Sunday morning.
...I'd planned on sleeping in. After all, if ever it were possible to do so, one would think this day, of all days, the odds were in my favor.
The dog apparently never received the memo however, and by seven a.m, decided his bladder was full enough.
Boxing him one in the chops would only result in a day's worth of guilt, so I bit my tongue, rolled out of bed, and followed a stubby tail to the back door.
I read a line from a book once that said, "once you're up, the damage is done. You might as well make something of it."
The hour called for caffeine, and with it, the promise of a sun's grin. I obliged...
By eight o'clock I was on the back deck, finishing up the first round of edits on, "The Fall." (Watch for it soon on Amazon ;)
Nine-thirty found the dog prancing around in the back yard as if he owned the place. Who am I kidding? His name's Prince for a reason.
Watching him chase frantic robins to higher elevation got me to thinking...
By ten, I was at the high school track, MP3 in hand, rounding the asphalt at a faster clip than I'd earlier anticipated.
At two miles I eased to a walk, feeling cocky, tossing around such thoughts as, "Getting old? Not on this day."
Found myself no longer alone at the track. Watched a married couple, likely my age, give or take a year, begin speed walking from the 400 meter dash mark. I considered their pace, thought, "yep, I got some left," and decided to show off a bit. (At 38, one savors such opportunities.)
Home by eleven. Was greeted with a hug by my daughter, who so graciously ignored the sweaty t-shirt. (She'd used the last of her allowance to buy me a watch for Father's Day. That talent for giving, I do believe she gets it from her mother ;)
My young Hoopster managed to crawl out of bed while I was busy lapping those walkers, and decided on surprising his pop with breakfast. I returned home to waffles.
A few hours later found us at the gym, The Hoopster working up a sweat at his weekly basketball clinic, showing up the high school boys, (he's twelve and learning fast.)
And it was then when my phone began jittering from my pocket.
"Hello?"
"Hey Dad."
"Hi Son. How was your day on the lake."
"Awesome. The waves made for some wicked tubing."
"Good to hear."
"Hey Dad, I just wanted to call and wish you a Happy Father's Day. Hope you had a good day."
"Thanks Son. That means a lot. And yes, I did. Wanna watch a movie or something tonight?"
"Yep, I'll be there!"
...maybe I'm growing soft with age, perhaps even nostalgic. But those three, and this day, that's what it's all about ;)
Thanks for reading,
El
http://www.amazon.com/South-Charm-A-Novel-ebook/dp/B005DJ945A/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1340068616&sr=1-1&keywords=south+of+charm+by+elliot+grace
...edit work can be enjoyable if not swallowed whole. Any attempt at cramming the entire process into a 24-hour marathon session in order to make one's deadline, will only create further migraines, (literally,) and a finished product that will mirror the quality of work that was put into it.
So says my editor..
His advice? While trudging through the pains of edit work and re-writes, allow some spare time to read something...anything, from one of the greats. It may be a sacrifice, but one worth gambling on. For that book, whatever is chosen, be it good, or not so much, may in fact guide one's re-write along the journey as if holding one's hand while crossing a busy intersection.
Lingering doubts? Trust me, it works ;)
My choice for reading material while editing "The Fall," is Stephen King's "11/22/63," an eight hundred page monster that asks the question, "what if you really could go back and undo the past, armed with the knowledge of our future?"
Would it be possible to re-write a wrong? To change the world as we know it? Or would that only restructure the inevitable?
After all, as rumor has it, the past doesn't want to change...
And sometimes, if cornered, it bites back.
Enjoy King's interview, and ask yourself, if it were possible to go back, just once, what would you change? Think about it...
El
...I found myself enjoying a little "me" time over the holiday weekend, and managed to pump out the final touches on a project that's been keeping my fingers in tune with the Piano Man for the past three months.
My novella, a story I've hesitantly titled, "The Fall," (odds are weighing heavily on a name change prior to signing on the dotted line ;) is finished, with edits soon to follow, which, come to think of it, I'm looking forward to.
Edits are indeed a necessary evil. They soak up available writing time in the same manner that my lab can lick her water bowl clean during these blazing temps. Looking back on past trials, the endless months that were sacrificed fine-tuning "South of Charm," brought me close enough to my characters to smell the flavor of chewing gum balled up under Danny Kaufman's tongue. Simply put, the art and challenge of an awe inspired edit, is where a story's soul is created. It's that important.
...and so I celebrated this weekend, sharing a toast with the wife, a movie with the little ones, a game of H-O-R-S-E with my hoopster-crazed son, and roasting 'smores over a late night bonfire.
Good times.
...and then I felt the urge for some quality reading material, and thought of my friends.
A click or two of the mouse led me to Amazon, and a few seconds later I secured "Slipstream," by fellow Blogger Michael Offutt.
http://www.amazon.com/Slipstream-ebook/dp/B007R5DN8W/ref=la_B0083CCEE2_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1338427705&sr=1-1
From there I skipped about until finding Wendy Tyler Ryan's "Fire's Daughter," one that was long overdue for purchase ;)
http://www.amazon.com/Fires-Daughter-Fire-Through-Time/dp/0986946605/ref=la_B00514KNSE_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1338427802&sr=1-1
I visited fellow 80's pal, Nicki Elson's seller page, and bounced away with her novel, "Three Daves."
http://www.amazon.com/Three-Daves-Nicki-Elson/dp/1936305097/ref=la_B003WRZY2C_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1338428034&sr=1-1
Then I stumbled upon Nicki's shorty, "Sway," and couldn't resist ;)
http://www.amazon.com/Sway-ebook/dp/B007C4JFS0/ref=la_B003WRZY2C_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1338428208&sr=1-3
Two clicks later and I found Robynne Rand's "Remembering You." Sorry Hon, but try as you might, you'll always be Anne to me ;)
http://www.amazon.com/Remembering-You-a-novel-ebook/dp/B0083IDAU8/ref=la_B0083WSJGY_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1338428472&sr=1-1
And not to be outdone, I couldn't go shopping without paying a visit to my pal from the bayou, Roland Yeomans.
http://www.amazon.com/THE-LEGEND-VICTOR-STANDISH-ebook/dp/B005NCUTAG/ref=la_B0086O40BM_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1338428635&sr=1-3
http://www.amazon.com/THE-RIVAL-chapter-STANDISH-ebook/dp/B007JOUJ60/ref=pd_sim_kstore_2?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2
http://www.amazon.com/END-OF-DAYS-ebook/dp/B0082ZJD08/ref=la_B0086O40BM_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1338428635&sr=1-2
I've got some reading to catch up on, and looking forward to it...
El
...since the first of the year, I've been drumming on a project, something a bit different from the usual sports-themed, Mitch Albom type of stories that I most enjoy penning.
Some time ago, a critique partner suggested I consider writing a little something in the romance genre. I scoffed at the notion, considering my masculinity at stake.
"Okay, whatever," was her response. "But like it or not, you're a sensitive writer. I think you'd do well."
"Well, maybe," I grumbled, setting aside the idea for later consideration. "It'll leave me something to think about on a rainy day."
...that rainy day arrived, and from it, "The Fall" was born.
A month ago, give or take, I introduced Jessica. I do believe it's now Johnny's turn to say hello...
It's still in infancy, but regardless, feel free to offer your thoughts... ;)
...5:45 p.m.
A groan rises from his throat. It leaves his mouth only to be quashed by the sounds of impending road rage festering from either side.
How could this be happening? He absolutely had to be there by six. He'd promised.
The drone of a nearby horn, this one from a semi, returned his attention to the bedlam stretched out before him. Cars and trucks of various sizes, lined up and boxed in, clogging both lanes of the road, engines humming, others grumbling, a few elderly models spewing clouds of smog into the air.
And rising in the distance, ribbons of soot, like oily snakes, etching black creases through an otherwise cloudless afternoon.
Leaning out the window, Johnny figures the wreckage to be strewn about along the mouth of the Cooper River Bridge. Most likely sightseers, too busy admiring the massive structure to pay any attention to their neighboring driver. A common occurrence.
Johnny follows the trail of steel cables rising to a peak, eyes squinting against the sun's late day grin. Upon completion, the bridge had quickly become one of Charleston's most impressive attractions. An engineering masterpiece connecting the outside world with Battery Street, Fort Sumter, and the historic cobbled streets of the Old South.
For Johnny, the Cooper River Bridge stands for something else entirely. He chooses to avoid the route whenever possible. And when forced into crossing Cooper's irritable current, he never looks down.
The urge to offer another scowl at the clock proves too difficult to avoid.
A trio of digital numbers smile in return. 5:44.
His patience waning, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, Johnny spots an approaching patrolmen, weaving through the logjam on foot.
Noticeably overweight, the police officer shimmies and slides between plastic bumpers and vibrating tailpipes, at times rising on tip toe to avoid making contact with countless vehicles sweltering in the heat. He comes to a stop several car lengths from Johnny's late model four-door, arms spread, palms rising and falling in an attempt at quieting what had become a cursing ruckus.
"It's blocked both lanes, I'm afraid," the policeman explains, chest heaving as if recently taking part in the yearly 5K run. "Glass and wreckage scattered half way to Summerville. It's a mess, but if ya'll can remain patient, we'll get things squared away real soon."
A chorus of grumbling travelers prevents Johnny from hearing the one piece of information he'd been hoping for. Sensing the minutes slipping through his fingers, he lunges forward, narrowly missing the swing of a nearby fist, a man sending a roundhouse right through the air in frustration.
"Sir!"
The aging cop ducks his shoulders as if fearing an assault. He turns, sees Johnny coming fast, and clutches the belt stretched across his waistband, fingers resting on the butt of his Taser.
Johnny skids to a stop, sensing the man's reluctance, and lifts both hands into the air. "Please sir, I just really need to know how long the clean-up's gonna take. I'm supposed to be somewhere."
Trails of perspiration drain from the officer's neck as if he were standing under a shower head. His cotton shirt, most likely white when he clocked in that morning, was now stained to a dingy gray. He exhales a sigh, realizing Johnny's intent, and runs a thick forearm over his scalp. Amid the chaos of screaming toddlers and flailing suits cursing into cell phones, the weary policeman studies the young man before him, considering his dilemma. Perhaps noticing the sincerity etched into his brow. Then he leans forward, a set of round shoulders slumping beneath the weight of moistened cotton and fatigue.
"I'm sorry, son. But unless you can run for it, you won't be gettin there anytime soon."
Johnny's gaze lowers to the pavement. He's about to turn back in the direction of his car, when he stops, repeating the cop's words under his breath. "Run for..."
The policeman again places his hands upon his hips. "You all right, son?"
Johnny opens his right hand, studying the car keys clutched inside. Then he turns to the officer, whose expression had grown to one of irritable curiosity.
"It's the beige Honda sitting behind that red pickup truck," he says.
Before the policeman can answer, Johnny swings his hand through the air as if waving farewell to a departing ship, his fingers releasing their hold on the keys. A flash of silver sails in an arc, over the roof of an idling Toyota. They bounce off the cop's belly, and offer a jingle as they fall to the pavement...
Thanks for reading ;)
El
...the following passage was written by Paulo Coelho.
Enjoy ;)
"I remember receiving a letter from the American Publisher Harper Collins that said: 'Reading The Alchemist was like getting up at dawn and seeing the sun rise while the rest of the world still slept.'
I went outside, looked up at the sky, and thought to myself, 'So, the book is going to be published in English!'
At the time, I was struggling to establish myself as a writer and to follow my path despite all the voices telling me it was impossible.
And little by little, my dream was becoming reality. Ten, a hundred, a thousand, a million copies sold in America.
One day, a Brazilian journalist phoned to say that President Clinton had been photographed reading the book. Some time later, when I was in Turkey, I opened the magazine Vanity Fair and there was Julia Roberts declaring that she adored the book. Walking alone down a street in Miami, I heard a girl telling her mother, 'You must read The Alchemist!'
The book has translated into fifty-six languages, has sold more than twenty million copies, and people are beginning to ask, 'What's the secret behind such a huge success?
The only honest response is, I don't know. All I know is that, like Santiago the shepherd boy, we all need to be aware of our personal calling..."
...scheduling conflicts and the daily grind can often treat one's personal time in the same manner as a moist sponge held under a leaky sink. If only enough quiet time remains for one great read over the summer months, choose wisely, and consider The Alchemist.
You can thank me later ;)
...keep writing, my friends.
El
...its an ongoing debate we storytellers scratch our heads and ponder on, beg for advice and inevitably lose more hours of sleep than any of us are willing to admit.
Whether or not to sacrifice one's time sending countless queries on their way to a multitude of slushpiles, in hopes of one day earning that big ticket...
or going for the quick fix, self-publishing one's pride and joy for a shot at instant gratification. And if the moons properly align, well...
For some the decision is simple, for others, its an uphill climb through a blizzard.
Having once traveled along both paths a time or two, experiencing my share of outcroppings and detours in either direction, the only advice worthy of sharing goes as follows...
Whatever you do, never send your work to the fellow in this video ;)
Keep writing, dear friends.
El
...there are times when a blank page yearns to stay that way. As a basketball coach, I consider it similar to those forgettable days when regardless of the effort, an invisible lid has been placed upon the rim, allowing the act of scoring a bucket to be an impossible feat.
Love it when that happens...
There are two sides to every coin however, and during those moments of literary bliss, when one's digits simply can not prod the keyboard fast enough, sacrifices are not only to be considered, but should be expected. (As long as the family can make do, that is ;)
Long story short, the latest project is running on all cylinders. Therefore, I'll be burning the midnight oil until the juices sputter and run dry. (For those of you in the know, I'm sure you get it.)
Upcoming, I'll be posting another excerpt from "The Fall," and have been stirring up something special in celebration of hitting the big 300. (Thanks everyone!)
In the meantime, please take a moment to enjoy my son's latest musical achievement. As it seems, while I've been hard at it, penning "The Fall," my son, (on guitar,) and his pal, (pounding the percussion,) have been working on their game as well.
Anyone ever hear of Seven Nation Army? You will now ;)
Enjoy!
El
