Perspective

Had the opportunity to think about perspective the other night.

Every year for Thanksgiving when my family gets together we draw names from a hat. The person's name that we draw is then our "person" for Christmas night. On Christmas night the entire family gets together and we present our "person" a gift using an original poem (see below), a skit or a re-mastered and re-lyricked song. I usually do the poem, although there have been cases where I chose singing.

I remember one friend of the family when they heard about this said, "Oh, that's so much fun. You are so lucky that you get to do that!"

Lucky if you like singing and dancing and skits. I do not. I do not consider myself lucky. After twenty years of doing it, I think we've seen my swan song (again, see the poem below . . . my last).

One thing I noticed this year, thanks to some perspective gleaned from someone else in my family, was that most everyone did their song, dance, or poem about their "person." One person didn't. It was a stunner to perceive, and all of a sudden it was like blinders were thrown open.

I won't bore you with any specifics, except to tell you that I find it interesting that one person can open your eyes to so much that you've been missing throughout the years. I think we naturally tend to enjoy the blinders on our eyes, it's only when they are forced off that we notice the previously rose colored world aint so rosey.

Nevertheless, my poem to my "person", my Aunt Meg, is below.

So I guess it's my turn to stand up and speak

A poem about my person to present these gifts so unique

 

These presents you can see are huge, magnificent, stupendous

And like her, these gifts although great, are not at all pretentious

 

Two packages from work, from vendors, towers that I've regifted

All the billing girls at work will be quite upset that I lifted

 

I won’t sit here and attempt be cagey about my person

We can all agree that the longer I go the more these rhymes worsen

 

So I’ll only say this woman has meant a lot to me throughout the years

Shes a mom, grandma, aunt, "Elfin Glitzer" and "Sex God and Me" pioneer

 

Yes, Aunt Meg it's time for me to give back to you

A hard thing to do because generosity you have never eschewed

 

As her nephew from her I’ve gotten a lot

Old belts left at her house, underwear and socks

 

But more than those she and and Susan both gave me their time

Movies and lunches, for an awkward teenager all that was fine

 

Parties before heading off to Europe, and for marriage she has been a part of those show casies

She was even a half financier of these boots, twenty year old Lucheses

 

And three years ago she gave me this amazing camel hair blazer

With it on I'm as dapper as a crane, you pick, either Niles or Frazer

 

There is not gift by which I can properly express

Everything you've meant to me and help me be a success

 

Aunt Meg, in terms of best aunt, the race is down to you and Aunt Sue,

I hope you have a merry Christmas and a happy new year too

Running Back to an Old Standby

I'm reading Comeback, by Dick Francis, I think "again." I feel certain as a teenager I read this one. I must have loved it. There are few Dick Francis books that I don't love (see here). After giving up on Dance with the Enemy (here) I'm looking forward to Comeback.

Even the first line has me excited:

I’m Peter Darwin. 

Everyone asks, so I may as well say at once that no, I’m not related to Charles. 

I was in fact born Peter Perry, but John Darwin, marrying my widowed mother when I was twelve, gave me, among many other things, a new life, a new name and a new identity. 

Twenty years rolled like mist over the memories of my distant childhood in Gloucestershire, and now I, Peter Darwin, was thirty-two, adopted son of a diplomat, in the diplomatic service myself. 

As my stepfather’s postings and later my own were all at the whim of the Foreign Office, I’d mostly lived those twenty years abroad in scattered three- or four-year segments, some blazing, some boring, from Caracas to Lima, from Moscow to Cairo to Madrid, housed in Foreign Office lodgings from one-bedroom concrete to gilt-decked mansions, counting nowhere home. 

Friendships were transitory. Locals, left behind. Other diplomats and their children came and went. I was rootless and nomadic, well used to it and content.

Francis, Dick - Comeback

"Twenty years rolled like mist over the memories of my distant childhood in Gloucestershire," . . . what I wouldn't give to be able to write like that.

Can't Do It

As as kid I would read each book to finish it. No matter how good or bad the book was I would read it and make myself finish it. Having grown up I've learned that life is too short for bad books, so I'm giving up on Rob Sinclair's book Dance with the Enemy.

I know that my writing isn't award winning, I know that it can be juvenile and jejune at times. I realize that I still have a lot of work to do to become a "good" writer much less a "near great" or "great" writer. Hell, most of the time I don't even consider my writing to be "mediocre," but I feel I can say confidently that my books are better than Dance with the Enemy.

The story was well staged, but the character's decisions were illogical, some of the scenes were absurd. The actions that the characters took were ridiculous and even someone with no experience would tell that they were. Worse, the writing was just bad. It wasn't the only instance, but I pitched it in when I read the following:

After a few minutes of driving, he started to calm again. The trembling in his hands stopped and the fog began to clear. Still, he was left with a sour taste in his mouth. Mackie was the person who had pulled Logan into this in the first place. Not just this case, but this entire life. If anyone was responsible for the direction Logan’s life had taken, it was Mackie. Now he was talking to Logan like he was no longer the right man for the job. And that hurt him.

It was "And that hurt him" that got to me. Telling the reader what the character is feeling. He just spent a paragraph explaining the guys feelings, why throw in that final "and that hurt him?"

Like I said, it wasn't just this, it was a multitude of things. Life is too short to waste time on books that don't call to you and make you want to read, make you want to get to the end. Reading to find fault, noticing mistakes, feeling that the motivations and actions of the characters are ridiculous takes the reader out of the story and gets you pitched. On to the next one.

You Have to Love an Author who Edits While he Mops

I read with great interest this piece (here) in the WSJ about Enrique Ferrari an Argentine novelist and janitor. Yep . . . Janitor. Combine that tidbit with the fact that he’s an award winning novelist on his sixth thriller and really the man could become his own character in a pretty interesting work.

Mr. Ferrari, a 44-year-old janitor who works nights in the Argentine capital’s metro, has spiky black hair and a Karl Marx tattoo. He didn’t go to college or study writing but his novels have won literary prizes in Europe and Cuba. His sixth book, to be published in the spring, is “If You Are Reading This,” about a man who travels back to 1940 to preemptively kill Leon Trotsky’s assassin.

I have written before about writer’s ennui and finding inspiration to keep on writing. I remember an old post I wrote on road marches (see here). In that post I tried to discuss writing in terms of a road march and the feelings that both inspire. This article about Ferrari inspires those same thoughts about road marching.

I remember many road marches when I was in the military where I felt like I couldn’t continue. What kept me going? Looking up at the front of the line to the people who were twenty meters, fifty meters, even 100 meters up ahead of me. If they could get to that point where they are walking up there, and we all started at the same place, then I can at least get to that point to. So I would make it to that point, look up, and repeat the process. A never-ending cycle that kept me in the march.

Here I am, an executive with a nice office, a home office, a nice computer or three that I can write on, all the comforts I could hope for and I’m not writing nor am I editing. Then there is Mr. Ferrari. He’s a janitor who composes and edits his work while he mops.

Regular readers of this blog will know that I did not enjoy King’s On Writing as much as much I had hoped. I remember though that King wrote about how he was constantly reading. In the doctor’s office waiting for his appointment, he would whip out his book and read. In the car he had books on tape. He was reading reading reading, in an effort to perfect his craft. If you aren’t doing that, he argued, what are you doing being a writer? I liked that.

Perhaps I should quit and become a janitor.

Task Conditions Standard

The other day (here) I wrote briefly about Task Condition and Standard. In the Rangers we would perform each mission, exercise, briefing, everything with a plan and a part of that plan was Task Condition Standards.

"We are going to run three miles, around the air field, need to be done in less than twenty minutes." Boom! That quick.

"We're going to work at this range, everyone has to shoot through the obstacle course after running a mile in full kit, and everyone has to shoot a 90% or better." Boom!

"We're jumping on this airfield, we will take it over and have our "air lando commando's" on the ground in three hours time." Boom! Task, Condition, Standard.

The other day I had to deal with someone and this came to mind. For purposes of anonymity, I'll say this was a client at work. This client and I had worked extremely successfully for many years then all of a sudden things went sour. No matter how I tried to adjust, adapt and overcome, things still continued to circle the drain. What's worse is that I felt like instead of addressing the issue, this client had a passive aggressive tendency to avoid the problem and allow the problems not just to continue but to actually become greater and deeper.

Finally I confronted the client and the long and short of it is . . . we are no longer doing business.

Now, here's the crux, one thing that she said was "I don't think you can do what I need anymore."

This hit me. The whole of that last year or more I felt like I was trying to salvage this work, I was giving task condition standards to myself and her. I was constantly adjusting and trying to get back on a solid footing. Hearing that she didn't think I could get there, it hit me that she had turned from someone I admired for her positivity to someone who was fatalistic and pessimistic. Previously she had talked about doing business for forty more years, now she was dropping our business after only a week. Still, it was that one thing that she said that hit me . . . that she had never given me her own tasks conditions and standards.

Is it my fault to a degree for not knowing? Sure. But I know that for months (and more likely years) I had told her to tell me what I could do to keep her business. I had been asking for that task condition and standards. In the absence of one I assumed that she wanted business as usual. But, like I said, I asked, alot. I believe it's on her to take the onus and be able to express just what she wants and what I can do as a vendor to help her get to that point. I was perfectly willing to do business however they wanted to get back on a solid footing.

I take task condition standards to all of my vendors. I have a vendor calling me and I can't address him at the moment. "Hey dude, we got a lot going on right now, can you call me back in six months?" Task condition and standard. "Hey, I need you to be able to do this and I need it next week." Task condition standard. It's everywhere in my life so I was surprised it had been so absent in this relationship.

Still, it's funny, I know that I should learn from this and adapt and overcome and go seek out new clients, but you never forget or give up on your most meaningful business relationships. It's hard to create that type of atmosphere, that seamless a relationship, that type of quid pro quo and perfect (well near perfect) understanding. I wish that I had asked her more pointedly for a task condition standard, and wish more that she had expressed one. I know I would have done everything in my power to make it happen.

Business is funny. Other clients are out there sure. But you learn from each interaction.

What's this have to do with writing? Character modeling! (see here). I'm creating a character who has trouble adapting to non-military life. Who wants to bet there's a ton of task condition and standard in that character.

Short Story Sunday

Although I've been working with my Kenyan thriller novel, I've started a new tradition, Short Story Sunday. I have a library of short stories, some finished (here), most unfinished. Worse than unfinished stories are stories not even started. I've decided to fix this by dedicating Sunday morning to short story writing only, and Monday's to giving snippets of those stories to this audience. So, enjoy:

 Breakfast With the Lifers

By Dick Hannah

If asked, I doubt if I could pin it down to just one action or happenstance. Maybe it was the shades, maybe the good cooking, perhaps like so many odd coincidences in this world it was just a series of unrelated incidents that coalesced to create one huge, crazy, pre-midlife drama for me. Like so many other things in life what happened to me was probably not the result of one event, or even two, but a combination of many small things. It could have been Michaelson talking too much, my apartment being in a flash in the pan neighborhood where shops and people drift in an out of favor as quickly as teenage pop stars, or it could have been my not putting my a stop to things quickly enough, but one thing is for certain, Hoffman opening the shades that first morning was the pivot point, and if not it certainly acted as the catalyst that started the whole Rube Goldberg like mechanization that led to my restaurant.

I never wanted to become a restaurateur, I never had that calling. I’ve thought about it, thought about it a lot, and it boils down to the fact that it is just too risky. There is no safety net, no assurances, the customer base is too fickle, the market is too precarious, too many avenues where things could go sour. I like my life planned out and orderly. I rejected the idea of owning or operating or even working in a restaurant a long time ago. I’ve patronized too many establishments too often, and regarded them with a practiced eye toward failure potential, to make the mistake of investing in them myself. I don’t gamble. I go into all my ventures, few they may be, with a wealth of research and always a well thought out plan consisting of a feasibility phase, a production phase, closure, extraction and so on.

(if you'd like to read the rest, please follow this link: here)

Evershade, evershades, ever shade, ever shades

A Dose of Absurdity

I have a wonderful post to complete my ersatz series on change management. It is about defining Task Condition and Standards. But it's too much for today. Got too many things going on for that type of post. Today, with a with done with her job, a series of problems at work with no goal or destination, a friendship dashed against the rocks and sinking beneath the waves, and needing to get to the hospital for surgery this morning, there's just too much other stuff for a Task Condition Standard post. So instead I offer this absurdity:

 

Seriously, Chicken's in Sweaters is a thing. Whenever I wonder if this blog is silly. Who reads it? Who want's a failing authors ideas on writing and publishing? What's the point? I see something like this and realize that not only is my blog NOT absurd, but it may not be absurd enough for this world.

Task Condition and Standard can wait till next week.

Does "It" Have to be "What It Is?"

Yesterday and the other day I wrote about change management (here and here) and today may be no different. I had a call with my co-worker the other day where she got upset about how quickly everyone in our company tends to be rolling over to the demands of the company we merged with. "It is what it is," she said. I found myself in a situation the other day that she would have enjoyed being a part of. When confronted with a director who didn't want to make a change I had a make a case for the change, and execute. I found out later that he has been working behind my back toward his own ends, so I had to confront him about that. Fireworks ensued.

The "is what it is" comment hit me. I have another (wonderful) friend, E, who loves using this turn of phrase. I hate it every time she does. "It is what it is" is such a passive acceptance of events. I don't believe in that philosophy she uses so quickly. I believe in overcoming. I believe in making my own destiny. I believe in being upfront with people and discussing things and coming up with a plan to get over whatever obstacle happens to be in the way. Maybe it's my military foundations coming into play, but in my unit, there was no retreat. There was no, "Well, we were supposed to go this way, but someone is shooting at us, so we better just turn around." Nope. The unspoken motto was "adapt and overcome." If one thing doesn't work, try another, if that doesn't, try another, and another, and another, until you succeed. Quitting isn't an option and "is what it is" is a sop for quitting.

Confronting my director the other day reminded me of my father. Not only was this fellow someone who refused to try something new, to innovate or adapt and overcome, he was duplicitous and conniving. I think about my father and his death two years back (see here). I think about how I have acted in my life. Have I acted with integrity or insincerity? Have I been upfront with people and truthful or have I been meek and fearful? Have I worked to be supportive and helping or have I undermined and been corrosive in my actions? Can I place on my tombstone "No Regrets."

I know from having dealt with my father that he was all of the positive aspects listed above. He was too gentle and truthful a soul to be otherwise. It's my job to try and be the same. To set the same example and surround myself with people who have the same desire to be that type of person.

There is a culture clash at work in my office. Do we obfuscate and knuckle in to the culture war, and to the challenges that face us in life and in this instance at work, or do we innovate, adapt and overcome and never quit on things we believe in. Using my father's example and understanding how quick life can be over, I think I know which I'll choose.

I look forward to providing both sets of characteristics to characters in my book. The "is what it is" character who will fail for not having tried, and the "adapt and overcome" character who may not win but who will be able to look back on his actions with pride and no regrets. I hope fireworks ensue.

Wag and Prudence

I had a coffee date with my long time friend and former/still might be, co-worker, C the other day. Two things popped up in our long and ranging conversation that would make the date notable for this blog. The topics included: home grown inventions (Popquiz Password), life hacks (Styrofoam coffee pot timer) applications (Wag . . . an incredible Uber for the dog walking world), Eastern philosophy (who knew she was into that), and series 7 exams (again, who knew!). But the two that made a dent in the writing world were: children’s books and addiction.

C has recently written a book about her dog, Prudence (pictured above), that she wanted to talk to me about. Naturally I foisted upon her my own book, and we didn’t discuss publishing to the degree she might have wanted, but it was a topic. My take was the same that my writing friend Allie from years ago told me; we live in an age with an amazingly low bar to enter the market. The ability to write and publish a written work and produce it, advertise it, and market it for an audience is easier now than it has ever been. There are multiple channels for printing, print on demand, and an amazingly quick and inexpensive creation ability. This was the reason I eschewed the typical, literary agency mode of publishing. There’s just no benefit for the hurdles one must endure. If I had the date to do again, I’d go back and talk more about this. Still, way to go Prudence.

The other factor that came up quite a bit was addiction. C and I have a mutual friend who is facing some stiff challenges in terms of addiction, either to pain killers or drinking or perhaps both. My latest novel draft that I have just completed for NaNo had a theme of addiction and how to deal with addiction. Thankfully, I’ve never had a problem with addiction so it was tough to write about, but I expanded my horizons and looked at my life outside of the typical addictions and I was able to find some “unhealthy” things in my life and realize that I had a hard time giving them up even though my life would be better if I did.

It was over that cup of Joe that C both gave a word of thanks that we weren’t addicted to anything.

Great First Line

THE SMOKE CARRIED UP FROM THE Cahuenga Pass and flattened beneath a layer of cool crossing air. From where Harry Bosch watched, the smoke looked like a gray anvil rising up the pass. The late afternoon sun gave the gray a pinkish tint at its highest point, tapering down to deep black at its root, which was a brushfire moving up the hillside on the east side of the cut.

Connelly, Michael - The Black Ice

Yep, I am back to writing out the first lines of books. Micheal Connelly's first lines are just as good as Lawrence Sanders who I think is the best of them all.

In these first few sentences Michael Connelly does all of the things that I find both intriguing and irritate me about Californians. Connelly (and most Californians) are obsessed with the nomenclature of their area and particularly so when discussing traffic patterns and highways. I despise this but I suppose he is trying to immerse the character in the writing and the setting.

The other thing that Connelly does that Sanders does as well is use color in the imagery. That "gray anvil" or "pinkish tint" and "deep black" are all there giving more depth to the sentence. I like the fact that there is that next level of modifiers in first sentences. These tell me that Connelly, unlike other sentences and passages that just move the story along, this first sentence is crafted and tuned to what it is now.

Greatness of NaNo

So I finished the 2017 NaNoWriMo successfully and it's a great feeling to have accomplished that. Is it a complete novel? Far from it. In fact I remember it was Vapor Trail (here) that made me realize that writing isn't "writing" . . . writing is "re-writing."

I wrote Vapor Trail as a NaNo submission back in 2013 or 2014. I only published it last year. It takes a lot of re-writing to get a NaNo submission into a publishable book . . . and even what I think is publishable is still a long way from perfect.

Still, it's nice to have a draft. Am I working on Sunset Perfect now? Nope. Not even considering it. I have a great 50,000 word draft, but it will be another year or two before I work on it and want to try and publish it.

What am I working on now?

I'm working on my 2015 NaNo submission. I wrote a thriller about an orphanage in Kenya, and a team of mercenaries who are hired to protect it. The great thing about NaNo is that I have absolutely no recollection of ever writing that draft. None whatsoever. It's like picking up a completely foreign manuscript and being able to work on it. It's a great feeling to be so far into writing a novel and already be so far along.