Confessions of a Would Be Novelist

Something is brewing. Fruit is ripening. The initial stirrings of new things are rustling in the rafters of my mind. One of the things that I have always wanted to be is a novelist. Oh, I've written one small novelette and this was to be a series of books. But after writing that, life happened, and I was KO'd and down for the count. The count has been going on for years now. Ten years to be exact since I wrote that book. Now, I am at a crossroads, wondering if I should attempt to do it again. Ten seconds is allowed for a boxer to get to his or her feet after a knockdown. Maybe for me, the number ten was in years, and I am finally gathering my body parts and flexing them to stand.

From all indications, it would appear so. In recent months, my nonfiction writing has jacked up a notch. I am more confident. I finally know that I can write. More people are reading what I have written. But here's the thing. Writing is 10% inspiration, 90% perspiration. My problem is I actually fear that perspiration.

It took me two years to write my first book. Such a commitment! And actually a painful thing to birth characters that will be with me for the rest of my life. These ones become almost like they are real in a parallel world. Writing creatively is much like an altered consciousness. The writer goes into another mode. It affects life around them while they are bringing forth this story.

I feel I must overcome my fear of this commitment. The kind of person that I am dictates that whatever is before me that looms up and begs to be overcome, I have to do it. I must sharpen my sword pen and see how I might slice open the real world with it and insert that which I would create. This just might be the huge wave I am waiting for that will pick up my little rowboat and send it off in a new direction.

Death of the Voice Called Neda

I know that many people in the Middle East hate us and especially in Iran. However, watching the news reports after Iran's presidential election causes me great pain. I think this empathy is occurring all over the world. The infected sore of downtrodden peoples wherever they may be seems to have been lanced by the election tampering there, and pus is spilling out into the streets of that land.

And it is not a worldwide feeling of relief after this lancing. It is only making the wound more sore. It's a feeling of not only unfairness by a ruling factor, but insult after the wounding. They are even poking peoples' eyes out! A Twitter reported this morning that several surgeries have been done where eyeballs have had to be removed after police poked eyes with their sticks.

The Iranian government has unwittingly given the people a rallying point as a result of their violent response to the peaceful demonstrations in the death of the young girl named Neda. I heard or read somewhere that the meaning of Neda is "the voice." In death, this young girl has become more famous than she might ever have become in life.

"The voice" of free speech may even be near death's door in this country as well. Not via a bullet, however. Democratic governments have learned that the way to handle the voice of dissension is to tolerate and ignore it, and if that doesn't work, assassination of character via the news media normally takes care of it.

At this point in history, we may only be able to stand and watch as the end of the voice comes upon us, just as Neda stood and watched the demonstration with her father on the street moments before her own death.

Sometimes the freight train of history creeps along instead of barreling down upon us. Yet it arrives unstoppable.

A Most Fascinating Bird

I continue to be fascinated with the catbird or bowerbird. These birds come in various colors of plumage such as gray, green, black or various others, but it is their mating ritual that sets them apart. Watch this bird make his bower. Completely amazing!

Characters Out of Time

My favorite thing in writing is characterization. A lot of plots and story lines might be forgotten, but when the characterization is at its best, you will never forget those characters. I have read many a book in my day, but when I think upon these, my thoughts mainly focus on the characters. Maybe it's just my age, and I can't remember things as well as I used to, but I like to think that I am remembering what is most important.

I would bet that there are few people who might read this blog who will remember Tambrey Tyree or "Tammy" from the book, "Tammy Out of Time" by Cid Ricketts Sumner. I remember the day I found this book, already old and yellow, in our bookshelf at my family home in Columbus, Ohio. This was a great find on a boring summer afternoon. It had belonged to my grandmother, and if I did Roman Numerals, I would tell you what year it was copyrighted. Later on, Debbie Reynolds played this character in a couple of movies. But the characterization in the book was the very best. I still have this book, around fifty years later, and consider it one of my greatest treasures.

I love the characterization in the short story, "Sitting in the Catbird Seat," by James Thurber as well. I thought of that story and named this blog in honor of it. This got me to thinking about James Thurber and I realized I had not really read a lot of his stuff. Amazon had a used copy of the complete works of James Thurber, so I splurged and bought it. That may be fodder for other blog entries.

Maybe it is just me, but in recent times, I have not come across many characters who become bigger than the page and remain almost like real people who will endure forever. People who made it sad to finish the book because you were leaving them and would never venture upon another story trail with them again.

I think perhaps I have been left behind in a general change of culture where it's "the faster the better," "more action please," and "don't get too deep into their minds." I don't even like a lot of the characters and could care less what they are doing.

The characterization, at least in my opinion, that remains as the best example of creating a totally unique character in the fewest amount of words is C. S. Lewis' Eustace Scrubb from "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader." The first sentence of this book almost says it all: "There was a boy called Eustace Scrubb, and he almost deserved it."

Gee, I love that kind of talk!

Playing for Change

I received a wonderful video via one of those email "pass arounds" from friends. Here is the website connected to it:

Leg Hair is Important in the Whole Scheme of Life

Have you ever noticed how much leg hair figures into what happens in your life? I'm amazed at this phenomenon. Tiny hairy immersions from a person's legs can determine what you might do at any given time.

How about those doctor's appointments? What woman would dare go in there and put her legs into those stirrups with leg hairs showing? (As a side note, I even wear nicer underwear as well even though the doctor is never going to see them.)

Leg hairs also can determine what you wear on other occasions. A dress, capris, or shorts? Bet you don't with long leg hair.

Those pesky leg hairs are such a good indicator of the passage of time. Time tends to slip away quite fast, but those leg hairs function like a natural, on board time piece keeping tabs on seconds, minutes and days. I looked at my legs the other day and discovered unimaginably long hairs. Why, I must not have shaved in a long, long time. How did that happen? Shazam! That time really flew by without me realizing it. Yes, the length of leg hairs can be quite a surprise during an otherwise uneventful day.

Leg hairs even had a comedic moment assigned to them in the movie, "Return to Me." Bonnie Hunt tells Minnie Driver not to shave her legs because unshaven legs kept her from having sex on a first date. Wow, that is quite a responsibility assigned to the lowly leg hair.

Once, I saw a talk show where during a close up of one woman's legs, she apologized for not having shaved. Even starlets secretly solve cases of long leg hair by wearing pants. Boy, did she ever get caught on national TV!

Now, since I've pointed this out to you, just notice how much leg hairs figure into your life. It beats watching paint dry.

The World Still Needs "Uncool" People

I was watching "The Antiques Roadshow-UK" on BBC America recently when a disturbing subject was discussed. You wouldn't think The Antiques Roadshow would have anything even mildly disturbing, but to me, this was. The appraiser was talking about a metal sign that was taken from an old train locomotive when he pointed out that he and the collector thought it was valuable, but the next generation probably wouldn't. It conceivably was only valuable now in the eyes of these beholders.

That got me to thinking. As one who has lived long enough to witness changes in culture, I wonder how we might save the qualities that are worth saving. What would happen if the world is transformed into the cool people that it would seem are the goal of most youngsters, and we don't have up and coming eccentric talents and intellectuals who are just doing what they do? Are there still uncool people in the making?

The world still needs uncool people, but I doubt if it is the goal of many. This is evidenced by the Susan Boyle phenomenon recently on Britain's Got Talent. Nobody would ever have considered her to be cool; and therefore, the conclusion was that she could not possibly be anybody worth giving their attention to. Ah, but she is from the camp of the uncool, one of those sitting on a hidden volcano of talent just waiting to come to the surface and spew. A major feature about her is her very uncoolness.

Who figures out what is cool anyway? Personally, I'll take uncool any day of the week. At the least, it would be comforting to know that someone somewhere is in training to keep those old locomotive signs and such in safekeeping.