Getting to know each other -- Part 1

OK, blog friends. It's high time we get to know one another. Over the next few days, I'm going to tell you a little about myself and then ask you to respond in kind.

I'm going to focus on one thing per post. I'm also going to try to bring the point around to writing, although I can't make any promises.

And tonight, I want to talk about cursing.

Yep. You heard that right. Cursing.

We've all heard that a dirty mouth indicates a small mind and a poor vocabulary, right? But it's been my experience that that's not always true. I know very intelligent lawyers, judges, politicians and teachers who swear like longshoremen. And let's not even talk about journalists.

Me, I swear far too often. And I don't mean an occasional damn or hell, if you know what I mean. I suspect my background has a lot to do with that. My stepfather was a Vietnam combat veteran and an Illinois State trooper. Consequently, I grew up with a houseful of cops. There was much coffee, cigarettes, machismo and swearing at our kitchen table over the years.

I was a police officer in the Air Force before college and then spent many years in a big-city newspaper newsroom. My old city editor (may he rest in peace) swore so much that his assistant fined him a quarter for each cuss word. The coins went into a coffee can at City Desk. It filled up so often that we used the money to buy everyone in the newsroom donuts once a week. And there were fifty people in that newsroom at any given time. Honestly.

True story: The city editor once turned around to face the obit writer and screamed, "Hurry the fuck up!" and found himself face-to-face with a troop of Cub Scouts who were touring the newsroom. He shrugged and fished every quarter he had out of his pocket and dropped them into the can. We had jelly-filled donuts that Friday.

I was thirteen or fourteen the first time I remember my mother saying fuck. My memory is a bit hazy here, but I recall we were in a cabin somewhere in Arkansas on vacation and me, my sister and my ten-month old baby brother were all sleeping in the same room. My baby brother was a notorious screamer and my sister and I were giggling and acting like idiots when the door flew open and there was mom.

"Shut up or I will fucking kill you both!" she screamed before slamming the door. Apparently, she was having a bad day. We were so shocked we didn't even giggle for, like, ten seconds.

Once that thresh hold was crossed -- and believe me, there's no going back -- my mother started swearing like a Marine in front of us. She's 70 years old and still screams "fuck you" at the television when she's unhappy with a show. (She was popular with my friends in high school, trust me.)

The first time I remember getting in trouble for swearing was when I shouted "Goddamn" at the top of my lungs when a neighbor lady found a morel mushroom in her front yard. I guess I was excited. I do remember, however, getting my butt whipped with my father's skinny belt for it.

Oddly, I've found that very poor and very wealthy people swear the most, on average. I know people from lots of money, people who drive BMWs and Mercedes and live in million-dollar homes that say fuck all the time, even to their children. And to this day, it shocks me.

I've also managed to bring my poor wife down a bit, language-wise. She doesn't swear as much as I do, but she's good for some spicy language on a daily basis.

My older boys swear a little around me, although neither started until they hit 18. The 12-year-old does not, since he runs the risk of getting his mouth washed out with Dawn dishwashing liquid (no one uses bar soap anymore, do they?)

I use quite a few swear words in my writing, although only in dialogue and only if it's true to the character. I try not to use them for shock value. But I will admit that I have trouble with a novel in which no one ever swears, since real life just isn't that way.

So how about you, dear blog friend? Do you swear a lot? If so, when did you start? Do you use swear words in your writing? And if not, why not?

Footloose and fancy free

We're reviving Family Movie Night and, for this week anyway, we're having it tonight instead of Friday. We joined NetFlix recently since our local video store went belly-up, and a handful of DVDs in funky little paper sleeves came today in the mail.

Frankly, it seems so old-school, using the mail system. But who am I to judge?

Anyway, yours truly has been suckered into watching what might be the worst movie of the 80s. Yes, that's right. Footloose. My apologies to you Kevin Bacon fans out there (and you know who you are), but I find it thoroughly cringe-inducing.

However, I did make everyone sit through Night of the Comet (one of my faves), so I have this coming, I guess.

So far, the Great Summer Vacation Experiment (as it will be referred to from now on) has been somewhat boring. I spent the day sitting outside on the front porch reading Jaws by Peter Benchley, a favorite from my younger days. The novel's rapid-fire pace and thoroughly engrossing storyline immediately made me itch to ... wait for it .... write!

How weird is that, since I took the summer off because I haven't been able to write. Maybe it's working already. God, I hope so. I really want to make this author thing work. It's been my dream since, like, forever.

The kid sat inside and played video games and watched movies, so the first full day of our vacay wasn't much different than the others. It was, however, guilt free.

Tomorrow, the wife and I are taking the kid to Border's for books and coffee and then we're going to catch the matinee showing of Grown Ups.

Ah summer. How's yours coming so far?

Oh crap. The movie's starting ...

Guilt-free fun!

I've been trying to figure out what's been causing my inability to write in the past three weeks, and I think I've stumbled upon the answer, thanks to my blog friend Karen G.

It's two things, actually. One, I gave up on The Devil You Don't Know -- despite anything I might have blogged about to the contrary. I spent three years of my life on this novel and after ten agent rejections, I mentally shoved it aside as though it means nothing to me.

That's crap, of course. It means the world to me and I know it. Just because I haven't found an agent yet (or even received a non-form rejection) after sending out 16 queries doesn't mean the book sucks. (I hope.)

But I shelved TDYDK and the political thriller I was writing and decided to begin this big, deep and complex adventure novel.

About this same time, Brennan finished school for the summer and since he's too old for camp this year, he's home with me. And then I got sick. Really sick.

After a pretty good one-thousand word start on the new book, tenatively titled, El Fanstasma (Spanish for The Ghost), I ran out of gas. Completely. I was dead in the water.

For three weeks, I've been trying to write the book while fighting the guilt of ignoring my 12-year-old son for hours at a time. He doesn't have much to do this summer, so he sits upstairs either reading, watching TV or playing video games.

Yesterday, I blogged about it and asked for help. Karen's answer hit home when I read it this morning. She said 12-year-old boys like being with their dads, and reminded me that this phase doesn't last much longer. I know this, since I have two older boys. She suggested I take the summer off -- guilt free -- and enjoy the time with him.

When he goes back to school in mid-August, she says, I should be unblocked and ready to write.

At first, the idea of doing nothing this summer didn't appeal to me. But the more I thought about it, the more I had to agree. She was right. I do feel guilty. And I can't concentrate on my writing because of it.

So I've decided to write nothing this summer except blog posts. Instead, I am going to rewrite the query letter for TDYDK and start querying again. Big-time.

Oh, and spend all kinds of time with Brennan. We're going to play tennis, hike, swim and lounge around. Basically, we're going to have fun.

And I am not going to feel guilty about it. I promise.

Moving forward at a snail's pace

Well, I'm moving ahead with the new novel, slowly but surely.

Emphasis on slowly.

Today, I managed to delete all the crap I had written before and then added about 300 new words that may or may not be English. Still, whatever they are, they're better than the garbage that preceded them.

I left the opening scene, because I actually think it's salvageable. Heck, it might even be good as it is.

I've also been analyzing why I've been so blocked the past few weeks (I know. Analyzing always gets me in trouble). I think it's a combination of fear that my first effort wasn't very good and a big change in the Towery household. You see, this is the first summer that the 12-year-old hasn't gone to summer day camp. He's too old this year.

So he and I are hanging around the house all day. He goes to the gym with me and then we come home, eat breakfast and I head down to write while he reads or watches television or plays video games.

And I worry that I'm ignoring him. That his summer will suck because Dad is too busy in his study writing. We live out in the bluffs and there's no kids his age nearby. So the poor kid sits here all day while I write (or try to).

And, I suspect, that's keeping me from concentrating on the task at hand -- namely getting this new book started and done in the ten-month time frame I'm shooting for.

It's just not happening, folks.

I'm one of those weird writers who must have complete quiet. I can't be interrupted or I lose my train of thought and whatever I was writing vanishes from my mind forever. I do have a cursory outline, but I mostly write from the seat-of-my-pants. And that's been a problem the past three weeks.

It's not his fault. Not at all. In fact, he feels bad and blames himself for dad's writing block. Now this isn't true, of course. It's all my fault.

But it's still a problem, you know?

As you can tell, I've spent far too much time screwing around with the blog. I do, however, like the newest design. Of course, knowing me, I'll change it again next time I'm blocked.

Hell, I haven't even been able to blog much, I've been that blocked. The simple act of writing a blog post damn near sends me into panic mode these days. I sit here, and ... nothing comes.

So I do this stream-of-consciousness thing I'm doing right now, because it's the only way I can actually get something written.

I wonder. Do people see shrinks for writer's block? I'm serious. I'd do it if I thought it would help.

So my question to you, dear bloggy friends, is this: What do you do when you're blocked and can't write? I mean, I've already taken three weeks off, so taking more time off isn't the answer. Maybe the little bit of work I got done today means the end is in sight. I hope so.

When your characters speak Spanish

I'm facing a conundrum in my WIP. It's an adventure thriller set in South America and suburban Chicago. It involves primarily Americans, although the antagonist is Colombian.

My problem is this: When writing about Juan Pablo Marquez (the antagonist), do I have him speak Spanish or English? Obviously, he and his companions would speak Spanish in real life, but how about in my novel?

I've considered doing what Tom Clancey does when writing about Russians. He has them speak English, but in a sort of stilted way. He also peppers his dialogue with Russian phrases and names so the reader knows he's reading about Russians. It can be a little cheesy at times, but I think overall it's effective.

I've not encountered this issue in any of the writing books I've read. What would you do?

As a side note, we just had the most spectacular thunderstorm go through. It was one of those majestic storms filled with sound and fury. Some of the thunderclaps were so loud they literally shook the foundation of the house and rattled the walls. It was quite impressive. And the best part is, we didn't lose power.

At this writing, we are waiting to see if Brennan's baseball game is a go tonight. After a long and very hot weekend that featured five games in three days, I'm kind of rooting for a postponement. But we shall see.

Thanks in advance for your thoughts on my language problem. Hope your Monday is going as well as mine is!