Writer's Woes

I can't believe what just happened to me. I had just finished composing a blog entry using the Google toolbar access to Blogger, and when I attempted to post the blog, I got a blank screen and a message saying "action not available." To make it worse, I could not go back and retrieve what I had written. My carefully contrived post is now floating somewhere in cyberspace, most likely, never to be seen again. I am very exasperated. I started blogging about how I produced my first book, going into some details, and writing about new projects I have begun. I am in the midst of a young adult novel using my grandchildren as models for the characters. The second project is a sequel to my first book, Double Trouble on Corned Beef Row, and is giving me fits. There are so many variables, that I am having a difficult time tying the pieces together. However, I am not one to give up easily when confronted with a problem that seemingly has no solution. The fact that it took me 18 months and eight rewrites to finish my first book proves that. It may take me a while, but I will figure it out. It is the solutions to the problems I faced during the process is what sets Double Trouble on Corned Beef Row apart from every other book out there.

A writers work is never done

I have started on a new project in hopes of capturing a new audience. People between say, 10 to 17 years old. I know it is a stretch for a man my age trying to write for youngsters like them, but I have been a storyteller all my life and have had more than a little success making up yarns for kids.
When my friend Richard Reilly would invite me up to his home in the western part of the state, I would tell spooky stories to his kids in the evening. These were 10 through 15 year old's, and to keep them attentive for an hour or more listening to me contrive stories was no mean feat. If they wanted to, they could watch cable TV or play video games. I told my tales in a style reminiscent of old time radio programs like "Lights Out," or "Inner Sanctum" that had engrossed me when I was growing up. I hope this latest endeavor that uses my grand kids as models works the same way.
While writing this one which has a working title of " the Berger Kids Meet Spiny Funkle," I am still promoting my novel "Double Trouble on Corned Beef Row." I have entered Amazon.com's Breakout Novel contest, and set up a second book signing at "Greetings and Readings," a top flight local bookstore. The last one was a roaring success, and they are happy to have me back again. Additionally, I am coaching another old man (like me) who aspires to being an author and passing on some of my experiences. I tried to make clear that promoting one's work is by far the hardest thing for a self published author to do. This blog is proof of the pudding.

Golden Years? Who the HELL dreamed that up?

I talk to my sister, Donna, on the phone every Tuesday. Most of our conversations are about how we are both coping on a day-t0-day basis. I have to admit her life is more interesting than mine. She has three sons, two of them are close to her, all three have kids of various ages. The oldest has three: two are married, the third is going to community college. The middle son has two, a son who is married with one child, and a daughter in high school. The youngest is married with three kids: all under six years old. It is usually these latter grandchildren who dominate the conversation. I have one unmarried daughter who has no interest in children or old people. That includes me. I can understand why she has such an aversion to the elderly. She was dragged along on visits to a series of nursing homes where her grandmother (her mother's mother) was housed after she fell and broke her hip. This woman was never going to win Grandmother of the Year. She was the most demanding and selfish woman I ever met. To make matters worse, she didn't talk, she screeched! Her voice grated on you like fingernails on a chalkboard. She did nothing to rehabilitate after her accident but complain about everything. She had complained about everything all of her life. It was a constant gripe session. No wonder the girl hated being around her. I did, too, but had to bite my tongue for my wife's sake. Now, I, too, am old. At 71, with not much to talk about except my writing, my shop projects (which do not interest my daughter), and my aches and pains, there is little to engender a desire to be around me. And besides, she live 40 miles from me. My golden years are severely tarnished. I have a mind full of marvelous things to do, but a body than won't let me do them. I had to give up my motorcycle, one of my greatest joys about a year ago, and I miss it. When I lost it, I not only lost a means of transportation, I lost the freedom and exhilaration that came with riding it. There is no other way to put it: getting old sucks. If I could catch the person who came up with the notion of Golden Years, I would rip out their tongue and beat them over the head with it.

No Imagination?

My sister and I have a ritual we perform each week. We have a telephone conversation every Tuesday. She called today because she is going on a trip tomorrow. She told me about spending the weekend with her two youngest grandkids. She said after an exhausting day, they wanted her to read them a story at bedtime. The only problem with that is they want to look at pictures while she reads it. She wanted them to go to sleep. Her solution was to TELL them a story which she made up. She had them close their eyes and IMAGINE what she was saying. She started narrating, and one of the first characters in it was a unicorn. When she was ready to finish the story, Aidan, the youngest, said, "Grandmom, I see it!" "What do you see?" she asked. He answered,
"the unicorn." If kids nowadays have no imagination, we can only blame the grown ups who have robbed them of needing one with Xbox, Wii, and TV. Where are we going to get our next generation capable of creative thinking? Creating your own fun out of your imagination is part of growing up. At least it was for me.