Of Pelicans and Men

I’m a day late on this post.  Sorry.  I kept thinking yesterday was Sunday.

Of Pelicans and Men
by Jon Stark

When I was a boy I went to a camp for a week or two each summer.  It was a splendid place and unlikely the sort of experience that modern children would care for – we played outdoor games, carved shrunken heads from apples, and sang a lot of silly songs.  One of them was about a polar bear named Percy.  He lived in the land of ice and snow where the temperature dropped to 40 below.  Eventually he wound up in a zoo but that was okay because he met his girlfriend there.

This story is not about Percy or the camp.  It’s about Jorell.  Not Superman’s father (still not a fan of DC), no, this Jorell is a Pelican.  Pay attention because in actuality, this story isn’t even really about a Pelican but you’ll have to figure out the true meaning for yourself.

Jorell was tired.  He had been flying for what seemed like a very long time – and it had been, in fact, a very long time – and his wings were tired.  His chest was tired.  His neck was tired.  (Yours would be too if you had to hold up a beak – bill? – like his.)

“Let’s stop to rest,” said Jorell to his mother’s back.

“Can’t stop now, Dear,” she said.  “We’re out over the ocean.”

“We can float on the ocean.”  Why this simple fact always eluded his mother, Jorell didn’t know, but every negotiated rest stop started with the same argument.

“We’ll lose our bearing, Dear,” she said.  “Let’s go a bit further.”

“We won’t lose our bearing.”  Jorell sped up a tad to fly next to her.  “The beach is a straight line, we can follow that.”

His mother shook her head.  “I don’t know about that.  A stop here isn’t on the schedule.”

“It looks very nice down there.  Probably even some fish. Let’s just rest for a little while.  It’ll be fine.”  Jorell pulled ahead and then began to descend.  His mother was not happy, but instinct forced her to follow him.

They glided closer to the waves.  The swells broke as they approached the beach and it was very pretty.  She could see activity.  “I don’t think that’s a good place to stop, Dear,” she called.  “Looks like sharks.”

Jorell looked.  Could be sharks, but could be dolphins too.  Or cloud shadows.  “I think it’s fine.  Let’s go closer for a better look.”  They went a bit further down.

A young boy on the beach looked up and saw them.  He pointed and shouted excitedly.  “Pelicans!”  Lots of people looked, from the sand, from the edge of the water, from the decks of their rented condos.  They liked pelicans.

The boys mother looked dutifully before pulling him away from the edge of the water.  “I told you not to go in there.  You’re uncle said there were sharks.”

The boy scowled.  “He isn’t even here.  I haven’t seen any sharks.”  It was true.  Nobody had seen any and people were starting to go further and further out into the water.  Some of the older kids were even body surfing.

Jorell hollered over his shoulder.  “No sharks, Ma.  Look, even the people are in the water.”  The coasted over the beach.  Sand pipers flitted about.  Crabs dug in.  People pointed up.  Jorell’s mother had to admit that everything looked normal.

The pelicans glided between the swells and settled onto the water.  Jorell sighed in ecstasy and immediately went to sleep.  His mother was too nervous but soon the rocking waves and aching muscles overcame her better judgment and she too nodded off.

“See?” said the boy.  “The pelicans are floating out there.  No sharks.”  His mother had to agree.  The birds wouldn’t have settled in if there were sharks in the water.

“Okay.”  She said.  “You can go out there.  But be careful.  There’s an undertow.”  He cast a last, ‘are you for real?’ glance at her and dove into the water.

A trio of dolphins was slinking along the coast, fearful of the sharks that frequented the beach.  It was dark and tiring work and they wanted to play.  But it was too dangerous.  The splashing of the children near shore caught their attention.  “The people wouldn’t be in the water if there were sharks.  Let’s jump some waves, Dudes.”

People generally think that dolphins are smart.  I’m not sure why.

It turned in to a bit of a party, just off the beach.  People jumping and splashing, dolphins hopping wave, and pelicans hanging out, snagging the stray fish and catching some zzz’s.  It was just the sort of thing that a shark, groggy from sleeping in and hungry after a late night out with the guys, dreamed of.

But Roy, the hungry and hung-over shark, stayed back in the deeper water.  What did those people, dolphins, and pelicans know that he didn’t?  Was it a trap?  What horrible fate awaited him?

His stomach grumbled.  Then he caught the smell of something in the water.  One of the people must have stepped on a shell.  Hunger rose.  Caution fled.  A shark is as a shark does and Roy was, above all else, a shark.  

Were you scared?

“Were you scared?”

“Not the first time.”

How’s that for a conversation?  It’s funny, but then you get a little worried about it.  Then you start to wonder what it’s about.  After all, we could be discussing anything from ear piercing to child birth.

Or jumping off the flybridge of a Carver 350.  Gosh, Jon, that seems sort of specific and out of left field.  Well, yes.  But there’s a story that goes with it.

We were planning to take our boat out yesterday – perfect boating day – but the trim control for my outdrive froze and after several fruitless hours of tinkering I towed it to the shop.  We went to Lowe’s and bought mulch instead.  Except for #4 who stayed at the marina with his friend and went down the river with them on their… Carver 350.

He got back with all sorts of stories and one of them involved diving off the top of it.  Jumping, actually.  His mother was a little concerned – it is about 15 feet to the waterline – but he wasn’t.  “It was that feeling you get in a rollercoaster.  When your stomach moves around.  Know what I mean?”

Oh yes.  It’s the same feeling I get when people talk about dental work or clean a fish on the railing of the boardwalk.  But what a great story and the line.  Gold.

There are stories that are fun to relate but aren’t fiction material – like this one, it’s seasoning, not the basis of the tale.  Then there are stories which are the real deal.  The anchors for a great work.  Like the headline on CNN.COM last night before I went to bed.  Between the computer and the toothpaste I saw the whole thing.  I gave the 30 second pitch to my wife.  She got it.  “That’s really good.” she said.

It sounds arrogant to say it, but I knew it was really good when I started the pitch.  Sometimes you know things.  It’s simple and compelling, the very definition of high concept.  You may even recognize some of the lines.

The Red Shirts Are Coming

I did not make the finals in the Palm Street Film’s contest.  I was not surprised and I’m not especially upset about it, they had a very specific purpose in hosting the contest so I knew it was going to be even more subjective than usual and it’s one I entered on a whim rather than by strategy.

And there’s the whole “rejection is a part of writing” thing.  I’m much more interested in the Charlottesville contest.  And now that CWA has extended their deadline I’m wondering if I should give it a go.  They offer coverage like BlueCat which is good, but it’s a very pricey entry.  And then there’s Austin.  Next year for Austin.

Today I’d like to take another look at jargon.  I’ve been reading Daphne’s book about writing and in it she cautions against using jargon in your writing.  “It’s not clear in many cases.  You are being presumptuous about your readers.”  That’s not bad advice.  But jargon exists for a reason and if you are communicating with a peer group instead of writing an article for a mass market publication, it’s very efficient use of your writing space and audience attention span.

To wit, yesterday I was part of a discussion that centered on needing “a fifth man” but not “wanting to add a character.”  Early in someone suggested using a “red shirt” which was brilliant.  We all knew exactly what was being talked about and it met the requirements.  Jargon.

What is a red shirt?  Why he’s the member of the boarding party that doesn’t get beamed back to the ship.  Because he’s vaporized/transformed/eaten by a giant spider-fly-amoeba-plant/fallen in love with an alien.  From Star Trek.

I don't know, what do you want to do?

The older I get the more I realize the benefit of a plan.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those, “Plan the work then work the plan.” sorts of guys.  But I have come around to the idea that a lack of plan is equal to a lack of direction.

Pooh and Piglet can tell you all about what happens when you lack direction.

The reason I am not PtWtWtP is because that isn’t creative.  It’s rigid.  You are ignoring the words of James who warns that we should not brag about plans for next year because we don’t know what is going to happen but instead plan and then roll with the punches.  If there is a drought we shan’t have any crops to sell in the far city.

I don’t think I’ve used “shan’t” in this blog before.  Maybe in anything.  Silly Downton Abbey.

So what am I saying?  That you need a plan but you shouldn’t follow it?  Not exactly.  There’s a lot out there on the internet about making plans flexible and I don’t have anything to add.  That’s a personal thing.

I’m just saying you need a plan in the first place.

"Who's idea was it to have all these kids anyway?"

Had a wonderful dinner with my spouse last night.  Our waitress couldn’t believe how long we’ve been married.  I like to think that was because we look so young but I’m afraid that’s not it.  It brings up an interesting question.

As a writer of fiction, should I portray the exceptional relationships?  The ones that everybody marvels about?  Or should I draw instead on reality – the sort that more people are able to resonate with?  The easy cop-out is to say, “It depends on the story.”  But listen, authors, we all know that the story is whatever we want to tell drawn from whichever idea we want to run with.  Even Friday when I couldn’t get a story together it wasn’t from a lack of ideas.  I just didn’t like how it landed on the page.

The reality side has some good points but fiction isn’t reality, it’s escape from reality.  The exceptional relationship is a dream for some people.  But others feel judged, or that their choices aren’t being respected.  Looking at my own body of work I’ve got a mixture in those cases where it needs to be something.  And none of it models my own domestic situation.

There’s a lot of popular and funny TV based on a married couple with more than the national average of children.  But there’s also alternative couples, alternative parenthood, and even everything all mixed together.  (I’m thinking of Everybody Loves Raymond, Will and Grace, Last Man Standing, How I Met Your Mother, Arrested Development, and 2.5 Men.)

In my current script project the domestic situations that get screen time feature a single mother, a newly married couple, an older couple that hasn’t started on children yet, a bachelor, and two couples that just live together.

I’m thinking this is something I’m over thinking.  Trouble is, I’m not over thinking it yet.

Sometimes you have to write about something other than what's on your mind.

When I was little I had book about a duck named Ping who lived on the Yangtze river.  He worked for a fisherman and it was his job (and the job of the other ducks) to catch fish.  They even had rings around their necks so they couldn’t swallow a whole fish.  At night the fisherman would blow his whistle and they would climb back into his boat on a long gangway and sleep comfortably on beds of straw.

The last duck would always get a solid thwunking from the fisherman with a thick cudgel.  That was to make sure that every duck knew to hurry when he blew the whistle and not tarry.

Ping was a young duck.  He liked to tarry and would often wait until the last minute to return to the boat.  One night he wasn’t going to make it in time and would be the last duck.  He chose instead to wander in the reeds.  It was scary but the next morning was full of exciting adventures with lots of river boats, long necked loons, and something I’ve forgotten.

The point is that at the end of the day he heard a familiar whistle and scrambled to find the boat so he could be reunited with his mother.  Of course he was the last duck and got thwunked.  Of course he didn’t mind because he deserved it and he was now warm and safe.

I always liked Ping.  When my mother was in graduate school and we would visit her and go to the library, I always wanted Ping and something by McCloskey – preferably One Morning in Maine.

This morning I felt a bit like Ping.  I parked my truck in the lot and heard the train whistle.  I’ve been proud and spent the extra half hour sitting around but it was raining and I have a meeting so I ran for it.  The conductor didn’t hit me with a big stick but I got the glare and the “Next time I won’t wait” speech.

"Don't blink."

I’m really liking this new ultrabook vs. the iPad for writing.  Being able to work directly in Final Draft and Word is nice.  Being able to use Power Structure on the go is very nice.  Being able to use them all at once is… slow.  It works, but I think the machine that was twice the price would handle it better.  When I am writing in FD but fast switching back and forth with PS for reference, I can end up a couple of sentences ahead of the application.  There’s a good buffer so as long as I’m accurate it isn’t that big of a deal, but it does slow things down.

I type quickly, but not that quickly.  Unless you hunt and peck you’ll have the same issues if you do what I did and buy the cheapest, smallest machine you could find.  The one that was twice the price probably doesn’t have the same issue.  In the old days I’d worry about battery life with the faster processor but it advertised 8 hours.  That’s impressive.  I’m impressed with the 5-6 I’ve been getting from this one.

The good news is that I don’t have any issues at all running a single application and that usually how I roll.  The really good news is that my concerns over the larger footprint are completely unfounded.  I didn’t think an extra inch LxW would be that big of a deal but I didn’t expect it to actually be better!  This little computer is far more stable on my lap than the iPad was.

That’s very convenient when you are switching to a siding to go around a broken down freight train.

Completely unrelated, I watched the “Weeping Angels” episode of Dr. Who last night and I have looked over my shoulder about six times while writing this post.  It’s been a long time since TV has made me jumpy.  Maybe I should cut back on the coffee.  I absolutely love how the show runners are able to switch between laugh out loud silly and pull the covers over your eyes scary using the same premise and characters.  Brilliant.

SWAK

April 1.  I should probably make some sort of joke or play a trick or something today, but I’m not really in the mood.  The sun is shining, I have a good seat, and tricks aren’t very nice.  I played a doozy once, about 17 years ago.  My wife worked with a very nice lady who had gone out to the post office during her lunch break.  When she came back to the office she was complaining about the poor service and how much trouble she was having shipping a package overseas.  She told my wife that she had said to the clerk, in a burst of frustration, “That’s right, I’m mailing a bomb to Poland!”

Obviously she wasn’t sending a bomb.  I was given the intel and then called to speak with this very nice lady who didn’t deserve what happened.  When I called her, I said I was a postal inspector responding to a report that she was a terrorist.  That’s impersonation and is against the law, but I didn’t know that then.  She became quite upset, naturally.  As I said, she was a very nice lady.  I still feel bad about that.

I can’t say that I haven’t played any jokes on people since, but it’s a big part of why I don’t any more.

Remember yesterday's post?  Guess what?  I met another writer (Harmony McGuire) shortly after posting!

"That's something only people like you do."

I read "Pan's Labyrinth" yesterday.  (I haven't watched the film.)  Before reading the script I had wanted to see it.  Now I'm thinking, nahh.

It was terribly depressing, had bits and pieces of fairy stories, and felt like a rip-off of "For Whom the Bell Tolls" which isn't really fair because the author is Spanish, it is his history, and anything serious set around the Spanish Revolution will compare to FWTBT.  I think my issue was that there were too many character with parts that weren't big enough to make them memorable.  There was also quite a bit of sudden -- and extreme -- cursing which completely didn't fit with the dialogue.  I'm wondering if it is a story that has to steep and my opinion will change next week.

I don't mean to take away from the accomplishment of film, this is clearly a case of the script only hinting at the true story -- a feat often possible only when the author is also the director.  It was a wildly successful film and there are plenty of people who enjoyed it.

The only chap I met who saw it and liked it was from Manchester, England.  We were taking a class together when it came out and several folks had seen it and nobody else (all Yanks) liked it.  I guess it just lacked the gravity to draw in American audiences.

Come on, that was funny.

I think the word you're searching for is "Space Ranger"

How many tricks does your pony have?  One?  Two?  Infinity?  My wife an I played a game with our children as they were growing up about who loved who more.  They usually ended at infinity times infinity to the infinity power.  (And Mrs. Hooper said I'd never use imaginary numbers...)  That's how many tricks your pony needs if you want to stay with something creative -- job, hobby, whatever.

Okay, so infinity times infinity to the infinity power isn't actually an imaginary number -- just a silly number -- but the point is still important.  A one trick pony won't get you very far.  Maybe that's enough for you but somehow I don't think so.  I think settling for one trick is subtle way to quit.

Speaking of one trick, the only imaginary number I can remember from 9th grade is "the negative radical."  "You can write it," said Mrs. Hooper, "But you can't ever get to it."  Maybe for a mathematician.  But I'm an author with the power to create reality.  I can take you to infinity... and beyond.

Who are you writing for?

John Steinbeck gave us 6 "rules" for writing.  I've read them several times in different places but there's a difference between knowing something and knowing it.  Yesterday I read them again.  I can't remember all six.  In fact, I can only remember 1.  Probably because I've heard variations on the other 5 so many times that it all sort of runs together.

That rule I remember?  Forget about your audience.  It doesn't exist.  Reading is a solitary action and everyone has a different experience.  So pick one person and write for that person.   Just that person.

I've got a short story going that was struggling from trying to sound literary.  How silly.  It needs to sound like me telling a story to someone.  Someone specific.

Steven King wrote about this in his book -- I have a tickling memory that he actually quoted Steinbeck -- and added the concept of "first reader."  You don't have to write for your first reader, but you need to write for one person.  Even if that person isn't someone you know, or someone who is even alive.  It will keep your story focused.

I remember another of his rules -- always say your dialogue aloud -- but I'd forgotten because I've always done that.  I hope you have too.

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.

"I had my heart set on becoming an English teacher,..."

Oh, the importance of routine.  I was ahead of schedule today.  By quite a lot.  Then I broke the routine and left the house a bit later than usual.  Hit a different traffic pattern.  Missed my train.  Which is to say that I beat the train to the station but had to park too far away to get across the tracks before it arrived.

I am not one to race with trains, climb under or around them when not engaged in my official duties, or stress about missing one when there's another about half-an-hour after.  (That's an interesting construction -- is it legal?)

One of the routines I am currently engaged in is checking the blog "Daily Writing Tips" (http://www.dailywritingtips.com/) during lunch break while I eat my peanut butter and love sandwich.  It's a great source of information about how to use the English language correctly.  I find it to be to the point, filled with all of the examples I ever need in a format that's easy to skip over if I don't need them.  The topics are varied but applicable.  I've actually learned somethings.

And forgotten them.  Which is why I check every day...

"Don't write about the weather. Ever."

*** R&A has exceeded 8000 page views.  Thank you!

Elmore Leonard is going to roll over in his grave at this, but I just can't resist commenting on the weather this morning.  The sun is brilliant, there's a dusting of snow, and the roads are slick with ice.  Nothing special there, I know, but by this afternoon we'll have picked up 30 degrees and gone from below normal to above normal.  A dramatic change like that, with the climax providing such a wonderfully warm feeling and foreshadowing the season to come is like the best of stories.

I'm pondering the writing process this morning – specifically the outline.  As longtime readers know, I'm a huge fan of The Blackboard online community.  Recently I’ve noticed a huge difference in the way that writers work.  Some won't write the first word until they've detailed the entire story.  Others won't do more than sketch a rough map of the plot that their characters will follow.

I never used to outline.  If a story took more than a few thousand words I either didn't finish it because I didn't know where it was going or didn't finish it because it was a rambling mess.  I wrote a few months ago about how much I thought outlining was a good idea now, and how using index cards was, in point of fact, one of the best ideas out there.

Now that I've been writing seriously every day for a year, I'm not so sure that outlining is the cat's meow.  This is to say that I think you must write longer stories (screenplays and novels) with a plan, but you don’t necessarily want to be burdened with every detail.  I can see how that really does stifle creativity.  For this most recent story I didn't plot it out with index cards.  I wrote the treatment and then used that as an outline for the first draft.

I worry that for many writers the in-depth outline is a crutch to keep from starting.  For others it's the desire to minimize rewrites by making the first draft better.  There's also the folks who do it because they think they must.

So what is the outline really?  For me it's the original plan of how to get from A to B including snippets of dialogue and characterization.  It isn't I.A.1.a or 40 index cards divided into 4 sections.

I've just started using a new program that I refer to as "my creative secretary" -- spotting holes, dangling characters, and where the story arcs fall flat.  (I'll review it once I've finished a project with it -- I hate the summary judgments by people who test the features but not the application.)

It should help me write a tighter, more exciting, and entertaining tale.  But it still has to be me writing it, structure alone is boring.

"It's not as bad as it looks."

Watched a couple of basketball games last night.  (You may have caught the tweet about one ref explaining the rules to the other ref...)  It was a double header -- sort of -- #3 and #4 both had games, fortunately at the same place and in succession.

                My wife and I were struck by the differences between the two games.  Specifically, the size and skill of the boys playing.  There was only one grade between them but the contrast between the older and younger players was astounding.

                First, the boys were all much bigger.  They were stronger, faster, and more coordinated.  Second, they demonstrated better ball handling -- some were better than others, but at this next level, they all had the basics.

                I suspect that those boys on the older team don't realize how much better they've gotten.  Or how much they’ve grown.  The change occurred too slowly to notice themselves.  But in one year all of that little growing has added up.

                A lot can happen in a year, even if it's only a page or two each day.  (See how I slipped in a bit about writing?)  Breakthroughs are great, but you can’t count on them.  What you can count on is enhancement.  Slow, steady progress toward mastery.

Write around the block

There is writer's block.  But it's a choice.  You may be blocked on a specific project, just can't figure it out, and that's got to be hard.  But it shouldn't block your writing altogether.  Write something else for a season.

Or perhaps you have something specific to write about but you just can't get it together.  No worries, Mate.  Write it all falling apart.  Then start it again.  And again if you must.  Just keep putting it down.  Your body knows how to write.  Your brain knows it has to write.  Get yourself rolling down the hill, pop the clutch, and you'll be off to the races before you know it.

It's sort of like running in that the first half mile or so always makes you want to throw-up but then, once your brain discovers that you are more stubborn, and you are doing this, it stops complaining, stops making excuses, stops teasing you with chocolate glazed donuts, and gets down to the business of pounding out miles.  Or words.

If you're afraid of the blank page put a word on it.  Then it isn't blank.  If it's the wrong word you can change it.  You know how to do that.  And you know to try a different word.  Trust yourself.

It will come.

"Where's the snow?"

Tuesday.  And my office is closed because it will start snowing at any minute.  Any minute now.  Snow.  Momentarily.  Keep your eyes peeled.  It’s about to start.  The snow.  Any second.

While we wait, let me catch you up on this week.  This is the last week of minority for #1.  I’m thinking that might be a big deal for his parents, or not.  It’s sort of in the middle of things.  It won’t be as terrifying as graduation.  He’s got some plans for his party and we’ll be going on a field trip later this afternoon to get the supplies.  (Because my office is closed.)  (Because it’s going to snow.)  (Any second.)

I write on a train.

                

I entered a contest last week.  (In addition to 5 minute fiction).  It’s the Glimmer Train Short story competition.  Entries close January 31.  GlimmerTrain is probably the aspiring literary author’s best friend.  As such, everyone wants a piece of the pie.  Harvard has a higher acceptance rate.  But the difference is that Harvard’s applicants are prescreened and anyone can give Glimmer a whorl.  I never have.  It’s always been a bit too lofty for me.

                But not anymore.  You have the option of just submitting to the magazine or entering into one of their many contests.  I went for the contest because the reading fee is very low and I’m starting to come around on the idea of contests.  Why?

                Quite simply, a contest creates focus.  You have a deadline, often a specific format and topic, and you need to do your best.  There are stakes so it makes a difference whether or not you actually try.  It also gives you a chance to see if you’re making any progress.  Now, most contests are a bit arbitrary (all of them, quite a bit, actually) but so is the publishing market.  And a win in a respected contest is a great way to get meaningful journals (and anthology collections) to publish your work.  And the snow ball grows.

                Once the snow starts, anyway.  Which could happen At. Any. Second.

"We divide human drives into three groups..."

Don't be like this man.

Writing is a solitary act, no doubt about it, but to have something to write about you can't be a hermit.  Which is to say that you can be, but you run the huge risk of not writing anything that anybody else cares about -- how are you going to know what is interesting people these days if you don't engage with them?

But if you spend a lot of time engaging with people, you may find yourself in the difficult position of having a billion stories to write without a moment to actually get any of them down.  Interacting all of the time takes away the necessary alone time needed to formulate plots/characters and then put them on parchment.

There have been some very successful hermits, but from my experience (and you may be able to find better examples), the hermits don't write very much and are reported to be very cranky.  The one that jumps out at me is J.D. Salinger.  Hardly as prolific as his contemporaries.  And then there's Ted Kaczynski.

There is also the balance of your writing life against the rest of your life.  There is a certain truth to the adage that "a writer is always writing" and, to the extent that our life experience informs our writing, that's true; but you can't actually be actively writing/plotting all of the time without missing out on the world around you.  Can people do it without burning out?  Sure.  But during their month long stay at the cabin in the woods on the lake are they catching any fish -- or are they shushing anyone who comes out onto the deck to chat because it’s too distracting as they write?

If you write to pay the bills then you have to treat writing like any other job.  If you write to define your life then your self-identity can't afford a break to smell the roses.  But if you write to enrich your life, to satisfy a passion, then you most assuredly must take time to walk among the living and partake of the richness around you.

" Gee whiz, Professor!"

Have you ever wondered how long it took Gilligan to get the Minnow completely lost?  Sure, we all know it was a three hour tour, but how long is that, really?

I'll tell you.  It's the amount of time it takes to travel 8 miles on I-95.

Am I suggesting that they were wrecked a mere 8 miles from where they were supposed to be?  You tell me... I don't know what traffic is like in Hawaii.  But something tells me I'd like to find out.  They aren't being sucked into the Polar Vortex of Doom like the rest of the country.

Speaking of Vortexes of Doom, I am getting a bit impatient for my next "acceptance letter."  This is taking a bit too long to transition from polite rejection to "here's some cash for your train ticket."  I currently have 7 or 8 pieces out for consideration.  I'm actually sort of thrilled that I don't recall the exact count without checking my roster.  A good friend put me on to the philosophy of a very successful and prolific author whose mantra was, "If I'm in the mail, I'm alive."

Of course, with lots of stuff in the mail, you have to track it.  Most editors don't like you to send the same story to more than one market at a time and none of them like to see the same story more than once -- without explicit invitation -- so it's vitally important that you remember where your pieces are and who has already seen them.

I use Excel for that.  I created the spreadsheet in Quattro Pro back in 2001 or 2002, and then converted it around 2004.  Back then it only had about 10 markets and a half dozen stories.  I would mark the grid with the date I sent the story to a specific market and color code it pending.  When the rejection came back I'd mark it... rejected.  When I had the one acceptance I marked that too, but since it was the only one for a decade, that was sort me being a bit, um, you know the word.

Now the spreadsheet has grown to a score of markets and an equal number of stories.  I've added markings for the markets that allow multiple submissions and another for rejections that were accompanied by comments.  It's getting a little convoluted.

I'm also a data hound.  I love data.  Can't get enough of it.  I look for trends in everything and while my desk may not be the most orderly (it isn't messy, exactly), I'm obsessive about organizing data.  I'm going to have to convert my roster to Access so that I can track more data points but still keep it organized.

Then, when I don't feel like writing prose, I can write queries that will tell me all sorts of statistics about my submission history and pretend that the insight is going to make me a better author.

"They just want a good show, that's all they want."

A quick plug for the 5 minute fiction contest this week -- it's an "all day" prompt, you've got until midnight to post a 500 word story.  Go for it!

We watched "Hunger Games" this weekend.  Both my wife and I were very impressed.  I'll write more about that another time, today I want to focus on a comment that #4 made when we were watching it.  (He's seen it a couple of times.)

"That would be a really cool job."

Say what?  Both of his parents were very concerned.  He said it during a time when the games were in full swing and terrible things were happening.  But that isn't what he was talking about.  In the middle of the horrible chaos, the slaughter and greed and bloodlust, he saw something wonderful.

World building.  In the control center, engineers and operators created trees, rivers, fires, storms, and creatures.  What they designed with their virtual reality CAD systems came into very non-virtual being.  It was window dressing to me until he mentioned it, just part of the well-crafted world the story moved through, but it was a detail that captivated his imagination.  Beyond Legos, Minecraft, and even free-wheeling imagination in our backyard.

I wonder how much thought Ms. Collins put into that particular aspect of her tale.  I wonder how many other people were distracted from the carnage by the limitless technology.  When I was his age I had a game for the Commodore 64 called "Raid on Bungling Bay."  It remains one of my all-time favorite games ever.  I played it all the time -- flying my helicopter around the world of islands playing tag with the enemy.  Years later I read an article about the man who wrote it (remember those days?  A single designer/programmer?) and he was talking about his inspiration for the huge hit, "Sim City."

Apparently he wrote a utility to help him build the world of RoBB and it was so much fun to use that he made that utility into its own game - SC.  The world of Panem would be much better if the government turned the arena control center into its own game too.  Not as exciting to read about/watch, but a much better place to live.