I’ve broken one of my cardinal writing rules. Two, actually.
I don’t usually allow others to read my novels in progress until I think of them as finished. But with a new novel underway, I wrote the beginning. Then I broke my second rule. I don’t talk about my writing other than mentioning progress or lack. I don’t talk with my friends and families about novels until they’re finished. But one of my beer drinking friends asked how my writing was going. Giving a mental shrug and doing a quality test on my second pint of beer, I shared the beginning of the new novel. Then, a whim later, I emailed it to several trusted friends.
All responded enthusiastically about what they read, so as I kept writing, I kept sending new installments as they were finished. I warned them it was raw and a lot of it might change. They didn’t care, encouraging me to keep sending, telling me that they were on the edge of their seats.
I know that they’re friends. Although all read in the genre in which I’m writing, they’re not objective. They might just be anxious not to hurt my feelings. And, as a pantser, I’m still in the fog, trying to understand where the muses ar leading me in this complicated story. (Note: all my novels are complicated. I enjoy reading complicated, and I like writing complicated.)
Objective or not, it was validating, even rewarding, to hear someone say how much they enjoy it. Otherwise, it’s just writing in the dark.
I overheard two strangers chat a little in the coffee shop. One asked the other about the book he was reading. The other replied, “It’s Dostoevsky. It’s written as a series of letters.”
Poor Folk, I guess, sneaking a glance over. I’d read it, I remembered, wondering if that was the book he was reading. I took a minute to hunt down when I’d read it, remembering it was the summer of 1989, when I was living in Germany. I took summer college courses which addressed different Russian, Jewish, French, and American authors. Dosteovsky was one of three Russian writers.
Over thirty years ago, I suddenly realized with a mental thud. The race of time surprised me once again. I’ll be 68 years old this year. That just amazes me. It shouldn’t, I know, yet it does. It feels like just yesterday that I was thinking, wow, Dad is 68 this year. Gonna be seventy in a few.
It’s a sunny, cloudy, snowy, dry, cold Friday out there in Ashlandia today, January 12, 2024. (Ashlandia: where the snowfall is below average.) The snow isn’t falling but hazardly tossed as lumpy blankets as it unevenly melts and freezes. Roads are clear and dry. Clouds are a buff, low gray mass which sometimes permits a blinker of sunshine. It’s 34 F now, but rain is supposed to be coming as we’re treated to a high of 44 F today.
The cats are out, taking advantage of the storm lull. Though I dislike it, Papi is prowling and inspecting, looking for changes in his kingdom. Tucked in with his tail wrapped around him as a warmer, Tucker is just breathing fresh but cold air on the covered front porch’s doormat.
I’m better, thanks, already drinking coffee, breakfast already well along the digesting process. It’s interesting, too, but after Wednesday night’s BVVP experience, my tinnitus is amost completely gone. The worst after-effects is worry that it’ll happen again – especially in somewhere public — and my abdominal muscles. Every giggle, guffaw, laugh, yawn, cough, sneeze, and grunt has those muscles screaming, give us a damn break.
I perused the list of ‘not banned’ books in Escambia County, Floridayesterday. These over sixteen hundred novels, biographies, dictionaries, and encyclopdias are not banned, the county always explain, but have been called unsuitable by some and were removed for review and decisions.
From the cited article, PEN America notes (their emphasis),
“Five dictionaries are on the district’s list of more than 1,600 books banned pending investigation in December 2023, along with eight different encyclopedias, The Guinness Book of World Records, and Ripley’s Believe it or Not – all due to fears they violate the state’s new laws banning materials with “sexual conduct” from schools.
“Biographies of Beyoncé, Lady Gaga, Oprah Winfrey, Nicki Minaj, and Thurgood Marshall are on the list, alongside The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Black Panther comics by Ta-Nehisi Coates. The Feminism Book was banned along with The Teen Vogue Handbook: An Insider’s Guide to Careers in Fashion.
“The list obtained by the Florida Freedom to Read Project also includes Anne Frank’sDiary of a Young Girl, The Adventures and the Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie’sDeath on the Nile. The Princess Diaries and 14 other books by Meg Cabot have been taken from libraries, alongside books by David Baldacci, Lee Child, Michael Crichton, Carl Hiassen, Jonathan Franzen, John Green, John Grisham, Stephen King (23 of them), Dean Koontz, Cormac McCarthy, Celeste Ng, James Patterson, Jodi Picoult, and Nicholas Sparks. Conservative pundit Bill O’Reilly’s two books, Killing Jesus and Killing Reagan, were also banned pending investigation.”
I have to thank Scottie’s Playground for pulling this together and providing it to us. To close, the most shocking aspect are the quotes Scottie included from Judd Legum’s coverage:
Attorney General Ashley Moody argued that the school board could ban books for any reason because the purpose of public school libraries is to “convey the government’s message,” and that can be accomplished through “the removal of speech that the government disapproves.” This is a novel argument about the purpose of school libraries.
That’s GOP freedom and democracy for ya.
For some alien reason, The Neurons were playing operator-themed music in the morning mental music stream (Trademark perplexed). Songs like “Operator” by Jim Croce, “Smooth Operator” by Sade, ”Operator” by the Grateful Dead, and “Operator” by Manhattan Transfer. The last stayed put for a longer period, morphing into today’s theme music.
Although either agnostic or pastafarian — it changes as much as the weather — I enjoy gospel music. I also feel for the search for community, support, reassurance, love, information, etc., from something beyond our daily endeavors. You never know what you’ll find or where you’ll find it when you reach out in need. Although religion doesn’t do much for me, I’m happy for those who can find their answers there, so long as they don’t tread on me or try to foist their answers on the rest of us.
On to the day. Stay pos, be strong, test negative, and keep leaning forward. I know it’s not always easy, believe me, but I’ll keep trying for those four fundamental foundations. Here’s the music. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 