If you have poked around my site at all, you know that the first objective of the site is to push my writing.  There are other, more traditional ways usually involving papering one’s office in rejection slips.  I freely admit to being rejection adverse.  The writing on the site is intended to attract wider criticism than what is available from a few friends sitting around a table at Borders.  “I would like to buy your book,” is much higher praise than, “I like it.”  Perhaps someone will e-mail Tom Doherty to say, “You should read this!”  There would be praise.

I’m finding, however, that there are other reasons to create such a site.  Writing fiction is, by definition, an act of creation.  One speaks into exhistance settings, characters, problems, and solutions; one paints with words to create a new world out of whole cloth.  Like all creative skills, writing is honed by doing creative things, not all of which involve writing.  In the course of creating this site, I learned to use FrontPage without screaming at it.  I learned to use Photoshop in spite of screaming at it.  I used these and other tools, poorly understood as they are, to build something I rather like.  In the process, my writing is improved by the very struggle to produce something worthwhile from the fringes of my ability.  There are myriad ways one could spent time that are less satisfying, and less edifying,

I hate living with security systems.  I have a house in Wisconsin, far out in the woods.  I’m sure I have a key for it, although I wouldn’t have a clue as to where to look for one.  No one would bother my stuff. 

I rarely lock my house it Colorado for the same reason.  There are 4 sets of golf clubs that sit on my patio all summer.  Although golfers walk by a few feet away, and occasionally retrieve a wayward ball from my yard, no one messes with them.

And then there’s the internet.  I put a guest book on my web page because I truly want to meet people that take the time to look at my work.  What I got was the digital version of vandalism–dozens of posts consisting of links to commercial sites, but no people.  I took down the page–sorry.  You can still comment here, but you have to register.

I work best under pressure.  I commonly file my taxes on April 15, around 5:00 pm.  I currently have no writing deadlines whatsoever, so my writing productivity has hit rock bottom.  It’s not that I have no interest in where the sequel to The Devil and Omorti’s Circle is going.  I rather like the plot, and the characters are mostly old friends that I would have killed off a long time ago if I didn’t think them interesting.  What I truly need is an editor writing me notes about an impending release date on which he or she has already spent money.  Occasionally, I need to write with a little more urgency to extricate a character from some life-threatening situation, although I once left my protagonist hanging upside down over a fire slowly roasting alive.  He was there for several weeks as I remember. 

I once read about a writer that wrote exactly 1 page every day.  I suppose that would help, but in fact for me writing is like the rest of my life–long periods that produce very little useful stuff while expending lots of effort, mixed with brief periods where everything works together in a wonderful symphony, and things get done almost by magic.  Making life and writing work is just a matter of not giving up through the former, and not demanding that I live in the latter.

Tags: Add new tag, sci-fi, writing

I have a friend whose identity I will preserve in this public forum.  She  has seen a goodly number of years on this earth, and made a profound difference in the lives of hundreds of young people along the way.  Osteoporosis has bent her a little, but she still walks miles most days.  This friend has cats; I never met them, but quite a few.  She came to me the other day distraught because the cats refused to eat.  I offered to go to her place to look for any cause she might have missed.  When I arrived, she showed me an area of her living room floor dedicated to magazine pictures of cats.  Each had a small pile of canned cat food piled on its mouth.  “See,” she says, clearly distressed, “they just carry it in their mouths, but the won’t eat.”

How does one explain to a friend that her mind’s wall has crumbled at one point?  Much of the rest of it is fine.  Should one even try?  The temptation is to say that older folk have idiosyncrasies, and mind one’s own business.  The problem is, there are other other deteriorations in the wall.  While I was there, she was cooking on the one burner on her stove that was not piled with food wrappers and empty cartons.  Her smoke alarm was complaining that it needed a new battery, but she declined my offer to replace it.  “I don’t mind the little bird chirping.”

Ultimately, depending on your perspective, I either did the right thing or wimped out–I called Adult Protective Services.  They have introduced her to a nice assisted living home.  The fate of the cats is unknown as of press time.

Tags: Dementia

I am an American first, and a Republican second.  My political leanings are just to the right of Attila the Hun.  I have listened to the ads and the pundits.  I have watched the debates.  I have read some of the blogs.  Guys, I remain unimpressed with either side.  I suppose it’s unreasonable to expect Dr. Jed Bartlet but we’ve had 8 years of a semi-articulate president with a Damn the Torpedoes management style.  If my Republicans win, I would expect more of the same.  If the Democrats win, we get an extremely articulate beginner at a time when our military is stretched to its limit, and our economy may, or may not, be salvageable.  There is no Ross Perot alternative.  Someone will win the election–our government cannot function without a head on the executive branch–I’d just rather not be even fractionally responsible for either of the candidates taking the oath of office.  I will vote–my duty requires it–but I would love to see a “None of the Above” block on the ballot.

We’re just checking out.  This hotel has, on occasion, been voted one of the 500 best hotels in the world.  My experience with good hotels is considerable, and I will say that this is one of the best run, most elegantly appointed hotels I’ve ever been in.  If your taste runs to the Regent Beverly Wilshire (Pretty Woman) then this isn’t it.  This is a western mountain lodge done to suit the tastes of well-heeled ski patrons.  You can curl up on a comfortable couch in front of the large fireplace in the lobby.  Denim is the norm.  There are ski lockers in the covered parking garage. On the other hand, the computer on which I’m writing sits on a marble desk in a private room free for guests.  The complimentary breakfast is cooked to order by a genuinely friendly gentleman that could cook in any fine restaurant I know of.  The front of the house is friendly, and efficient.  I would recommend the Hotel Telluride to anyone.

All the posts in the subcategories under this one are the musings of fictional characters.  It helps to know your characters.

The nerve of that snot-nosed, semi-human kid!  I felt sorry for him, OK.  His father was killed, he got slammed around pretty good, then his mother died; I gave him a year with his bride even though I really need Phyllis here.  No one can predict if the colony can survive this shorthanded.  So he thanks me by suborning five more colonists to leave–to sever all ties.  At least he failed to get Tom Kennedy.  Tom’s fully human and knows where his loyalties lie.  When the kid’s penniless and hungry, that pack of mongrels will turn on him.  Damn, I’m out of coffee. 

Tags: Omorti, Roy Condon