WriteSuccess

We Made It, More Than 2,000 Miles All the Way

2007-07-13T10:44:00.000-04:00

Driving from Chicago to LA, more than 2,000 miles all the way, we made it last night, July 12, to the Pacific Ocean.

Driving into LA on Route 66 was not as much of a nightmare as I had imagined it might be. Actually the traffic moved very smoothly past the Hollywood sign on the hill and past Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. We never thought the Pacific would come into view, but there it was and we almost dead ended into the Santa Monica Pier. After a hilarous bout with parking the car (remember we almost never made it out of Chicago's parking garage) we opened the champagne and ran to the railing on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. We did not linger because the temperature was around sixty degrees. That morning in Las Vegas the temp was around 106.

We found Joy's niece, Marcy Walton, easily. Marcy is a freelance producer and works on shows such as Extreme Makeover, Home Edition. She's currently working on a food show with TLC. She regaled us with stories about life in LA over a Sushi dinner in Santa Monica. However, her passion lies in a documentary she is currently making on Maoist conflict in Nepal and how it is affecting displaced children in that country. More than 200,000 children have been displaced because of this conflict.

We are spending a few days at Marcy's recovering before heading up the coast highway to Portland. John, Joy's husband, flies into LA this morning. Both daughters have now left the trip.

Things will change today, but that just makes it more exciting. I'll post again when we hit the road, this time going north.

Winding Down

2007-07-11T19:47:00.000-04:00

July 11, 2007

Last night we stayed in Seligman, AZ, on the longest stretch of uninterrupted Route 66 in the country. Seligman capitalizes on their location with every establishment boasting Route 66 signs and cars from the '50s and '60s.

We stayed at the Deluxe Inn where our host hailed from Bombay, India. He told us his philosophy on money (it doesn't make us happy) and fullfilment (do what you love).

We ventured down to the Roadkill Cafe where every type of animal, including a turkey, graced the walls, shelves and tables. Moose, elk, jacklopes and cougars stared at us with glass eyes as we ate our steak and ribs. We heard many stories last night from people passing through just like us. The bartender, Art, told us that many of the people traveling Route 66 these days come from Europe.

Today we cotinued our drive on Route 66 to Kingman. The landscape changed to hills covered in rocks. Not much action here although we did come upon a wonderful place for breakfast in Truxton. The Frontier Cafe is just what it is - an old Route 66 landmark without any prettying up for the tourists. The owner, Betty, makes six pies daily and we bought an apple pie that we have brought to Las Vegas and Ernie's house. Ernie and Joy went to elementary school together in California. He drove us into the Red Rock Canyon today and after making a Mexican dinner for us he plans to take us downtown to the strip.

Anna left yesterday and it seems like we have left someone behind everytime we stop. We went into a memorabilia store today and there was an old fashioned soda fountain with three empty stools and on the fourth sat a manniquin. We had our picture taken by a young man from China and said that made us feel whole again with the fourth member there at the fountain.

Tomorrow at this time we will be in Santa Monica at the end of Route 66. Today we felt sad everytime we realized this part of the trip will soon be over. We're ready to turn around and take the road backwards.

Sedona Rocks

2007-07-10T09:17:00.000-04:00

Monday, July 9

Sedona, Arizona is a city surrounded by red rocks rising majestically from the ground. Houses are tucked away in canyons and crevices of the clay mountains. We met up with a friend of Joy's yesterday who lived in the Hawthorne, Florida, area for years. She moved to Sedona 12 years ago and owns a massage school.

Nancy told us to wait until 6 p.m. to attempt any climbing. The temperatures soared to 106 degrees yesterday in the high desert of Sedona. We rested in our suite at the Village Lodge (a real treat at $79 a night for a 1 bedroom apartment). The "monsoon" season began when a rain storm hit (our first of the trip) so we were grateful we decided against camping last night. By the time 6 o'clock rolled around the rain had stopped, dropping the temperature down to 76 degrees. We climbed half way up Cathedral Rock and sat on an outcropping. All five of us including Nancy remained quiet for five minutes each lost in revery and respect for the nature before us as remnants of rain clouds and the setting sun provided us a light and shadow show against the red and brown limestone.

Afterwards we opted for dinner at the Full Moon Saloon where a welcome sign said Sunday was karoke night. We had traveled the whole way from Chicago on Route 66 looking for a karoke place so we could show off our singing abilities honed finely during the trip. Sedona marked the last night that Anna, Hillary, Joy and I would be on the road together since Anna flies out of Phoenix tomorrow and Anna and I are now at my brother's in Scottsdale. We had given up hope that we would find karoke but as we have found all along on this trip, things find us when we need it most.

We rocked in Sedona to On the Road Again, Get Your Kicks on Route 66, Sugar Shack and American Pie. We became known as "the Girls on the Road."

Tomorrow after dropping Anna at the airport I drive back to Sedona to meet up with Joy and Hillary and we continue on Route 66 from Seligman to Kingman on the longest stretch of old Route 66 in the country. Then it's on to Las Vegas for one night.

The Wild West

2007-07-10T09:15:00.000-04:00

Friday, July 6

We are in Gallup, New Mexico tonight tired after so many days of driving. When we came out of Tucumcari the landscape began changing and we drove among the mesas and plateaus of the west.

Lunchtime found us in Santa Fe, a town that contains only adobe-style buildings and homes. Its Main Street is picturesque but with touches of Disney to take away some of the charm.

Joy became excited about some pottery until she picked it up and looked at the bottom. "Made in China" forced her to quickly place the bowl down and move away.

The rocks became more colorful as we approached the western border of New Mexico. We decided to drive as far as we could because tomorrow we head to the Grand Canyon and want to spend some daylight hours exploring.

The skies of New Mexico seem wider and more expansive than anywhere else so far. We are mere specs on the highway and the relics of the past of Route 66 remind us that man's presence here is simply a short expanse of time in comparison to our surroundings on this ribbon of road.

Each of us faces new challenges in our life this year, but as we travel further west the pull of my life's difficulties seem insignificant when viewing the distant rocks that have withstood and witnessed the passage of centuries. And they survive.

And so will we.

Flying Over the Grand Canyon

2007-07-08T19:20:00.000-04:00

Sunday,July 8, 2007

We slept on the edge of the Grand Canyon last night in Kaibab National Forest. The light woke us all far too early – 4 a.m. Anna and I began sneezing and tossing and turning until 6 a.m. when we needed to pull ourselves up out of the tent and head to the Grand Canyon airport where a pilot named Jason and a helicopter awaited our arrival.

Jason flew us over the Canyon and the Colorado River which looked like a two-lane highway from our mile-high perch. Jason informed us that we were looking at 120 foot wide river with 25 foot white water caps. We also flew over a 1.7 million years old canyon floor. Anna worried us when she turned white and held her mouth but Jason took particular care to point out the white paper bags with each seat. He asked Anna to use hers since she sat right behind him. She said she would not vomit but she might have a heart attack. We managed to return to earth healthy and whole.

Right now I sit writing in a hotel in Sedona, Arizona, as Anna naps, Joy conducts business on the cell phone now that she has service and Hillary watches a movie. I look out over Castle Rock, red and majestic. Cathedral Rock, fifteen minutes away, awaits our hiking boots if these Florida girls (and one Portland chick) can manage a climb in this high altitude.

Tomorrow the trip changes as Anna and I go to Scottsdale, where we’ll visit with my brother and wife, and Joy and Hillary stay here in Sedona. Anna flies to Portland Tuesday from Phoenix and I hook back up with Joy and Hillary for more Route 66, Las Vegas and then we bring it on home to California by Thursday afternoon. Stay tuned.

I have not had lots of time to write and sometimes the Internet has been sketchy so I apologize if I have not done this trip justice. I find writing about what is happening right in the middle of it difficult. Perhaps I will find some quiet time in Scottsdale.

I can say with certainty that this trip has brought us much laughter and escape from the day to day movements of our regular lives. Having both of our daughters with us has only enhanced the experience and brought us all just a little bit closer.

Tucumcari

2007-07-05T20:39:00.000-04:00

We say the name of this town just because it is fun to say. Tonight we are staying at the Blue Swallow Motel in Tucumcari. I sit in a yellow metal chair outside of our room as the traffic on Route 66 tears by. The rooms are quaint and the beds are covered with quilts. The phone is from 1936. Later we plan on going down the road to the Pow Wow, the only bar in town and it serves food.

We find ourselves slowing down and letting road take us where it will. Whenever we think we have lost the Mother Road, the brown and white sign proclaiming, Historic Route 66, appears and all is right with our world.

Last night we camped in Purdy, Oklahoma, on Frank Walton's property and set off fireworks and celebrated Frank's life. Joy loved being there and seeing the place where her father had been born in 1923. She found the spring where he got his water and the road where he walked to school.

We have seen so much that I find we see the odd as normal now and often times don't even reach for the camera. Today we had one of those moments when we passed by the Leaning Tower of Texas, a tilted water tower on the side of the road.

More later as we head into the west and the desert.

Springfield, Missouri

2007-07-04T07:22:00.000-04:00

There have been times in the last few days when we could not remember what state we were in. I guess vacation mode has finally set in here on the road.

We have a mascot, our little Best Western rubber ducky, picked up from the hotel in Chicago. She rides on the dash board with a Route 66 patch stuck to her back. We bring her in places with us and ask the people we meet to hold her for pictures. Great conversation starter and sometimes a stopper.

Yesterday we only traveled 300 miles in nine hours but we have remained true for the most part to Route 66. The road is not well labeled in sections because in most places so far it no longer exists except as road bed for other highways. Sometimes we will be riding along thinking we've lost the road and then in the middle of no where a brown and white sign appears. We all cheer that the road once again found us. Or as we like to think of it - our duck took us there.

Today we are up early to begin driving before noon for the first time. We have a destination in mind today and we have 350 miles to go. We will probably stick to Interstate for great amounts of time, except in Kansas that boasts 13 miles of the Mother Road that is well preserved. We must find a small strip of land near El Reno, OK by this afternoon. Joy's father was born there in 1923 and tonight we send his ashes up in a bottle rocket in celebration of his life and the Fourth of July.

On the road with a mission in mind,
Pat

Day 1 Almost Killed Us

2007-07-03T07:59:00.000-04:00

Monday, July 2
We woke in our hotel in Chicago after a night of adventure in the Windy City. We ate dinner at a rooftop restaurant and then were given instructions to Buddy Guy's place on Wabash. The waitress said sometimes Buddy showed up for a set. When we arrived we discovered it was the 20th anniversary of the club and we received VIP seating that later was closed to others. Buddy played as did other musicians who had come to honor him. Joy and I had our photo taken with him. In the morning Hillary, Joy and I stumbled down to a corner market and stocked up on supplies for the trip including mimosa makings to send us off on our way. We found Lou Mitchell's for breakfast quite easily at the start of Route 66. Great place where the food is served in a skillet and after most of us ordered two eggs over medium we discovered in Chicago two eggs means four. You gotta a love a city like that.

We nearly didn't make it out of Chicago. First we got lost in the parking garage and we only had fifteen minutes to exit after having paid $15 for one hour of parking. Finally we hit the road only to have a Fed Ex truck come at us and swerve at the last minute. That was the auspicious beginning to a day filled with so much laughter that we often talked about how much our sides hurt.

We lost Route 66 at one point and found ourselves in a cornfield for over an hour but as I pointed out we came out intact because we always traveled in the direction we were going. That is only one such profundity from a day filled with the spirit of the road. There is so much more but suffice it to say Jack Kerouac ain't got nothing on us. Today we leave St. Louis after going to the top of the arch. Now that we're on the western side of the Mississippi we feel we're almost there wherever we're going.

Sunday Morning Blues

2007-07-01T08:21:00.000-04:00

Not really. I'm not feeling blue today. Yesterday was spent in happy pursuits with my family. Boat rides on Lake Michigan and laughter at silly family memories. Good friends, Linda and Karen, gave me a Route 66 care suitcase last night. The suitcase, a Samonsite from the '50s, was filled with tequila, Jack Kerouac and Route 66 books, kazoos, and car games. By the way, I would like to offer a correction to a previous log thanks to the better memory of Linda. We met at Silver Lake in Michigan. And she is right. It was never about the Sleeping Bear Duns.

After a family luncheon today, we're off to Chicago where I meet up with the rest of the Route 66 contingent. Hillary flying in from Orlando and Joy somewhere in the midwest in a red Sedona mini-van headed for O'Hare airport.

Tomorrow a.m. we're finally on the road. But the truth is, we've always been on the road now we manifest it.

Trying to Get on the Road Again

2007-06-29T07:07:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I began checking things off the list. By 11 a.m. I had finished the last of work chores and enjoyed meeting friends for brunch. Afterwards I went to the Post Office where there was a package. I left my purse and briefcase with laptop on the front seat because the trunk was filled with items I was donating to a yard sale for the homeless in St. Augustine. When I returned to the car, purse and briefcase gone.

Instead of leisurely packing and cleaning my apartment yesterday, I spent the day frantically on the phone trying to remember everything that needed cancelling or replaced. I cried a whole lot too because the laptop represents much of what I have come to define myself as: a writer. It also kept me connected to the world as did the cell phone that went with the purse. For several hours yesterday I contemplated cancelling the trip, but then cooler heads - such as Joy's - prevailed and with the help of several other friends managed to get things done. By 2 a.m. I fell into bed exhausted and welcomed sleep only to wake at 6 a.m. to finish packing.

The road beckons and Jack Kerouac would be proud.

Counting Down

2007-06-27T07:39:00.000-04:00

I like preparing for a trip. The past week has been filled with frantic movements so my life is in order when I embark on this three-week odyssey, but as of last night as the work load lessened I began to get excited about the moment I walk out the door with my luggage and step into my friend, Tamara's, car for the ride to the Jacksonville airport.

Before we take off on Route 66 on Monday I head to a family reunion with Anna in South Haven, Michigan. I'm staying with my long-time buddy Linda Miazga during the weekend when 30 members of the Camburn family descend on this beach resort town in southwestern Michigan. Linda and I met in 1973 at Crystal Lake in the upper part of the mitten of Michigan. Although neither of us remember the weekend very well, the memory stuck enough for us to become best friends while enrolled in the same psychology class in early 1974. Another friend, Karen, will be there too and I met her through Linda and another mutual friend. It's been a long, happy 34 years of friendship. We've gone from silly high school girls to focused wives and mothers to crazy single (i.e. w/o children) women. It is fitting this journey starts with them.

Now the family is another story for another blog.

Route 66 Pre Trip Jitters

2007-06-24T08:40:00.000-04:00

One week from today, my friend Joy and I and our daughters converge on Chicago from all around the country. After a night of Chicagoing we get in the mini-van stocked with camping and writing gear, and head west on what remains of Route 66, even if it is buried under 9 inches of asphalt.

The anticipation of a journey buzzes around my head, but I cannot allow the buzz to become too strong as I struggle to get all of my work done before hitting the road for three weeks. Magazine deadline today keeps me somewhat focused although here I am writing this blog instead of preparing copy for the production team.

A sigh of relief when the day looms for departure because it will all be done and I will be exhausted.

Local Government

2006-05-29T15:14:00.000-04:00

When we shut the voice of the opposition, we run the risk of ending all of our freedoms. As we honor the war dead today, let's not forget this one basic lesson. Everyone has a voice in a democracy. We may not like it but if we silence those voices then we must have something to hide.

It's Just Life After All

2005-04-01T20:29:00.000-05:00

Does anyone else love the lyrics of the Indigo Girls as much as I do?

I know that my family does not and I had to hide my listening of their CDs to avoid their comments. But no longer.

"Stronger than the monsters beneath my bed."

"The less I seek source from some divinity, the closer I am to fine."

I am drawn to listening to them once again during this transition time in my life, from married to single. That and my writing keep me connected to the source of my peace.

Mostly I have made it through this transition intact, but there have been casualities, mostly other people who do not know how to deal with this break up. I admire those who have stuck it out with my ex-husband and myself — those who have wanted to learn how to cope with the separation of a couple they thought had it all together. I have forgiven those who cannot understand or who fear the separation of two people who have been together for so long.

I just came from having cocktails and dinner with my ex. It was nice and sweet and comfortable. But we both acknowledged the rightness of our decision. I can guarantee that the same dinner, if it had occurred while we still lived together, would have been none of those things.

"Honey, it's not for the weather or the lack of loving you."

Where does the time go?

2005-03-17T17:05:00.000-05:00

Hard to believe it has been a month since I blogged. I have been juggling so many details in my freelance life that I have not had the time to just sit and write for fun.

I am working on a book proposal about a hostage situation from fifteen years ago. I want to spend all my time working on it because the topic is fascinating. However, I have taken on a very challenging jog with a publisher of several magazines who has never had an editor before. Man, am I under fire for making unpopular decisions regarding editorial content versus advertising.

And of course I am adjusting to single life which is not much of an adjustment except that my friends do not have much to do with me these days. It can be difficult to be the one to leave especially when my husband did not beat me, drink, cheat, lie, steal or gamble. He's just a regular sweet guy and my life would be simplier perhaps if I just stayed. But somehow I want more in my life and I do not want it here and he will never move.

I digress.

Moving

2005-02-16T12:45:00.000-05:00

I moved this week and am having a time with my computers. That is why I have not blogged in over a week. Computers are beautiful things when they work!

So here I am getting slammed with work finally and having to go back and forth on computers to find one that works properly. My life as a freelance writer depends heavily on the Internet. I never realized quite how much until I started having problems.

But how can I complain? I have carved out this great life for myself and I am finally being reward monetarily for it. I'll figure out the rest because taking the plunge and going full time as a freelancer was the hard part.

The Hurry Up and Wait Part

2005-02-02T13:22:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I am inundated with deadlines and I seem to be on the fast track pushing myself further and further. And then the deadlines are met, the editor/agent/publisher has the work, and I wait for remarks, words of encouragement, and publication.

The writing life is certainly a "hurry up and wait" game. The best cure for the blues during the "wait" period is to "hurry up" with something else.

And then there are the days such as today when I have so much work waiting to begin that I am the stumbling block causing the wait. Some of those things consist of filing, cleaning drawers, writing up publicity materials, researching markets — anything but writing.

And so, the question becomes on days such as this one do I crawl into bed with a good novel or do I begin my next one and let the other stuff wait?

Or perhaps I'll just take a nap. I'm tired just thinking about it.

Inauguration - Third Installment

2005-01-31T15:19:00.000-05:00

Anna's friend, Steve, was arrested around 1 p.m. on inauguration for putting a hand on a policman's arm. But he wasn't just handcuffed and hauled off to jail. The arresting officer threw him to the ground and kicked and beat him. Then he went to jail to the taunts of the officers.

One of the police was a black woman and when she began berating Steve for protesting, he asked her what Malcolm X and Martin Luther King might think of her views. She kept her mouth shut after that.

Steve stayed in jail for the next 24 hours. They would not release him until he signed a paper stating he would take a drug test once a week for the next year. Everyone arrested in the protests that day had to sign the same form, regardless of their alledged crimes.

Anna and the rest of the crew picked Steve up around 3 p.m. on Friday, Jan. 21, and immediately took him to the emergency room because of the pain he was in from the beating the day before. He had bruised ribs. Some in ER congratulated the group for their efforts. We saw Steve a week after his return and he was still having a great amount of back pain.

As soon as Steve was treated and released from ER, they began the drive home. Anna and another friend did all the driving because everyone else was too exhausted. They did not want to spend another night in the nation's capital.

I plan on going to St. Augustine and interviewing Anna and her friends more in depth in the next week so I can compile a more in-depth article and try for a broader audience. Suggestions are welcome.

Second Installment - The Inauguration

2005-01-30T10:14:00.000-05:00

Before Anna and her friends left St. Augustine, they posted a request on the Internet for a place to sleep once they arrived in D.C. The First Presbyterian Church, four blocks from the capitol, responded and gave them a warm place to crash each night.

When Anna's friend was arrested, the officer noticed her friend wore an "I love Jesus" pin. The policeman said, "How can you be here protesting our President and wear a pin like that?"

I never knew protesting and Jesus were mutually exclusive things. Perhaps someone should have told Jesus when he protested against the moneychangers in the temple.

Anna and her group arrived late Wednesday night after an accident in the snow and ice. It took them over 24 hours to make a 13 hour trip, but they continued on their journey determined to make it in time for the inauguration.

The next day, Thursday, Jan. 20, was bitter cold. They hooked up with thousands who decided to not go to the prearranged free speech zones set up around the inauguration route. Instead they took to the streets and began advancing. There were concrete blocks to keep out vehicular traffic but they assumed since they were pedestrians they could continue. Anna lost track of where she was and moved with the crowd. Her friend told me they had no idea they had advanced as far as the actual route and it scared the police.

Anna said they continued shouting as they marched. "Not Our President," "Show Me What Democracy Looks Like. This is what Democracy Looks Like."

"I saw police with big hoses spraying something. I thought it was water which would have been enough because it was such a cold day, but it was mustard spray," Anna said. "I was pressed against a building as I watched these cops with crazy looks on their faces with sticks and batons just hitting people like crazy. They just kept repeating these motions as if they were robots with that crazed look in their eyes.

"The people who were getting hit with the spray began vomiting. They had snot and tears running down their faces. It was like someone hit them with Tabasco sauce right in the face."

Then guys with backpacks began setting up impromtu triage stations with medic signs. They offered water and milk of magnesia to the victims of the spraying. Anna watched as one of these men was arrested for helping out the victims.

Tomorrow: Anna loses track of her friends as one of them is haulted off to jail.

Bush Inauguration Protests

2005-01-29T09:53:00.000-05:00

My 23 year old daughter just returned from Bush's Inauguration in Washington. This trip was the first one she had taken without any parents in tow, and she learned a whole lot more about this country from that one trip than all the educational vacations I had planned for her in the past.

She traveled with six other students from St. Augustine, Florida to the nation's capital to protest their dismay over another four years of Bush as president.

"I told myself, 'if he becomes president again, I'm going to be up there screaming with my fists in the air,'" she told me the week after her return. "There's a war going on in this country against personal freedoms and rights as citizens. It's a war on rights as human beings."

And so she went despite the ice and snow, and she came home even more motivated to continue her protests. But she also came home to questions. Many asked her what she thought she proved by going.

"It's horrible if these things happen and no one yells," she said. "It's fueled me more to improve the community I live in and to fight against what's happening."

She saw first hand what the police do when confronted with anyone who disagrees with those in power. Mainstream media reports about injured policemen upset her because she saw the protesters being beaten and kicked and sprayed for simply marching in the streets. She marched toward the inauguration route with thousands shouting, "Who's streets? Our streets."

Tomorrow I will share what she saw and heard on January 20, 2005, as King George sat on his throne in front of his paying guests.

Letting Go a Big Sigh of Relief

2005-01-27T18:24:00.000-05:00

For months I have been keeping a big secret, but now I can take a huge sigh of relief and exhale a whole lot of pent up air.

Today when my monthly newspaper hit the streets, so did a surprise to our readers. My husband and I announced that we would no longer be publishing the paper after the next issue. We made the decision months ago and while we hoped that someone would purchase us that has not yet materialized. But we realized no matter what happened, we had left the newspaper business in our hearts and we knew we had to stop before it showed in the paper.

We also made another decision about seven months ago and have been living with that secret all this time because of the paper. We are separated, and I will be moving away within a very short time.

It's pretty amazing that we have managed to put out the paper together while our marriage fell apart. I'm actually proud of the way we have managed to handle ourselves and so is my husband. Now we have to deal with the rest of the world handling it.

I just told one of our readers when he asked why we were stopping the paper. He said, "Why are you doing this to me?"

The Rights of the Press

2005-01-26T11:37:00.000-05:00

As a journalist, I am often asked if I can get information that regular citizens cannot just because we are the press. Although some of my colleagues may disagree with me, we are not entitled to any great rights or privileges than other citizens. We have just learned how to seek out information.

The other night at a commission meeting a colleague - and I use the term loosely - kicked city staff off of a table she was using because she claimed the table was reserved for the press. I was disappointed they moved. But they moved next to me, sitting in the regular seats.

"You know that's BS, don't you?" I asked the Fire Chief when he settled in the chair next to me.

"I know it, but I didn't want to start a fight," he said, "but as far as I'm concerned she can kiss my . . ."

Sorry but I believe furniture purchased with public funds belongs to everyone. There is no elite seating for the presss.

So to my colleague: "Get over yourself."

Monday Morning Blues and Chills

2005-01-24T08:45:00.000-05:00

On this cold, cold north Florida morning, I attempt to thaw my brain and get back on track. Yesterday about all the writing I could squeeze out of these fingers occurred with some fairly lame emails.

I have to write up an interview with a disillusioned commissioner who is leaving office bitter and disappointed. I would rather write about my newly found character Mickey Sanders. On Saturday at my writing seminar I used him as an example of putting a character in a scene and having him react. Interesting exercise. One of the participants wrote the scene but had the character act not as the character but as the writer. Since I knew the writer, I called her on it right away and she admitted the truth. Great lesson for everyone.

But my Mickey Sanders told the bag boy at Winn Dixie to "bite me." And it felt pretty fine to let my character speak. Great catharsis.

Is anyone out there?

2005-01-19T12:33:00.000-05:00

Is anyone reading my blog? I know when I can see the printed word and my byline in a magazine, newspaper, or book that others have the opportunity to read what I write. With this blog I feel somehow disconnected with readers. And then I wonder, what if no one ever sees what I write? Did I really write it? Am I really here?

I am really not an existentialist, but sometimes I wonder.

Burning Books

2005-01-18T08:53:00.000-05:00

I covered a story at a local school the other day. The Rotary Club purchased a dictionary/resource book for every third grader in the county and they were delivering to a school in my newspaper's coverage area. The students eagerly tore open the books when they received them.

"I never had my own dictionary before," said one student. "I never knew they could be so cool."

The dictionaries contain sign language, braille, periodic tables, geographical information, and many other things that might expand the minds of these young students and show them the world.

One of the Rotarians told me, "You know one of our members is very upset that we are doing this."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because we bought dictionaries that contained an Arab calendar."

God forbid that we should try to understand anything at all about another culture. Why didn't they just burn those books when they came? That's what they would have done in Nazi Germany if the books had contained parts of the Torah.

Reading Baghdad Burning

2005-01-17T13:23:00.000-05:00

I just read an interesting blog, but I could not find a way to respond to it. Baghdad Burning is written by a woman in Iraq who says no phones and no electricity for long periods of time is the natural condition these days. Many are attempting to flee the country before the borders close the week before the election.

Yes, it's a fine situation there.

She wondered about a news release she just read that stated George W. Bush had stopped searching for WMD and she wondered if anyone ever believed in them in the first place.

I want to respond to Baghdad Burning that there are many of us in the United States who never believed any of it from the very beginning. While we are supportive of our young men and women in Iraq, we are not supportive of the lies and propaganda that we have been fed. But now that W has been elected for the first time, certain things are coming to light.

My heart goes out to all of you in Iraq. We are all One people and unless we All come to that realization, it will destroy us all.

Characters - Love or Hate 'Em

2005-01-16T16:12:00.000-05:00

Do protagonists have to be likeable? I have always believed so, but if recent works I've read are any indication others do not share my belief.

I just read a short story where the narrator was bigoted and selfish. By the end of the story I did not care that he had redeemed himself because I had learned to dislike him from the very start. First he made fun of a blind man and then he questioned if the blind man had married a "colored" woman. He did not want the man in his house.

During the course of the story story he proceeded to get drunk and despite his opening to the blind man by the end, I did not like the man nor did I like the story. I like stories where characters change for the better, but because of the short story setting, I did not see where this man's changes would last since they occurred over a three hour period.

So likeability in this case became a matter of believability in the character's ability to embrace change.

Mickey Sanders Becomes Real

2005-01-15T07:18:00.000-05:00

As I wrote a character profile for my bartender with the baseball cap, I learned his dark secret that haunts him.

He was raised in a southern Baptist home where his truck driver father and housewife mother taught him that homosexuality was a sin and Satan-driven. But Mickey ever since he could remember always dreamed about men and never felt anything for the girls who flitted in and out of his life. He has never told a soul nor has he acted on any of his urges.

He hates his parents and he hates his life. And so he keeps the baseball cap in place. He succeeds as a bartender because he listens. He fails as a friend because he never responds.

Mickey will do something dark most likely to himself in this novel.

Creating Character

2005-01-14T10:42:00.000-05:00

I love creating a new character, especially if they are the antagonist or have some juicy secret. Last night as I ate dinner at my favorite bar/restaurant, I watched the bartender. I think I might use him in my new novel.

Mickey Sanders wore the baseball cap low on his forehead. If someone wanted a good look at his eyes it would require getting into his face and looking up into the brim of the visor. But one look at his square jawline and lips set in a straight line would discourage anyone from getting that close to him.

The hat protected him from others, and it protected others from his wrath.

Now why does Mickey Sanders want to shield himself from the outside world? Stay tuned, because right now I haven't a clue!

Blogging and Writing

2005-01-13T12:21:00.000-05:00

Here we go. I've been blogging for two months now and am just getting the hang of this thing. I'm not even sure who reads my blog or how many hits I get, but I know I enjoy putting it out there.

My head is spinning this week as I try to learn out to develop a web site and examine ways to get my blog out there.

Man, all I want to do is write!

Quality of Writing

2005-01-12T10:21:00.000-05:00

I polish my craft, I hone my style, I work my fingers and then I read an "Oprah" picked novel and discover that craft, style, and work sometimes have nothing at all to do with success.

Recently I read one of those "Oprah" picked novels. Point of view completely distracted me in this piece. Everytime someone spoke, the point of view shifted to that person's inner most thoughts as they spoke. I became distracted with that but continued reading.

I did not like the main characters. One of them was completely despicable and the protagonist did not fare much better in my eyes. I never understood her motivation for throwing her life away with the despicable man. Yet I finished the novel.

Why?

Because the story held my interest. I kept hoping I would find a redeeming quality, a reason for actions, something to explain. It never came, but I turned each page hoping it would happen.

So is story more important than craft and characters? I still maintain that craft and style go hand in hand and the characters must remain with us. I also believe that protagonists must have some likeable charactertistics. I do not want to feel dirty after reading a story as I did with this novel.

All I can do is continue on the path I have chosen and remain true to my ideals for my writing. And if Oprah calls I'll say, "Why thank you very much for finally choosing a novel that combines craft, style, characters, and story into one profound experience."

Oh, yeah!

The Writing Teacher

2005-01-10T17:20:00.000-05:00

The fog lifted slowly on the Santa Fe River on the morning of our first writing session. Four writers sitting in a loft of the banks of the river found their voice and created magic.

Writing is such an isolated activity, I found myself entranced by the sounds of others creating. I usually participate with my students, but on this day I listened to the tapping of fingers on a keyboard as one of the participants wrote on her laptop. Another preferred the old-fashioned pencil and brought a dozen finely sharpened instruments to sketch a story about her husband. Another lay on a chaise with a fine pen and a legal pad. The sounds of her writing remained mute and only the sight of her pen moving from margin to margin on the pad gave away the magic she created.

"I just got started," the pen writer said when I called time.

I reminded the students of Somerset Maughim's great advice to beginning writers: always stop each day's writing in the middle of a sentence.

The next day no blank pages stare back at the writer, just the possibility of finishing that sentence, even if the original intent blew away.

Freelancing as a Career

2005-01-05T17:29:00.000-05:00

I took a month to finish my third novel that haunted me for almost three years. And then I realized I need to actually earn some money! So I began the painful process of once again looking for markets to pitch ideas or send reprints.

Before I fell asleep last night I read an article on how to make the most of ideas for articles. I had no trouble sleeping at that point because the list of ways to sell myself exhausted me.

There has got to be an easier way!

First Amendment Rights

2005-01-05T14:35:00.000-05:00

Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence because his strength lay in his use of language to present powerful arguments, rather than in his political savvy.

He believed “freedom of speech cannot be limited without being lost.” Throughout written history it has been the writers, whether dramatic or journalistic, who have brought us diverse ideas from which we are able to choose our own believes.

In 2000, the A&E Channel’s Biography series choose the 1,000 most influential people of the last millennium. As the list narrowed to the final five, it became difficult to predict who might receive the number one slot because all the obvious candidates had already been chosen.

Someone whose name does easily flow off the tongue but whose influence on our modern society cannot be denied claimed the top position. Johannes Gutenberg was a simple German simple workingman trying to make his job easier when he invented the printing press in 1450. From that time forward the greatest ideas of the millennium and beyond came to be known by the masses. Without the means of the printing press, the ideas of the greatest inventions and ideas would not be known to man. What type of world would we be without the literature, political treatises, the varied religious documents, and poetry?

These ideas, diverse and prolific, provide us with the basis from which to form our own opinions and to create our own art, whether it be poetry, painting, sculpture, or religious or political tracts. And it is the writer who puts those words on paper to express the art of language. Writers have long been the first and last vestiges of Thomas Jefferson’s plea to resist censorship in any of its guises.

That is why I have been so concerned about an organization to which I have belonged for the past three years. The Florida’s Writers Association has as its motto, “Writers supporting writers” and has provided me with many opportunities to expand my base as a writer across the state. Recently, the political winds of censorship permeated the core of this group who should stand above all others in zealous protection of freedom of speech.

At the annual convention in November, a film was shown that had been produced by FWA’s president. Caryn Suarez had solicited photos and videos from its memberships to provide a year in review for the organization. Last year’s first place unpublished poetry winner, Henry Burt Stevens, submitted a video-reading of his Royal Palm Award poem, “Victory.” Suarez chose to lead the film with this artistic reading.

I could justify the placement of this poem in the video and offer my own interpretation of certain lines that caused a great stirring of controversy, but I will not. I will not because it does not matter what the poem means because it is one man’s offering on a topic, and it is his freedom of expression. It was Suarez’s freedom of choice that put it on the film.

The protests began before the film even finished at the convention. Suarez was banned by the rest of the board of FWA from selling the DVD, which she and her husband had produced at their own expense. Suarez was hounded and threatened with lawsuits from writers across the state. But the controversy started even earlier when the board met at the beginning of the conference and a member put a motion on the floor that would block any member who wrote “political” material from becoming a member of FWA.

My first reaction to that news was to kick that person off the board, but by censoring that person’s opinion I would also be participating in what Jefferson would call the loss of freedom of speech. I am grateful that the motion did not pass and cooler heads prevailed.

However, the controversy still continues with FWA as a new president is being selected for the new year. One FWA member wrote an email to the general membership chat board, which crystallizes everything for me. This person vehemently opposed the showing of the poem at the convention because this writer disagreed with the content of the poem. I did too, but I will fight to the end for that person’s right to express himself. I have the option to write my own poetry expressing my own opinion. However, my colleague who shares my opinion of the poem believes that if the poem must be explained and cannot stand alone then it should be relegated to a specific, narrow audience.

The email asked the candidates for FWA president to take a stand. And guess what? This writer had the stand all laid out for them. If the candidate would show courage and state “what is shown to the membership at large must be reviewed by a committee of peers,” then this writer, a member of the Florida Writer’s Association would support that candidate.

I would remind this writer that this very policy began one of the Hitler’s first actions in creating the Aryan state. His committee of peers began censoring books in Nazi Germany and even went so far as to burn piles of books that did not fit with the government’s narrow definitions of acceptable expression.

Perhaps this attitude is not so surprising in a country founded on the principles of freedom of expression and that now has “free speech zones” wherever the President is going to appear. In Pittsburgh Bill Neel was arrested for refusing to go into the “free speech zone” before President Bush’s appearance in 2002. He told the press, “As far as I’m concerned the whole country is a free speech zone.”

Apparently not anymore.

Defenders of the First Amendment must protect all of our rights of expression and remember that a difference of opinion only makes us stronger.

John F. Kennedy said in 1963, “When power corrupts, poetry cleanses, for art establishes the basic human truths which must serve as the touchstone of our judgment.”

And writers above all others must stand tall in defense of tolerance of expression of all opinions or we are doomed to become one voice, one opinion, one life — bland and milk toast copies of whatever the party or religion in power deems us to be. And when that becomes the norm, the all the work of Gutenberg and all the writings of Jefferson will have been in vain.

Writer's Block

2004-11-16T13:11:00.000-05:00

The dreaded phrase: writer's block. I did a book talk at a women's club last week and the inevitable question arose.
"Do you ever have writer's block," the little old lady in a red suit asked.
"No, I don't," came my cocky reply.
And I usually don't until this week. Now I find myself finding every little thing else to do besides sitting down and writing an article.
Perhaps there is a reason I cannot write this piece on a young man from my area in Fallujah with the Marines. My deadline is two weeks away and while I have written perhaps the first 300 words, the rest does not come. And that first 300? Forget it — it does not do what I envision.
So I dusted my sewing box today with three years accumulation of dust. I do not sew anymore.
I fight the little voice inside today that suggests perhaps my computer will accumulate dust just like that if I do not break out of this block.
My solution? I am blogging and I do not have writer's block here.
Next I will eat leftover pizza and who knows what inspiration that might bring.
Luckily as a freelancer that Iraqi piece is not the only one sitting on my desk waiting for my inspiration.
Perhaps I will write about the garden club unearthing a sign from an old truck stop or maybe I'll turn to Wal-Mart and turn my frustration on the supercenter that threatens to impinge on our community here in north Florida.
Or then again perhaps I'll go to my novel on big box developers — much more satisfaction there because in fiction, the little guy can actually win.

The Grind

2004-11-10T09:54:00.000-05:00

My writing life is a love/hate relationship. There are days when I have so much to do I do not know where to start. I find clearing my desk must occur first, but then I get caught up in so much of the clutter, that I do not get to the real work at hand.

My novel calls to me but since it will bring in no money in the near future, it often gets the shaft. Yesterday I managed to get back to it. I am planning a retreat away from here in early December. I am going to go on a retreat to the keys and hole up in an apartment for seven days until I've got this novel nearly finished. It is possible to do because I'm approximately 15,000 words away from completion, but it is the completion that will take the most concentration. All the threads are there, I've just got to sew them all together.

Today I must put on my make up and heels and go to the Gainesville Woman's Club for a talk on A Lethal Legacy, my second novel. I am grateful for this opportunity to hone my public speaking skills and to sell my books, but it does require putting on some armor to put myself out there in such a public way. Later I am meeting with our newly formed Gainesville writer's group where I will share information from the writer's conference I just attended. I'm going to take my lap top and in between the two events in Gainesville, I'm going to go to a dark coffee shop downtown and write a chapter on Sweet Lady. I think I love today.

Life in Bush Country

2004-11-08T16:15:00.000-05:00

I'm working on an article on a family with a son in Iraq. They are putting together 45 goody bags for their son's unit and the community has donated money and items to help with the project.

I sat with the grandmother, sister, and mother yesterday afternoon as they made chocolate chip cookies. I wondered how they voted in Tuesday's election, but did not want to ask. The mother said without my asking that she had voted for Bush because she thought he would provide the strongest war leadership and with a son in the middle of the fighting she had to go with him.

The grandmother said those people who did not want Bush or protested our presence in Iraq just did not know the good things we had brought to that country. She intimated that not supporting the war meant folks did not support her grandson. I pointed out to her that those I spoke to who did not approve of our presence in Iraq still had the utmost respect for our troops.

I could not say anything more since I was in their home doing an unbiased article on their efforts. But for the first time since Tuesday I felt extremely isolated and alone with my views. After I finished the interview I went to the cocktail party addressed in the previous blog.

Today I feel let down by humanity and my writing has taken a back seat to my depression.

It Ain't All Grand

2004-11-08T13:39:00.000-05:00

I wrote an editorial in my newspaper, The Observer, this month on accepting others political opinions without fear of retribution. Last night I attended a cocktail party where a woman I did not know said she had a real problem with my column in The Observer supporting John Kerry for president. I said it did not really matter since her man had won. She still continued.

"You do one thing really well in The Observer," she said. "You know how to spell."

Such is the glamorous life of a writer.

Patricia