It’s summer snow time! Not freak storms where six-sided frozen ice crystals fall on the ground as if it were December. I mean the fluffy seed pods that look like cotton floating in the air. Watching the aerobatics of these fuzzy flyers always brings a smile to my face. Even now as a storm brews outside, the summer snow adds lightness to the weather’s ugly background.
I’ve always wondered what creates this seasonal display and decided to do some investigation. At first I thought it to be milkweed. However, it turns out milkweed seeds let loose in the fall. After a little more digging, I found the most likely source is cottonwood (poplar) trees.
Where do they grow? Although I see their seeds flying, I can’t say I’ve ever seen a tree with pods like in the pictures I looked at. That may be because these are some of the tallest (67 – 130 ft.) growing trees around with branches too high to see the pods. Even if the pods are largely out of sight, the seeds do a great job of making the presence of the trees known.
There’s a danger to doing research into things you look at in wonder and enjoyment. It’s finding out realities that make you lose your engagement with what seems transcendent or even divine. In this case, I found my pleasure under attack from stories about how the loss of milkweed in the environment is one factor in the decline of monarch butterfly populations. Another assault came from reports that people cut down cottonwoods in a mistaken belief that it will reduce pollens that cause allergies.
My defense is to remember how much fun it is to drive through seed squalls without fear of losing visibility or traction. Another is thinking about making angels in patches of cotton on the lawn.
With Knock Softly (KS) finished, it’s time to clean up. But first, the statistics.
With “The End,” KS crossed the finish line at 128,814 words, 448 pages in manuscript format, in 44 Chapters. It took 21 months to write and I compiled 28 pages of notes, plus a thick folder of printed articles. There are four main characters and four support characters as well as a cast of over two dozen doctors, nurses, lawyers and the like. There are two main settings and a couple of side trips. And two dogs. And one mysterious friend who seems to know everything. Done.
Then I played “Leapfrog” with the novel, only going backwards. I re-read chapters 43 and 44, then re-read 41 and 42, then 39 and 40 and so on, until I finished back at chapter one. This allowed me to know where I was going and to be sure each chapter led clearly and succinctly to the next. It also allowed me to “kill my darlings.” I’ve spoken of them before; those cleaver little verses that seemed so cute at the time. But in leapfrog, they appeared as obstacles that only got in the way of a good jump. I also identified areas that needed shoring up for what comes next, and those I marked with an “R/W.” I did not rewrite anything, just cut and identified what needed more work.
The manuscript now weighs in at 120,090 words, 429 mms pages. It took seven days and produced another page and a half of notes. Twenty pages went into the dust bin, 8,800 worthless words. Bye, darlings.
Now comes the real fun part; I get to play God! I will start again from the beginning, only now knowing all, I will tighten the read, heighten the valleys and smooth the jagged edges with that last chapter, last page, paragraph, the very last word, in mind.
Some of the things I will be on the lookout for are, first and foremost, character development. I want to be sure my folks develop on pace and keep with their persona. I was amazed at how many times my characters cried. I didn’t set out to make weaklings but that’s how they appeared in some scenes. I noticed a lot of character movements when a simple he said, she said, would work better, faster. Even after leapfrog, the characters are still smiling 148 times, sighing 48 times, and mad or angry 51 times. Not to mention all the tears. I’ve still got work to do.
You don’t see these things while writing first draft because you are wearing each character’s hat and navigating them through uncharted waters. Your adrenalin is flowing and you just want to keep the action moving forward. You forget they’re human, that they need to breathe, too. I don’t how much more there is to cut. I don’t have a target word count or anything. I’m letting KS sit for a few weeks before I come back to it with fresh eyes.
Am I happy? So far. Satisfied? Not yet. Eager? Yep!
Next month, we’ll take a look at correctile dysfunction; the author’s inability to line edit their own work.
-Phil
Seoul Legacy, The Orphan’s Flu is available in paperback on Abe, and on Amazon in paperback & ebook.
The Freya Project is available in hardcover and limited edition from the author. Quantities from Countinghouse Press.
When it comes to electronics, I often think of that old saying, “If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.”
For some time I’ve been thinking about buying a new printer. My old HP Photosmart worked fine until I bought a new laptop. Actually, it worked great. Whenever I wanted to print something, I’d go to the File Menu, click on Print, decide if I wanted black or color, how many copies, and click Print again. That was it. The printer would start right up and in less than a minute I’d have my copies.
Last fall I bought a new MacBook Air and that’s when my troubles began. I’d click on Print, choose black or color, the number of copies, click Print again and nothing would happen. I mean NOTHING. The printer was as silent as a tomb.
I’d start over again. First I’d click on my wireless connection to be sure I had a strong signal. Then I’d click on the Print box. It would say things like, “Printing page 1.” or “Not connected to printer.” It didn’t really matter what it said because nothing would happen.
I would restart my computer. Then I would restart the printer. After that I would start over with the Print menu. I would try clicking Pause and then Resume. Nothing helped.
But sometimes, when I was having a lucky day, after 5 or 25 minutes, the printer would start to make noises like it was waking up from a deep sleep. Then it would grunt. Finally, and I could never figure out what I had done to make this happen, the printer would print.
I phoned Apple. They told me the printer was several years old. My laptop was too advanced for it. But, not to worry, HP would soon come out with a patch that I could download and my printer would go back to printing like it had before.
That was last fall. This is now June. HP has yet to come up with this patch, and frankly, I don’t think HP’s going to. So, much as I hated to get rid of a perfectly good printer, I decided to bite the bullet and buy a new, state-of-the-art one. After all, the man at Apple said that would solve my problem.
Come back next month to find out what happened when I bought my brand new, state-of-the-art HP printer and you’ll understand why, “If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all!”
I recently read a blogpost reflecting on the death of author Terry Pratchett. Terry Pratchett…why did that name sound familiar to me?
The reflective blogger lived in the UK and noted that Pratchett was a best-selling English author of fantasy novels. I guess that’s why I hadn’t heard the news. He must be a bigger deal there than here across the pond. But that name still tugged at me. Did I ever read his books?
Of course I did. I’m embarrassed to admit that. I didn’t make the connection until I did an Internet search. He wrote the Discworld series, a satirical set of stories that ties together dragons, witches, politicians, gods, cats and centaurs that live in a flat world. During high school, I dove into book series like this as well as the Myth series by Robert Aspirin and the Xanth series by Piers Anthony.
The Color of Magic was Discworld Book 1, a tale about our hero wizard, Rincewind, who travels from his home city of Ankh-Morpork to the edge of the Disc, a journey that is actually a chess game played by gods. Suddenly nostalgic, wanting to feel a part of it all and properly mourn the death of a fine writer, I searched my stash for his book.
My bookshelf boasts blank journals and an eclectic combination of my read-or-to-be-read-again books. Many of my sentimental favorites are in boxes in the basement, callously but deliberately misplaced from my reach, so I wasn’t sure I’d find anything upstairs, but that was the easiest place to start. I was surprised when I saw right there on the second shelf, third book down on the overflow sideways stack, was the book Reaper Man by Terry Pratchett.
This wasn’t the first book in the series, yet I know I bought this one for a reason. Why?
Two things caught my attention. One, the front cover blurb reads, “It’s no vacation when Death takes a holiday.” That’s what must have caught my eye because cover art does nothing for me. This version showed the Grim Reaper with scythe inside a snow globe. Charming, I suppose, but titles and taglines grab my valuable reading attention.
The second thing was the back cover. The price tag was from Borders, a bookstore chain that died almost exactly 4 years ago. Based on the book’s placement on my bookshelf, I must have bought it from the custom-built-from-scratch store that opened 8 months after I moved to Michigan. This new store was less than 3 miles from my house, freshly built for me I liked to think, but that store became the default hangout spot for my husband and me. I wandered the aisles and often took a magazine or my journal to the upstairs café before he joined me.
The store chain closed in July 2011, displacing us shortly after I became Foursquare Mayor of that location, and an appliance store snuck into those walls.
This one book brought back so many memories. It was Death in so many forms.
In December 2014, I committed one New Year’s non-Resolution to revisit an old favorite book. At the time, I had one particular book in mind, using this as an excuse to read that book for the third or fourth time. But now I think this is the one to revive and explore. Who knows? Maybe I’ll write a review about it to remember reading it this time.
Being able to travel is one privilege I never take for granted. As a writer, everywhere I go, I try to keep my eyes open for something unique. What better place to find material than a crowded airport? You never know who you’ll bump into.
The day after we attended the 141st Kentucky Derby, my husband, Greg, and I were shuttled from our downtown Louisville hotel back to the city’s international airport. We arrived at our terminal to check our bags curb-side and saw a lone skycap finishing with a young lady.
While waiting for him to assist us, I noticed a small group of people gathered outside of an SUV just beyond the skycap station. They caught my attention because they didn’t look like family sending one of their beloved off on a trip. There weren’t hugs or tears as they said goodbye to one another. The interaction was professional as each of the individuals shook hands and smiled pleasantly. Most curiously, the collective was made of four armed and uniformed police officers, a plainclothesman sporting a weapon and a badge, a man dressed in business-casual attire, and another gentleman wearing a very expensive looking suit. I wondered what all the fuss was about.
I first speculated that the plainclothesman was a highly ranked police official, had come in for Derby, and was on his way home. Then, I thought that maybe someone famous was still in the SUV, but I couldn’t see anyone else. My husband offered an equally likely scenario: “Maybe they’re transporting a criminal.”
Hoping to uncover the real story, I whispered to the skycap, “Who are those people?”
The skycap, who looked to be middle-aged like me, replied quietly, “They’re with Neno, the Rapper.”
As if I now perfectly understood the magnitude of this musician’s reputation, I nodded my head in agreement but replied, “I’ve never heard of him.”
“Neither have I, dear,” he admitted as he shook his head side to side. “Neither have I.”
Greg generally has no interest in hobnobbing with the rich and famous, so we didn’t spend our time lingering and hoping to catch a glimpse of Neno. We kept to our normal airport routine—cleared security, browsed through a few stores, and eventually got in line at Starbucks. To our surprise, we ended up right behind the crowd of officers we had seen earlier.
The entourage now surrounded and closely guarded an attractive man I did not recognize but assumed was Neno. He was dressed casually in dark clothes and a jacket, wore a baseball cap, and was quiet when he spoke. He didn’t seem preoccupied with drawing attention to himself. I got the impression that if women would leave him alone, he’d likely get through the airport without being bothered by more than speculative whispers and stares.
A barista was smitten. She stepped from behind the counter and asked Neno if he would pose for a picture with her.
A moment later, a woman older than me took out her cell phone and snapped a picture of the rapper as he smiled for her. I’m guessing that she couldn’t have known, anymore than I did, exactly who he was.
The excited reactions of the other women made me question whether or not I was missing out on a brush with greatness. I conceded that a photo with the celebrity could be something to literally write home about. “Okay then,” I muttered out loud and thought, “Why not?”
What’s not to love about Non-Fiction?
I approached Neno and asked if he wouldn’t mind taking a selfie with me. He was gracious and cool as he leaned in close to me and flashed a peace sign towards the camera. I couldn’t pretend to be a big fan, shower him with accolades, or carry on much of a conversation, so I simply thanked him and wished him a safe flight.
A moment later, Neno and his protective huddle walked away and business at Starbucks tried to return to normal. I placed my order and received it—incorrectly filled.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to calm down,” said Starbucks Girl.
“It’s OK,” I replied. “You’ve got googly eyes. I understand.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I watched the starstruck young lady work to regain focus on her job. She successfully processed a correct order for me, and I strolled off to Google who this Neno could be.
I searched online sites through the convenient but tiny view afforded by my iPhone 5s. What I found was deplorable. Matthew Best, aka Neno the Rapper, had been arrested in 2013 in New York City’s biggest gun bust. His activities and his music lyrics reflected a parent’s nightmare—full of foul language, drug references, and disrespect.
Maybe I had misinterpreted Neno’s hand gesture in the selfie. What I thought was a peace sign could have been a defiant and crude way of flipping me off. His smooth smile masking truer intentions?
It seemed that my husband may have been right after all: the officers were transporting a criminal.
I was embarrassed that there were witnesses who had seen three generations of women make this guy out to be someone special. I couldn’t understand why Starbucks Girl was so enamoured with Neno that, after our paparazzi moments, she was still frazzled and had gotten my order wrong. At the time, her behavior was endearing. But now, knowing Neno’s background, I couldn’t accept that the girl was blushing over this gangster-type. What did she admire about him? Had he been falsely accused? Acquitted and on his way to testify against others? In my own brief encounter with him, Neno was polite and charismatic, not at all characteristic of the man splattered on nymag.com and other websites. He must have reformed from his sinister ways. I had to go back to Starbucks Girl for answers.
The line was now longer, and it appeared that the girl had regained her composure. She was too busy to confront, so I talked with one of her co-workers.
Going with a direct approach (who was I kidding, anyway?), I asked the young man: “Can you tell me what you know about the celebrity who came through here a little while ago?”
I learned that I had made a big, big mistake. The man that we ladies had posed with wasn’t the notorious thug, Neno the Rapper. He was Ne-Yo, the award-winning Rhythm and Blues singer.
Ne-Yo is associated with other huge personalities: Rihanna, Cèline Dion, Kanye West, Mariah Carey, Jennifer Hudson and more, lots more. He starred in Red Tails with Terrence Howard and Cuba Gooding Jr. and appeared on “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno.” He sang on “Good Morning America” and “Live with Kelly and Michael.” He’s a popular artist who shares stories through his music lyrics.
I had come face to face with Who’s Who in Hollywood but had no idea who he was.
I looked up Ne-Yo’s latest album, Non-Fiction, on iTunes, and didn’t listen for long. Frankly, his sexually explicit subject matter and lyrics are far too liberal for my conservative nature. This celebrity sighting, however, reminded me of the critical need to verify facts when telling a true story. I decided to leave the heartthrob to the younger or more impressionable ladies and nearly admitted to my husband that he was right—some things are better left at the curb.
It’s summer snow time! Not freak storms where six-sided frozen ice crystals fall on the ground as if it were December. I mean the fluffy seed pods that look like cotton floating in the air. Watching the aerobatics of these fuzzy flyers always brings a smile to my face. Even now as a storm brews outside, the summer snow adds lightness to the weather’s ugly background.
