All posts by David Todd

A New "Research" Project

This morning I meant to post a report of a short book I finished, something not on my official reading list. I wrote some notes for the review last night, then laid them and the book next to the portfolio I carry to work each day. Alas, this morning, when I finished devotions at my desk, poured and doctored coffee, and opened my portfolio, the notes and book were not there. I suppose in my normal, strict routine way of getting out of the house in the morning, looking on the kitchen table for something out of the ordinary I was supposed to pick up was too much. That will teach me to go one tiny step further in the evening and put the non-standard item in the portfolio rather than next to it.

So what to do in my personal time, after devotions, at my desk? I have finished culling printed writing materials from notebooks, so nothing to do there. I was not ready to again pick up John Wesley’s letters and take up where I left off somewhat more than a month ago (expect a future post on that). Reviewing Absolute Write for a poem to critique or a political discussion to burst in on revealed nothing I had to do. But there, in my favorites in Internet Explorer, was the folder titled “Carlyle” and in it the link to The Carlyle Letters Online, hosted by Duke University. A few clicks, making decisions on what to read, found me at a letter from Carlyle to Leigh Hunt in June 1833. I decided on a letter to Hunt because I recently posted for critique my parody of Hunt’s famous poem “Jenny Kissed Me”. If my readers can stand this affectation, here’s my parody.

Hunter Licked Me

Hunter licked me on the nose,
showing me his deep affection.
Whimpering, this dachshund knows
who provided food and protection.
Tell me that my poems won’t sell,
that no muse has ever picked me.
Call me crazy, but then yell
Hunter licked me.

I read the letter from Carlyle to Hunt, and decided, “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a collection of letters between Hunt and Carlyle much as I have between Emerson and Carlyle?” So I decided to start one. I copied that letter–including footnotes and source citations, and dumped it into a MS Word document. Some formatting was needed, to put it in my typical compressed yet readable layout (trying to save a tree or two, you know), and making the footnotes real footnotes rather than embedded things at the end of the letter.

All of that took little time, so I decided to do some more. I went to the Index By Recipient, and found one more to Hunt in the 1832-34 time frame. This puzzled me, because I expected more than this. So I went to the chronological list and found a number of letters in this time frame, including the first, a brief Carlyle note to Hunt about receiving a book of his from Hunt’s publisher. By the time my work day officially started (okay, I may have done my personal stuff 15 minutes too long, but I’ll make it up this evening), I had fourteen pages of Carlyle to Hunt.

So what am I going to do with this? Don’t know yet. And I have to see if I can find Leigh Hunt’s letters on line. I know they’ve been published, but haven’t yet looked for them. I suppose you could call this a “reading and research” project. But it’s more than that. It is entertainment for me. And it should also, should I really read these letters, help with the brain atrophy I’m trying to overcome.

Mainly Reading

This past weekend I went to Oklahoma City to visit with daughter, son-in-law, and grandbaby Ephraim. I went with my mother-in-law, my wife being already there. We had a good time, a combination of baby-sitting and visiting. An excellent church service on Sunday, where son-in-law Richard preached on Philippians 4:4-9. First he read a story for the children before they were dismissed for children’s church, about a boy named Alexander (I think) who was having a no good, horrible, terrible bad day–with a couple of other adjectives thrown in. His adult sermon was on the same theme. Since I have had a lot of them lately (bad days, not sermons), his sermon spoke to me.

I need to get out of the doldrums; and I shall. It will just take time. I’ve mainly been reading as a means of pulling myself up. I finished a small book (not on the official reading list) for Life Group, Moses: A Model of Pioneer Vision by Chuck Swindoll, which I shall soon review in a post to this blog. I’m also working through The Ode Less Travelled by Stephen Fry. This is a book on how to write formal poetry, which I won in a sonnet writing contest. I’m about three or four days from finishing it, and will review it on this blog when finished.

As I read this last night, in the chapters dealing with various forms of poetry, I found myself suddenly beset with a mild case of Sidelines Syndrome. This hasn’t hit me for a while, so maybe this is a good sign of coming out of my funk. I put the book aside–since I could no more concentrate on it–and began writing two poems. I know, poetry would be the worst possible thing to turn to if I have any hopes of being published, but at least it was something for my writing.

We’ll see what happens tonight. We are supposed to have rain, so I’ll be stuck in the house, nothing important will be on television, I don’t really have to play mindless computer games, and maybe, just maybe, my brain muscles are starting to strengthen. Can a new chapter be far away?

Kernel_Stack_Inpage_Error

It happened again. I went downstairs to the Dungeon last night, after church then a late supper, to do my various writing activities. And on my wife’s computer (she’s away baby sitting our grandchild) was a blue screen error. Two flat-screen monitors showed the same thing:

Kernal_Stack_Inpage_Error
then a bunch of words, then
Stop: 0X00000077 with some similar comma-delimited letters and numbers

After the last time, I learned that all this stuff means something, and that the type of error and all these letter-number combos can help diagnose the problem. So I wrote them down, went to my computer and did a Google search for “Kernal Stack Inpage Error”. The first hit was a Microsoft support page, which talked about this and about parameters. It says “To determine the possible cause, you must interpret the error message. If both the first and the third parameters are zero, the four parameters are defined as follows….If either the first or the third parameter is not a zero, the following definitions apply….”

What the heck is a parameter? I assume it’s those four letter-number combos in parentheses, but what does “if the parameter is zero” mean? The letter-number combos are all in the form of 0x000073B4, that is, a single digit followed by an x followed by eight digits or letters. But is the parameter the entire thing? Or is it the digit before the x? Since they all have an x in them, are they all non-zero? or is the x meaningless? The third letter-number combo was 0x00000000; is this a zero since all the digits are zero? I assume it is, and thus, per the instructions, the second parameter is the key one; except what shows in my parameter doesn’t appear in the Microsoft help screen. Some help.

I don’t absorb writing well from the screen, and since the failed computer is my server, I couldn’t print the instructions. So I left the computer as it was and spent my much-reduced time on other stuff. Today at work I did the same search and came up with other pages, not all Microsoft, that purport to help solve the problem, but none of which seem to be speaking English. One tech support forum says:

“If you can restart your computer after the error message, Autochk runs automatically and tries to map out the bad sector. If for some reason Autochk
does not scan the hard disk for errors, manually start the disk scanner. If your
computer is formatted with the NTFS file system, run Chkdsk /f /r on the system
partition. You must restart your computer before the disk scan begins. If you
cannot start your computer due to this issue, use the Command Console and run
Chkdsk /r.”

So now I have to learn what an NTFS file system is, I guess, and figure out (somehow) if my computer has that or whatever the alternative is. Back to Google, I guess. After that it will be something else.

I can’t keep unplugging this machine and running down to a computer fix-it store, where they tell me it’s a motherboard problem when it isn’t. So I guess I’ll have to bite the bullet and 1) spend beaucoups hours learning how to do it myself, 2) have in-house service for big bucks, or 3) buy a new computer.

And the dream keeps fading away, as time to pursue the dream goes from an oasis to a mirage. Don’t mind me; received another rejection yesterday.

ETA on 10/10/08: The problem is not resolved, because the on-off switch, tempermental almost since we got the machine, has quit working entirely. The Dell tech support people were most unhelpful, though they didn’t mean to be. The backdoor channel I have available through corporate buying power has resulted in e-mails and calls. Seems like for a $500 bill and a week I can have this resolved like new. And the dream….

ETA on 10/20/08: The problem still is not resolved. I learned I can’t buy an on-off switch by itself. I have to buy the whole front of the computer box. But this only costs about $21 with shipping, and supposedly I can do the switcheroo myself. However, I have decided to bite the bullet and just order a new computer. Because of the many problems I have had with this–most of them Dell’s doings–Dell is being really nice and giving me a good discount. I assume our corporate buying power has something to do with that. I don’t need monitors or software, so that helps. I may get it this week sometime, which will allow me to take the weekend to install. Later, I may buy that front piece for the other computer and see what I can do with it. And the dream….

Trying to get engaged

For some time now I have not been applying myself wholeheartedly to anything. At work, I have been in a position that doesn’t require significant application of brain power. As senior engineer in the company, I’m assisting people on their more difficult problems. I’m coordinating training courses, and on occasion teach one. That has taken up a lot more time than I expected it to do. But it’s easy. Make calls, send e-mails, repeat. I spend a lot of time on what I call research and development, studying new trends in our business, taking notes, plan some training, write some simple design guides or specifications–most enjoyable, but not brain taxing.

For the last several weeks I have disengaged from writing. All I’m doing is organizing, filing, and typing a few things I wrote some time ago. I’m also back-checking the latest round of edits on Doctor Luke’s Assistant before discarding the mark-ups. I was working on some new Bible studies to write, but I’ve set those aside as well. Oh, yes, I also wrote a couple of haiku over the last weeks. These were not simple 5-7-5 ones, but rather well-thought out for the fundamental haiku elements.

Work around the house doesn’t take much effort, nor does the reading list I’m going through. So I have felt my brain slowly disengaging. Certainly at work it is somewhat, and now off work it is as well. This is a terrible feeling in a way, for I have always had my brain engaged in many things; scattering concentrated thought around many projects. Now it seems the toughest thing I have to decide is whether to keep a certain piece of paper or not, and if kept where to file it. I wrote a triolet about this sort of thing last November:

Conflicted

I long to live that day when I will rest,
and cease to tax my brain. Then I will die
and stand before my Maker. Yet, I’m blessed;
I long to live! The day that I will rest
is somewhere out there, far beyond the quest
that now demands I try, and fail, and try.
I long to live that day when I will rest
and cease to tax my brain, then I will die.

But beginning last week, really Friday of the week before that, I began working on a project at work I had put off for a long time. It required learning a new computer program, and what I feared would be tedious work depicting a large drainage basin for calculating flood flows. Only one person in the office knew the program, and I didn’t think he knew it much. While waiting on him to answer an e-mail of a request for help, I worked on learning the program myself through reading the manual and just trying stuff. I got pretty far along, far enough to enter a dummy project and get it to run. I finally had this training session and it turned out the guy didn’t know any more than I did at that stage.

As I feared, the work is extremely tedious. It requires me to really think about what I am doing. My brain as a consequence has rebelled. By the time I finish a full day of working on that, I have nothing left to think at home. Hence I have been reading, doing a few of these simple writing things, and playing mindless computer games. For an hour or more.

My hope is that this difficult project at work will be like exercise for my brain. Can the brain atrophy, like one of the voluntary muscles? When I cease to tax my brain, will I then die–intellectually if not physically? Hmmm, enquiring minds want to know. Hopefully this will turn out to be good for me. Maybe a few more days of having to use my brain the full eight hours at work will strengthen it, and I will find myself with something left in the skull come evening. Hey, this evening I had enough left to write this post.

More thoughts on "The Totem"

I knew as I was typing yesterday that other things had come to mind that I wanted to include in my review of The Totem, but which escaped me at that moment. They’ve since come back.

Morrell begins almost every chapter with a style I like, call it a “B-A-C” style. If you take the normal order of three events, some past event that lead to what is happening right now and one that happens next, and represent it by letters, it would be A-B-C. That is, A happened, now B is happening, and C happens next. In the B-A-C style, you say B is happening, a follow-up to A which just happened, and C happens next. Morrell does this constantly throughout the book.

I hesitate to say every chapter, but for sure in many chapters. I also used this method when I wrote Doctor Luke’s Assistant. I had never seen this described in any book on writing techniques. In fact, DLA was complete before I began reading those books. I just liked that style: begin the chapter with immediate action; then say what happened between chapters; then return to the action moving forward. As I began to pay more attention to the writing style in other novel, and to read those books on writing, I never saw this technique used or even discussed. So I edited some of those out of DLA, and haven’t been using that style in In Front Of Fifty Thousand Screaming People. After reading Morrell, I’m reconsidering.

Another thing Morrell did exceedingly well was the working in of back story. All the major characters had a past that impacted something on the event in the book. Slaughter had killed someone while on duty as a cop in Detroit, and was himself another shot with a shot gun and almost killed. The reporter was an alcoholic, fallen to a low position on the newspaper staff. The medical examiner had been in a fast-paced similar position in Philadelphia and ruined his career by becoming obsessed with his work. The younger veterinarian, Owens, had a past. Morrell is in no hurry to tell us all this. For the first third of the book he concentrates on developing the horror that is to come, letting the reader know enough to conclude the truth without giving it fully away. The last third of the book is devoted to the fast-paced actions that lead to the penultimate battle. The middle third of the book consists of long-ish chapters that give the back story of the major characters. It is done well. Even when telling us the back story, Morrell tells just enough to help us understand the characters, not so much as to overwhelm us.

A few more observations.

  • I mentioned that the denouement left me unsatisfied. One of the reasons is we don’t find out what happened to several characters who contracted the virus. We see them in their fully affected states, or even in their developing states, but with a couple of exceptions we don’t find out about them. We don’t see any consequences for the mayor, who botched things so badly.
  • The hippy colony was established in 1970; the book takes place around 1993. Yet during all this time, the town of Potters Field apparently had no contact with them, didn’t know they had changed locations, didn’t know how many were there or if they even existed. While the town “decided” in 1970 they wouldn’t have anything to do with the hipppies, it seems unlikely that for 23 years the two existed so close together (at most 60 miles apart), and no one from the colony came to the town to buy or sell, seek medical treatment, whatever. That is somewhat improbable, it seems to me. If they couldn’t come to town because of the virus, why did it take 23 years for this outbreak to occur? While this is a weakness in the plot (in my opinion, of course), it doesn’t really detract from the enjoyment of the tale.
  • The reappearance of Lucas Wheeler, the boy from the town who joined the colony, at the very time when he was needed to identify the one person from the colony who made his way into town during the crisis, was a coincidence too much.
  • Editing: I remembered another thing I wanted to say. The tie of the title to the story was not as strong as I would like. Morrell defines totem on the front end pages: “1. among primitive peoples, an animal or natural object considered as being related by blood to a given family or can and taken as its symbol. 2. an image of this.” I suppose the tie-in is based on what Dunlap, the reporter, found in the throne room. However, I would have liked the tie to be stronger.

That’s all I can think of for now. Plus I feel like I have written too much negative. Each of these seems to be magnified in my words, whereas they were really a series of minor problems, none of which individually, nor all together, made the book any less enjoyable.

Book Review: The Totem

Continuing to chip away at my long reading list, today I completed the next book on it: The Totem, a novel by David Morrell. I don’t know how well his name is known among the reading public, but everyone knows the character from his first novel: Rambo. Yes, Morrell wrote First Blood and created the Rambo character, later picked up for movies. I bought The Totem mainly because of Morrell. He taught a one-day class on fiction at the 2006 Glorieta Christian Writers Conference in New Mexico, and I bought his book on writing fiction.

I got aways into the book and began to realize it was a horror story. I don’t read horror at all, and was surprised this was a horror and not an action book. I turned to the cover, and it was right there: “A classic horror novel”. Well, nothing to do but continue. After all, I bought the book, and needed to get my $4.98 plus tax worth (from the Barnes & Noble remainders table).

The book was originally published in 1979, but Morrell re-released it in 1995, adding back in material the original publisher had asked to have deleted, and updating it for the later date. It takes place in and around the town of Potters Field, set in Wyoming. A colony of hippies had settled there about 1970, and hangers-on had come into the town and were run out by the townspeople. The version I read put those event 23 years in the past, so it was obviously updated.

The novel begins with a rancher checking his fences in June. He finds some deer carcasses and then a cow carcass that was mutilated in a frightening way. He calls the old vet, who comes out and gets the carcass, takes it back to autopsy it, discovers something terrible–whatever it was that killed the cow–but dies of a heart attack. In the confusion, the carcass is incinerated. So the cause of death is a secret. After that, a boy is bit by a raccoon, and within sixteen hours has become a lunatic animal, crawling on all fours, snarling, biting, licking. He attacks his mother, biting her, and runs away.

At this point rabies obviously comes to mind, but not exactly, for rabies takes more time to develop. A younger vet is called in; and the medical examiner. The police chief, Nathan Slaughter is also involved. In fact, Slaughter is the main character, although he isn’t introduced until the seventh chapter (I’ll have to discuss that with some writing pros). Slaughter left police work in Detroit to live an easier life on a simple ranch outside Potters Field, but was pressed into service as the town’s police chief five years earlier.

In the early going, Morrell does a good job of painting the scene so that the reader knows more than the characters. The reader knows long before any of the characters that this isn’t rabies, which doesn’t act as fast as whatever is going around. The early encounters with the whatever-this-disease-is are explained slowly. As the book progresses, less and less time is spent on each new encounter. This technique enhances the idea of a virus spreading rapidly, exponentially. The attacks come both in the town and out in the valley, and in those ranches that touch the mountains. The character who found the mutilated cow disappears; five state policemen use dogs to pick up the sent from where his abandoned truck. The arrive at a lake up in the mountains after dark, and are attacked by something and killed. Actually, in the scene Morrell does not really explain what happens to them, but implies it’s something pretty bad.

A reporter, Dunlap, had arrived in town just before the attacks start. He is doing a story on the old hippy colony and what became of it. He is an alcoholic, has fallen from a higher reputation, and is relegated to this. Another character returns to town. He was the teenager who joined the hippy colony which resulted in his father killing one of them and spending time in prison. The son has come back to claim his share of the ranch, also with notions of a possible reconciliation to his dad. Of course, his dad takes on a solitary vendetta against whatever is coming down out of the mountains, killing stock and spreading this virus.

Slaughter, the police chief, while checking a scene where the town wino died, is attacked by a “cat”, but shoots it and blasts its head to bits. The boy who bit his mom is trapped in an old mansion (the town’s main tourist attraction), and appears to be killed by a sedative–as a dog had been earlier–only to come to life on the autopsy table. Slaughter at this point on the Saturday night realizes something pretty bad is going on. The next morning he called the mayor, suggested drastic measures, only to be turned down and eventually turned out as police chief. Since the disease, probably a virus, did that to the boy (and to his mom), the thought is planted: could this be related to humans, perhaps the hippy colony gone amok?

I don’t want to give too much of the plot away, in case someone reading so far decides to buy the book, so I’ll stop here. The book is well written, as you would expect from a man who was able to have his first book published and turned into a movie. Morrell now has many novels to his credit. I found two things that bothered me about the book.

1. Too many times a past perfect tense is used when a simple past tense would seem appropriate. I did not mark this in the book, and flipping pages just now I can’t find any examples. I mean such things as “He was wondering what was causing the sickness” rather than, “He wondered what caused the sickness.” These came in batches, continuous few paragraphs. I’m sure Morrell had a purpose for this, but I couldn’t detect it.
2. The denouement was not as complete as I would have liked. We didn’t actually find out what caused the virus. It turned out to be related to the hippy colony, but how did it happen? We never found out what happened to the rancher who disappeared, and must presume he, his wife, and son perished. A few other loose ends are not tied up as neatly as I would have liked.

It’s a good read, however, and I recommend the book. It has a few cuss words, and Jesus’ name is taken in vain some, especially in one scene. But the book has no gratuitous violence and sex, which help to recommend it.

October Goals

While I am in this maintenance time, my goals will be modest.

1. Attend 1 meeting of my critique group. It will meet three times this month, but I’m not sure I want to devote six hours (or ten hours including driving) to this activity this month.

2. Complete my submission log. I came close a couple of months ago. An hour should suffice for this.

3. Contact the editor who has had The Screwtape Letters study guide, mailed three months ago today.

4. Continue to cull through the many writing-help items I have printed from Internet sites. Read or scan as appropriate, and discard anything not absolutely essential.

5. Add a few (say three or four) posts to the poetry workshop I started at the Absolute Write poetry discussion forum.

6. Gather all my writing, all the scraps and sheets that contain things as small as haiku or as long as chapters, into one place and file them as appropriate. I’m not really too far from having this done. I think three hours might be enough.

7. Plod along, as time, energy, and motivation allow, on three writing projects: the Elijah and Elisha Bible study; In Front Of Fifty Thousand Screaming People (maybe write one more chapter); and the Documenting America column. Although I’m not planning to market it at this time, I don’t want to abandon it totally.

That’s enough. I may possibly come back and edit in another one or two if I think of something.

ETA: Shame on me; saw one right away.

8. Post 10 to 12 times to this blog.

The September Report

Time to check in, and see how I did relative to my goals.

1. Attend critique group once (it meets every two weeks), and present the next chapter in my work-in-progress novel. I did this. I actually came close to attending the second time, but life got in the way.

2. Blog 10 to 12 times. I’d like to do more, but will settle for that. Did this one too. I posted 13 times, so slightly exceeded my goal.

3. Update my submissions log. I filed a few papers last night, and discovered I haven’t entered in my log the last several submissions I made. That may be important come tax time. I only partially finished this. Entered a few of the missing submissions, but not all.

4. (If I finally decide to market it) Submit Documenting America to about twenty newspapers as a possible self-syndicated column. As I posted last week, I have decided, for the time being, to shelve “Documenting America”, due to not wanting to commit to the time it would take each week. My loss, or the nation’s loss? Who knows.

5. Work on, and complete if possible, the proposal (with four sample chapters) for the Bible study requested by the editor. I did very little work on this project. Did some hand writing of the first sample chapter, and typed that, but then laid it aside while in the throes of decisions about DA. Maybe some in October.

6. Wait (patiently) for a response on the two projects I currently have out with an editor and agent. How else can one wait? Next week will be the week to follow up with the editor, and the first week in November for following up with the agent.

7. Continue to work on my reading list, the writing help book and the next one, whatever it is. I did fairly well on my reading list. I completed two books, and reviewed them both on this blog. I am more than half-way through the next book, Totem by David Morrell. I may be able to review that either late in the weekend or early next week; it will take a couple of posts. I don’t even remember what the next book is on my list, but I think it’s non-fiction.

One thing not on my September goals list, but which should have been, was:

8. Lead an on-line discussion group about “The Line as a Poetic Device” at the Absolute Write poetry discussion forum. I did this. Completed the research in early Sept, and began the workshop on Sept 5th. I let it lag after awhile, but will likely pick it up again, if not in October then probably in November.

Thinking of Mom

If Mom had lived, she would have been 90 years old today. I trust my loyal (though few) readers will indulge me as I depart from my normal format to write about her. The only electronic pictures of her are on my computer at home, so I will edit this tonight and paste one in, a beautiful childhood picture of her on a pony.

Dorothy Alfreda Sexton was born in New York, in 1918. She was conceived in St. Lucia, and her mother emigrated while pregnant, while World War 1 was on. That’s another story for another post (or a book). Mom and her mom lived with her mom’s uncle, David Sexton in Providence, Rhode Island. She grew up in that small household, her father absent, her mother’s marriage annulled. Uncle Dave became a surrogate grandfather/father to her, and his name was frequently invoked in glowing terms throughout my childhood (a subject for another post or book). I have his name.

Mom attended public schools through 8th grade, then was shipped off to Northfield School for girls in Northfield, Mass (a school founded by Dwight L. Moody) in proper British tradition. She graduated, then went to Rhode Island College (now the University of Rhode Island) for a brief time, one to three semesters. She took a job in Boston for some amount of time, then in Providence. At some point (not sure how long after she left school) she became an X-ray technician, and worked at this job until she was married and began having children. This might have been as long as twelve to fourteen years. I remember accompanying her to Dr. Richardson’s office when I was maybe 6 or 7, when she had to work one afternoon.

In January 1950 she married Norman Victor Todd in Providence, and we three children were born in 1950 through 1954. Dad was 33, Mom 31. In late 1950 Dad and Mom moved from Courtland Street in Providence to Cottage Street in Cranston. It was a convenient place for Dad to take the bus to his night job, and to walk home the four miles at 4:00 AM. It was a smallish house, on a smallish lot, but it adequately served we five.

I never remember Mom being anything but sick, deathly sick. Her kidneys were bad, and she had to fix separate food for herself since she couldn’t eat protein. Eventually her whole body went bad, whether from the kidneys or lack of nourishment I don’t know.

I came to the conclusion that the years of exposure to X-rays, back in the days when they didn’t know the danger, was what ruined her kidneys, but now I’m not sure of that. Years after her death I discussed this with Dad, and was surprised to learn that Mom had breast cancer and had a double radical mastectomy. She was considered a cancer survivor, having lived more than five years after the operation. But I have no childhood memory of her having cancer–being sick, yes, but from her kidneys, not cancer. So my working theory now is the x-rays caused her cancer, she had the double as well as chemotherapy in the early days of what was then an experimental type of treatment, and the chemo ruined her kidneys. Just a theory, but possible and maybe probable.

On August 13, 1965, Mom checked into the hospital for the last time. She spent time in the hospital two or three times a year, but this time was different. She died about 10:30 PM on August 19, 1965, age 46 years, 10 months, 20 days. Dad was at work at his night job, we kids at home. The hospital called him and he rushed there, but he didn’t get there in time.

My memories of Mom are good, although I ache for the constant pain she lived in. To give her an activity that didn’t require much physical effort, our family took up stamp collecting. Both Mom and Dad had done that in their formative years, but let it go as adults. Oh, the memories of working on our collections. During the week Mom opened envelopes purchased from dealers and sorted, or soaked and sorted if required. On Saturday night the five of us sat around the dining room table, each with our albums. Mom distributed the stamps acquired, always one country per night. If she had five or more of a stamp, each of us got one. If four, we three kids got one and Mom and Dad alternated. If three, they went to us kids. After that, the stamps were put in the middle, and we all had a chance to pick one, going round and round until all were distributed and the duplicates were in an envelope. We licked hinges and put them in our albums. We usually discussed what was on some of the stamps, learning history that way, seeing other alphabets, other languages, learning shades of colors, etc. A wonderful, wonderful time.

Did working the stamp collections prolong Mom’s life, since it gave her a reason to live through the pain? I suspect so. I’m a strong believer in the will to live having something to do with longevity.

Allow me to add here a poem I wrote about Mom several years ago on the anniversary of her death. I may make another post with two others I’ve written.

Thirty-Eight Years Ago

Crippled by years of encroaching pain,
a precious mother breathed her last.
What legacy lives on today,
as memories are fading fast?
Each year I live those days again,
and wonder if she found her way.

"Maintenance" Time

I’m not writing anything at present. The demands of life and realities of the publishing business are the cause. Continuous mental tiredness–partly in anticipation of life activities I know are coming–and perceived unlikelihood of selection for publishing are the specifics. I’ve discarded a few scraps that once upon a time I might have saved and made into poems. If other ideas for writing have passed through my mind (which I don’t think they have of late), I have allowed them to break the speed limit upon exit.

During this time, I have also laid aside my reading list in favor of reading several notebooks full of previously downloaded articles. Most of these are writing helps, from websites or small e-books the gurus and semi-gurus of the industries have produced. When writing is an exciting thing, these look and sound good. When writing sours, these only take up shelf space. So I’m reading them and sticking them in a recycling/reuse pile. At home, that pile is about 10 inches high. At work, I’d say about two reams of paper. Both are still growing, and the end is not yet.

At home, most of these papers are related to fiction: how to write it, how to edit it, how to sell it, how to market it. Most of it is all good stuff. I had read about half of it and kept it. Now, on second read, I realize keeping it is not needed. The other half I may have skimmed, but never read. Now on first read, I realize keeping it is not needed. I’m keeping a few things, on book proposals and query letters. I suppose a spark of hope for future gumption still exists.

At work, most of it is related to poetry: how to write it, what makes it good, how to properly use metaphor, figures of speech, etc, etc. Most of this I read upon initial download, and saved for some footling reason. All of this is going. The notebook I’m working on does not contain a thing I could not access again from the Internet, nor is any of it that essential to my poetic development. So into the recycling box it goes, emptied weekly and thus irretrievable should I change my mind.

Another thing I’m adding to the home recycling/reuse pile is old copies of Doctor Luke’s Assistant. One of these is an early version, the one I gave to my first beta readers. The other is the next-to-last version, the one with hand-written edits that I made just before submitting to an agent and my most recent beta readers. When I began discarding this last one, I turned the pages to see if the edits were really done, evidenced by being yellowed-out. Most were, but I found a few to which I had not applied the marker. So I went to the computer, pulled up the official copy, and began going page by page. I found a few things that actually had not been typed. These were not typos, but rather improvements in wording to eliminate passive voice, wordiness, repeated words, modern contractions, etc. And, I found a few places where I could made a new improvement. Why bother, I don’t know, but I made them. I went through about a hundred pages last night. After I complete this, that paper version will go as well.

I kept all these past versions of DLA based on the advice from David Morrell (author of First Blood and creator of the Rambo character). He says to save everything: every hand-written scrap, every typed draft, every edit, and when the book is written and published (yeah, right), box them up and keep them as a record and for posterity. I don’t think I will be following his advice in this regard any longer. Why have to move a box with about fifteen reams of paper next time we move, simply to create a record of how I wrote a book that was never published?

All of this is somewhat releasing, dare I say exhilarating. I’m not experiencing a bit of sorrow in the process, other than for the trees I must have killed in the original printing.