Writing group, week 14: Sun, wind and a spectral gender change

We got into the meeting room early today, yay. Three of us were there at the start, with two slightly late arrivals and one arriving halfway through. Using my amazing math skills, we had a turnout of six.

I came in with no specific plan of action, only knowing I would be fixing more things in Road Closed. Somehow I managed to fix one of the last big remaining lumps in the carpet I’d created. The one vexing me this week was the spooky room in the old house that Christian visits twice for house parties, the first time alone (and drunk), the second with Kevin (and sober).

Initially, I had him discover a room that appeared to be a study, complete with very old Remington typewriter sitting on the desk. He hears or thinks he hears a voice telling him to leave. Spooky.

On the second visit, he meets Brandon, the son of the owners of the house. Brandon tells him the room is Grandpa’s study and Grandpa died a long time ago. The room has been sealed as a kind of memorial. He agrees to unlock it so Christian and Kevin can have a look but refuses to go in himself. Still spooky but it didn’t feel right.

I pondered and then it came to me rather obviously–I had to ditch both Grandpa and the study. Instead, the room becomes a bedroom, one occupied twenty years earlier by Brandon’s aunt–his mother’s sister. Christian doesn’t know it at the time, of course, but he has literally come across Wendy Kerr’s residence and effectively gets her spirit attached to him by entering the room. The proverbial ghost magnet, just as he laments later on in the story. Perfect.

The next lump in the carpet is what to do with Miller Woods. Right now I have it as the place where Wendy was buried and where Simon meets his end. Is there more to it than that? Early parts of the story suggest it has some significance but now I’m not so sure.

Once I resolve the Miller Woods dilemma (MWD) I will have smoothed out everything that seriously bothers me in the first draft and can jump back into finishing the first draft proper. I am cautiously optimistic.

Run 489: Slower but with bonus post-run intervals

Run 489
Average pace: 5:47/km
Location: Burnaby Lake (CW)
Start: 12:01 pm
Distance: 5.04 km
Time: 29:14
Weather: Partly cloudy
Temp: 13ºC
Wind: light to moderate
BPM: 167
Weight: 165.3 pounds
Total distance to date: 3835 km
Devices/apps: Apple Watch, iPhone

I was bad and did not run during the week so this was my first run in seven days.

My weight and BPM were lower, which is good.

My pace was slower, which is…okay. I actually started faster than last week but flagged noticeably by the third km, which dragged down my average pace. It’s a bit disappointing but not unexpected.

I also deliberately slowed my pace around the 2K mark when I began feeling a shoulder cramp. Cramps usually mean I’m pushing too hard, so I eased up until it went away.

Strangely, I felt a strong urge to pick up the pace on the walk home, which is around 9 km or so. As a result, I started doing quasi-intervals where I walked for a while then would start jogging for stretches of up to half a km. I did this about five times in total and it brought the overall pace of my walk back down to 8:41/km. It would normally be around 9:10/km. It was nutty but also a precursor to starting longer runs.

I’ll want to get a few weeks of multiple runs per week before starting that, I think.

The right heel proved to be a non-issue, though it feels a bit tender tonight. It always seems worse later when I am not walking on it much. As I continue to walk it paradoxically feels better. I’m sure this is a known thing, I just haven’t bothered to look it up yet.

The weather was cooperative, if still unseasonably cool, topping around 13ºC. The sky cleared early so most of the run was sunny, which has been a weird sensation so far this year. A few times it almost felt warm.

And once again on the walk out from the lake, I encountered a pair of cyclists. These dopes, a pair of guys in their teens, were moving along pretty slowly, suggesting they knew they shouldn’t be there but were at least being a little considerate while being general jerks. So pseudo-kudos to them.

Book review: How to Grow a Novel

How to Grow a Novel: The Most Common Mistakes Writers Make and How to Overcome ThemHow to Grow a Novel: The Most Common Mistakes Writers Make and How to Overcome Them by Sol Stein
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I’m a sucker for “how to write a novel” books and when How to Grow a Novel was on sale, I picked it up as I was interested in Stein’s perspective not just as a writer but also as an editor and publisher.

There’s some good stuff here and the advice is practical and precise, if sometimes contradictory. Stein both advises writers to read their own work aloud–and to not do so (because novels are read, not heard). He offers some genuinely interesting glimpses into how the book publishing business works (or at least worked, as the book was originally published in 1999, predating the rise of self-publishing through e-books).

I enjoyed the use of specific excerpts to underline the points being made but was less enthused with the self-promotion. The book Stein recommends the most is his own. At times he makes Stein On Writing sound better than this book, perhaps hoping to net a few more sales.

By the end, I found How to Grow a Novel more interesting as a reflection on the book publishing industry and less on the actual writing of a novel. A beginning writer could do worse (the stories of six-figure advances may be depressing in a way Stein didn’t anticipate) but could also do better, especially if looking for help that more readily mixes nuts and bolts advice with inspiration.

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Book review: The Tommyknockers

The TommyknockersThe Tommyknockers by Stephen King
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

The thing I like most about The Tommyknockers is how bonkers it is.

This was my primary motivation to re-read it for the first time since its original publication in 1987. Sometimes you just want to read something that’s flat-out bonkers.

The Tommyknockers is the story of an ancient spaceship buried under the ground of a bucolic village in Maine facing off against a washed-up and suicidal drunk poet.

It’s the story of how that same town, ironically named Haven, gets dosed with some serious crazy from the ship, leading the townsfolk to tear each other apart when they’re not busy building gadgets that defy the laws of physics.

It’s extremely violent at times, filled with gory deaths and near-misses that King gleefully describes in loving detail.

It’s also a bitter and sad reunion between a pair of former lovers and friends, both changed, both beyond redemption, each struggling with their basic humanity, one rather more literally than the other.

King spent much of the 1980s under the influence of various drugs and there’s something about the texture of the story and particularly the self-destruction of Jim Gardener, the alcoholic poet, that suggests more than verisimilitude at work here. Though the novel suffers from what feels like a hands-off approach from the editor, with a few sloppy sections that should have been cleaned up or excised, the sense that you are riding along on a rocket of destruction both serves as a strength of the story and a reminder of how King was battling his own buried demons at the time.

If you like horror masquerading as loopy science fiction, The Tommyknockers is a fun (if too-long) read. It’s my second favorite “spaceship buried in the earth” novel, after Patrick Tilley’s Fade-Out.

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Unwelcome lump of something or other: identified

I went for a follow-up with my doctor yesterday in Steveston, where it always rains, at least when I’m there.

Also, the bus trip is long and agonizing. I mean, more than a usual bus trip.

But good news was in store.

The blood sugar test showed a level of 4.7. The ideal range is 4.5-6 so I am actually near the low end. My doctor advised me to keep doing what I’m doing, which probably means “continue to not stuff donuts into my face” and “do not treat bags of sugar as a food group.”

The other news was concerning the unwelcome lump. It is still unwelcome and that will not change.

Less unwelcome is news that it is the testicular equivalent of varicose veins. It’s both kind of gross and a relief to learn that it’s nothing serious. I asked if anything can be done about them but it seems short of some form of dark magic, they are here to stay. The good news is they don’t cause any discomfort and as long as I’m not working to get someone pregnant (I am not nor do I have this penciled in on my calendar any time soon), there should be no potential complications.

So good news all around. I celebrated by having a Mars bar. Yes, I know, it’s exactly the opposite of what I should have done, but it was a yearly indulgence. I promise not to have another before 2018.

May: Time to construct the ark

Here’s the weather so far for the month of May:

May 1: Cloudy, a high of 9C. This is eight degrees below the average high for the month. This is February weather.

May 2: A mix of sun and cloud, high of 16C. This is almost seasonal (normal) weather.

May 3: Torrential downpour, a high of 12C by noon, well below normal. This is March weather.

They are forecasting absurdly high temperatures of 24C tomorrow, which would be well above normal. At this point, though, I think it’s quite possible that it could be raining unicorns instead because the weather no longer makes sense.

That is all.

B is for Ball

I actually struggled with this one, even though there are a billion things that start with the letter B.

And then I cheated.

B is for Ball.

Program used: Photoshop CC 2015.5
Cheat used: created ball using ellipse tool. Freehand drawing is for losers.
More cheating: used the Lighting Effects filter to create a pseudo-3D effect

In other words, I used about the least amount of my own minimal artistic talent as possible. I’m okay with that because I dig the totally retro border and Cooper Black font. Also, you can see the pixels on the ball because I was too lazy to figure out how to apply antialiasing. That makes it more retro.

B is for ball

A is for Apple

I am going to do the old shtick of going through the alphabet and draw something each day that starts with the appropriate letter.

Today, A is for Apple.

A is for Apple

Drawn in: Paper (iOS app)
Tool used: My finger

The combination of an inadequate tool (my finger) with inadequate drawing skill (my brain) has produced something vaguely reminiscent of an apple. It could also be a tomato. Possibly a short-stemmed cherry. Maybe an apple.

Probably an apple.

Edit: I went back and edited the image using Adobe Photoshop CC 2015.5, adding a snazzy (?) red border and explanatory text.

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The family, 1968 (?)

And to end the month here’s a photo of the entire family from around 1968 or so.

The family circa 1968

From left to right: Mom, me, Carole, Terri, Dad, Barry, Ricky

From the previous post, you can see my claim to being a skinny ass kid is accurate. My legs are sticks. I can’t even keep my comfy wool socks from slipping off. I seem pretty happy, though, possibly because I’m finally off the bottle.

While the fashions seen here are pretty jazzy, I am especially intrigued by what my brothers are wearing. The jackets are fine–they’d even look fine in the 21st century. But the black and white-striped pants that are inches too short? I just don’t know. No, wait, I do know. They look ridiculous. This must have been a fad, however brief, in the late 60s. Both brothers seem to be compensating for the pants by adopting tough guy looks. I think Rick may be holding a skateboard, which also helps a little to compensate.

I don’t recall my sisters ever wearing these knee-high socks except in photos like this one.

I remember the orange couch, though. We eventually got a green one with a floral pattern but for years the orange couch dominated the living room, demanding–and receiving–attention from all who entered.

Me, 50 years ago

I can’t really articulate how much it bothers me that I have photos that were taken of me from half a century ago, except that I’m happy to still be around and embarrassed by them. I’ve recently scanned in a pair from 1967. There’s no date beyond the year so I would have been between two and three years old.

The first photo is an outdoor shot of me and my brother Rick standing in the front yard of our house on Trunk Road in glorious Duncan, BC.

Me with my brother Rick, 1967

You know, it may not be my brother at all, but the size and hair seem to fit.

Mostly I can’t figure out what sort of hat I am wearing. It looks like a motorcycle helmet made out of fluff. I seem mildly embarrassed by it. How ironic that in years to come I would willingly subject myself to far greater fashion crimes.

This next photo is a rare color one from the same year.

Me chilling on the couch, 1967

I seem much happier here and why not? I’m not wearing the fluff helmet, I’m snuggled in comfy jammies with the little feet built-in and I’ve…got my bottle?

Yes, that is clearly a baby bottle in my lap but as you can also see I am clearly not a baby in the photo. I have teeth and everything. This led me to wonder at what age you stop bottle-feeding your kids and I found a Time article that suggests the bottle should be taken away between 12 and 18 months. Clearly, this did not happen here, unless I was just keeping the bottle warm for the younger sibling I never knew I had. Mind you, the same study said that late bottle feeding increases the risk of obesity and I was one skinny ass kid.

But maybe I kept thin by ingesting all the second-hand smoke floating around. Every adult back then had lit cigarettes in their mouths, in their hands or in an ashtray.

I have no idea who is knitting next to me but that posture surely can’t be good for the back. Also, rad red pants.

Finally, I think my mom took this photo. The clue is the blurry digit in the top-right corner. As a photographer, my mom had two specialties: including her fingers as subjects, and lopping off the tops of people’s heads. I was too short here, thus my head was spared.

Writing group, week 13: Sun, people and words

In a highly unusual turn of event the sun came out today and temperatures almost reached seasonal levels. Almost.

Energized by the weird glowing yellow ball in the sky, five of us showed up 15 minutes early, which naturally meant the group in the already in the room was tardy in leaving.

In all, we ended up with eight, which is just enough for everyone to sit at the table. One more and we would have chosen someone to be the outcast sitting on a chair in the corner, Lottery-style. And given the gargantuan size of some of these laptops, I would not want to subject some of my fellow writers to actually using their computers on their laps.

The writing session went fine, too. I immediately jumped in and fixed the problematic house party. Changes made:

  • the first house party now has Christian actually go into the basement. It’s no big thing and is thus dealt with as a plot device. I may go back and remove the scene altogether in the second draft.
  • the second house party, previously fleshed-out, is now further expanded, by having Christian meet the son of the house’s owners, a young and pensive young man named Brandon. He willingly gives Christian a key to enter the study but refuses to go in (or to say why). I have not finished this scene but it’s clear things are not quite right in the study.

I’ve still got some further work to do in aligning other parts of the story, notably Miller Woods, which comprises a good chunk of it, but I’m confident that even if I don’t come up with fixes that will stay, I’ll be able to get the story as is on a proper course so that I am comfortable expanding it beyond where it leaves off now.

Time will tell, of course.