outside, sprucing up the yard. The place is nearly looking like a house again! Still a few days (fingers crossed) from being finished, but the end (of something) is in sight.
Heading for the showers. Dead dog tired. Reduced to half from hefting an axe, lifting bricks, and pushing around a wheelbarrow all day.
Lawn is seeded! Burlap laid! All in time for the 10:00 a.m. rainstorm the weatherman promised but never arrived. No matter. The skies are a steel grey and still threatening.
In other exciting news, the missing flatware has been found! The plastic forks and knives can, at last, be bid farewell!
Shakespeare in the Park last night. As You Like It, performed in a tent at Rock Ledge Ranch. Much fun all around. A wonderful way to glide into the weekend.
Sleepless night, sluggish morning. Even so, progress on two stories. Left for office early, then came home early to work on lawn. Spread a yard of new topsoil and prepped it for seed. Will pick up a roller from Bill’s Tool Rental in the next day or so and go to town. Roll, sew, cover and water. Woo-hoo! New grass! Can’t wait to see those little green spears poking through the burlap!
More than looking forward to a little shut-eye tonight. Not sure how long the evening will last, between the short night last night and all of the yard work this afternoon. But good to be moving forward. Does sleep come anymore honestly than from a long afternoon working outdoors?
Bike races tomorrow! All across town. Should make for an interesting afternoon—logistically speaking—as the city will be closing a number of roads to accommodate the racers. Full report to come!
Abbreviated turn at the keyboard this morning. But a productive one. Inching closer and closer to the end of another story. Turned off the juice around 9:30 and cleaned the yard of the renovation vestiges—old doors, wood scraps, drop cloths and the like. Felt great to see the property shaping up.
Drove out to the dump later. Stupid, maybe, but I love the dump. I think something happened to me after reading Don DeLillo’s Underworld. But then, how could it not have? Something’s happened to me after reading every Don DeLillo novel.
Hope to pick up black dirt and re-seed the yard before the weekend. Buy a bolt of burlap, button everything down with wooden stakes, and wait for the new shoots to appear.
Fallen behind here. Yipes! Two days without an entry, but not without an explanation. Was taking care of more important things.
Warm day today. Took advantage by pruning trees, cutting lawns, picking weeds, and re-arranging dirt. Most satisfying!
Also got a new story “Shark Week” out the door. Big hopes it will find a nice home…soon. Didn’t do much else in the way of writing/revising the past few days, but as we know from Ecclesiastes, there’s a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heavens.
Bon voyage to K, if reading this. Always a pleasure.
Back in town.
Lights are on.
Came home to good things, not the least of which was a finished (close enough, anyway) kitchen, and another acceptance slip. “Gifted,” a short-short, was picked up by the Homestead Review, a pub out of Hartnell College in Salinas, California.
Expecting company later this afternoon. A long-overdue, much beloved visitor.
Should be a good weekend.
WHAT I DID ON MY SUMMER VACATION...
August 12, 2014
Woke early. 3:45 maybe, in a hotel on Hat Six Road. Couldn’t get back to sleep. Wrote a bit in the morning, then packed up. Went to the Safeway, stocked up on water, and supplies. Left Casper around noon.
Road construction on the west end of town, over highway 20. Flag men, etc. Drove into Arminto around 1:30, where I lost all telephone reception. BNSF railcars dead on tracks. New gas and oil rigs have sprung up. The old wool warehouse is losing ground to new mechanical doings. Some year it’ll disappear the way the alkali terminal did.
Road up the mountain was touchy in places, but better over some stretches than its been in many a year. Not sure what to think about that. Progress? Reached the cabin just before 4:00 and got things tidied up, ready for dinner.
Quiet tonight. No one for miles around. Just crickets, birds, and the occasional squirrel. The evening sky was blue. Different shades, from power to a deep gray blue. No orange or red at all. Writing by the light of two kerosene lamps.
August 13, 2014
Hash for breakfast, and a can of peaches. Enjoying a cup of instant, doctored with evaporated milk. It’s good to have things that remind you of home, but that aren’t home itself. Instant coffee. Kerosene lamps. A small bed with blankets you hardly remember, except that you slept under them one week every summer for twenty years.
First full day on the mountain. Quiet, but even so the residue of city sounds—car engines, overheard conversations, strange little ticks and ringings—keep rattling around in the head. Takes a while for the mind to shut down. Longer than it used to.
Saw a dead steer up at the gate near the Rochelle place on the way in yesterday. Just a black husk now streaked with bird shit, innards scavenged over the winter. A crow was sitting on its back when I drove up. Spooked when I got out to take a photo.
Saw the hide and backbone of another steer down in the Red Valley. Some enterprising soul had hung it on a fence. I remember the summer the steer first appeared. It was ten years ago. A red and white Hereford. Every summer since it’s lost a bit of itself to coyotes and turkey buzzards, and now it’s been reduced down to a macabre sort of ornament.
Forgot to retrieve my stories from Dropbox before coming up the mountain, so have nothing to revise for two days. The words are all locked up, somewhere in space. Couldn’t get at them if I wanted. Guess I’ll have to start in on the new one I’ve been thinking about. See if I can make some headway in that direction.
(Later…)
Wrote the draft of a new story, then hiked down to the old Thompson cabin, fishing the narrow little creek that trickles through the hills. Caught and released four brook and two cutt. Not bad for a lazy day’s work. Waiting to hit the Middle Fork of the Powder tomorrow before taking any for dinner.
Saw a doe and fawn browsing in the rocks up near Dylan’s Mountain. Other than that, a sleepy late afternoon. Read Peter Rock’s “Go-Between” and Robert Hellenga’s “A Christmas Letter” in Ploughshares when I got back to the cabin. Not to take anything away from Rock, but the Hellenga story really got to me.
(Later still…)
Half an hour from sunset. Crickets have started sawing. Hoping for a clear night so I can stay up and stargaze awhile.
Missing old friends who used to come up here with me. Place is full of ghosts.
August 14, 2014
Stayed up late last night, but no break in the overcast skies. Clouds boiled up black and blue, filling the entire bowl of the heavens. Even the moon went truant. Got up and went outside around three. It was snowing. Nothing big, just flurries.
Spitting rain, now, and looking gloomy. Waiting to see how bad it gets before heading out to the middle fork. Don’t want to get mired along the way. It’s a bad road with some nasty switchbacks.
Guess I’ll boil another cup and settle into writing for a while.
(After waiting awhile…)
Rain’s coming down good and hard now, and the sky’s disappeared into the mist. No middle fork today. We’re heading for a great big toad-strangler.
Going dark for a few days, starting tomorrow. Taking a much-looked-forward-to trip into the Bighorn mountains for some R&R. No phone service...no electricity...no plumbing...no distractions. Just me, my fly rod and my books.
Woke early, made a quick run to the grocery store for juice and coffee, then sat down to write.
Revisions, revisions.
Typing one handed now, a certain kitty having decided to take safe harbor from tonight’s thunderstorm by stretching across my lap.
Better there than under the bed.
Okay. So a pretty good week. Found out my story “Delivered” is to be included in the 2014 Grey Wolfe Press Storybook anthology, then learned “Cat and Mouse,” was accepted by the Crossborder Journal.
If that wasn’t enough, received a letter in the mail this afternoon from the publishers of Falling Star Magazine notifying me that my flash piece, “Naiad,” had been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
It’s my fourth nomination for a Pushcart. Have to thank Matt McGee, editor of FS, for seeing something worthwhile in the story and sticking his neck out to promote it.
Beginning of another weekend. Day started off well and ended well. Wrote a bit in the early morning, called my father to offer well-wishes on his eighty-eighth birthday, then opened my email to find an acceptance slip.
The story that was picked up, “Cat and Mouse,” was included in my collection, Outskirts of Nowhere. It’s now found a home in a future issue of Crossborder Journal, a joint publication of Leapfrog Press and Guernica Editions, a Canadian press.
The acceptance was a nice little surprise. Hope the story reads that way, too. Would anyone mind if I dedicated it to my dad? Happy birthday, Pop. This one’s for you.
Got some nice news today. Grey Wolfe press wants to publish “Delivered” in their 2014 Grey Wolfe Storybook Anthology. Signed the agreement and filled out the author questionnaire before leaving work. Sent them off with a headshot.
Started raining a few minutes ago. Not bad, but the sky is overcast again and the air went instantly humid. Not sure what the long-term forecast is, and not sure I care anymore. Does it make a difference?
Kitties are wrestling again. Lick, lick, lick. Bite, bite, bite. Run away, hope to be chased, caterwaul when caught and howl when not. Life is perfect. More than perfect. Sometimes, it actually makes sense.
Finished a story today. Short piece, just under 2000 words. Have a specific market in mind for it, but will hold off sending it out until I get back from Wyoming. Give it (and me) time to rest. Another piece (just under 3000 words) is also close to being finished. Maybe by week’s end.
Sky was blue today, lit up with the Colorado sun that’s been vagrant most of the past few weeks. Felt nice. Don’t mean to complain about the rain—especially after the great fires of years past—but overcast skies are my Achilles heel. I can only take the grey so long.
Had a dream last night that I was helping build a replica of the Statue of Liberty. Two-thirds scale. Something went wrong in the construction of the arm that holds the torch aloft, and when we (We? who were those other people!) attempted to correct the problem the structure toppled, cracking into pieces.
Down with a cold. More rain, more delays with the kitchen. Wrote a couple of radio spots this afternoon, and read an interesting (and funny) piece in The Slate Review, “Authentocracy in America” by a guy named Ron Ford.
Still shaking my head.
People.
Quick show of hands. How many folks out there believe a submission requiring entry fee should entitle the writer the courtesy of a formal rejection?
Yeah, same here.
So what’s with the pervasive lack of professionalism? Where are everyone’s manners? I won’t name names, but geez, pick it up already. It’s embarrassing.
Beautiful morning. Sunny, warm, not a bit of humidity. Things finally seem to be falling into place. Finished (or nearly finished) revisions on two stories, both of which were clipped by at least 1000 words. Also got a head start on a third. Maybe the coming weeks will bring an uptick in productivity.
Reading a lot of short fiction at the moment, some of which is inspiring and some of which is baffling. Best to try and stay centered. Believe in what’s yours, in your own voice. Remind yourself each day it doesn’t matter what anyone else does.
R. Smith forwarded a short film today in which Sean Hemingway (Gregory’s son, Ernest’s grandson), curator for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, talks about paintings that influenced his grandfather’s work. Most of the material was familiar. Even so, it was a good reminder that if you’re looking for a new way to craft a story, sometimes the road less traveled is the one to take.
Slept in, edited an old story, painted, and went off to a movie. Some of Philip Seymour Hoffman’s work. Film was a bit slow (not enough cerebral weight to carry lengthy scenes), but Hoffman was completely compelling.
Two rejections in the past two days for “Requiem for a Bantamweight,” a story I based on a news account of a dead boxer, and the opponent he cheats of a moral victory before being shipped off to the bone orchard.
Quiet night in the neighborhood. A nice break from this morning’s noise. Skies are clear, too. Weather people are calling for sunshine and hot weather again in the coming days. We’ll see. Truck is shipshape and ready for a long drive into Wyoming. If the weather holds, all should be fine.
