Wednesday, February 10, 2010

On reading


My wife and I are voracious readers. When we moved in together, our book collections collided like two large, slow-moving barges. We were (are) literally swamped with books -- hard covers, paperbacks, textbooks. You name it, we have it.

It was also stunning how similar our reading tastes were. If you don't believe me, take a look at any of the dozen or so bookshelves in the house and you will see duplicates of at least half the books. Mine and hers. Ain't that sweet?

We go through periods where I read more than she does. But I'll admit it: She out-reads me. The woman always has her nose in a book. Always. Me, I read most every day and go through two or three novels a month. Sometimes more, sometimes less.

She reads a novel a week, sometimes more. And our 12-year-old son might read more than the both of us combined.

I also admit that I have a stack of books on the dresser next to our bed that has grown precariously large. It wobbles and sways and is always threatening to fall down upon my head while I sleep. Probably adding Stephen King's Under The Dome to the top of the pile wasn't the smartest move, since it weighs about as much as a 1974 Ford Thunderbird.

The pile represents every book I've read since last spring. All are new purchases, and here's the deal: We no longer have room for them! None of them. Our bookshelves are double-rowed as it is (books in front of books!).

While the Wife and I like many of the same books and authors, we have our separate faves, too. She likes what I sometimes lovingly call "chick books," those romantic books (not romance per se, though) that are almost exclusively written by women. I read Lawrence Block Scudder detective novels when I'm bored. I figure that makes us even.

But we share a love of many classics, along with Anne Tyler books, Pat Conroy books and most anything by Tom Clancy. I know! My wife is a Clancy freak. Go figure.

The point I'm getting at here (laboriously, I admit) is that in order to write well, one must read. A lot.

I know many so-called writers in the journalism world who brag that they don't read for relaxation or enjoyment. How sad for them. I can only imagine how much better their writing would be if they read more.

So crack open a good book and kick back. You deserve it.

Oh, and please comment and let me know your faves. Maybe we can work out a swap. If nothing else, I can maybe get that pile down to a more manageable height. Like, say, five feet or so.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

I won another blog award!


I won another award, this time from Christi Goddard (whose wonderful blog can be found here http://christigoddard.blogspot.com/).

Now, the Honest Scrap award requires that I list ten weird things about myself. And I'm required to be honest. Hence, the name of the award.

So here goes:

1. I used to smoke almost three packs of cigarettes a day, but quit cold turkey on Jan. 7, 2001.

2. I was a member of the Air Force Security Forces and could assemble an M-16 blindfolded.

3. I had a tumor removed from my left armpit when I was four years old. Luckily, it was benign.

4. One of my two front teeth is fake, but it's such a good fake that no one can tell which one it is.

5. My best friend slugged me and knocked me out in a drunken fight in a bar parking lot in 1978 -- over a girl. I ended up with a broken jaw and the girl.

6. I have three sons.

7. I once was riding a motorcycle shirtless and a June bug hit me in the chest so hard it knocked me from the bike and left a bruise on my sternum the size of a baseball!

8. I call my wife Peter. And she calls me Peter. Seriously.

9. My first concert was Led Zeppelin in 1978 in either Chicago or Minneapolis (I honestly can't remember; there may have been some illegal substances involved).

10. I have seen Bruce Springsteen in concert five times.

Now, I must pass this on to six blogger friends. So, in no particular order, I bequeath Honest Scrap to:

1. Gina at http://amuseinmypocket.blogspot.com/

2. Kristy at http://kristy-hutchison.blogspot.com/

3. Marty at http://www.themartywombachershow.com/

4. Wendy at http://quillfeather-blog.blogspot.com/

5. Elizabeth at http://dormroomdreamer.blogspot.com/

6. Josin at http://josinlmcquein.blogspot.com/

Monday, February 8, 2010

Good day's revisions


The finger is feeling fine, and the manuscript got better.

So despite the Midwest's version of Snowmageddon, I had a pretty good Monday. I spent about six hours revisioning and rewriting Chapter 12, yet another key chapter that needed much work, according to Staley, my awesome book editor.

The chapter contains a couple of big scenes, including one in which a 16-year-old girl is saved (or is she?) by Jordan Crane, the boy who might be the Messiah. Or the Devil. Ahem.

Here's a portion of the scene as it appeared before revision:


“What if I told you I can help you?” he said.

“Ha ha. That’s really funny,” she said, her voice breaking. “Trust me, Jordan. No one can help me. I’m on my own.”

“You’re never on your own, Sam,” Jordan said. “God is always with you, even when it feels like He’s not.”

“Oh please. Spare me the God shit, Jordan,” Sam said angrily, looking at him for the first time. “If there was a God, I wouldn’t be feeling like this in the first place. So just drop it and leave before you piss me off even more than you already have.”

“Someone has hurt you,” Jordan continued. “No one should have to go through life feeling such pain. There is One who has all power. That One is God. Let Him into your heart.”

“Just go away!” Sam groaned, sliding away from him. “What is it with you Jesus freaks? Why are you always wanting to cram God down people’s throats?”

“But you want God, Sam. I can feel it,” he said, gently reaching out and placing his hand on her arm. She felt the electric jolt of his touch all the way to her toes. “Can’t you feel it, too?”

And just like that, she did. The misery in her heart began to dissolve into a million tiny pieces, each one piercing her soul like a dagger. She cried out once and began sobbing, her entire body shaking with the effort.

“Let it go,” Jordan said, folding her into his arms. “I’m right here.”

“Oh God help me,” she sobbed, burying her head into his warm shoulder. “I can’t stand this
anymore. It hurts so bad. Please help me.”

Here's the same scene as revised:

“What if I told you I could help you?” he said.

“Ha ha. That’s really funny,” she said, her voice breaking. “Trust me, Jordan. No one can help me. I’m on my own.”

“You’re never on your own, Sam,” Jordan said. “God is always with you, even when it feels like He’s not.”

“Oh, please. Spare me the God shit, Jordan,” Sam said, looking at him for the first time. “If there was a God, I wouldn’t be feeling like this in the first place. So just drop it and leave before you piss me off even more than you already have.”

“Someone has hurt you,” Jordan continued. “No one should have to go through life feeling such pain. There is One who has all power. That One is God. Let Him into your heart.”

“Just go away!” Sam groaned, sliding away from him. “What is it with you Jesus freaks? Why do you always cram God down people’s throats?”

“But you want God, Sam. I can feel it,” he said, reaching out and placing his hand on her arm. “Can’t you?”

The orgasmic shock of his touch curled her bare toes. Sam looked at him, her eyes wide, as the misery in her heart dissolved into a million tiny pieces, each one piercing her soul like a dagger. She cried out once and sobbed, her entire body trembling.

“No,” she said, gasping. She struck him in the chest with her fists. “Please. Don’t.”

“Let it go,” Jordan whispered, gripping her by the shoulders and folding her into his arms. “I’m right here.”

“Oh God, help me,” she sobbed. She buried her head into his warm shoulder. “I can’t stand this anymore. It hurts. God, it hurts. Please help me.”

So, there it is. Once again, I tried to show rather than tell. Let me know what you think. Oh, and have a great Monday. Happy Snowmageddon!

Sunday, February 7, 2010

What a super day!


Ah, the Super Bowl. Pizza, chips, junk food galore. What could be more American?

I'm still recovering from novel finger, so I'm not going to write a lengthy blog today. I plan to get back to big-time revisions tomorrow, since it's feeling better.

But I wanted to tell you about last year's Super Bowl. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience -- one I will never forget. We were in Leona Vicario, a tiny village in the coastal jungles of the Yucatan Peninsula, after having arrived the day before. We live in a fairly nice base camp on the outskirts of the dirt-poor village, and drive an hour or two each day to a much smaller Mayan village to work.

William Cen, a Presbyterian minister, and his wife, Erly, are our hosts for the week. William speaks very little English, so Erly translates since she is fluent in Spanish, English and Mayan. So here we were, a group of about 15 Americans from Illinois, in this tiny village on a hot and humid Sunday afternoon. Super Bowl Sunday. But, of course, there is no cable television in the village. There's not even a television at the base camp. So we were sure we would miss the game.

But unbeknownst to us, William had snuck off, drove a hour to Cancun, and rented a flat-screen television and a satellite dish. He came back, set it up and had the game on in the big dining room when we came down for dinner. He had even purchased snacks for us!

The game was in Spanish, of course, and my Spanish isn't very good, but it was awesome nonetheless! And the commercials were hilarious in Spanish!

It was a good day.

This year, I'll watch the game in the comfort of the downstairs study with my sons. But I will remember those in Leona Vicario tonight, those who have so little in life, yet have such generosity, such spirit.

Hola my friends. I will see you in less than two weeks. And go Saints!


Friday, February 5, 2010

It's Friday!


Okay, I'm cheating right now. I admit it. I took off my silly little finger splint to type this. But I promise I'll put it back on.

Although it does look (and feel) silly!

So, today is Friday and I, once again, accomplished nothing. Zip. Nada. My goal is to be back revising on Monday, after giving the poor little pointer finger some time off.

Actually, both pointer fingers. Oh? I didn't tell you about my stupid scissors accident last night? Well, pull up a computer chair, friend.

I decided to cut one of those pain patches for your back into thirds so I could tape it to my finger, right? So I was trying to cut the damned thing while not using my right pointer finger -- and proceeded to cut the crap out of my other pointer finger! I mean, it laid that baby wide open. So now, both pointer fingers are all bandaged up. I look like a lobster with funky white claws!

Not the best week, quite frankly.

Anyhoo, it's Family Movie Night and provided I don't cut a limb off between now and this evening, we're watching Pretty in Pink. Molly's finest, if you ask me. We also rented The Last Starfighter, which we can watch this weekend if we have time (or if we get snowed in).

I'm thinking Night of the Comet for next time. We might have to skip next Friday, since I seem to recall we have something going on that night.

That's it for now. Have a great weekend. I'll be back on Sunday (unless I cut myself to death!).