IT'S ALL ABOUT ENDINGS

Guess who had a tooth removed? And who's a bit giddy with Hydrocodone? You're right. Me. The hole isn't permanent. Going for broke with an implant. But since this is a writer's blog, let me get to the point. Just finished watching What They Had. Ah, the trouble with endings. Elizabeth Chomko wrote and directed this little gem, but she had problems with it. The ending. I think she tried to end the film maybe four times.I recognized at least three potential endings. 

We writers? Don't we always struggle to get an ending right? I see it all the time in films and books. Sometimes, I get so philosophically above the craft that I realize no ending's right. When Mertie and I bought our last home in Spokane, Washington, I recall saying, "This is it. This is where I'll end my life." Then Mertie, my darling wife, decided she wanted to make a little more money. She deserved more money, she said, so we came to Vancouver, Washington for a better paying job. Now, I think this might be where I die, yet, Spokane is always on our minds. If only it weren't for the snow.

So you see? Life keeps going on after the artistic ending of any book, story, film or play. When I'm in that mood, endings trouble any creative endeavor for me. Fact is that for each of us there is only one ending, and who doesn't know what that is?

OLIVETTI TYPEWRITERS AND DRINKING ADVENTURES

Just had to make this entry. I was going through some old files in a filing cabinet I hadn't looked at in decades. I found all these manuscripts that I typed on my old, wonderful Olivetti portable. I gave the typewriter to one of my hippy roomies when I left Dayton, Ohio to head to California. I was skipping out on the rent and gave him the typewriter as partial payment. Those were my drinking days. Such a transaction fits the type, eh?

I never made it to California. I thought my brother had a job for me with his pavement striping company out there. Turns out, he didn't own that company. He was selling drugs instead. His mother, my stepmother, informed me just as I was getting ready to drive away. So, instead, I drove South with a plan to find work on shrimp boats. Ended up in Mobile, Alabama. I almost achieved that goal, but that is another tale altogether that includes my six month marriage to a Southern gal which is another story. So many tales. 

Anyway, the Olivetti was a fine machine and typed very presentable manuscripts. I can date the manuscript to pre-1973. I would get sober in 1976, so I was well gone toward the end of my downward spiral. PS: I don't believe I ever sent this ms anywhere. Thinking I might dust it off and give it a whirl.

KESTREL BUYS (i.e. ACCEPTS) JOE B. TANNER'S PICKUP

 

YES. A CELEBRATION. My short story "Joe B. Tanner's Pickup" is selected by literary magazine Kestrel at Fairmont State University in West Virginia for publication. 

Interesting side note. (Well) interesting to me at least. Last night, I stayed up till 1:30 am rewriting that Tanner story and submitted it to Cutbank in Missoula, MT. Shortened the tale by 400 words. I think slightly improved it. As I say, nothing I create is finished until it's published. 

Kestrel had my story for 5 months. They said don't query until 3 months have passed. I queried them. So in same 24 hours, I queried Kestrel, rewrote and submitted story to Cutbank, and this morning voila! I told Kestrel about the rewrite and offered to send it to them. Awaiting there response.

By the way, both literary magazines accept simultaneous submissions.