The Other White Meat

What makes a writer?

I once heard an agents say, "Anyone under the age of thirty-five should attempt to write fiction. " Now this was a reputable agent with a good many projects sold to big houses. But I still say the idea you have to be a certain age to right is utter nonsense.

Everyone is a writer in some sense. Don't think so? I'll wager a dozen T-Bone steaks to a head of lettuce that not there's not a single person in this world who hasn't already wrote a conflict scene or two in their head. We all do it. Get in to some type of argument and then later think oh I should have said this. And then they would have responded with blah, blah, blah. and then I could have really got them with. Come on admit it. You've did this.

The trick is to put that kind of stuff down on paper, mix in some inner emotional turmoil, or middle-eastern terrorists, or a dead body or whatever fits for your genre. All the while adding in the bits and pieces of everyday life that all of us see first hand. Which brings me to life experience. You can have it at ten in some extreme case and you can be a hundred and still not have much.

Now I personally still have about eight months until I hit that magic age of thirty-five and if I suddenly get my break the day after my birthday, well then that particular agent can look me up and say , "I told you so. But in the meanwhile I've lived a pretty varied and eclectic life that I continually go to for material. Here is the short list.

Paying Gigs- grocery sacker, wood sander, feed store worker, postal worker, football referee, Santa Clause, Easter Bunny, gigilo - Okay I'm kidding about that last one, but if the price was right you never know what I might do. All of these have had their moments but the time I spent at Rose's Feed and Garden gave me more material than ten authors could ever use in a lifetime. Now of course I twist around my experiences, enhance them and give the reader a more entertaining twist than the actual reality, but still I've seen some interesting stuff, like the time a well meaning mom of a small child groped me while I was in the Easter Bunny costume, but that is a whole other story.

Critters- Once upon a time I wanted to be a vet. I love animals, especially the tasty ones. But over the years I've raised a variety of animals for both fun and profit. Okay, only the pigs were what you could call real profitable but still it was interesting. Rabbits, at one time I had almost two hundred. Dogs- I've had good one, bad ones, and some that weren't worth shooting, Cats- Blame my wife for this. Pigs- I earned more my senior year of high school showing hogs than I did in the two years after graduation. Nothing goes together like FFA, stock shows, and smuggled Everclear consumed straight from empty shampoo bottles, again a story for another day. Lambs, Goats, Chickens, Turkeys, Hedgehogs, Tropical fish, and Guinea Pigs, which don't taste anything like actual pork.

Sports-Football, Hockey, Softball, Frisbee Golf, Miniature Golf, Real golf, Video game golf, Okay I'll stop now that I sound like Bubba Gump.

On top of these things. I read like a fiend, I talk way too much, which leads to meeting some interesting people, like to travel, enjoy a variety of music, but mostly Texas Country which is a whole lot different from the stuff Nashville cranks out for the uninitiated.

Guess what I'm trying to say is it ain't the years behind ya that puts experience in your tank, its the miles.

Of course you can even get by that if you have a heck of an imagination and a strong tendency to make up lies.

Insomnia is a terrible thing to waste

I stayed up late last night writing and I actually made a good bit of progress on the novel, but that in itself presented a problem when I finally did shuffle off to bed. I couldn't shut my brain off. Bits of dialogue, strange words, and snippets of planned scenes whirled around my brain like dirty bathwater circling the drain.

Hour after hour slipped by and before I knew I was delirious with fatigue, but still analyzing things I'd wrote or planned to write. Then I got stupid.

I wondered things like can a person be flimmed without getting flammed, or flammed and not flimmed. And my postal worker background probably is to blame for this one, but if a fellow is happy, content and eager to head off to work can he be desribed as gruntled? And can someone be combobulated?

Not to BE outdone. Have you ever been wildered or fuddled? Yeah me neither.

NO this is not my regular blog for the day, just a sleep deprived bonus brought to you by my troubled mind.

Some things never change

I'm struggling a bit right now with my latest novel. Part of my trouble is research related. I haven't been able to compile some of the knowledge I need to really build one particular male character. And part of my trouble is that one of my POV characters is a 16 year old girl. I feel like the story needs her input on a personal level, but writing from this POV has me scared. I have about as much in common with a sixteen year old girl as a grizzly bear does with parakeet.

Generally, I have an easier time writing female characters than male but up until now they have always been adult females. I'm not real sure why this particular girl scares me so. maybe my trepidations stems back to my own adolescence when nothing could strike fear into me like a teenage girl. Now don't get me wrong, back then that fear was mixed in with a healthy dose of puberty driven lust and a sense of wonderment, but they scared me just the same. Well the girls as well as their fathers.

I certainly don't profess to know all the inner working of any female mind, but I still feel comfortable writing from the point of view of an adult woman. I have recruited a few different girls in the age group and with permission from their parents I am going to start asking them questions to try and get a better sense of what their world is like, but to be honest even that scenario has be a bit antsy. I guess there are some fears that you never get over. Give a turbulence filled airplane ride, a basket full of spiders and snakes, but whatever you do ... don't make me talk to a sixteen year old girl.

Boxers or Briefs

I do the vast majority of my writing late when my two boys are either asleep or at school, and I started this endeavor when the oldest was just a newborn. These two facts combined meant that neither of my boys fully comprehended the fact that I am a writer.

Every night before bed I read them something and for a good while now, The Captain Underpants books by Dav Pilkey have been at the top of their list. Nothing is funnier to a four and six year old boy than an underwear clad superhero that relies on wedgie power.

I told you all of that just so I could relay this story. Every Monday evening I attend a critique group. We meet read a bit of our work offer suggestions and comments on each others work. So a Monday or two back I'm getting ready to leave and my oldest asks where I'm going.

"To a meeting," I say.
"You always go to meetings," he responds.
This is almost like a script at this point so I know what is coming next.
"Can I go with you?"
"No, the meeting is for adults only."

Usually this the end of our discussion, but this time he looks up at me and asks, "But what do you do at your meeting?" I explained that we all look at each others books and help make corrections, kind of like his kindergarten teacher does his school work. He responded by picking up a book from the nearby coffee table and saying, "Are you taking this one?" I laughed and said no I'm taking my book, the one I've been writing."

His blue eyes widened with awe. "You wrote a book? Can I read it?"
"No, Daddy's books are for adults."
For half a second there I was really cool but already I could see the light in his eyes dimming so I explained that some books are for kids, Like Captain Underpants and that some are for adults."
His eyes widened again as he said, "You mean a person writes Captain Underpants?"
I nodded and said, "Yes, a man named Dav Pilkey."
That is when my son stared straight up at me and said, "I'd rather got to a meeting with him."

212

I think most writers can identify the meaning behind the set of numbers in the title of this blog. Yes, it is the area code of New York City. It is what all of us hope to see on the caller ID every time the phone rings.

So there I was yesterday. Sitting in a satellite training course at work, listening to a slow speaking, monotone instructor drone on about Asbestos Awareness, when my cell goes off. I reach into my pocket so I can silence the ringer when I notice it ... 212. Instantly my heart rate kicks up a notch. Okay several notches. I glance over at my boss who is frowning at me. I did what any self respecting writer would have done. I got right up out of my seat and walk out of the room to answer.

I wish I could say that it was an agent gushing praise and calling me the best thing to come along since do-it-yourself-home jerky kits. For those of you who don't know me I have an intense aversion to most all foods that do not fall into the meat category and jerky is my basic staples.

But it was an agent, and she did say she really liked what she had read and yes there is a hint of promise in the air. It is said that April showers bring May flowers so now I'll sit back and hope that this April phone call, blooms into a sweet smelling bouquet somewhere down the road.

R.I.P & Kiss My

Write like your momma is dead.

This was one of the first pieces of advice Jodi Thomas gave me back in the very first creative writing class I took after I decided that I wanted to become an author. At the time I chuckled along with the rest of the class and didn't think to much about the statement. But over the years I've come to realize all that this statement means.

It's not just your momma you have to clear from your mind. It's your spouse, your friends, maybe an entire race, culture or group of people. Now I'm not condoning writing something just for the sake of attacking a group of people. There are manifestos of hate that are put out for the sole purpose of belittling somebody else. I'm talking about being true to your characters, even those that you do not like or agree with.

In Mark Twain's time some labeled him a racist for his prolific use of a specific racial term in Huckleberry Finn. Now there is a brand new novel out called Finn by an author named Jon Clinch, which explores the life of Pap Finn, Huck's dad. I haven't started the novel yet, but I've read some reviews and comments elsewhere that ridicules the author for using the same term as Twain. To me, the author would have done a disservice to both his story and Twain's if he softened the story, chose not to use follow Twain's lead and, make Pap a vile man. I for one can't wait to read the novel and I certainly don't think that makes me a racist. I expect going in not to like Pap, but I believe there is a lot to be learned by taking a close look at at any society's "bad seeds." Not sure who first coined the phrase If nothing else I can serve as a bad example but I do think there is a good bit of truth in those words. All parents have said something along these lines, Yes, you have to go to school. You don't want to end up like your cousin Joe do you?

And as I heard an agent say one time at a conference, If you're writing doesn't piss somebody off, you're not writing strong enough to really reach anybody.

So write it the way the character would say it or do it, not the way your mother, friend or spouse would expect from you. After all, you're telling a fictional characters story not your own. Otherwise, you are writing a memoir, but then again, there have been some who couldn't even be true to their character when writing about themselves. Of course that didn't stop them from selling a million copies, or being appearing on Oprah.

Conned by my wife, yet again

My wife and I share a lot in common, two smart, intelligent little boys, our taste in music for the most part, Shiner Bock beer. What we don't share is shopping just for the sake of looking around, a love for Johnny Depp and Harry Connick Jr, or similar tastes in books.

I've been bugging her for a while to read something by Jodi Picoult and she has been, (my wife not Jodi Picoult), pestering me to read this one particular young adult fantasy book. So I finally agreed and read Magyk by Angie Sage. I expected the book to be just another Harry potter ripoff but the two series seem to share nothing in common except for the use of magic and by only a few chapters in I was more than pleasantly surprised. Since the main character is ten I'm guessing the target audience is somewhere around that same age so don't read this expecting any of the dark scary tension that has been in the last couple of Potter books but for younger kids and those like me who may never grow completely up it is a worthy read.

And yes this is a series and my wife knows me all too well. Now I'll have to read the other books just to see how the story turns out. She read one book, I somehow get involved with an entire series. She wins yet again.