"I want to know if I have to shoot you, is all."

I did it.  I switched stations.  Now the trick will be getting off where my truck is instead of where I usually do.  I also had a tweet informing me that I had won the 5 minute fiction contest this week.  I wonder what else this crazy day has in store.

We watched "Cahill: U.S. Marshal" this week.  It wasn't "True Grit" but it was pretty good.  Which is to say it was exactly what you'd expect from a film released in 1973 starring John Wayne.

At one point I started singing "Rain Drops Keep Falling on my Head" -- the pop song that somehow found its way into "Butch Cassidy" -- because I could just feel a 70’s song coming.  My wife had just enough time to give me a funny look before the Cahill song began.

Don't rob banks, Daniel san.

It wasn't all `predictable though.  Despite the title, this wasn't a story about the marshal.  It was about his children.  John Wayne's character was the "trickster" -- he both aided and hindered the protagonist who was the eldest son, Daniel.  Despite not being the star, or the Cahill the film was named for, he had the deepest character arc, was at the core of the story, and was the only one who changed.

There's also the mentor -- in this case the gangster played very well by George Kennedy.  He was training our young hero up to be a proper bank robber.  Not exactly the sort of positive role model/counseling you’d expect from that character type.

The most surprising thing of all for me was that all four of my children enjoyed it.  They sat from beginning to end, calling out warnings and encouragement to the actors.  There really is something special about the Duke.

"Eventus stultorum magister."

I don't know what happened a month ago, but the traffic getting to my station has become horrible.  I will be doing some math this morning to determine if it's time to switch to the further away station in the opposite commuting direction.  I've lost nearly an hour a day in extra traffic and it isn't productive time.  It's fossil fuel burning time.

Not everything is bad though.  The kids are enjoying another day off from school and I'm making wonderful progress on the new script.  I'm starting to get the hang of Power Structure and it's a remarkable tool.  A little buggy, but still very good.  Sort of like the early days of Movie Magic Screenwriter (their other application).  Sort of like every day with Windows...

I haven't heard back on any of my short story submissions.  That means I need extra motivation to send any more out.  It also means I need to write more if I want more to send out since the good ones are all still in play.  While we wait, let's check out what happened on this day in the history of Washington Orville Hampton.

March 5, 1891 -- Somewhere in North Dakota

The train is snowed in so we are stuck here for the night and, according to the station manager, quite possibly the next two or three days.  Fortunately I had foreseen this possibility when we were 15 minutes late in departing and both the engineer and conductor where walking the platform.

I accosted the steward and he advised that we would be delayed at least a couple of hours.  Having ridden in several rodeos, I knew that was code for track trouble.  I promptly sent him into town to arrange lodging for me at the most reputable home with space.

He returned an hour later with a room in the only boarding house.  Shortly after we received news of the extended delay.  While I was gathering my bags I happened across a third class passenger, a Miss Patience McSworely, traveling with three small children.  They belonged to her sister and she was transporting them to San Francisco along with several trunks of household goods.

Miss McSworely did not have the traveling acumen that a woman alone with children should and had not made any attempt to find rooms or even food for her charges.  They were to be stuck in the carriage indefinitely with a tin of biscuits and whatever water they could chip from the ice in the barrel behind the station.

Naturally there was nothing for it but to offer up my room.  She was most grateful and while I had been looking forward to hot stew and a warm bed, being as small in stature as I am, the Pullman will be perfectly comfortable.  I've plenty of blankets and company, most of my single traveling companions remained with the train.

Jeffrey Jacob the jet plane

I’m really digging the new digs.  Okay, not exactly new digs, but a total rearrangement of my writing space.  Studio.  The fold top desk, the hanging herons, the hot tamales dispenser… it works.

What I’m not digging is the realization that I do actually have to have an outline to write a coherent story of any length.  Apparently I’m not one of the .000003% who can fake it.  Fortunately, that realization came with an understanding of why I need to outline.

Random.  More specifically, to not be random.  I can write all day long adding things that “could be this or that.”  Without an outline I rarely deliver on the promise (potential) and I end up with just a bunch of things loosely drawn together by a main character or two.  Sort of like a J.J. Abrams TV show.

The brilliant script I’d reached Fade Out on just days ago proved it – my first reader went through it and said, “This is not what you said it would be.  And there are huge holes in it.”  She was right.  I’d strayed and skipped.  That’s fine if your name is Alice or Pollyanna, but not if you’re trying to write the next “Usual Suspects” or “Training Day.”

So I dove into my new outlining/organizing app and started working.  It’s a lot of work, working.  I realized how much I didn’t know about my story and characters.  So I looked for a distraction and found it in a contest.  I wrote 13 pages in a different story and said, “Hey – what do you think of this?”

She said, “I think you need to finish something.”  I do.  But not just finish, finish it well.  Those 13 pages were filled with promises, a bit of humor, and a story --- though not a complete story.  Except for the main character, it was just a lot of “he could be this, she could be that” and a few random events that moved the feeling along, but not a coherent plot.

That was the epiphany.  It’s not just about competent writing with a few hooks.  It’s about telling a story.  A story that must be told.  A story you absolutely want to hear/see/read.

So I’m outlining.  I’m plotting.  I’m tracking the rising and falling conflict of my subplots.  I’m “breaking” the story which is what I should have done before I ever typed fade in.