Christmas

Hi. I'm having Christmas with my family in Idaho and will be posting more in the weeks to come.

Jerry

Melancholy Highway

I'm writing a section of The J.A.S.O.N. File that takes place directly after the 9/11 attacks. A group of people sharing a rental car, trying to get home. I'm mapping the route and wondering if I want to use real town names or make them up. At this point, I'll probably do both.

I'm thinking back on that day, how unsettling it was and, at the same time, Americans had a politeness and patriotism that was remarkable. I'm remembering all of the American flags and deep conversations, but I remember the politeness. It was a remarkable, melancholy, horrific day.

Keep Walking

For years, I've meet for breakfast every Thursday with a group of guys. We mostly laugh and encourage, but there are times when we challenge or reprimand. I try to write for an hour or two every morning as a result of the challenges and encouragement from these solid Christian guys.

I spent that time last month exclusively working on a new manuscript. Living moments in my mind, thinking others thoughts, solving problems, the process is a great pleasure to me. I love creating a story.

This brings me to a question. (I hope it provides some insight into my last two blogs). I'm trying to figure out why it has been so difficult to make this a regular part of my life. I've always had stories, pictures, scenes in my head. In high school a friend heard part of a story I recorded on a cassette tape. He made a very flattering comment and it was revolutionary to me. I thought everyone had these same images. I've been invited to write articles. I've been asked to speak publicly, where I do little more than tell stories with application.

For reasons that I don't fully understand, I've always managed to talk myself out of serious attempts at writing. Am I waiting for permission? It feels that way at times, like I'm not the authority.

Greg's comments on my last post keep running through my head. As usual, his sharp mind gathered up the shards and scraps of my thinking and formed them into a gentle coherent mirror.

This is why I'm making a concerted effort to finish some works in my life. I'm starting late, but I have the "word doodles" of a lifetime bumping around the attic of my mind.

Currently I have a 76,000 word manuscript being edited, when it returns, I'll do another rewrite. In the meantime I'm 30,000 words into a piece about a young FBI agent and aspiring actress who are thrown together during the 9/11 attacks. The name of the story is "The J.A.S.O.N. file."

This journey is stretching and ominous, but the joy fills my soul. I'll stop wishing I'd been more serious earlier, learn what I can and move forward.

I hope to complete the rewrite of "Cyn" by the end of January - The guys at breakfast ask if I'm on track every week.

Self Esteem - inside out or outside in?

Self esteem has been on my mind. I've learned my self esteem largely comes from the outside, others have a lot to do with what I think of myself. I've also learned, many, perhaps most, get self esteem from within themselves. For the sake of this entry, I'll refer to these two groups as internals and externals.

There's a difference between self confidence and self esteem. Many externals are performers with the confidence to entertain, which is where they get their self esteem. In thinking about this, both internals and externals have introverts and extraverts.

An external is sensitive to others because they understand they have some control over how one feels about oneself.

An internal is more stable, what someone thinks of them has little to do with what they think of themselves.

I'm thinking out loud more than proposing a theory or tenet.

I've always had low self esteem. This is due partially to a quagmire of arrogance versus humility (I have a fear of being arrogant). I'm very fortunate to have many, many, encouragers in my life, but one negative comment erases a thousand compliments. I have a good amount of confidence, but the voice inside cuts and tears.

Self esteem has been on my mind, I'd like to hear your thoughts, experiences and insights.

Perhaps I'm completely off base and this has nothing whatsoever to do with self esteem.

"Like" a Lion

My friend, Brian Grigory, asked me to blog about something I shared in our adult group at church. For those who don't see much use in prayer or God, I'm particularly interested in your opinion(s).

Evil is a concept that can be difficult to define or understand, but occasionally, we get a clear, picture that leaves no doubt. At Fort Hood, a man stepped into a room of unarmed soldiers and gave us a vivid example of evil. For all our differing views, I think most agree, his actions were evil.

How could this happen? Why would God allow it? I can hear some of you screaming, he did it in the name of god! That's enough to discount the entire convoluted mess. It's a perfectly understandable and reasonable response, but I suggest the answer lies in understanding something about evil. It is weak and it gets its power from us.

A verse in the Bible (I Peter, chapter 5, verse 8) says: "Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour." The most important word in this verse is "LIKE." The word describes a roaring lion, not a lion sneaking through the grass with power. He makes noise, if you get close, he will sound strong and scary, but he's not.

The man who stepped into that room of unarmed soldiers and began killing, was a coward. He couldn't face the overwhelming power of the United States Army, he was too weak. To make himself seem powerful he found an unguarded, vulnerable room and attacked.

In our personal lives, if we have "rooms" of vulnerability, we create a place for evil to gain power. I'm not suggesting that evil can't hurt you, it can. I'm also not suggesting that pain and sorrow in your life is because you allowed evil in. The innocent people who died at Fort Hood, were killed because a coward let evil overpower him. He gave evil a clear path to roar and scream and destroy.

Thanks for the suggestion Brian, I wasn't as concise as I'd like, but if any of you have questions, comments or need clarity please leave a comment.

What month is it?

I didn't know what to do. What direction should the story go? The endless line of un-caffeinated patrons shuffled past, waiting to "Starbuck-up." There were characters in so many faces, but they couldn't help me out of my dilemma, I'd written 15,000 words and I was stuck.

I did what so many do when they come to a difficulty in life, I went to the internet too waste time. I surfed to literary agent, Rachelle Gardner's blog and learned that November is national novel writing month. The challenge is to write a 50,000 piece in a month.

The first advise I read was to eliminate distractions. Turn off the internet - good grief, really!? Move forward, write, write, write. Don't look back. Don't look up or down, ignore the nervous lady and her goofy glasses. WRITE!!!!

With P's and Q's wafting in the wake of my madly typing fingers, I am taking the November challenge, 16,000 words down, 34,000 to go....

I'll keep you posted.

Word progress:
Nov. 8 - 17,294
Nov. 9 - 17,676
Nov. 10 - 18,300
Nov. 11 - 18,700 (most days the words come easy, today they didn't - weird, even numbers two days in a row)
Nov. 13 - 19,088 (working on a design deadline & sifting through a difficult section of the story)
Nov. 14 - 19,481
Nov. 16 - 20,147
Nov. 17 - 20,958
Nov. 18 - 22,019
Nov. 19 - 22,318
Nov. 20 - 23,086
Nov. 21 - 24,063
Nov. 23 - 25,083
Nov. 24 - 26,522
Nov. 25 - 27,363 I've known from the beginning I wouldn't make 50,000 on the current schedule, but wanted to continue and see where I land.
Nov. 27 - 28,056
Nov. 29 - 29,303
Nov. 30 - 29,620

This was a fun exercise. I didn't have time to get to 50,000 words, but the manuscript is coming together. A good portion of my time this month was spent researching. The story is about a young FBI agent assigned to rural northern Nevada. Reluctantly, he begins his job. An assault takes place in which a young boy dies. While Chase is hunting for the people who killed the boy, 9/11 happens and everything changes. The research was on 9/11 details.

Funny Bones

We're funny. We wear nice clothes, buy expensive cars and print impressive titles on business cards, but in spite of it all, we're hilarious. Here's an example of what I'm talking about.

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A graphic artist designed a back-to-school promotion for a mall. The campaign, "Don't Dress like a Clown, Shop at Fox Hill Mall" (Note: The name of the mall has been changed to avoid litigation). The designer received official word from a national clown society to cease and desist. The premise of the threatened lawsuit? This usage of the word clown, put clowns in a bad light.

Oh for the love of big red noses, lighten up, you're clowns. Clowns that can't take a joke, it's like a sea captain who can't take the rocking ocean or a rich man who hates money. If you wear floppy pink shoes, a white bald wig with wild neon green hair shooting out the sides, people are going to point and laugh. That's the whole idea.

We're funny, and if we lose our sense of humor, we miss an integral component of our sanity.

Rewriting

I handed the manuscript over to a good friend today (Thank you Lori!). She has graciously agreed to review and edit. I always feel vulnerable when I do this, but each time I do, it improves.

I've heard it said that good writing is rewriting. I want every submission to be as sharp as possible, so I'll rework before I take another shot.

In the first rejection, the literary agent said, "the writing itself is not as well-crafted as I need books to be before I represent them to publishers." She liked the story premiss, encouraged me to keep writing and submitting.

I plan to take her advise.

Back to work

I'm exhausted and enthusiastic. The guys trip to the rock-n-roll hall of fame, football hall of fame and a midwest football game is over.

Back to work.

I will keep trying.

One more day.

I'll have thoughts on the trip in a few days... America is a remarkable place.

Our Soundtrack

I didn't leave the Rock-n-Roll hall of fame with one song repeating over and over in my mind, I left with my head in a tangled knot of emotional string. The stimulation didn't stop. The images, memories, wonder and emotion streamed through, like military jets attacking at Mach 2. Things forgotten were brought to the surface in an endless vision on a topsy-turvy ride.

The museum recreates a complicated soundtrack for an interesting era. A Credence Clearwater Revival song appeared in the cacophony, instantly taking me back to high school shop class where Jerry Emm played the band constantly, over the sounds of banging hammers and arch welders. CCR - There's a bad moon on the rise. An eight-track tape of Fleetwood Mac next to the dress Stevie Nicks wore in the cover shot. You can go your own way. James Taylor's first guitar, his brother painted blue, it changed the sound, James never played it again. I've seen fire and I've seen rain. Smokey Robinson describing early motown. The tears of a clown, when there's no one around. Little Stevie Wonder, Very Superstitious writing on the wall. Diana Ross and the Supremes. Baby, baby, where did our love go...

Lyrics, music and talent expressing our time, our journey, our humanity. Loneliness, beauty, vulnerability, anger, frustration, love, sensuality, confusion, exuberance, laughter, hope, on and on pieces of our lives strewn about this magnificent six story glass pyramid on Lake Erie.

The journey of emotion left me exhausted and reflective. How afraid we are to be alone and how difficult it is to be together. We are all different, yet we share profound commonality and music helps express every facet.

The Thought Train

As a young boy, I remember a day when I woke early and rode my motorcycle into the mountains above our farm in northern Nevada.  I stopped on the side of a huge mountain. For most of the day I sat in the profound silence, thinking, without interruption.

I was asked by a friend once for my definition of luxury and that day came to mind. Luxury, for me, is a long period of uninterrupted thought.

It’s interesting that we liken thought to a train. A train of thought. It takes a good amount of energy to get a train going, then once it’s speeding along any little bit of cross traffic can derail it.

I’ll be out of town until next Monday.  I hope to spend a few days on that long luxurious train.

I encourage you to take some time, clear the track and reacquaint yourself with an intimate friend.  Spend some time with you.

Can you remember a time when you were able to truly be alone in the luxury of thought?  I'd like to hear your insights. 

Have a good week and I’ll see you when the train comes back to the station.

Egg on your face

Six-fifteen this morning Kathy, Lindsay and I sat down to breakfast. Lindsay was about to scurry off to zero period (biology at seven in the morning - good grief), Kathy, off to a client and me off to write before I start my real job. Casually, Kathy says, "You've got a little egg on your face." (real egg on an actual face - I won't say whose face)

This started a brief conversation about colloquialisms and idioms. Lindsay had never heard the saying and in that moment, the phrase was passed from one generation to the next. I don't know the origin, but it is a strange one.

Do any of you know where this comes from, do you have a guess?

I'd enjoy hearing your insights and thoughts, please comment.

I hope the answer isn't painfully obvious and simple, I'd hate to end up with "egg on my face."

War Breaks Out in Southern California!

Local news agencies chased the elusive story vigorously. Teams of reporters, in full weather regalia, scattered to the dry, burnt hills. The worst October storm to hit Southern California in forty years shone in vast animated yellow patches on the "Live super sophisticated only cute non-working actresses can interpret doppler poppler thing-a-ma-jig." Tie a dinghy to the back porch folks! We're going in.

As I sat in the fine drizzling mist of Wednesday's storm, amused by the media blitz, I was reminded of the constant war waged over this strip of land we call Southern California. A mighty ocean, cold and vast, pushes against the shore on one side. A huge arid desert, swelters and blows hard against the mountains on the other side. The war between these titans never stop, we are merely serfs scurrying in the shadows of the mighty castle walls. (Wednesday in jackets and umbrellas, today shorts and flip-flops)

I'm a simple man and I wrote a book. Among the towering publishing giants and powerful literary agents, I'm like that little strip of land. Trends, genres, hopes for the next publishing bonanza push hot and cold through the industry and here I sit, with my little book. Here I sit with a simple hope, to share this adventure with you, in the shadow of the mighty sanctions that wage war outside the door. To escape for a short while, together.

Day's Rain

In the night they came, wet diamonds falling from the sky. Softly against the glass the droplets gathered. A mesmerizing hush.

Today, I write.

The Smoke of Battle

Doubt and confusion are weapons an adversary uses to defeat his enemy. This morning, my enemy is active and effective. I received my first rejection yesterday and as I try to write this morning, I'm second guessing everything. Normally, the words flow, I reread, rewrite and a rhythm begins. This morning I'm thinking about commas, sentence fragments and spelling. The rejection was professional and constructive, nothing Sunday morning fellowship with friends, a motorcycle ride along the beach and time with family can't put back into perspective.
This morning, however, hand grenades are being lobbed into the vulnerable portions of my head. I am bombarded with so many thoughts, emotions and images that I can scarcely catch a glimpse as they rush past. At the same time, I feel a haunting wind blow through with biting creative emptiness.
I love to write, but I'm not mechanically sound. I need to work harder. I must work smarter, but at this very moment, the grenades bang and flash. The smoke of battle. I need to step back, regroup, rearm and prepare for the next round.

As always, any suggestions, editing or insights are welcome.

The Light Heavy Wait

The mind in wait is the playground of demons and saints.

The heavy wait
Any parent listening for the sound of the garage door an hour after their child was supposed to be home, has slogged through the surreal land of wait. In the limbo, restrictors let the demons loose and a cocktail of chemicals are released in the brain that evoke a hallucinogenic rambling strong enough to bring any man to his knees. It's vivid and detailed, his daughter has slid off of the road, rain falling on her face through a shattered windshield. One after the other they flood in and the second he hears the door, the restrictors cut off the cocktail, the visions vanish and he feels an utter fool. The long hug is filled with relief and anger as he says, "I love you, I'm so glad you're home. Don't ever put me through that again."

The light wait
The boy couldn't keep his eyes off of her and the first time they talked he couldn't believe his good fortune. Now, he waits at the bottom of the stair, his mind wandering into the unrestricted land of wait. The softness of her lips, the reflection of the moon in her blue eyes, their silhouette etched into the seascape. It is so real, the hope in the time of wait. She appears, the wait is over, she stumbles, he pokes her with the corsage pin and a perfect night begins in the imaginary moonlight.

The light/heavy-wait
Waiting to hear from WordServe is a mixture of both wait classes. An hour or two after submitting the query letter, my email "pinged" a new email. In the tiny wait before clicking the message, I drifted into the waiting room. I thought, that might be Rachelle responding to my submission! I've hit the impossible shot! Could it be? Could it be? * Click * AT&T with an offer for, who cares. I laugh at myself, what a fool, but that's how it is in the land of wait. As I dwell in this land, I'm fighting not to believe the opposite image. The fine folks at WordServe Literary Group are having one hellacious laugh over the comedy of my submission. When aspiring writers enter the lobby, my query is framed and hangs under a sign that says, "Perfect example of a BAD proposal."

The land of wait has weight, light and heavy, please put me out of my agony, but don't crush my dream. I know, it's a lot to ask.

The Query's Out

It's out there, my first query letter. I chose a group in Colorado, WordServe Literary Group. Now I wait. It's the oddest sensation, sitting behind my laptop as the Starbuck's line shuffle past, I want to jump up and tell everyone and I want to crawl into a hole with embarrassment. Adrenaline is white water rafting through my veins. If a car rolled over in the parking lot, I could lift it and tell the rescued occupants that a literary submission saved their lives.

It's going to be an interesting few days.

Transition

The transition from vacation to reality is like waking up in the middle of a prize fight. Birds are tweeting, I'm floating above a field of daffodils, enjoying a sequined stream, then I shake my head. A sharp pain enters and with a blink I remember I'm in the middle of a fight. My opponent is bouncing on his toes, fists raised, "Get up! Get up!" he shouts. I want to close my eyes and go back to the daffodils, but I can't, I have to stand up and continue the fight.

Behind the curtain

When we entered the cruise ship it was like slipping behind an invisible "social" curtain. Like mice bumping through a maze, we pretend to explore, but we're secretly looking for something to eat. The grand stairway, nice. The pool, maybe later. Jogging track, no need to go up there. Library, okay. Art gallery, casino, bar, bar, bar, then jackpot!!! There it was, clothed in it's gluttonous glory, the buffet. The place you go to eat between meals. Appetizers, hamburgers, main dishes, pizza, ice cream, desserts all separated by token salad bars. I'm not exactly sure when the omelette bar segued into the panini deli, but in the time it took to turn and grab a fresh slice of pizza, it happened.

In the fantasy behind the curtain, we don't judge. If the person next to you can't decide between the mango gazpacho or the salmon medallions it's perfectly acceptable to suggest they try both. This applies to the main course and dessert as well.

We rested, took the stairs, met some great people, enjoyed shows, excursions and numerous amenities, but they were all activities to create enough room to eat again. I watched a robed man, at six in the morning, as he got a cup of coffee and an ice cream cone. Slowly, he made his way to the elevator licking a swirl of vanilla and chocolate. It seemed perfectly normal.

We had a great time celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary. It's so nice to take this walk together and it's fun to slip behind the curtain occasionally (oh, come on, you know what I mean).

Now, it's time to get back to reality, eat a carrot and walk around the block a hundred times.

Boat people

We had a great time celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary with a cruise to Mexico.

Hi, to anyone we met, thanks for dropping by.

I'm tired and FULL!! Full, not only from overeating, but from a close time with Kathy.

I don't have much to say right now, I'm sorting through my thoughts, but hope to get query letters out this week.

Awwww rest.

jer...

Vacation

Kathy and I are going on a short cruise to Mexico and will be gone the next few days. When I get back I plan to start sending query letters.

I've compiled a list of publishers to start with, but always looking for suggestions.

Until then.

jer...

Intrigue or indifference?

Here is the body of the query letter as it is now. I'm more story teller than editor, please feel free to give feedback and grammar advise.

Does this intrigue you or leave you indifferent? The name of the book is "Cyn."

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Methodically Cyndi plots to dismantle the lives of two powerful men, but when Sara desperately tries to save her marriage, the two women become entangled in the battle of their lives.

This is the premise of my recently completed 76,000 word manuscript, seasoned with adventure and romance. The story entertains as it places Christians in a good light and provides a "clean read."

Cyn is a current day story that takes the reader to exotic locations as Sara attempts to discover why Dallas suddenly walked out of their beautiful Laguna home. Greed, seduction and treason overwhelm Sara as she searches for answers.

Hatred drives a highly intelligent beauty, named Cyndi, to seduce two aerospace executives with a sinister promise of love and wealth. Cyn is on the verge of success when Sara's blind grasp for the truth places her in a secluded Idaho cabin as the crime is minutes from success.

Escaping with her life and millions of dollars, Sara tries to piece the unbelievable information together, but when a drunk crashes into her, she's rescued by a quiet country man who is dealing with a deep sadness of his own.

Two years later, bullets slice through the back seat and crash into the dash next to her as Sara serpentines through the Mexican desert in the story's high energy conclusion.

I have experience in the Aerospace industry, grew up in the Idaho area and live close to Laguna, all of which add to the realism and depth of this work. I enjoy writing and have had several articles published, but this is my first "big" work. I would be pleased to provide the full manuscript or sections upon request. Thank you for taking time to consider my work. I've enclosed a SASE and look forward to hearing from you.
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Dear Blog reader - Thank you for your time. Have a creative day!

jer...

A query quandary

Hello and welcome to my literary journey.

I've long been a "word doodler." Images and scenes float through my head and I covet the times I'm able to capture the slippery little beasts.

One such doodle went something like this:

An elegant woman stood alone on a remote dock, next to a lake. A rainstorm approached, drops splashed coldly onto her face, but she didn't move. Each drop was a realization that her life had changed and as they engulfed her, the woman she knew was washed away.

That word doodle is now a 76,000 word manuscript and "the new journey" is the process of seeing if it has any chance of being published. Please, join me. How many rejection letters do you think it will take before I'm curled up in the fetal position asking for someone to love me?

Now, I'm in a quandary about the query letter. I'm working on it, we leave for vacation Monday and when I get back I hope the have the first letter ready.

Now it's time for the laundry quandary.