Natick Writer's Group

Last night at Fenway Park. Beautiful evening, and then the Blue Jays humiliated the young pitchers brought up from the Paw Sox, and finally the rains came, huge sheets of water drenching the field.

Notice the sign says "Welcome Natick Writer's Group to Fenway Park."

We dined and wined and chatted and even watched the sad game. Youk hit a couple homers which definitely livened things up.

At the park, you get to hear all the cool (hot) music that you never hear on television because there is always a commercial.

Fenway Park rocks, and in three years, the park will celebrate it's 100th birthday. Yowza! The incredible energy--when Papelbon comes in to save the game in the 9th inning it's like the large defining moment, with the Drop Kick Murphys belting out "I'm Shipping Up to Boston."

The Natick Writer's Group segued from Wellesley to Natick when the bookstore closed. I named a cat Cyrano after the bookstore cat. Mine was fictional. That book, Promiscuous Mode, still hasn't sold, the one the Natick Writer's Group liked best. Less cerebral than the others.

A thinky person writes a thinky book. A feely person writes a feely book. Whatcha gonna do?

A decisive person writes a decisive book. TDF! Oh yeah.

I am so far behind in my tasks that I may never get caught up. Oh, sure, eventually.

Onward.

Grapeshopt

Red Sox Nation and Jerk Chicken

Tonight we're trekking to Fenway park with tickets for the EMC boxes, great seats that I would never have anticipated plunking my fanny down in. It's supposed to rain, and this will be, I hope, the night the Sox clinch the playoff berth. We have been watching all the games religiously, to the detriment of housework, writing, exercise, reading, well. . . you know. Rabid Red Sox fans. I'll wear my red sweater and maybe even my 2004 World Series shirt.

Yesterday I finished reading my WIP. Was very discouraged about how BAD some of it read, then all of a sudden, the story perked up and the prose was flying, and then it calmed down some, but of course, the good thing is that I can recognize draggy passages and fix them. I also read the first 20 pages of World of Mirrors and still like that book a lot, although it has been a hard sell. I still have hope. Sucking It Up becomes a lifestyle.

I took a main course salad to a meeting yesterday that is worth repeating. It was called a Caribbean Jerk Chicken Salad, and I found the recipe on the Internet. I made my own Jerk Seasoning, and this being New England I didn't grind up any habanera peppers, nope, just good old cayenne. The salad called for mesclun lettuces, baby spinach, apple, blue cheese, raisins, walnuts and red onion. And the chicken. I mean, what's not to like? We had it for dinner (leftovers) last night and also for lunch today. I just keep adding lettuce and baby spinach to the wilted greens in the bottom.


Here is the recipe: http://www.marjacpoultry.com/recipes/recipe-caribbean-jerk-chicken-salad.html

For the Jerk Seasoning, here is the recipezaar recipe:

http://www.recipezaar.com/Dry-Jerk-Seasoning-229443

I had the ingredients on hand, and saved myself a few dollars. Spices and seasonings are always better fresh, but then, you knew that.

I buy dried chive from Penzey's spices, http://www.penzeys.com/

They may even have a Jerk Seasoning if you don't have everything on the list. Penzey's rubs are the best, and I love Barbecue of the Americas and Northwoods Seasoning and a bunch of others.

Yours in soup and salad and fiction,

Grapeshot

Novel in Process: the denoument

In the middle of the night I tossed and turned about the ending of my novel. Somehow the bad guy has to find my protag and there has to be a showdown, maybe even a shootout. But how does this happen? My protag has been smart, always covering her tracks. Something has to to expose her.

I still haven't thought it out. Hate to write more until I got it.

Submerged in plot points,

Grapeshot

Novel in Process: some good; some bad

It's always instructive to take a critical look at one's own writing. I find ups and downs. Of course the ups are nice to read, the scene is humming along, one is showing not telling, and then, eeek! What was a thinking? Does that even make sense? Where was my grammar angel? How did I go to sleep at night after having written a sentence that bad?

One of the first things I learned, at the first writing conference I attended was that almost everything can be fixed? Cardboard characters? Yup? Stupid plots? Probably. Grammar, spelling, punctuation? Assuredly.

I don't know if an incredibly stupid plot can be fixed, but it probably can be. With lots of work. Knuckle down to the manuscript and rewrite, rewrite, rewrite. Hemmingway did. Everyone does, or should. My understanding is that Robert Parker does not, but maybe he is better than us.

Someone is always better. It can happen that almost everyone is better. I entered a first rate univeristy from a small town high school where competition was sparse and I was an academic standout. At the prestigious university, almost everyone was better. Prep schools, big city high schools. And they all knew how to study. I had just breezed through. My self-esteem went into the toilet and then mucked about in the sewer for two years. Writing can be the same way. You are pretty good in your writer's group or writing course and then you run into people who can write rings around you. Knuckle down. And remember what they say about persistence.

You gotta show up. Manuscript in hand, synopsis, query, pitch, looking civilized and with your best manners.

It's a bitch.

Lost in one's own novel

My latest novel, In Flight hit 72,ooo words this week, and of course the book is in my head, but as you can imagine, it's fairly hard to keep all those words in your head.

Last night, I created a calendar, keeping track of the major plot points of the book in a time line, which was a good thing, because then I could mention Father's Day and the 4th of July is coming soon and I think my characters just might want to mosey off the beaten track and do something kookie. Anyway, they will have to observe the day like everyone else.

I'm trying to figure out roughly how many words I need, and of course I can't quite estimate that. Four more big plot points, coming fairly close together. Bam. bam. bam.

So today I printed all 270 pages of the manuscript. Found a bunch of bad sentences. Have to make a major change to the beginning of the book. Was going to wait until I had a draft, but methinks I'll do it now. Nothing difficult, but adding a big dramatic scene. And then I find stuff I thought I had changed but I didn't. What's that all about?

Just managing one of these manuscripts takes some doing. I used to keep all the chapters/scenes in separate docs, but now I use one doc, and it sure does make it easier to find and fix problems.

So: now I have to read the damn thing, with my red pen poised. It's amazing how often you can go over these manuscripts and how often you find writing that can be improved. Work. Work. Work.

A peasant soup from the south of France for dinner--meatless, and quite tasty. Well, all that garlic. . . . We probably reek. Bon soir.

Grapeshot

A Moveable Feast

Today we were at the Kennedy Library for a panel discussion about the newly "remastered" Hemingway book, A Moveable Feast. What ho? you ask. Wasn't A Moveable Feast published in the mid-sixties. Well, yes.

And now it's published again, both times by Scribner's. The second publishing is at the behest of some of Hemingway's heirs. This summer there was an op-ed in the New York Times from the former editor of the ur-book, A.E. Hotchner, who had his own take on the remastering.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/20/opinion/20hotchner.html

I hadn't realized that the Kennedy library houses much Hemingway memorabilia and several of his manuscripts.

There are at least two sides to every issue, but all I can say is that as a writer, I wouldn't want any relatives mucking about in my old manuscripts, making "a" look better than "b." Or dis F. Scott Fitzgerald or Ford Maddox Ford. Writers are a competitive bunch, and of course 'papa' was a man's man and probably more competitive than most.

Today the discussion was lively and some of the questions sprightly or learned. I don't know that there is a consensus. I dug my ancient copy out and will reread it.

Oddly enough, I still remember that when I heard news of Hemingway's death I was standing in my parent's kitchen in Denver.

I have a very old book called The Little Review Anthology that has a wonderful Hemingway short story. Think I'll dig that out, too. No wonder my nightstand always has these towers of books, perilously teetering this way and that.

Onward,

Grapeshot

Every Town Needs A Fully Functional Library

Significant Other and I have spent some time this week taking posters and flyers advertising The New English Crimebake, http://www.crimebake.org/ to local libraries. Sue Grafton is the guest of honor at our conference this year, and it unlike some writing conferences, we're actually ahead of last year with our enrollment. This year we even have a panel of librarians, all of whom took a poster and a handful of flyers.

This morning, before our weekly trip to the Norton Roche Brothers, we drove into town to drop off the materials at the Norton Library. Not having been theere for a year, I almost remembered where the building was. Suffice it to say, we missed the parking lot and parked on a side street and I had a short hike. A swap meet was the "happening" in front of the library, and I hurried on by.

Can you imagine my consternation to find the library closed at noon on a Saturday? The sign in the window stated they were open Monday thru Thursday and not very long hours either. They've been decertified due to loss of funding. So sad.

I read yesterday that traffic at libraries had increased from 10 - 30 % in the last year. So many towns in our area have had serious financial problems and voters have been swift to come to the polls and vote down everything. Short-sighted to be sure.

Support your local library, in all possible ways. I grew up in a little town with a Carnegie library, and I probably would have become a juvenile deliquent without the library.

Well, McAfee decided to some something to this machine and between AOL and using a very old Dell, I am about to set my hair on fire. Slower than molasses in January.

More anon!

Finding The Lost Symbol at Walmart

So! Big display as you turn the corner with your cart after entering the Walpole Walmart today. Dan Brown's book for $16.88! Such a deal. Looked like some of the copies had already been plucked off the display.

Be glad that at least one book is selling like hotcakes. It's good for the book store owners and they have been dropping like flies. Let's see if I can round up a few more cliches. Speaking of hotcakes, what are they and where are they sold? Is it a pancake? Swear I don't know, but the phrase is persistent.

We never shopped at Walmart until we retired, but of course there aren't any Walmarts in the vicinity of Wellesley or Swellesley as it is sometimes known locally.

Walmart isn't bad. They have great cat litter, and there is none cheaper. We buy Fancy Feast there, too, and it's like getting the sale price every week. Familiary has led to buying vitamins, cleaning supplies, charcoal and we are branching into groceries, too.

Once I bought a Walmart brand "Faded Glory" tee shirt to wear as pajama tops. $5.00, what a buy! Guess what? I liked it so much I took it out of the PJ drawer and put it into the tee shirt drawer.

When the recession is over, I'll probably hang onto some of my newly frugal spending habits. I've found a shampoo I really like, not the $ 12.00 bottle from the hairdresser. I've let my hair grow to eliminate so many hair cuts. We ate our own vegetables this summer. Tomatoes are still ripening. Yum! Picked a few more green beans today.

The bag 'o impatiens is still blooming mightily. Hummingbirds headed south. I worry about my sweet birds having to fly so far. It's always such a relief to see them again in the spring.

The slough turns fall colors and the temperature in the house was 66 degrees this morning. Fall is here and winter is coming.

We have a cord of firewood, so bring it on!

"Lite" chicken pot pie

What toothsome fare is that? Ye gods, it's a Gourmet Magazine "on the light side" Chicken Pot Pie. Those are mashed potatoes for topping, by the way, potatoes mashed with 2% Greek yogurt, water, and chives. The pie itself has chicken breast, onions, carrots, celery, mushrooms, peas, spices and broth. I went the long route and made my own chicken broth from the water I cooked the chicken in. I added a few green beans from the garden. Some wine in the sauce and a tablespoon of sherry made for some very good "light' sauce.

The only problem was that the recipe called for 19 (nineteen, count 'em) ingredients and the green beans made twenty. I made the potatoes from scratch (we frequently used the boxed around our house) and altogther this was fairly high on the labor side, but we ate for two nights and it did not seem like diet fare

Chives from the garden in the potatoes. The dish was colorful and had plenty of eye appeal. I cooked up the rest of the cranberries from 2008 today and also served a side dish of fresh broccoli. Can't ever get enough of those healthful veggies, don't cha know?

Tonight, at seventh inning stretch, we'll break out the apricot bars I made for my Toastmasters meeting today. Pretty good, with apricots from the 'cot king, grown in the flavor zone in California's central valley. http://www.apricotking/. The apricot syrup is incredible on pancakes and waffles. Don't apricots have vitamin A? Ya gotta keep eating them.

Tomorrow, we're back to salad, with a main dish of tuna, artichoke hearts, red onion and white beans. What's not to like?

Then more soup.

That's all.

The Truth About Burning Man

Now it can be told:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jay-michaelson/the-truth-about-burning-m_b_279464.html

Still wanting to be back on the Playa. Last year I was there a week after the Burn and there were about 2,000 old beater bicycles piled up for disposal.

The dust- - what can one say about the dust? It was omnipresent. But about 4:00 p.m. I would pour a nice glass of rum and some ice and sit on the old beater sofa on the little porch in Gerlach with my book and a fly swatter. The golden light and the quietness, the flies didn't buzz noisily, give one peace. The rum and the solace of the beautiful late afternoon help, too.

About as good as it gets.

And the rains came

Not only is the tennis in NYC rained out, but the baseball in Boston. Major bummer.

I took on an unplanned major task, which was dumb, because I volunteered my skills as someone who could create specs for a web site, and yikes, pretty soon I was the chief cook and bottlewasher. Now I'm doing that, and trying to write my novel, and preparing for publication in an anthology and working on several other committees, and still there are garden tasks (sweet hummingbirds have left for southern climes, I hope) and cooking and cleaning and all the housewifery tasks which don't do themselves. No siree.

Yesterday I was sick, an outrage, because I am NEVER sick, and what was this fever, stomach ache nonsense, which laid me low, outrage and all for almost a day. Not a good week to lose a day. Today, good health returned, I got caught up, even went to the supermarket.

And I ate practically nothing and didn't lose any weight.

Total outrage.

The man burned, and I wasn't there. OMG, a very bad helicopter pilot flew low over Black Rock City with an advertising banner flowing behind. Mega-outrage.

And then, an inexperienced pilot decided to land at Black Rock International Airport in the dark. Folks, this is a two-week runway graded into the alkalai desert with the most primitive conditions and no lights at night. Nada. Somehow the crew at the airport got the plane on the ground. I have no idea how, because they were afraid it would be even more dangerous to send the pilot back over the mountains. Some good thinkers there.

Burning Man rocks and the folks at the airport rock even more. In two more days I'll be the proud possessor of a 2009 airport Burning Man sticker. In Festival Madness, yet unsold, many scenes are set at and around Burning Man and at the airport. We camped there in 2004. So I had big nostalia whiffs last weekend.

Moving along in my novel, and life goes on. I baked a dynamite coffee cake with banana, chocolate and coffee flavors. We'll see if they harmonize. What's not to like? As usual, I forgot to take a photo, and how it's all wrapped in plastic and not too photogenic.

Grapeshot

Writing Up a Storm

We had a great weekend at home, reading the newspapers on the deck, watching the hummingbird, taking walks and writing. I even got caught up on a few tasks. Cooked a chicken breast on the grill tonight for a nice spinach/tomato/feta salad from a recent Bon Appetit.

My novel hit 70,000 words, most of them good, many of them will be replaced with other good words. Nonetheless.

I had time to groom the cats who were loving it, give the flowers one last shot of plant food and really relax. So Labor Day was a great holiday, with an almost scary touch of fall in the air. All week. What's that all about?

Tempted to make some pumpkin cupcakes. I know. Getting carried away.



Grapeshot

Arepas on the griddle

See prior post. Tonight we had tacos instead of reheated arepas. South of the border two nights in a row. Ole!

Arepas gone wild

In Wednesday's New York Times, the Minimalist had a Venezuelan recipe for arepas that looked incredibly yummy. I had all the ingredients except scallions and a jalapeno, so after the weekly shopping trip I took out the recipe and got going.

Something not right. In spite of accurate measuring, the batter was still kind of runny. After the required 15 minute wait, I couldn't form into balls. Still runny. Formed into pancake like patties and refrigerated for a couple hours. No way are these things going to come out splittable like English muffins. Cooked like pancakes. Fairly tasty, but I should NOT have removed the seeds and ribs from the jalapeno. And only made 6, not 8-10. I ate 2, S.O. ate the rest.

Served with some on-sale pulled pork that was too, too, sweet. What is it with present-day taste buds and sugar? Naturally we ate everything with enjoyment, because the arepas were fairly tasty.

I came down to the computer, sure that the proportions were wrong, or even the ingredients. All the recipes called for a special "arepas" corn meal. I just had plain old supermarket.

Idea is till intriguing. I think if I put half again as much corn meal and maybe a teaspoon of baking powder, things would be much better. And all the seeds and pith from the hot pepper.

Ye gods! A jalapeno (sorry but I am too lazy to look for the accent mark) only costs 18 cents.

So tonight we're having tacos. My tacos are awesome.

Fed the cows this a.m. and the three newest ones came running. I always think of the movie title, Some Came Running.

We tried to watch Quantum of Solace last night and found it beyond stupid and nothing but chase scenes. After half an hour I pushed the eject button. Hoping "In Bruges" will be better.

Can't win 'em all, recipes and movies. Querying agents like mad, since this is Burning Man week and my book is mostly set there, yada yada.

For the arepas recipe and lots of fun comments, follow this linke
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/02/dining/02mini.html?_r=1

Grapeshot

The Man Burns

The New York Times has a incredibly cool photo of Burning Man today. Yup, the Man burns on Saturday. I haven't been there since 2004, not to the Festival that is. Pining to return to the Playa. In the photo I can see my characters Emma and Jean Claude, looking at the art in the desert.

Festival Madness hasn't sold, and I've not been able to drum up any interest. Would that some of the agents who have yet to respond see the stuff in the times and say, "hey, didn't I just have a query about Burning Man?"

I am going to break a rule this week, and send a photo from the paper along with my query. That's a no-no, but WTF? Nothing I've done so far has sparked a burning interest in the novel.

Whatever drummer I am marching to these days appears to be out in the desert (the playa?) banging out a rhythm that nobody but me can follow. You'd think this would be good for a writer, but it's not.

My suspense novel is approaching 70,000 words. Writing some fun stuff now, and in a few pages the computer is stolen. This book will end up in Gerlach, last town before the Man. With a shootout. And the world's most unlikely hero will surface. And there will be redemption.

In the meantime, this is the week to push Festival Madness.

http://www.burningman.com/

http://topics.nytimes.com/topics/reference/timestopics/subjects/b/burning_man_festival/index.html

"Faded Furnishings as old as Mr. Madoff's epic fraud"

The NY Times is off again on Madoff's "modest" beach home in Montauk, Long Island, New York. "Only 3 014 square feet," they say. Not palatial.

So Madoff was not nouveau riche. He's been in the fraud business for years, not some fly-by-night dot com millionaire. Here today, gone tomorrow. Nope.

The new style gazillion square feet houses in East Hampton are obscenities. The people who write these articles haven't lived the good life in the Hampton's in the summer. It's not about the size of the bedroom or whether it has a walk-in closet. It's not about the kitchen. It's about the beach, and the pool. It's about taking your nap on the terrace, not in your too-small bedroom. Reading your book or the New York Times on the terrace with that second or third cup of coffee. Making the scene at Citarella or the farmer's market.

It's about grilling or going out to dinner with friends, lingering over lunch in town. It's about hanging out, not living the celebrity lifestyle with your plane and the nanny and the 70,000 square foot house whose furnishings I shudder to think about.

It's not about living the lah-di-dah life in Palm Beach or Newport with the priceless antiques and the uncomfortable rooms and furniture.

It's the beach, dummy. The view. The sand. The water. The privacy. It's not about impressive your so-called friends with the size of your walk-in closets.

I'd take Bernie's place in a heartbeat over the mansions of the cocaine conquistadors and all the funny money that built those big ugly monstrosities on the beach. Bigger than the Maidstone. Yuck!

What Bernie Madoff and I have in common

Would you believe Formica counters? Bernie's beach house on the eastern tip of Long Island is for sale. Fab ocean views from everyroom, a big dramatic living room with a fireplace. Zowie, looked pretty good to me, but the web article was kind of snarky.



Apparently the Madoff's didn't update often enough. The bedrooms were "rather small" and the kitchen had (Hannah bar the door!) formica counters. Oh my god. How could anyone live with formica counters? I mean, if it's not granite or Corian it has to be marble, slate, or some upscale material.



Formica for God's sake! How plebian, how low. Shouldn't a beach house be absolutely fabulous with bountiful bedrooms and total, glitz? Glitz up the ying-yang. Antiques, bric-a-brac, fancy, schmancy. What did they expect guests to do? Go to the beach? Admire the view? Cook gourmet meals in the formica kitchen? OMG.



Bernie, how could you? So the interior is dated. So what?



I think the realtors were complaining. They might have got a few more mil if old Bernie has anted up for a modern kitchen. Granite, mind you, none of this formica sh_.



A confession. We have a 20 year old kitchen with only a new fridge and a new dishwasher. Yup, 20 year old formica. A modest, 4-burner stove. Euro-style cabinents. To me, it looks pretty good. Nice window over the sink, room to eat, plenty of shelves for the cookbooks, an antique icebox we use as a bar. Where's the glitz? What? Only one dishwasher? How can I cook with only 4 burners and one oven. Actually, make that 3 burners.



I am so deprived that I'm depraved. I hang my head in shame. Formica counters! Ye gods.

What is she thinking?

What Was She Thinking?

I'm afraid the mothers of twenty-somethings have fallen down on the job. In the crowd at the Kennedy ceremonies, standing with his staff in front of the office, there were a few young ladies dressed to party. Now black is one thing, and decolletage and strapless are something else entirely. And flipflops? A strapless dress and flipflops for a funereal occasion? What was she thinking? I don't know. Mothers need to teach daughters how to dress, because one sees inappropriate dress all the time.

And the guys standing in line to pay respects in cut offs and shorts didn't look too respectful, either. Looked like they were going to go home and wash the car. Boston is always pretty bad about inappropriate dress, but one would think in Washington. . . well, maybe they were from Boston, the unstyle, clueless fashion capitol of the world.