Archive for the ‘The Writing Process’ Category

Thanks for all your kind remarks!

Friday, February 2nd, 2024

February 2, 2024

It’s been a bit busy here this week — people to see, places to go, catching up to do.  No special reason.  It just happens sometimes. Usually those sorts of weeks are a pain in the tush.  But not this one.

For whatever reason, this was the week when my mail was full of kudos and compliments from unexpected quarters — mostly about my “Saints or Sinners” stories that have been appearing in the Chinook Observer each week for the last few months.  Not only have a number of readers weighed in with plaudits and pleasant remarks, but even some descendants of those saints or sinners have written to corroborate information and to let me know of their appreciation.

I probably speak for most writers when I say that positive feedback is not all that easy to come by and is much appreciated when it does arrive.  You’ve probably noticed, yourself, that most often the “Letters to the Editor” are more critical than celebratory.  But, what has come to me lately through Face Book or in response to my blog posts are comments and remarks that warm the cockles of my heart.  Thank you!

I try my best to respond to each person who reaches out.  I’m not always successful, though, and for that I am sorry.  Please do not give up on me!  I’ll try to answer your questions, and let you know how much I appreciate hearing from you.  In large measure, your feedback keeps me going.  Woot!  Woot!

…and I in my cap…

Sunday, January 14th, 2024

Napping Sydney

Now and then during the past twenty-five years, I’ve lamented that we weren’t able to carve out a larger office space for me when we re-configured my mother’s walk-in-and-on-and-on closet.  But, in reality, it has served me very well and has no doubt saved me from hours of searching through those piles of important things that accumulate unbidden on my desk.  Imagine if I had twice the desktop space that I sometimes long for!

Yesterday, the other big plus about my tiny office became viscerally apparent.  I could close the door, crank up the space heater, and be warm and cozy in a house whose ambient temperature was hovering in the mid-40s to 50s, depending on whether you were at the east or west end — the icy wind coming from the east.  Even a state-of-the-art heat pump cannot override an east wind coming through the cracks and crannies of a 155-year-old-house.  So.. with a few quick forays to the kitchen for sustenance, I spent my day cozily enough and actually got some work done!

Well… most of my day.  I had begun, as usual at 6 ayem and by 3 o’clock decided a nap was in order.  My bedroom was PDC (pretty damned cold) so I went up the killer stairs, grabbed a space heater from one of the bedrooms up there and got dressed for bed.  Yes. Dressed.  I put on my snuggly bathrobe over my jeans and sweatshirt (standard working outfit) and added a knit cap.  Then I burrowed under the down comforter (on icy sheets), closed my eyes for a selfie and had a refreshing two hour nap!

Library Fireplace

A wee bit of dinner in front of the library fire convinced me that I should give up my work ethic for the rest of the day.  Instead, I snuggled under a blanket there on the couch and read Daniel Silva’s next-to-latest Gabriel Allon mystery, “Portrait of an Unknown Woman.”  Somehow, I skipped over it and, truth to tell, I should have left well enough alone.  I liked Allon better when he was officially in the spy biz.

This morning: the east wind has died down but the house temperature still hovers in the mid-50s.  Perhaps today will be a repeat of yesterday…

 

The Hardest Part…

Thursday, September 28th, 2023

Bethenia Owens-Adair — Teacher or Doctor?

I really am having so much fun researching these “Saints or Sinners” stories!  And, every once in a while, a reader tells me how much they are enjoying them and that makes it even better.  And then just today, when I called Pete Heckes with a question about the name of the slough near the Moby Dick — it’s “Paul’s Slough” — he straightened me out on few errors in my story about Peter Jordan — you know, the guy who was so badly hurt when he and a buddy overloaded the cannon they had in Oysterville in the olden days.  Blew it to smithereens. And very nearly themselves along with it.

Well, we got to talking, and when all was said and done, I never used the Paul’s Slough information as I intended and I turned in my story without it.  Oh well.  If I ever find a publisher for these gems, I hope I remember to fine tune a few things!

But finding the details of the stories isn’t the hardest part.  It’s finding the illustrations — preferably photographs of the characters I’m writing about.  When you get back to stories before 1900, it gets harder.  Today, I was looking for a picture of a man who died in 1877.  “Fat chance!” thought I!  After all, he’d come west in the 1830s and just how many photographers do you think might have been doing studio portraits around here over the next 40 years?

John Edmunds or John Pickernell?

However — wonder of wonders! — I found one!  Or at least it purports to be the very man I was looking for — on the Find a Grave site which, besides photographs, contains a storehouse of wonderful information.  Is it all true?  I think as true as any information that comes to us over the years.  The people I’ve met who gather information for Find a Grave seem diligent to a fault.

And while I’m at it, if you are a “Saints or Sinners” reader and have additional information for me, don’t be shy.  If I use the information and find that publisher, I promise I’ll give you full credit!

“Full Disclosure” …as they say.

Sunday, August 27th, 2023

After dinner last night, I put my feet up “for just a minute” fully intending to write my blog before bedtime.  End of story, almost.  I did surface long enough to turn off the lights (most of them) and go to bed, never giving a single thought to the blog title I had written earlier in the day.  It was a great title (I thought) and would immediately trigger whatever pearls of wisdom I had decided to share with my stalwart readers.

This morning, when I finally got back to my computer, there were those provocative words, “Full Disclosure.”  Unfortunately they didn’t provoke a single thought.  Damn!  But that’s the way it is these days now that I’m on the shady side of 87!  I don’t like to think that “I am losing it.”  Rather, I look at these little memory lapses as flashes of brilliance that were so amazing, they burned themselves out before I could fully grasp them.

And, if truth were told, I think I’ve always had those momentary blank spots — probably we all have them.  The difference now is undoubtedly one of frequency and duration.  Or maybe it’s that I’m now overly fond of some of my brilliant thoughts and losing the ability to share them is more annoying than it used to be.  Who knows?

I remember saying to Nyel (back in plummier days) when he was trying to remember something “important” to tell me just before bedtime — “If you think of it, don’t wake me up.  Tell me in the morning…”  I can’t remember now whether he did or didn’t.  I guess whatever it was, wasn’t all that crucial.  A lot like whatever I was going to “fully disclose.”

If she ever asks you, just say “Yes!”

Monday, August 14th, 2023

Dayle Olson, Interviewer Extraordinaire

I am sitting here all puffed up and rosy after hearing myself on the KMUN program “River Writers” being interviewed by Dayle Olson.  She is without a doubt THE best interviewer I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.  I say that because our half hour together (which was taped some time ago) was not only fun, but somehow made me sound pretty darned good.  I hope you can catch it somehow.  I think it’s the only time I’ve ever suggested that anyone listen to me!  I give full marks to moderator Dayle Olson who seemed to ask just the right questions in just the right order and had the perfect commentary to carry us along!

“Dear Medora”

We talked about how I began writing, about my “favorite” book, Dear Medora c. 2007, WSU Press), about what I’m working on now and my  plans for the near future.   I was even given an opportunity to read one of my “Saints or Sinners?” stories, now running weekly in the Chinook Observer.

We taped the show about a month ago and, in addition to my writing experiences, Dayle asked me about the upcoming (September 6th!) History Forum that I am helping to organize.  I was so very pleased to have an opportunity to talk about our plans — some of which are still evolving. Basically, it will be a First-Wednesday-of-the-Month (Sept. thru May) gathering of people interested in the history of Pacific County and SW Washington.

Oysterville Schoolhouse

We will devote each gathering to a general topic — “How We Got Here?” in September — have a few speakers to get us started, and then open it up for comments, questions, new information etc.  There will be no charge (except a donation basket toward upkeep of the historic schoolhouse) and we’ll fine-tune as we go.  I do hope some of the many folks who have responded to my blog over the years with history questions or information of their own will attend.

And, I hope you can find my half hour with Dayle Olson on the KMUN River Writer’s program!  Perhaps Dayle will weigh in and tell us all how to find it now that it is archived and available for re-listening.

From a book that never came to be…

Tuesday, June 13th, 2023

Willard Espy, circa 1940

I ran across a fat folder of typewritten pages — some apparently in order, some definitely missing, and all with crossed out sentences and margin notes in my Uncle Willard’s handwriting.  I believe that they are part of one (or more) drafts about his growing up years in Oysterville during the teens and twenties of the last century.  His working title: “Past Perfect.”

I’ve read other versions and probably this one, too, and am always saddened that he never finished the book.  More than that, I miss listening to him and my mother and their brother Ed, reminiscing around our library fire.  I wish I could take my own readers back to the 1940s and ’50s with me so we could listen together.  But for now, I’ll quote a few paragraphs from these old, delightful pages and hope you’ll catch some of the magic, too.

Mona at 7 or 8 — 1911

Because my sister Suzita is dead, it is significant to me that at eight she spat into pop’s boot, and was condignly spanked.  Because my sister Mona is dead, it is part of me that at the age of three she slept with her hands over her ears “to keep the dreams out.”  I like Suzita for wearying of her chores:  “Please, God,” she prayed, “send me four legs and a wing.”  I like her for empathizing with the Almighty, whose white robes she considered impractical; “Dear Santa,” she wrote, “please send God a pair of coveralls for Christmas.”

But how am I to find significance in the anecdotes shared by my brother Ed, my sister Dale, and myself, all still very much alive  Ed, before he could walk, crawled daily to the pigpen, where he would press is face against the chicken wire and grunt.  What communication am I to infer from that?

Edwin Espy, 1915

When the Espys took a steamer from Astoria to San Francisco in 1915 to attend the World’s Fair, Ed, then six, watched the exciting bustle on the lower deck, and asked wistfully, “Can’t we pay extra and go steerage?”…

There must be a moral, too, in the absoluteness of Ed’s childhood honesty.  Sent to count the cows, he returned with a total of twenty-four and a half.  “Why not twenty-five?” asked pop.  “Daisy was behind a huckleberry bush,” replied Ed.

Dale, two years eleven months

Dale was a curly-haired, great-eyed, towhead whose hair grew darker as she approached adolescence. As the youngest, and a girl at that, she was subject to sore trials.  Her curls were ordinarily covered by a woolen cap and since all three of us wore overalls or coveralls except on dress-up occasions, there were times when her femininity did not instantly appear.  When a visitor exclaimed, “Three fine little boys!” Dale objected:  “I am not a little boy,” she said; “I am a little girl.”

In fact she was the only little girl in town, and none of the thirteen little boys would demean himself by playing with her in public.  One of our principle diversions was to try to hide where Dale could not find us; in our effort to escape her we even created a private club room in the dead heart of an enormous gorse bush.  But she always managed to hunt us down.

I wonder if present day five and six-year-olds will have as wonderful memories of these days fifty years hence.

Willard, Edwin, Dale in 1916

 

 

 

 

Wow! Really? Karl Marlantes??

Sunday, March 26th, 2023

Karl Marlantes,

If you read Deep River, you know who Karl Marlantes is.  If you didn’t,  stop reading this and get back to it AFTER you’ve read (preferably) Deep River (2019) which is about our area or, perhaps, Matterhorn: A Novel of the Vietnam War (2010) which is the recipient of many awards and was on the NYT Best Seller List for 17 weeks.

Today I had the very great pleasure of meeting the author and of actually sharing the Speaker’s Podium with him at the Pacific County Historical Society’s Annual Meeting.  What an honor and pleasure!

Actually… “sharing” probably gives the wrong impression.  The publicity said “Featuring” Karl Marlantes and Sydney Stevens.  And there wasn’t actually a podium.   Just a stool — which was too high for me to hoist my tush onto!   And we didn’t “share” either.  I went first (standing) —  sorta like a warm-up band; Karl went second, sitting comfortably (or so it seemed) and felt like the main attraction, at least to me.

I loved Deep River and felt (unabashedly) like a groupie when I went up and introduced myself to him before the luncheon.  And then, during his talk about his writing process when he referenced several of the points I had made in my own talk earlier… I, of course, fell in love!

Seriously, the whole afternoon was a pleasure!  It was an SRO crowd but, amazingly, I knew a goodly number of the folks there.  I felt that my stories were well received and that they dovetailed well with Mr. Marlantes remarks — never mind that we had never met or conferred.

Next Year….Oysterville Schoolhouse?

“And next year,” says PCHS Prez Steve Rogers, “the  Annual Meeting” will be in Oysterville!”  Stay tuned.

On Being Politically Correct… Or Not

Thursday, March 23rd, 2023

Gathering Oysters In “The Olden Days”

I guess it’s a given these days that historical research is automatically on a collision course with political correctness.  As I see it, though, you can’t have it both ways.  If you are trying for historical accuracy, I don’t see any way to be PC in “reporting” what you find out.  Even though my present project is mostly focussed on re-telling some of the wonderful stories about our past, I’m pretty sure I’ll run up against a sticky wicket or two.

Loggers

And then I wonder if I will get any blowback from those who would sooner erase our history than face up to the facts of how we were — of what we said or of how we behaved.  I don’t really expect that all my readers will enjoy my stories with historical perspective in mind or will rejoice that change is gradually taking place.

I thought about that a lot today as I was writing about “Old Cripple Johnson” — a beloved Oysterville character of my mother’s childhood.  His given name was George and he was crippled and there were extenuating circumstances.  Will modern readers “get” that he was beloved by the entire community and the feeling was reciprocal?

Clamming In The Days When Commercial Diggers Averaged 500 lbs. per tide

Perhaps it will help that I’m telling stories often through the eyes of people who witnessed the experience.  In my mind, using their words (no matter how non-PC they have become) gives us in the here-and-now an opportunity to understand a different point of view — one developed within a context almost completely unexperienced by most of us.

Still… I think about all that as I look for 150-year-old “facts”  to corroborate the stories I am telling or re-telling.  There is no doubt that sensibilities were different in the 1800s than they are today.  Can I honor the past without offending the present?  I hope so.

I love the old stories just as I love these old photographs.  I do so hope my readers will love them, too.  And I hope they’ll give me some feedback along the way.  (You’ll see a story each week in the Observer. So far there have been three.)

 

 

 

 

 

What a great title, Jim Tweedie!

Thursday, March 2nd, 2023

You know, there are some things about this aging process that don’t bear thinking about.  Like the wonky ways of one’s memory.

Some years ago, Jim Tweedie asked me if I’d be willing to read a draft of his first book and, perhaps, write a foreword for it.  I remember both the reading and the writing very well — that I did those things, I mean.  But, when I ran across a pile of “new” books the other day with Jim’s (apparently) unopened book among them — Long Beach Short Stories: Possibly Untrue Tales from the Pacific Northwest — I had no memory of ever having read it.  None.

The cover looked vaguely familiar and I had a glimmer that Jim had handed it to me at a Vespers service a year or more before Covid shut us down.  Tucked between the first few pages was a note — also seemingly pristine and unread.  It was dated January 20, 2017 and began, “It suddenly occurred to me that I had not sent you a copy of my book — so here it is.”  The date made me wonder if my Vespers memory was right…

And there, right after the Table of Contents was a Foreword by Sydney Stevens dated “Oysterville, 2016.”  So… part of my memory is correct and I began to relax a little.  But as I started reading… not so much.  So far, I’ve read nine of the fourteen stories and, though it’s scary to admit, I don’t recognize a single one of them.  Not a plot.  Not a character.  Nada.

I took a break and re-read my Foreword.  In it, among other things I wrote, “I found his stories to be beguiling, enchanting, and challenging in ways I did not expect.”  That’s still absolutely true.  But where did the memory of them go after I read them?  And how did the Foreword disappear the same way?

James “Jim” A. Tweedie

I can’t decide if I owe Jim an apology for waiting so long to read his finished book and for completely forgetting its contents over the past seven years.   Or do I owe him a thank-you for writing a book that has obviously delighted me at least twice?

I’m going with the latter.  Thank you, Jim!  (And did I tell you, I love the title?)

 

So now that January is almost over…

Friday, January 27th, 2023

“If January is the month of change, February is the month of lasting change. January is for dreamers… February is for doers.” — Marc Parent. “ …

I’m not sure who Marc Parent is, or more to the point, which Marc Parent I have quoted here.  There are several Marc Parents listed on Google and I’m inclined to go with “Marc Parent, author of Turning Stones: My Days and Nights with Children at Risk.  But, whoever the Mr. Parent is who said the “February is for doers,” he gets my vote of approval.

February is my birth month and I think being “a doer” is as apt a description of me as most others might be.  I like to get things done.  The old teacher adage, “Plan your work and work your plan” are the words I’d like to live by.

And I have lots of plans for February, you betcha!  First and foremost is to continue making progress on my new book — at least enough to see if it has merit or not.  Second, to begin exploring a new series for the Chinook Observer.  And third, to get that pesky income tax stuff ready for my accountant.

Each of those sounds like a project of many months in itself.  But, as I remind myself now and again — I’m retired.  There’s really nothing I HAVE to do so there’s not much reason not to accomplish what I WANT to do.

And then there’s the chimney…