The Adventure of a Lifetime

Two weeks before the last day of my old day job working as a carpenter, I was given a gift, one that has opened my eyes to things I'd long forgotten.  It was the first week in Dec of 08 that those pencil notes were written and began a journey that would take me places in my imagination I'd not thought possible.

I had to ask myself time and again, why I wanted to write.  And the answer was always the same - because I have to.  The stories would not let me walk away and the characters that rattled around inside my thoughts always wanted more from me - more life.  

Perhaps there is more to storytelling than meets the eye.  It's more than plot and character parading down the street, showing off its wares, captivating us, and making us feel for their plight.  I have found that although writing can be a lonely endeavor, shuttering myself away for hours on end, with but a glimmer of the outcome, I am never alone in the process.

For the briefest of moments, I get to breathe life into a character that I come to care about, transferring my feelings into their life, be they the protagonist or the nasty-dastardly-deed- doer.  The feelings are real and that character teaches me something of life and myself.

There are times when I lose sight of time and place, finding myself so immersed in the story that it carries me away.  The same thing used to happen when I played the piano and got lost in the music and time stood still.

I wish it were like this all the time - but it's not - just like life:  99% perspiration, 1% inspiriation.  Since I'm still gathering in the tools of writing, and they are basic ones at that.  I struggle a lot in that 99% area with the mechanics of this new trade.  Just like a musical instrument, I have to learn how to play, and then and only then can I lose myself in the music.

If memory serves me, I was one who could take ten or fifteen minutes just to write a note in a birthday card, or sympathy, thank you, etc, etc, etc.  Go figure.  Now I want to write stories with 300 pages to them - major panic attack on pg 79 - where do I go from here?  So, I have to sit myself down, usually early in the morning before anyone else has stirred, and turn my imagination lose with my morning coffee.  And what a high that can be from time to time.  The ideas come so fast and the doubts fade away, that I wonder why I ever thought the well was dry.

So, this is my new adventure that started one month after my 62nd birthday, after my old livelihood was canceled by a quirk in the economy model that powers our society.  Personally, I'm glad it happened - on occasion mind you.  And when the writing muses find me worthy, I write like a madman, consumed by the story.  And it's fun.  So, I write, because I want to.  Because I'm getting to know me better, one story at a time.  

Oh, if you happen to see that pesky muse loitering somewhere, send her back.  I have questions.

 






   

BEGINNINGS

Monday – Monday As the song begins by saying, “You can't trust that day,” but it's the start of a new week, and today is the first one in November. I choose this day to post every week because I am at the beginning of something new and this blog will ramble on down that road in whatever form best suits it. Today's post began last week with the following.

A Small epiphany While sitting in my first NaNoWriMo get-together on my birthday last week, I suddenly remembered what the banker told me three weeks earlier – that my drivers license was expiring this month – and here it was already. You know the feeling, the hot-flash, OMG what am I going to do? I'm Expired. Here's what I wrote the next morning.

 In the wee hours of the morning, my mind was running rampant with all the terrors and consequences of allowing my license to lapse – not my first time either, but that's another story. My wife drove me over and I was done within twelve minutes, something of a record in my experience, but this is N. Idaho, not L.A.
 

Ramblings  Later that day, having just eaten a lunch of spice cake with Reese's Pieces as dessert, which left my head spinning with a sugar rush, I continued thinking about my very first NaNoWriMo meeting the night before at the Well Read Moose. Great meeting with terrific people – wish there were more guys though, not that there's anything wrong with three guys wedged between twenty or so gals.

   Birthdays can be traumatic times of the year, like holidays sometimes, bringing up my "stuff". I had a good laugh with the DMV gal who renewed by license. She even took my picture twice, because I was having a difficult time smiling, and she said that this is not a line-up pic for going to jail. We actually had an enjoyable time together – she said, "read the first line" in the vision test, and I said, "what line". Life's too short not to have some fun and have a laugh. Which brings me to the real reason for this blog.

When I Grow Up This always seemed to be one step ahead of me, the elusive self I sought – the stuff that dreams are made of. Well, never in my wildest dreams did I ever see myself as a writer. I mean after all, I had a collection of panic attacks when it came time to write an essay in those dreaded English classes – at least until I went back to finish college at 50. Yes, when I grow up I wanted to be a college grad.  It just took a little longer than expected. Ah, such is the way of the world for me.

I officially began writing my first novel with the birth of my first child 26 years ago. Nothing much became of those characters and story ideas until my 'official father job' as a carpenter dried up seven years ago this December. Two weeks before it did, I was "Gifted" a book idea about a character called Hen, who as it happens is an AI – artificial intelligence - in a novel called Reverse Evolution.  It didn't stop until two more books in the series were finished.  Go figure.  

Four books and two hip replacements later, I'm finally working up the nerve to want to publish the stories. I tried querying literary agents for a year or two – no luck. I went to my first Worldcon in Spokane, WA and got a real critique by real writers this past summer – still bleeding. Can't figure why anyone would ever want to do that again, but the stories are good, so I should try and share them, no matter how I felt after the critique. They were very helpful as it turns out. Truth hurts sometimes.

                                                        Ralphie, from the first workshop

NaNoWriMo   Is the March Madness of Novel Writing :)   For my writing project, I'll be working on the second book of Grading Scale. Last Nov. I began on the 24^th with the first installment. That went very well I thought, so I'm hoping that this year will be on that scale or better.

   Grading Scale is the story of two rookie angels, Claire who banished herself to the far reaches of the Angelic Realm out of shame, and Rachel who Fell from Grace because she committed murder. They are given a second chance at being reinstated in the ranks of angels and are thrust into high school as sixteen- year-olds, and must come to terms with:  living in a physical body, negotiating HS, succeeding at their assignments, and trying to deal with their storied pasts. So the second book, no title yet, will pick-up after their successful first assignment ends at Christmas break. As of today, I have two chapters and a paltry 2,867 words, but it's a new day, so . . . Time to get to work. Hope to see you next week.  I invite you to leave comments and share the blog with friends.