Wednesday, March 1

I left Minnesota and below zero temperatures, and arrived in Eugene where it was clear, sunny, and sixty degrees. That's ABOVE zero.

There are people I miss back there, but was remined why I like Eugene when I got back home. The scenery, the weather, and of course the network of writers. Oh yes, and the good coffee.

I was the best man at the wedding of Kent and Annette. In fact, I was the only groomsman. Only one bridesmaid. Small wedding party. They didn't have much money to spend on the wedding, so I was going to rent the tux with my own money. However, the night I got into town, Kent and Annette played bingo (they play much bingo and pull tabs) and they came away six hundred dollars richer. They told me they'd pay for my tux, God bless them!

Their bingo mojo was phenomenal. They played three more times while I was there, and twice I played with them. I never yelled bingo once, but those two seemed to make money every night. Maybe they broke even, maybe they won just a little, but from my point of view Lady Luck kissed them right on the lips. Maybe I brought them good luck. We even went out to play bingo after the wedding. A winter storm prevented us from venturing out of town to another casino.

As for other things, I couldn't find a place that carried Realms Of Fantasy in my home town. In Grand Forks I found three copies at Waldens and I bought them all. I needed copies to give to people. Otherwise, it was hard to find copies even in Grand Forks.

I'll write more about my little trip later . . .


Saturday, March 3

I've been dealing with a cold/flu the last couple of days. I don't know if the little virus came back with me from Minnesota or if it's an Oregon thing, but I do know I have something. A minor sore throat. My throat actually feels better while drinking or eating. I have the stuffy nose, body aches. It's not bad enough for me to miss work, but I've been getting plenty of sleep and juice just to get rid of it.
I haven't been productive in anything the last couple of days and I hope to get some things done on Sunday. For example, I need write because I have story due for workshop.

Speaking of writing, I did get some writing done on the plane going to Minnesota. 395 words handwritten on the narrow pages of my day planner. I was surprised how easy that was. The words just flowed. I haven't written anything in a week now and I need to begin again.


Tuesday, March 6

It seems I only have a simple non-threatening cold. I've felt fine besides the stuffy nose. This thing is almost gone.

On to another subject: I need to light a fire under my ass! However, I don't know if that will keep me sitting to write. : )

Seriously, it's my old archenemy, Inertia. Leave town, don't write, come back and a week has passed and I'm still not writing. O.K. I'm going to get "After The Sky Fell" done before Saturday when I go to Kate and Damon's. Sounds familiar? Yeah, this happened last month too. I didn't get a story done.

Dear Reader, if I don't post daily updates of word counts and writing progress by Saturday, would you please nag me?

I'll get some writing done yet tonight.


Sunday, March 11

285 words written so far as of noon. That will not be all.

I didn't go to Damon and Kate's workshop last night. I stayed home to do taxes (what fun!) but found out I needed to find other receipts, documents.

No writing until now so I didn't have a story for the workshop if I would have gone. At least this morning I've broken through that wall of inertia. Now I just need to make that hole bigger.
************************************
Plus 265 more words in the evening equals 550 words for the day.

That's better. Putting words on the page was hard tonight, but I'm glad I forced myself to do the work. I can rework those words in the revision if needed.
Tomorrow, another day and more words.


Tuesday, March 13

250 words written today.

I missed writing yesterday. Strange, I must have been really tired. I came home after work and instead of going to the computer first thing, I checked e-mail. Then I rested on the couch and ended up sleeping through the night until three the next morning. Must have been more tired than I realized. At three a.m. this morning, I finished reading the workshop stories.

I wrote after work today, but I don't feel good about those words. There's always revision and tomorrow there's always more words.

Cheers.


Wednesday, March 21

There's something worthy of note, something worthy to remember about my trip back home last month.

I went to my old high school, which really isn't my old school and I mean physically it is not the same high school I went to. They built a new one in Crookston four or five years ago. One thing I wanted to be sure to do when I went back to my hometown was to bring my first published short story to my high school english teacher.

Mr. Dave Davidson taught Communications, Creative Writing I and II back in '87 and '88. He had a Harley Davidson, he wore a leather jacket, and two of his favorite writers were Hunter S. Thompson and Hemingway.

I found something I enjoyed and something I thought I was good at in Creative Writing I. We wrote short stories and read them aloud in class. I found I enjoyed writing stories. I could get in a 'zone' and the writing would flow. Reading my stories to the class did my ego and self-esteem good. In those days when I didn't feel like I connected with many of my classmates, I found my thing where I connected with many.

Mr. Davidson encouraged me more by inviting me to a workshop outside of school. I even remember during summer break between my junior and senior year, he invited me over to his house to talk about writing, and even do some critiquing although I couldn't offer much help on his fiction. I didn't have the tools, language, and experience at the time.

Those last two years of high school were great. The writing flowed because my inner critic had yet to develop. There were times when I procrastinated and stayed up all night to finish a story. There were dances Friday nights where fellow classmates would comment on the story I read in class.

Mr. Davidson gave me the Fiction Award my senior year. My name and the year and "Most Dedicated Fiction Writer" was etched in a brass plate. The plate was on a marble base along with a penholder. Pen included, of course. "Dedicated" meant something. It wasn't the BEST fiction writer, but "Dedicated." I think it was because of all that energy I displayed during those years.

I still have that marble base minus the pen and penholder. The penholder lost its adhesive and even with some replacement adhesive the penholder eventually got lost. So it's a marble paperweight with a brass plate with my name on it from a year when writing was fresh and new and innocent and fun. I still have it on my desk next to my computer along with other talismen to remind me of success and to keep me grounded. They remind me I can do this. I can write. I can keep going. The Mad-Marvin will eventually be among the talismen as well.

So I went to my old high school in a building that wasn't familiar and I found Mr. Davidson was in the middle of class. I had come prepared--I wrote a note and placed it in the magazine with my story just in case this should happen. I was told I could bother him in class but I was hesitant. I don't know why I felt this way. I do have this politeness slant which means I hate to be a bother. I was ready to leave the magazine and note in the english department office, but upon hearing I was a former student of Mr. Davidson's, I was led to his classroom.

The classrooms in this new school had many windows. Some of the walls were just glass. Mr. Davidson paused in his teaching and talked to me for a moment in the hall. I showed him the magazine and the Wordo anthology One Evening A Year. He was thrilled and told me I had to sign them, so I stepped into his classroom. The students seemed to be in small groups discussing a book. As he led me to his desk he said he was thinking about my stories recently. He introduced me to the class, saying I was a former student.

I signed "Messages" in Realms Of Fantasy and the anthology. He said he hoped that autograph would be worth forty thousand dollars in the future. I told him thanks and I even told him I still had that fiction award. I told him about Eugene and the community of writers there. He seemed to understand the benefit of such a community.
I didn't get a chance to talk to him for a very long and it was my last day in town, but it was good to see him and to say thanks.

This is a unique milestone when I can go back to my fictional roots and show some tangible progress, a product of encouragement and drive from over a decade ago.

The writing has become easier in the last year or two. Oh, I still hesitate and procrastinate some but that flow or that 'zone' is easier to find more often. That inner critic had it's reign for many years since high school and now I'm becoming more like the writer I was when I started writing back in high school. The kind of writer who wrote without that inner critic. The kind of writer who allowed the words to just flow.


Sunday, March 25

Almost Oscar time . . .

I got two stories back out in the mail this weekend. "Recall" to Asimov's and "Pieces Of Us From The Earth" to Realms Of Fantasy. That would make three stories currently on Shawna McCarthy's desk at Realms. Well, give this new story I sent a couple of days, of course.