Category: Thinking, thinking

Air Future

Just imagine.

“This leg of your journey is sponsored by Progressive,” a soft voice states in your head as you stride along the beach. Progressive agents clad in their white and blue uniforms approach you with a smile and a tray of drinks.

“This is the life,” you say, accepting a glass of wine as a sea breeze and sunshine caresses your face.

You’d never believe you were flying thirty thousand plus feet above the earth, would you?

That’s the point.

Marketwatch posted a piece about air travel and passengers’ dissatisfaction with one another. As a result, most folks don’t like air travel. Instead of being a pleasurable method to go from one place to another, it’s become a gritty, exhausting experience.

So says me. My issues aren’t with the other passengers but the airlines. They cut services and space, increase ticket prices, improve their profit margins while customers like me and my wife suffer more and more. See, the older you become, the harder it is to wedge yourself into a tiny space.

Marketwatch did note that the airlines might be blamed for the rise of the irritating passengers.

“Why do planes seem to bring out the worst in people? “Planes are more crowded, seats are smaller, connecting times are shorter and amenities are growing more rare,” frequent traveler Nic Lesmeister told The Wall Street Journal in October, all of which stress passengers out and, experts say, may contribute to the bad behavior.

“He’s onto something. As MarketWatch reported in July: Airlines and plane manufacturers are reconfiguring planes to fit more people on them, shrinking (and in some cases eliminating) bathrooms, creating seats that don’t recline, and reducing the amount of legroom and the amount of padding in seats.”

Yeah, you think? IMO – you knew I’d have one – airlines need to do some quick fixes. Like what? Virtual reality, of course! Issue googles or glasses and plug us in as we enter. Create a different reality, something we’d like, to trick us into believing we were enjoying ourselves, rather than enduring a flying hell.

Yes, I know, costs, costs, costs! But with irritating passengers and air travel by volume on the rise, something needs done. Just think of the advertising potential. Flights, or segments of flights, and, or, aircraft could be sponsored by companies who would pay for the rights, like they do with sports stadiums. Companies could also bid for the naming rights for just the terminals, to help offset costs, and increase profits. Just imagine hearing them announce your six AM boarding call by saying, “Now boarding United Flight six seven three in the Home Depot terminal at the Red Lobster Gate. Flight six seven three is brought to you by Kellogg’s. Kellogg’s – the best to you each morning!”

Before and after your virtual interlude after seating yourself on the flight, your virtual reality sponsor can make an announcement. “This flight is made soothing by Verizon. Verizon, giving you the best world on the horizon.”

Come on, airlines, throw us a bone. Use some imagination and technology. Make it easier to for us to cope with one another and endure you.

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Personal Levels

Eva Lesko Natiello, author of ‘The Memory Box’ questioned, “Do readers need to like the protagonist?” in a Huffpost essay.

I thought, no. I think a reader needs to care about what will happen, given the situation, morality and ambiguity but I changed my wording from care about to need to know what will happen to the character.

Deciding I needed more input, I asked my wife, the reader, what she thought of the question. “No, readers don’t need to like any of the characters.” She offered as an example, ‘We Need to Talk About Kevin’, by Lionel Shriver. “That book was beautifully written. The story seemed so real that some people were confused as to whether it was true or fiction. I enjoyed the book, but I didn’t like any of the characters.”

Spoiler Alert Warning.

She continued, “The mother was cold and seemed emotionally distant. Her son was a screwed-up killer, who killed his father and his sister.” She didn’t like the father/husband at all. The daughter was a minor character who didn’t really play into her feelings.

Ms Natiello’s question prompted further thoughts. First, not all readers will bring or take the same aspect from novels. Considering readers’ reactions to books become fascinating. As Ms Natiello mentioned, she read a book review where a book was given one star. The comment was, “Hated the main character.”

Eva goes on about the things I’d thought. Some readers seem to think that it’s their duty to like the main character and base their reaction to the book on how they feel about the main character. It’s critical to one friend. A voracious reader, if she can’t like the main character, she can’t get into the book and won’t read it. Likewise, even if she reads the book, if she can’t relate to it on a personal level, she doesn’t like the book. Relating to the book on a personal level means that something she read in the book triggers a memory of a like experience. It’s a position that appalls me because it narrows the narrow aperture into which new experiences through books can enter.

Considering Eva’s question is a reminder of how personal books are to people, as readers or writers. I struggle with the idea of characters a reader will like or hate. My characters tend to be unreliable as narrators, betrayed by memory, expectations, emotions and intentions. It fascinates me to encounter people who believe they’re telling the truth but what they describe is completely contrary to what I witnessed. They’re not deliberately lying, but are viewing it through their own prism.

Likewise, because I will relate something different, it doesn’t mean that I’m correct, either. I can be just as flawed in what I witness and how I describe it.

Natiello’s post is an inviting read into these complexities. She concludes it as I would, “Most characters are not black and white. Personally, I love deeply flawed good guys and bad guys who elicit empathy. Other people like it when characters are strictly one or the other. Of course, I support anyone’s criteria for the books they choose to read. It’s a very personal decision, and it should be. I just don’t believe a book is bad because its characters may be.”

There you go. It’s an intriguing subject, and, like her, I wonder how other writers think about it.

6

Time Suck

What does space travel, laundry, and cats have in common?

Why, they’re all time sucks, of course.

My wife shared information from an article about time savings and modern American life. Most households, particularly women, have seen a dramatic decrease in how long it takes to prepare meals. It used to require about two hours per meal. Of course, breakfast was rarer in those days.

On the other hand, laundry is an area where people don’t save time. The reasons derive from our attitudes toward hygiene, washing clothes, the increasing specialization in clothing, and fashion. We have and wear more clothes, and change them for more uses, whereas we used to accept being a little dirtier. The increased quantity and specialization equals more time doing laundry.

My time sucks today were more prosaic and had less to do with modern living. One involved a clogged toilet in one bathroom, a clogged sink in another bathroom, and a vomiting cat.

I’d just finished bathing and dealing with the clogged sink when Quinn puked. I was whining to myself about the sink and my hairiness. I’m sure that’s what caused it. The master bath has two sinks, and it was my sink that was clogged. He bugged me for food. He’s a small critter with a high anxiety level that causes him to leap up and race out of a room, so I’m always trying to fatten him up and encourage him to eat more. I fed him, per his request.

Then it was time for some morning business. All was successful, until the flush. Water rose and nothing went down. As I swore about that, I heard puking in the other room. I raced out in time to witness Quinn heaved a hair ball and his meal.

His deed was done on the hardwood floor. That means clean it up ASAP. I grabbed toilet paper and did the task. It was still warm, of course. Some dribbled onto my hand. I gagged reflexively, not a lot, and not as much as I would have in the past. Still, I wonder what it is about warm puke that causes me to gag.

Then it was back to the toilet. I’m not usually religious but facing a clogged toilet usually coaxes a prayer out of me. “Come on, flush,” I said, flushing. Then I corrected myself, “Come on, go down.” My prayers were answered, restoring my uncertainty about God’s existence.

Back in the office, I encountered another time suck. The story in my novel in progress requires Handley to take a shuttle. She enters the airlock but then what does she do? What’s the Avalon‘s layout? To address that, I needed to make a cup of coffee. Coffee helps me think.

Then I sketched the shuttle’s layout with pencil and paper. I should have been satisfied, but my secret geek required me to go to the computer and Illustrator and do it properly. That led to demanding details about the shuttle’s space capabilities, intended purposes, crew requirements, cargo capability, blah, blah, blah….

Done at last, ninety minutes later. By now, I was staring at the rear end of ten thirty. Gadzooks, time had been sucked up.

Of course, I need to point out that space travel wasn’t really the time suck; it was the creative process of writing about it. Does that count as a time suck? Maybe not. I suppose that I didn’t need to go into such detail to create the shuttle, but that’s my nature.

I reckon that’s a confession. It’s really my nature that’s the time suck.

 

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Cold Therapy Update

My cold therapy continues. It’s been two weeks since my last hot shower. I believe I’m finally adjusting.

Mind you, the temperature outside has been dropping to the mid-thirties at night, so the water is wickedly cold when I shower in the morning.

I believe I’m adjusting. My scrotum no longer leaves, slamming the door behind it in protest. I used to turn on the water, count to three and then ease in, a body area at a time, starting with my head. Then I began counting to three and leaping in. Now I step up and turn the shower on.

Bracing, baby.

It is invigorating. I love toweling off now, mostly because I enjoy re-acquiring warmth and feeling in my body parts.

I do use hot water for my face afterwards, because I’m shaving. I did cold water shaving in the field in the military. It’s not something I’m going to do again, if I can avoid it.

 

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DeeMichael

I’m supposed to be writing, but instead I’m procrastinating. I know what I’m supposed to be writing. I wrote it in my head this morning. Then I got here, turned on the computer, opened my documents and said, ready, set…in a minute.

Instead, I surfed the news.

My name is Michael.

It’s a pretty damn common name. At one point, during the beginning of a conference call a few years, eight people were on. Four were Michaels, and one was a Michelle.

I was scanning headlines today, and I saw another variation of Davonte. I’ve seen several variations the last few days. I don’t know the name’s origins. At one point, it was pretty unique. Now it’s becoming common, although I don’t think it’s as common as Michael, yet.

But after that, I thought, I’d always wanted to change my name. I’m tired of being a Michael because there are so many Michaels. But what can I change it to?

The answer came to me today. Mom’s nickname is Dee. My name is Michael.

I could be DeeMichael.

Maybe that can just be my writer’s name, just to separate us and provide clarity when I’m talking to him and he’s talking to me. Right now, it’s just, “Michael this, Michael that.” It gets pretty Michael-tedious.

But if he becomes DeeMichael, we could have a better conversation. Instead of just urging Michael to write, I could tell DeeMichael, “Hey, man, get on it, DeeMichael. What’s the matter with you? You’re supposed to be writing.”

Giving my writing ego a different name can be tres freeing. I can tell others, “I was talking to my writing friend, DeeMichael, and he said that more Americans believe Elvis Presley is alive than believe Jesus ever existed. Over half of Americans believe Elvis is still alive.”

Michael – that’s me – is a shy, deferential guy in most situations. DeeMichael can have a more exuberant personality. He can be more energetic. Probably is. As my creation, I can also make him younger. He can have different tastes, hobbies and habits. He doesn’t drink alcohol. “I’m not adulterating my body. It’s my temple.” He does take in caffeine. “Coffee is good for you.” Facts don’t matter to him. “I’m a writer,” he says. “I’ll make up my own facts. According to an essay I read in the Union of Concerned Scientists newsletter, most facts are been overtaken by greater understanding and insights within ten years, and are no longer true. You can look it up. You know it’s true.

“Look how facts have changed in the last couple hundred years. Science used to say egg yolks were bad for you, and then egg whites. High cholesterol was supposed to be bad for you, too.

“Used to be that they said smoking cigarettes didn’t cause any problems. That’s a fact you can look up. Doctors and actors endorsed them. They wouldn’t endorse something that, something that hurt people, and they weren’t, because they thought they were safe. All the science said they were safe, and then it turned out that they’re not safe.

“Look at the use of mercury in hats. That was considered safe and normal. Lead in paint, lead pipes, lead in gasoline. For that matter, gasoline was a brand name, like Kleenex. It’s a fact. Look it up.

“People never thought humans could fly. Never thought they’d reach the Moon, neither. Now we have a secret Moon base established up there. It has a population of ten thousand.

“Oh, yeah, it’s up there. You don’t know about it because it’s secret. But I have a cousin with a friend? Used to work for the NSA. He told me that there’s a secret base up there. Ronald Reagan established it. The budget is secret. It’s part of the Defense budget. That’s why it keeps growing. What, you really thought it was to build a bigger military? Why? We already have the world’s largest, more powerful military. We don’t need a bigger, more powerful one.

“Reagan built that moon colony up there because they realized the climate was changing and there was nothing they could do about it. So the colony was established as a place to save humanity. They’ve taken all the important paintings and things up there already. Everything in the Louvre, MOMA, and all those places are fakes.

“That’s why climate denying is so important now. They need to ensure climate change takes place, or we’ve wasted a lot of money. Plus, studies have shown that if there’s global warming, flooding and storming, it’ll scour the planet clean. Then they can come back from the Moon and start fresh with a clean planet.

“Of course, some of these big storms, like that Cyclone Debbie that just hit Australia? Man made. Yep, we can control the weather. We’ve been able to control it on a small scale for the last twenty-five years. But now it can be done on a bigger scale. Cylone Debbie was another test.

“It’s true. You can’t look it up, not on the normal Internet, but you can look it up on the secret Internet. Yeah, that’s right, there’s a secret Internet, used by the United States government, along with some of the world’s wealthiest people. That’s where the truth resides. Once you become a billionaire, you’re invited to log on. It’s true, man. Someday, it’ll all come out. Then you’ll see.

“All those wars going on in the Middle East? Fake news, just to distract and confuse people. It’s a front to help divert resources to the moon base. And Donald Trump isn’t POTUS, either. That’s all a fake government. The real government works in secret. It’s not led by Barack Obama, either. All that political stuff coming out of Washington, D.C., is just for show. Believe me. It’s a fact. That’s why Congress never really passes anything. They’re just supposed to be putting on a show, which is exactly what they’re doing.”

That DeeMichael. I’ll tell you what, he’s quite a character.

 

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This Now

I read the epiphany once again. A separate, small document, fifty-three words, it has become my North Star, guiding me through the novel’s climatic seas of life, space and time. Since writing it five days ago, I open it every day. I’ve made one change to it since its creation.

This Now comes together. Now appeared to be a single playing card but when I grasped it in thought, Now revealed itself to be a deck of cards. I fan them out, seeing and understanding how this Now forms and exists. Beautiful. I think of the Chronicles of Amber and the Trumps of Doom, and smile. This is not the same, but thank you, Roger Zelazny, for your amazing imagination.

A thumb’s fingernail travels along the index finger’s nail on the opposite hand. I do this often as I sit and think when the words are marshaling in my mind. It comforts and balances me. I think of the tell in Inception. I remember the words, “Touch has its own memory.” That’s a key aspect of today’s approach. I remember looking at photographs of myself and seeing how differently I see myself in them from what I see in the mirror. It’s another aspect of today’s approach. I think of the lies we tell ourselves and others to survive, to succeed and thrive, and the truths that finally bend us to face a crises. It’s another aspect of today’s approach.

The quad-shot mocha is hot, sweet with chocolate and bitter with espresso, conflicting, complementing currents, perfect for writing about Now.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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D’jer Ever?

D’jer ever enter a public restroom, basically a one commode affair with a locking door, and stagger back from the smell? But then, you know…you gotta go. So you do so as quickly as possible.

Then, when leaving, you discover a line of people waiting to use the restroom. And you pause to think, ‘They’re going to blame that smell on me?”

That ever happen to you?

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When Writers Attack

Battling the usual monsters, I’m digging in for the fight. Fiction writing is supposed to be fun. Sometimes it gets ugly.

I respect the process of giving, taking, surrendering, losing ground and forging ahead. Every day seems like a fresh assault on my determination. Like others, I’ve learned that creativity is messy. Stay in it for the long haul, you need patience, endurance and stamina. Add a tincture of insanity, a cup of insecurity and a dollop of angst, and you pretty much have your standard writer. Bake at a secret temperature until undone or burnt to an unrecognizable crisp.

While girding my mind for the trip to this morning’s writing front, I procrastinated. I read others who I enjoy who’d just posted, like Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha, The Excited Writer and Seeds4Life, and caught up with Chris Rodell’s humorous post on the swim meet from Hell.

Nichole on The Excited Writer linked to another post, ‘Patience Over the Long, Long Haul’, by Tracy Hahn-Burkett. Like Nichole, the piece spoke to me about the writing stew and how writers stew and simmer while struggling.

I was fortunate. Each of these posts gave me something that I needed today in their words, observations and messages. A large part of blogging for me isn’t just posting the strange thoughts bubbling through me, flexing myself to begin serious writing, or writing to understand what the hell I’m thinking, but also, and as importantly, to read others in my tribe. These posts today united in a nice synergy of humor and reminders that we may write alone but we’re not alone. They inspired me to press on.

I’m fortunate because I found that encouragement in these posts. I read many others who aren’t nearly as lucky. They struggle to find their voice, to cope with their lives and their pasts, and despair about finding their futures. I’m in a little bit better shape than most of them. That’s why I shared those posts. Maybe others will find the same strength that I found.

Now I’m ready to attack the novel. “Once more into the breach, lads, once more into the breach.”

Hold up; belay that order. I’m writing science fiction. We’re in space.

Let’s avoid the breaches, okay?

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Streaming Preparations

Spring is barely awake, clearing her throat.

Give Spring some coffee.

Winter is staggering in, trying to make a last stand. “I shall not pass.”

Cold in here. Gonna be a freezing cold therapy shower.

Look how big my head looks compared to my naked body.

None of the cats like that food with the cranberries in it. Five cats can’t be wrong.

Catvincing. Trying to convince a cat of something.

Jade would’ve eaten it. Jade ate everything.

OMG, THIS SHOWER IS FREAKING COLD. JESUS, JESUS, JESUS.

Woof. Glad that’s over.

What happened to my hair? It looked good a minute ago. What happened?

Good is a relative term.

Not going to trim the beard. Looks okay as is. For now. So don’t look later. Right.

Oh, there’s emails to write and things to do and look at the time. Time to get moving.

Time to go write like crazy, at least one more time.

Where the hell are my shoes?

2

Fitbit Writing

I’ve had my Fitbit for three and a half months. My daily average for steps is eleven thousand, seven hundred. My daily miles are five point five two. My personal best for daily steps was seventeen thousand, five hundred.

Until yesterday. Yesterday, I achieved almost twenty-two thousand steps and ten miles. I confess, if I’d known I was so close to doubling my average, I would have done it. That’s how I’m wired.

Now it’s the morning after.

I feel great but I question myself about what my Fitbit goal and expectations should be. I will work to reach and exceed my daily goals. I want to attempt another big walking and exercising day.

It’s the same way with writing. I typically write about eleven hundred words a day. I also edit, revise and polish. That’s part of my pantser organic writing process. My writing mind is like a loom weaving the story. I move back and forth through it.

Some days, I catch fire. The most I’ve ever written in one day was five thousand words, five thousand very intense words. Just like walking twenty-two thousand steps yesterday, it felt awesome. The next day, I wanted to do again. Why, if I could do five thousand words a day, every day, I’d become impressively prolific.

But the next day’s writing session was a struggle to achieve my standard output. I fought to achieve one thousand words and felt exhausted and disenchanted afterwards. It’s been like that with other writing days when I’ve doubled or tripled my average. Why, I tested myself to understand.

After thinking about this over the years, I’ve concluded that I do have a finite daily energy level. Exceeding that can happen but it takes it toll on the next day. I don’t know if science and medicine back me up on this, or if others have had the same experience. I know through my military experience of working twelve plus hours a day through illness and terrible conditions that I can draw deeper from the well. But doing so requires me to shut out absolutely everything else.

That was easy to do in a military environment. We had an established mission with a high priority. Other missions and units were depending on us. If we failed, a domino effect began. The stakes were high. So was the visibility.

Our expectations also set us up for success. Everyone outside of ours – family, friends and other unit members – understood our focus. They knew we didn’t have time or energy for anything else, and they gave us space.

But the writing experience is different from the military experience and the Fitbit experience. With Fitbit goals, it’s a personal goal. If I don’t make it, well, that sucks, but c’est la vie. The military commitment was well-established and understood.

Writing, however, is a terribly personal beast that has a hold on me. While the Fitbit goals require physical commitment with some smaller levels of intellectual and emotional commitments, I have all that in me, no problem. The military commitments were drawn at higher levels from those same veins.

The veins of energy and activity required for writing are much, much different. Physically, sitting in a chair, thinking, reading and typing, it doesn’t seem like it should be taxing. Yet, it becomes physically exhausting. Writing takes more out of me than walking all those steps.

Likewise, from intellectual and creative points of view, writing is more of a debilitating challenge. I worked for a decade for IBM as a planner and analyst. I was often presented with unique business cases to analyze and consider for my recommendations, observations and inputs. Those were interesting and challenging logic problems, and required intensely creative problem solving approaches, but still, they fell way short of what’s called for when fiction writing. Yes, my stories, characters, situations and worlds tend toward being complicated and involved. I remain constantly astounded by the levels of commitment I give my writing.

Returning to my Fitbit goals, I understand that twenty-two grand was a terrific result for me. I’ll enjoy it and move on because my goal is not to beat myself every day, but to maintain and achieve an average that will help me toward greater goals of being healtheir. In other words, the daily steps are not an end of themselves but part of a larger process.

So it is, too, with the writing. The word counts, editing, revising and polishing are not the end results. They’re part of a larger process of conceiving, writing, finishing and publishing a novel.

Time to write like crazy now, at least one more time.

 

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