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Tuesday, May 23, 2017

wheels

I was with Charlie yesterday and my phone fell down behind a low table in his room. It's coffee table Jim built a few years before he passed from salvaged doors. Gorgeous. Heavy. Perfect toddler play table.

There was some blind groping and I recovered the phone, blew off the dust bunnies and found this accidental image.

Hiding under the back of the lower shelf was Charlie's Caddy!  It had been missing for a while and he was tickled to rediscover it.

I was beat when I got home and didn't trust myself to write anything much beyond a bit of dialogue that occurred to me on the drive so I started tinkering with this rather haunting image, adding text, mocking up a book cover. I'll spare you.

But studying the image, I had a stark revelation about the WIP. Every character - with notably few exceptions -  has a car that's associated with each of them in a way that is as incidental as saying "Ray was an old-school greaser." It should come as no surprise that this venal social climber in his late twenties covets and borrows his mother's vintage car, "...a 1955 Cadillac, black as the hole where his soul should be."

The female main character, Anna, has had a equally pristine '70 Chevelle that she rarely drives and when she does things happen. She needed something and I gave her a car who she later trades in on the main character in a most meaningful way.

That would be Jack - one of those special characters who drove whatever rolled only because he had to, a city boy transplanted to the burbs. He had no fucks to give, as is said nowadays, but would have been so appropriate to his character I have to restrain myself from writing those words. As it stands, he has a t-shirt that says, "Do I Look Like I Give a Fuck?" that he wears to church. I digress.

Anna's uncle Murph drives an ancient Ford pickup. Gordon drives a limo that's not his. Cholo, a lime-green Olds with obscene white walled tires. Patrick, one of two battered work trucks - the ubiquitous white pickup  or white van. Anna's best friend, the vivacious Gina, has a newish TR7 - a convertible sportscar. Even the biggest bad guy drives a new four-door BMW. gunmetal.
I don't go to great lengths to describe the cars, they are just conveyances, but then, as now, people tended to drive cars that reflected something of their self-image, if they could afford it. There's a little more about Anna's Chevelle - it's as special as she is and manifests in a way just as unique.

I had also been thinking that maybe I need to kill one of the main good guys and couldn't come up with a compelling story related reason for doing so. Then I realized that I have already done it. Two of the star vehicles suffer unique and spectacular deaths.

I didn't think about these things when I was writing the story. I wonder what or even if readers might make of it? It was set at the peak of the mid 70's oil crisis when there were days there was no gas to buy at any price in a culture that was born and raised on highways and high octane? We were still deep into our love American love affair with the car. Do I trust that contemporary readers know these things or should I add a fact or two here and there for "color".

I once drove to the gas station before dawn to cue up for my meager 10-gallon limit wearing a fur coat over a nightgown. Sounds like something I should use.




Saturday, May 20, 2017

a different kind of Saturday



Colin had been working on getting the pool cleaned out after a very tough winter. Tough in that, for the first time in memory, there was no ice to worry about. The bio-diversity of the water left standing over the winter was particularly nasty. But it's filled now - (just before writing this post there was a torrential downpour, so it's probably topped off!)  Two new ducky lifeguards are hard at work dribbling chlorine here and there. Now all I need is for the water temp to get up to where I can get in and do the hand scrubbing. Maybe next weekend.

This morning I went on a little ride-a-long with Charlie and Jake to urgent care. Poor little bugger has been perking a sinus infection for a few days. Time for some pink medicine.  He'll be his usual charming self by Monday when I spend the day with him.





After a second overdye, I finally got that Vera Bradly backpack a color I can live with. It's a bit large for day to day but will be nice for when I haul the laptop and other crap to the writer's meetup.










and,  there is a surprise on my horizon!

Thursday, May 18, 2017

the habit wanes

It's very easy to let this habit of reporting slip away when nothing creatively shareable is going on. Writing is like that. Raw first drafts are hard enough to share with other writers in small groups. You are lucky if you can find crit partners who will be both straight with you and instructive. I've recently been that lucky and have been giving most of my free time over to the first draft, which is morphing into its first major revision.
my peonies have bloomed and gone!

Stitchers, imagine, if you will, a piece you've labored on, mostly in secret (shades of Quilt National!) - an epic piece, say 8 feet by 22 feet - that's right, I said FEET, not inches.  And so the powers that be have let you know that No Way will it ever see the light of day in that form and you have to make a triptych out of it. Somehow hacking it into hangable pieces.

At first, the rebel in me said, "Fuck you and your pony!" but after looking at this steaming pile of  222+k of words for a while, I think I've found a way to serve both the muse and the commercial masters, namely, publishers. Only time and a whole lot more writing and rewriting will tell.

Thursday, May 4, 2017

gone

I've tried them all and know that this is the best seat in the house. I'll be there starting tomorrow taking an extended break from social media. I don't want to think about the time I've wasted beating my head against imaginary rocks. There are scenes waiting for attention. Tales waiting to be spun.