Last year it snowed here. A rare white Christmas in central Texas. No snow this year. In fact it was like a Spring day in the 70s on Tuesday. Then yesterday it turned rainy and cold, more typical for this time of the season. Today, Christmas, the sun is out and it's a beautiful day.
As a warm weather guy I just as well do without snow or ice. Can't walk in it. Don't want to drive in it. Making my way back to central California is the best way to avoid lousy Winter cold and rain.
I began reading Robert Heinlein's "Starship Troopers" last night. The 1959 controversial bestseller was made into a movie, of course, but I had never read the book. He gets right into the story with a mobile infantry attack on a town of creatures eight feet tall called "skinnys" because they evidently don't gain much weight eating people. He tosses out a reference to the Bugs, giving a hint of what is to come.
I'm just about finished with Stephen Sears "Chancellorsville" as I continue my study of civil war battles and military history. A lesson to learn from General Lee: when you're out numbered two to one by an enemy, don't run. Look for a way to impose your will and take the initiative.
Welcome to Writefinger.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Friday, October 23, 2009
Las Vegas Area Writers
My search for a local writer's group in Las Vegas has turned up very little so far. From Google all I can find are these three groups:
- The Las Vegas Writers Group. www.meetup.com/Las-Vegas-Writers
- The Henderson Writers Group. http://www.hwg.mergentsquared.com/
- The Writer's Pen & Grill. http://www.penandgrill.com/
The Pen and Grill is really more of a social gathering. According to its website, "The Writer’s Pen & Grill is designed to get writers away from their computers—at least once a month. Come hang out, socialize, and...yes…have a cocktail."
My plan is to attend the meeting of the Las Vegas Writers Group in November and eventually the Henderson Writers Group. I'm also checking with UNLV to see what's available. I'm looking for some local contacts and a regular meeting with other writers. A Las Vegas Writer's Conference is also in the works.
I'm surprised I didn't find more here, but I'll keep looking.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Do Not Sit on Banister
I looked at the sign taped to the wall in the Theater at the Clark County Library yesterday and knew it was going to be a long day: "Do Not Sit on Banister." These signs dotted the arena-style theater where I was attending a conference hosted by the library for writers and published authors. I figured the warning sign was appropriate. It was another way of reminding me to be careful, like a voice speaking softly in the back of my head saying, "Don't take any unnecessary risk."
My life for the last two years, however, has been all about taking risk. But that's another story for another time.
The Clark County Library on East Flamingo is a large complex going under an expansion, thus I noticed black plastic sheeting, tools, construction equipment, and dust on my walk to the theater. When I entered the auditorium I encountered the first of many "Do Not Sit on Banister" signs. Thanks for the warning. I found my seat quickly, positioned left center of the podium at stage front.
In the middle of the two-story arena was the semi-circular stage, dark curtains pulled and pleated. Two items were there: a table with six water bottles lined up like toy soldiers and an old-style oak podium with a microphone. I was reminded of college days in East Texas and for a moment I was back in school waiting for an afternoon production of "On the Waterfront" to begin. Then Frank Sinatra's voice echoed throughout the theater jolting me back into reality--I'm two miles from the Las Vegas strip--about as far from a rural East Texas college town as one can get.
An estimated 300 persons attended the conference hosted by Carolyn Hayes Uber of Stephens Press. Among her first comments when taking the stage were to admire the large crowd and say how proud she was of the "literary scene in Las Vegas." Las Vegas is not readily admired for it's artists and literary talents, unless you consider Penn and Teller creative geniuses and Carrot Top a bookworm. The crowd this day was a mixture of men and women, almost evenly numbered. (I was surprised. Most writing conferences I've attended are dominated by women...not a bad thing since I'm single.)
Ms. Uber spoke of the publishing industry in session one. Then author Maralys Wills spoke in session two about preparing manuscripts for publication. She offered "Ten Ways to Upgrade Your Manuscript". Session three featured an editor. But I left after session two. My back was getting tired. Perhaps sitting on the banister would have been more comfortable.
_________________________________________
Things I Learned at the Writer's Conference
1. 400,000 individual book titles were published last year.
2. Only 10 of those 400,000 book titles sold more than a million copies. Most of the books sold less than 100 copies.
3. You won't get rich writing books.
4. 70 percent of all books published will not make enough money to pay for the author's advance.
5. 10 percent of all the books sent to an agent will actually get published...1 percent will make a profit.
6. Most Americans buy books from four places: Costco, Sams Club, WalMart, and Target.
7. Rejection slips are normal and to be expected. Big Tip (from Maralys Wills): "keep improving your manuscript and keep sending it out until it's published."
8. The average royalty paid to authors: 10.7 percent of net (no longer a percentage of gross). That means the publisher must make money before the author gets paid anything beyond the advance.
My life for the last two years, however, has been all about taking risk. But that's another story for another time.
The Clark County Library on East Flamingo is a large complex going under an expansion, thus I noticed black plastic sheeting, tools, construction equipment, and dust on my walk to the theater. When I entered the auditorium I encountered the first of many "Do Not Sit on Banister" signs. Thanks for the warning. I found my seat quickly, positioned left center of the podium at stage front.
In the middle of the two-story arena was the semi-circular stage, dark curtains pulled and pleated. Two items were there: a table with six water bottles lined up like toy soldiers and an old-style oak podium with a microphone. I was reminded of college days in East Texas and for a moment I was back in school waiting for an afternoon production of "On the Waterfront" to begin. Then Frank Sinatra's voice echoed throughout the theater jolting me back into reality--I'm two miles from the Las Vegas strip--about as far from a rural East Texas college town as one can get.
An estimated 300 persons attended the conference hosted by Carolyn Hayes Uber of Stephens Press. Among her first comments when taking the stage were to admire the large crowd and say how proud she was of the "literary scene in Las Vegas." Las Vegas is not readily admired for it's artists and literary talents, unless you consider Penn and Teller creative geniuses and Carrot Top a bookworm. The crowd this day was a mixture of men and women, almost evenly numbered. (I was surprised. Most writing conferences I've attended are dominated by women...not a bad thing since I'm single.)
Ms. Uber spoke of the publishing industry in session one. Then author Maralys Wills spoke in session two about preparing manuscripts for publication. She offered "Ten Ways to Upgrade Your Manuscript". Session three featured an editor. But I left after session two. My back was getting tired. Perhaps sitting on the banister would have been more comfortable.
_________________________________________
Things I Learned at the Writer's Conference
1. 400,000 individual book titles were published last year.
2. Only 10 of those 400,000 book titles sold more than a million copies. Most of the books sold less than 100 copies.
3. You won't get rich writing books.
4. 70 percent of all books published will not make enough money to pay for the author's advance.
5. 10 percent of all the books sent to an agent will actually get published...1 percent will make a profit.
6. Most Americans buy books from four places: Costco, Sams Club, WalMart, and Target.
7. Rejection slips are normal and to be expected. Big Tip (from Maralys Wills): "keep improving your manuscript and keep sending it out until it's published."
8. The average royalty paid to authors: 10.7 percent of net (no longer a percentage of gross). That means the publisher must make money before the author gets paid anything beyond the advance.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
A Morning with the Sparrows
The sparrows were out this morning, snapping at each other, some flying across the patio looking for something to eat. I join them for breakfast most weekday mornings at Starbucks. I pinch off a small piece of my bagel making sure not to include the cream cheese. (I'm not sure what cream cheese will do to the digestive system of a sparrow.) I like to flick a crumb-sized portion of an Albertson's raisin and cinnamon bagel among the birds and watch them fight each other for it.
Only the swift will win. Once a crumb-bagel hits the ground, a sparrow swoops down and grabs the morsel in its mouth and quickly takes flight to a nearby tree branch to enjoy breakfast without the company of its friends. Rude bird. Selfish twit.
I glance to my left and see the Chevron station serving breakfast gas to a covey of hungry cars. This intersection in Henderson must be one of the busiest in the Las Vegas valley. Hundreds of cars speed by my observation post on the patio located high above the scene. Workers are preparing the landscape around the station, hauling dirt and planting trees. The sparrows nearby seem to take notice. They turn their heads to glance at the workers and then just as quickly turn back towards me and look for more bagel crumbs.
To my right is the Texaco station across the street to the north. A huge American flag is waving from its pole. I see a bike rider scampering along the sidewalk, peddling fast. His backpack is heavy. Perhaps he's a student with a load of books. Steam from the street is rising in curly rhythms like clear sheets of velvet causing the bike rider to look warped and otherworldly. I swipe my forehead and collect a bead of sweat as I notice how hot it is.
A branch of the Colonial Bank is directly in front of my outpost about 200 yards away. I read the neon sign flashing above it: "Safe, Sound, Secure. You'll Like It Here." I smile at the irony of such a message appearing in a city like Las Vegas. Just beyond the sign, on the horizon in the far distance, I see the Strip with the tall Stratosphere tower reaching upward into the hazy summer sky. The famous skyline of the entertainment district on Las Vegas Blvd. is stretched out before me and I wonder about the winners and losers who are still sleeping away their deeds from the night before. Safe, sound, and secure.
This Starbucks has a fountain on the patio that's not running this morning. Perhaps it's too hot. What little breeze I feel upon my face feels like it's coming from a hair dryer. The heat surrounds me, covers me, engulfs me, and I wonder if bagels feel this way while baking. The patio is like an oven and those of us sitting out here are like loaves of bread. A business man wearing a suit has taken off his jacket revealing a starched white shirt so bright that it blinds me to look at him. Two women in shorts are having a spirited conversation and don't seem a bit worried about a potential heat stroke.
As for me and the sparrows? I'm listening to Joe Cocker on my iPod and the birds are staring at me, pleading with me with small dark eyes, to toss them more bagel crumbs. Cocker sings, "there's a time to reap/a time to sow/ for holdin' on/ for lettin' go/ sometimes doing what is right is lettin' go."
Only the swift will win. Once a crumb-bagel hits the ground, a sparrow swoops down and grabs the morsel in its mouth and quickly takes flight to a nearby tree branch to enjoy breakfast without the company of its friends. Rude bird. Selfish twit.
I glance to my left and see the Chevron station serving breakfast gas to a covey of hungry cars. This intersection in Henderson must be one of the busiest in the Las Vegas valley. Hundreds of cars speed by my observation post on the patio located high above the scene. Workers are preparing the landscape around the station, hauling dirt and planting trees. The sparrows nearby seem to take notice. They turn their heads to glance at the workers and then just as quickly turn back towards me and look for more bagel crumbs.
To my right is the Texaco station across the street to the north. A huge American flag is waving from its pole. I see a bike rider scampering along the sidewalk, peddling fast. His backpack is heavy. Perhaps he's a student with a load of books. Steam from the street is rising in curly rhythms like clear sheets of velvet causing the bike rider to look warped and otherworldly. I swipe my forehead and collect a bead of sweat as I notice how hot it is.
A branch of the Colonial Bank is directly in front of my outpost about 200 yards away. I read the neon sign flashing above it: "Safe, Sound, Secure. You'll Like It Here." I smile at the irony of such a message appearing in a city like Las Vegas. Just beyond the sign, on the horizon in the far distance, I see the Strip with the tall Stratosphere tower reaching upward into the hazy summer sky. The famous skyline of the entertainment district on Las Vegas Blvd. is stretched out before me and I wonder about the winners and losers who are still sleeping away their deeds from the night before. Safe, sound, and secure.
This Starbucks has a fountain on the patio that's not running this morning. Perhaps it's too hot. What little breeze I feel upon my face feels like it's coming from a hair dryer. The heat surrounds me, covers me, engulfs me, and I wonder if bagels feel this way while baking. The patio is like an oven and those of us sitting out here are like loaves of bread. A business man wearing a suit has taken off his jacket revealing a starched white shirt so bright that it blinds me to look at him. Two women in shorts are having a spirited conversation and don't seem a bit worried about a potential heat stroke.
As for me and the sparrows? I'm listening to Joe Cocker on my iPod and the birds are staring at me, pleading with me with small dark eyes, to toss them more bagel crumbs. Cocker sings, "there's a time to reap/a time to sow/ for holdin' on/ for lettin' go/ sometimes doing what is right is lettin' go."
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Home in Carmel Valley
I've been channeling Jack Kerouac lately, and wondering how I ever decided to get off the road and settle down in Carmel Valley, a small rural community a couple of mountains over and a ten-mile drive from Carmel-by-the-Sea or just plain Carmel if you wish. I am home, I think. At least I'd like to think I'm home.
I spent 323 days or so living in motels and in casinos on comps and attending art festivals and blogging and takeing pictures. I guess I'm tired and have stopped traveling. I came to Carmel and the Monterey Peninsula a few days ago and just decided to stay. The ocean, the cool breezes, the nice people keep things in balance when you consider this area is among the most expensive places to live. I'm paying more for gas than rent.
I've opened a studio for a place to hang out and write, paint, draw, swat flies, and watch delivery trucks drop off fresh fruit to the market that sits beneath me. All is well, so far.
I spent 323 days or so living in motels and in casinos on comps and attending art festivals and blogging and takeing pictures. I guess I'm tired and have stopped traveling. I came to Carmel and the Monterey Peninsula a few days ago and just decided to stay. The ocean, the cool breezes, the nice people keep things in balance when you consider this area is among the most expensive places to live. I'm paying more for gas than rent.
I've opened a studio for a place to hang out and write, paint, draw, swat flies, and watch delivery trucks drop off fresh fruit to the market that sits beneath me. All is well, so far.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Current Location: Solvang, California
Solvang is a nice hamlet, or should I say "gehucht." This Dutch community is growing on me. I'm seriously thinking about settling down here.
I'm staying at the Kronborg Inn, just west of downtown. The Kronborg is nice enough, but my room is located upstairs where access is a little difficult. I must climb stairs near the office, then walk through an enclosed balcony of sorts, before reaching an upstairs deck. Then it's a nice walk along the deck, making one turn down another path, before I can enter my room. The patio door leads to a small deck outside my room, and it actually would provide a shorter trip back to my car. But I'm a little afraid of leaving the patio door unlocked while I'm gone.
Ice? To get ice I walk out my patio door (leaving it unlocked, but at least I can see it from the vending area near the pool so I'm not too worried about it) and walk down the stairs near the office. Then I follow a trail along the swimming pool to a narrow path along a wall outside some lower level rooms. I take the narrow path for a short distance before arriving on the far side of the pool where the vending area and ice machine is located. I fill my ice bucket up and return the same way. I feel like a mouse, making my way through a maze to retrieve some cheese.
All of this traversing the paths and narrow walkways of the Kronborg is just another way of reminding me that living in motels can be a bitch sometimes.
I'm staying at the Kronborg Inn, just west of downtown. The Kronborg is nice enough, but my room is located upstairs where access is a little difficult. I must climb stairs near the office, then walk through an enclosed balcony of sorts, before reaching an upstairs deck. Then it's a nice walk along the deck, making one turn down another path, before I can enter my room. The patio door leads to a small deck outside my room, and it actually would provide a shorter trip back to my car. But I'm a little afraid of leaving the patio door unlocked while I'm gone.
Ice? To get ice I walk out my patio door (leaving it unlocked, but at least I can see it from the vending area near the pool so I'm not too worried about it) and walk down the stairs near the office. Then I follow a trail along the swimming pool to a narrow path along a wall outside some lower level rooms. I take the narrow path for a short distance before arriving on the far side of the pool where the vending area and ice machine is located. I fill my ice bucket up and return the same way. I feel like a mouse, making my way through a maze to retrieve some cheese.
All of this traversing the paths and narrow walkways of the Kronborg is just another way of reminding me that living in motels can be a bitch sometimes.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Traveling Can Be Hard Work
Well, let's see. I've been on the road now 300 days. That seems like a milestone to me--a nice even number. Though my original intention was to travel for a year, I may not make it that long. I want to settle down. Traveling is fun and I love it. I will always be a traveler. But having no homebase, no headquarters, nowhere to call "home" is tiresome.
Traveling is hard work.
I find myself today in the small hamlet of Solvang, just north of Santa Barbara, California. Solvang is a Dutch community founded in 1911. Back in those days the town's economy was based on farming, of course. Today, it's tourism. I've read that more than 2 million tourists a year come here to see the Dutch architecture, taste the Dutch pastries and food, and sample the wine that is abundant in these parts. Vineyards and orchards are everywhere. So wine-tasting is a major attraction. I'm being tempted to live here.
My writing schedule has been in a mess since I've been traveling. I have a number of projects I'd like to finish, or maybe start, but have been too busy seeing and experiencing places on the road. Most of my writing has been done on my travel blog at http://www.myroadart.com/.
However, time has probably come for me to leave the road for while, catch my breath, settle down, and do some serious writing. I need a home. I need a place I can retreat to once I leave the road. I need to make some money, too. I'm not a rich man.
Traveling is hard work.
I find myself today in the small hamlet of Solvang, just north of Santa Barbara, California. Solvang is a Dutch community founded in 1911. Back in those days the town's economy was based on farming, of course. Today, it's tourism. I've read that more than 2 million tourists a year come here to see the Dutch architecture, taste the Dutch pastries and food, and sample the wine that is abundant in these parts. Vineyards and orchards are everywhere. So wine-tasting is a major attraction. I'm being tempted to live here.
My writing schedule has been in a mess since I've been traveling. I have a number of projects I'd like to finish, or maybe start, but have been too busy seeing and experiencing places on the road. Most of my writing has been done on my travel blog at http://www.myroadart.com/.
However, time has probably come for me to leave the road for while, catch my breath, settle down, and do some serious writing. I need a home. I need a place I can retreat to once I leave the road. I need to make some money, too. I'm not a rich man.
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