HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RUTH. REWRITE CONTINUES APACE.

This will be short. I must tell you that another great issue of FOURBYTWO has come to me. [The picture is of an older issue.] This time, the magazine opens up like an accordion. The poetry is entertaining, as always. Anymore, all I ask of poetry is that it be entertaining and not too hard to understand. You see, when I read a poem by someone several decades younger than myself, and the poem references a word or a situation that is very modern, I don't always get it, and I'm too old and busy, anymore, to do the literary research necessary to understand a difficult allusion. If I were a teacher of poetry, I'd responsibly do the hard work to understand and teach the poem, but I'm not. I'm only a retired machinist who, for some reason, got an MFA along the way. Many times, I'm pretty thick when it comes to references to modern political, literary and civic situations beyond my time, outside of the material I learned in two graduate programs.  

Last thing in this belated blog is to say I'm only on page 81, ready to enter Chapter 13, in the final rewrite of Ghoul World. Took four days off—two travel and two visiting—to attend a birthday party in Spokane for a dear friend of my wife and myself. Travel discombobulates my psyche. I feel lost when I return home. Restarting this morning was extremely difficult. Cost me two hours to get a couple of paragraphs done, then the writing continued smoothly for awhile. A total of, maybe, five pages completed, although I added several paragraphs of new material. At this pace, the rewrite will take much longer than I planned.

BEATNICKING MY WAY THROUGH THE FINAL REWRITE

Scandinavians are happy. Me too!

Today, I reworked the first 27 pages of Ghoul World, aka the Manning novel, smoothing out the rough patches and making consistent the cultural effects and the feel of this futuristic work. The book reads pretty damn good. My wife finished reading it last week and was pleased with it. When I suggested she's biased and might lie to me about the novel, she tells me, "I don't like your novel, The Porno Writer." Well, that's true enough, even though I plan to rework it next................ I think. She found no major plotting errors. That was a great relief to me. 

I spent only two days going through the entire novel and correcting all the grammatical and logical errors that Mertie red penciled for me as she read it. Thanks to her for that read through very much. If all continues as today did, the rewrite ought to be done in no more than a month. Maybe two. Once I get 1/2 way through, I'll start sending it out to agents. That first submission is going to be nerve wracking. I'm expecting this to be published, a movie even, but what writer doesn't feel that way?

I'm specially happy with how the novel ended. I wasn't certain until the very end how it was going to feel, and as the final two chapters flowed out on the computer screen, I was as excited by how it looked and felt as if I was a new reader, rather than the author who slogged away at it for two plus years.

THE OLD FART BEATNIK LIVES AND LOVES

I'm smack in the middle of the last section of the novel. I thought I'd be done by now, but what I'm writing so interests me that my imagination is constantly adding to it. I wish I'd thought about writing science fiction when I was younger. I can't tell you much about the concluding scene because it contains so much spoiler stuff. If you think evolution is interesting, be sure and read my novel, Ghoul World [aka the Manning novel] when it comes out. It touches on some of the same stuff. 

As I write this, I'm sitting in a Starbucks in the World Trade Center, Portland, waiting for the PIFF film, NUOC 2030, to begin upstairs at six pm. Spent an hour, earlier, walking in the cold drizzle of Portland's streets. Better, if you ask me, than snow, and, like a smart kid, I wore the raincoat Mertie bought for me when we first moved to Vancouver to wear during my rainy walks. I'm loving life pretty much right at this moment, thinking about my wonderful wife. 

GHOUL WORLD IS THIS BEATNIK BOOMER'S TITLE OF CHOICE

Just finished the penultimate chapter. I enter the last chapter, see the final scene before my eyes, at last. First draft, of course. Tentatively, I'm going to end the novel on a sad note, but if the team that makes my Manning novel into a movie wants to make it a happy ending there's plenty of room for that too. I don't care. Just pay me well. I'll happily go along. I'm easy after a lifetime of turning my nose up at writing profits. 

Seattle lost. Brady is among the best quarterbacks—if not the best ever. What a way to lose too. I didn't watch. I can't take the stress anymore. I identify too completely and my spirits rise and fall with wins and loses. I've tried to understand why some people so completely identify with sports teams while others don't. Like almost everything in life, self-worth plays a part. It drenches the sport follower's psyche with gloom or celebration. The less self worth one has, the more important the outcome of his favorite team becomes. I'm pretty sure I'm onto something there if I'm any example.  

Ghoul World is, at this moment, my chosen title for the Manning novel. 

PS: Just met Gabriel in Starbucks today, a young man with a Phd who has returned to US and PNW from Korea. I see much success ahead for him. He writes tech pieces at this time, with a book on his mind. 

SERENDIPITY STRIKES THE UNCONSCIOUS BEATNIKING HEART

I completed Chapter 43 and commenced on Chapter 44 of the Manning novel. Forty-four may be the final chapter, but I'm not certain. I believe 44 might be the penultimate chapter with a brief info-bearing conclusion in a Chapter 45.

I had an interesting creative experience recently. I came to a place in Chapter 39 where Charley Manning had to already possess certain information in order to make sense of something happening there. I soon realized I could easily add a fourth person to a luncheon in Chapter 25 that would allow Manning to know what he must know in Chapter 39. So I paged back to the luncheon to add a character only to discover I'd already added a fourth person to that luncheon, an unnamed character. That caused me to recall I'd added the fourth character when I wrote Chapter 25 for the purpose of giving certain info to Charley Manning, then, I forgot he was there waiting for me when I returned to that luncheon. Even this old writer has  subconscious mojo working for him, eh?

It's nice, also, for a writer to see manuscripts lying about in his home. What would a writer's house look like without them?

BEATNICK WRITES PROSTATE CANCER INTO HIS AUTOBIO

When my father turned 77, he was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I recall the time we stood side by side at a public urinal in Dayton, Ohio when he said, mournfully, "I guess mine is the aggressive kind." He died a few months after he turned 80. The cancer had spread into his hips, spine and into his brain. From that time, I've been waiting for my own aggressive prostate cancer to appear. 

Since arriving in Vancouver, WA. 7 or 10 years ago, I've been expressing that worry to my new physician, and we've been testing my PSA. I've watched it climb above four [0 - 4 is normal] and into the fives. A growing prostate is common in elderly men as almost everyone knows, but not always cancerous, then, a little over a year ago, after my wife switched me to a vegan [according to her, cancer fighting] diet, my PSA declined to 4.7, then 4.3, but two weeks ago my PSA made a 2.8 point leap to 6.1. The leap was enough to cause my doctor to set up an appointment for 3 months from now to check my PSA again. I'm 77 as this situation begins to unfold. Already, in my vivid imagination, I'll be dead sometime after I turn 80, and I'm slightly pissed my doctor didn't give me a rectal exam on the spot to see if cancer nodes might already be malforming my prostate. I believe I'll have many things to say about all the odd ways my life feels to me with this intensified worry plaguing me—death portrayed in emotional movies I see with my wife, incidents recalled from my past, sports games that ought to seem trivial now, but I still get worked up over, my suicide attempt when I was 31—or was it 32—everything that enters my head is suddenly coated with a patina of unsettling emotion. This sudden leap in PSA also slightly alters the question I began writing this blog with: Can I get someone other than myself to publish a novel of mine before I die [with the new stipulation, of course] die of prostate cancer? Just saying it aloud scares hell out of me, and that's why I'm saying it. 

The photo is of me and my dad during WWII when I felt like an orphan, living with my grandparents, and he was working in Bridgeport, Connecticut, making bombs long before either of us had the slightest worry about prostate cancer, the number two cause of death in the male half of the population. 

IT'S GOT LEGS! RUN BEATNIK ON YOUR SILENT LEGS! GO BUCKEYES!

Wrote five straight hours this morning and early afternoon. Now 2 pm. On my feet the entire time, leaning over my laptop at a tall table in Brewed Awakening, a coffee shop on 164th Avenue not far from home. I like that clever name, one of the better ones. Makes me think of film noir.  Raining out, and I'm less than 20 pages from finishing this sci fi novel, soon to be a movie, appearing at your neighborhood theater. What? No more neighborhood theaters like the one in Belmont, in Dayton, Ohio, where I saw "Attack Of the 50 Foot Woman"? No single screen venues where first run movies appear? So you'll have to go to a movie complex in a mall to view it when it becomes a movie. I believe it has the legs for it, the sex appeal of a mystery combined with all sorts of mysterious characters. Go see it as soon as it comes out. Mertie and I will invite you to our Portland condo for a celebration if you do and can go to the movie.

Why, you might ask was I on my feet the whole time? I came across a television show in which it was demonstrated that staying off your ass causes our fat burning equipment to increase its potential by 500% ... or some such huge factor. No exercise required. Just don't sit your lazy ass down all day. Oh, my aching feet!

THE END IS VERY NEAR, SAYETH THE BEATNIK WRITER

Hello readers. More boring news, repetitious, unexciting news. Sitting right now in warm knit sweater, temps outside in the 20s, in New Seasons, having just enjoyed a smokey lentil soup. Writing is done for the day. Three scenes left to produce for the novel's ending. Could take anywhere from 1 to 3 chapters, at least two. Then begins the rewrite to tighten up style and make certain cultural characteristics consistent throughout the book. In the writing, I've discovered cultural traits I wanted to use. Not having the patience to go back and make changes at the beginning, I made notes of them so, during the rewrite, I could make the changes then. For one, I decided to dirty up the culture because of overcrowding and lack of care by the ghouls who now run the global culture. Printed the first 50 pages so that Mertie can begin to read it.

LUGING THE BEATNIK NOVEL TO THE FINISH LINE

Find photo here!

Luge! I had the sensation, yesterday, as I put in four hours of steady writing, that I was racing downhill toward the finish line. I was in a state of grace, knowing that certainly, come hell or high water, the novel will be completed. It's like when I ran the mile and half mile in high school and stood, bent over just beyond the finish line to catch my breath, my body coming back strong, my flesh tingling with the surge of oxygenated blood pumping in my system. Only that was after the run was completed. Yesterday, I only sensed the end rather than the actual end. I wonder if I'll feel any different when its done than when, as a younger man, I finished other novels? 

BEATNIK AND THE SPORTIN' LIFE

I can't imagine this entry will run long. It's Sunday, the Seahawks are playing, and they're behind by 4 points, and, even though the Zags and Blazers won last night, I just do not feel any sort of cleverness coming on that would pad this account of my progress in sports viewing, excuse me, writing. Must keep my priorities prioritized. In the Manning novel, I'm just completing a lengthy scene in which much is revealed to the reader about many of the incidents throughout the novel. Seriously, I'm not very far from the end. Maybe three more chapters or scenes. Only a couple more things to get into the book and it'll be finished.

A BEATNIK GETS ALL MUSHY WITH LOVE'NSTUFF

Find his photo here.

Needs dramatic shadowing.

Woody Allen and his films, I love. His short stories too. At one time in my life, his films so often reminded me of myself and my insecurities and my comical woundings (they felt nearly mortal) ... well, that's what good art does, doesn't it, it touches us? I just watched Hannah and Her Sisters for the who knows how manyieth time? One of my favorite films of his, and as the film closed to that wonderful piano playing, "I'm In Love Again", while the camera moves through the apartment to touch on all the relationships and how they worked out ... I got misty, and, next, I think how my first draft of the novel will soon reach its ending after all this long time of work, and how much I'm in love with my wife and our relationship after 20 years together, and my curious Facebook debates with my Southern antagonists who hope to see a second civil war so this time they can win, and, the conflagration of love and war of which my childhood was made when I, feeling the orphan, lived with my paternal grandparents all through WWII ... well ... my feelings well up and splash all over in my head, and my fired up synapses tell all my organs to get busy and create the chemical reactions this robot calls feelings, and I rush to my desktop Mac and sit to spill this rush of emotion out to you who follow this old man, trying to write a book someone other than himself will publish. The dream still lives.

BEAT UP BEATNIK BREAKS OFF THE NARRATIVE TEMPORARILY

Find photo source here:

This writing machine will shut down, most likely, for several days. In two hours, I'm off to get a tooth pulled. #21. Then comes Thanksgiving. P'rhaps some family will show up? Who knows?

I'm not going to say much this morning ... I don't think. I had a short burst of creative juice yesterday, saw my way through to a new ending that will cause the novel to run one or two more chapters longer. Several potential endings are in mind. One is a pretty nifty surprise. Some are upbeat and some not so upbeat. Not sure which will win out. 


Just because I see the ending, doesn't mean it's a done deal. Truth is, though I know what "actions" need to happen, there's still the problem of making sure I get all the information in too and in proper order, i.e. the background stuff that's been hidden from the reader so that everything makes sense and comes to a neat conclusion. I do have one line I want Charley Manning to assert near the end: "This investigation ain't no neatly plotted book, pal. There ain't no smoking gun. Just a lot of smoke, mostly, and a dozen suspicions."

More than once, lately, I've felt no impulse to finish the book, almost a fear of completing it. Could it be that I don't want to have to send it around and find out no agent wants it? I'm reading a Sam Beckett bio too. Don't know why I do it to myself. That's not my ambition at this time ... to win a Nobel Prize.

Wrote more than I planned to, didn't I?

HEADLINE: BEATNIK COMMUNIST SAP IS FINISHED

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. America from border to border and coast to coast and all the ships at sea. Let's go to press."

It has been reported to this columnist, your pal among the infamous, friend of Joe McCarthy and Milhous Nixon, that the novel of communist sympathizer and loose cannon, Mr. George Thomas, is suffering from faulty plumbing. The strings of his violin are snapped. Mr. Thomas was spotted at his favorite club, the Torque, in the heart of downtown Vancouver, crying the blues to his ever-loving partner and confidant, Ms. Mertie Duncan. It has been reported to this columnist from various sources around town that novelist Thomas hasn't got a finish. He hasn't got an ending. He's hanging out there in his communist commune, his pinko heaven, surrounded by various cronies and communist saps, and he's going bust. That you can take as golden from this columnist, your truly, 

You Know Who?

DALLAS COWBOYS, NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS & GONZAGA BULLDOGS

In the Vancouver library downtown, 4th floor, in winter gear, eyes on Portland in the distance. Mertie started her new job today, and my thoughts are with her. They've got a 6 months trial period. The job will carry a load of responsibility and human contact. She likes working with people. She'll get lots of that. I'm hoping she relishes the work and is happy there. 

The Manning novel continues apace. The conclusion is not that far ahead. Yesterday, I was unexplainably joyous, even though the Seahawks lost. What happened to all their brag about a dynasty? Meanwhile, the real American team, the Patriots, continues to chalk up wins and perform well season after season and, also, so do the Gonzaga Bulldogs who play SMU tonight at 8pm. Whoever decided the Dallas Cowboys was America's team when it's, obviously, the Patriots? 

PLOTS AND BEATNIK SCHEMES

You can find the image here.

This entry will be rough and ready, folks. Today, I roughed out an outline for the final chapters. Something I was told I ought to do for the whole novel. Now that I see how easy it is, I might do it on my next novel. Next novel? Am I kidding myself? The final scenes might be as many as five chapters. Don't know, yet, how many words each step I've outlined will take to reveal. Funny how this writing process leads to ups and downs. I'm stimulated again, and I ain't seen the sun for many a day. I'm learning to love my rainy morning drives. Bottoms up and look out ahead! My windshield wiper's broke ... I guess. 

HO HO HO CHI MINH CITY: P I MANNING PORTLAND

The Manning novel is moving to a foreign city. You can see it by clicking and going for a ride in a city full of mopeds. Of course, no one knows how the city will look in the Fifth Century AS [Age of Science] as opposed to Sixteenth Century BS [Before Science]. Probably all transportation will be electric vehicles and called trics. That's the time this scifi piece is set in. Had a great week of writing. Moving ahead full steam. Momentum is building. Even after I finish this first draft, there will remain a rewrite for style, consistency and polish. You know, friends, in the last two years, I've rewritten two novels and written nearly a completely new novel. Pretty solid effort.

PHYSICAL FITNESS AND OLD BEATNIK WRITERS

Today, I've been bent over my laptop for 4 straight hours at Starbucks. My bones and my back ache. I remember when I could sit 8 hours at a time, writing away, with nary a pinch of pain. I'm not the only person to realize this connection between physical effort and writing. Many writers have commented on the physical difficulty of the writer at his laptop i.e. the old typewriter. Let me tell you all, however, "The End" is soon, relatively soon, to be put to the Manning novel. I can feel it winding down in my aching bones, only a few chapters ahead. I can see it out there in the mists in the middle of the moors. Thus, I'm tired and this blog entry is kaput.  

ONE-HUNDRED-THOUSAND-ONE-THOUSAND-THREE HUNDRED-FIFTY-SEVEN WORDS: THAT'S A MOUTHFUL

The current novel now stands at 101,357 words. The first of the secrets are being revealed to P.I. Charley Manning [and reader] as he pursues his investigation. His employer is still not clear. Manning is beginning to distinguish "bad guys" from "good guys", if only because one side seems to be doing the most damage. But who knows? Twists and turns are still in the offing. He must find out what "the research project" is all about, then he'll know which side is which. 

Yesterday, I walked at Fred Meyers, and I observed a very old couple. The woman was in a wheelchair, and her mate was pushing her through the aisles. As I often do, I began to inhabit one of their minds as in a story point of view. I was in the wheelchair pusher's p.o.v., and I imagined him, feeling sad, because he remembers their days of intimacy. Then, I made fun of myself. Why should I think that, I wondered? So many stories could be told that didn't include their sexual lives. As if I don't already know, generalizations are impossible in the world of fiction. The man could just as well be totally pissed at his wife for making him wander so many aisles in search of things he could care less about.  

FIND IT

Odd thing! In my internet search to find photos or art work that portrayed an old man pushing an old woman in a wheelchair, I couldn't find one. Does that speak a thousand truths? 

BEATNICK SENDS OFF DAUGHTER TO A HAPPY MARRIAGE

News of the day. The writing is speeding along for the Manning novel. Soon, I'll break 100,000 words. It will be the longest novel I've written to date. Below, is the wedding toast I put together for my daughter's wedding to Mr. Scott Furuta. I'm very happy with it and with how well it went as I uttered it. I sent this version of it on expensive paper to the couple for a memento of their special day. Of course, there were spontaneous exclamations along the way that are missing, but, roughly, this is it:

FOR THE WEDDING OF SCOTT KIYOSHI FURUTA AND EVA THOMAS

Delivered on  20 September, 2014

As the father of the bride, I’m upset with Scott and Eva

I thought I’d never have to buy another suit

I was hoping they’d get hitched in a hot air balloon

Somewhere above the Arizona dessert

Instead, they got married in Cle Elum, Washington

And I’m the only hot air balloon in sight

Eva gave me two orders about this wedding

I was to cry when I gave her over to Scott

And when I told her I thought my toast would probably be short

Since there are many years when she was not in my care

She teared up and told me I was a writer and could do better than that

To please Eva I did my internet duty

And read over several examples of wedding toasts by fathers of the bride

And I got lots of advice from many people too

Such as My god, George, you can’t say that!

And Keep it short!

The sample toasts I read ran about five minutes

So does this one

One wedding toast tradition is that the father must embarrass the bride

By relating some memory from her past

I’m sure most of you know that Eva cries very easily

She’s one of the most tenderhearted and gentle women I know

When Eva was about three, sometimes she’d cry so hard she couldn’t catch her breath

She’d cry and cry and cry until she couldn’t breathe

Then she’d pass out, fall down and pee her pants

I hope you don’t have to deal with that too often, Scott

One of my favorite memories of Eva comes from that same period

For about a year, while her mother was finishing up her first nursing degree,

Eva was in daycare at the Lutheran Church in Cheney

Every weekday morning I put her on my shoulders to carry her to daycare

It was our routine to sing “You Are My Sunshine” as we traveled along

That’s my happy memory of it—our singing that song together

Eva’s memory is a bit different

Only recently she told me that during our walk to daycare

While we sang that happy song together, she was filled with dread

She knew I was about to drop her off and leave her behind

When I think of Eva up there on my shoulders

Being carried along, singing happily away and filled with dread

That memory can make me cry

However, Eva, I’m unable to shed any tears at this wedding,

This joyous beginning is also the culmination of so many things in your life

So many things that make you the woman you are today

The daughter I so much love and admire for her courage and intelligence

And the perfect loving partner to Mister Scott Furuta —

The joining of your two lives together

It’s just too happy an occasion for me to feel any sadness

Which brings me to the groom

Toast tradition says I must now speak about the groom

Brace yourself, Scott

Happily, Scott Furuta is the perfect mate

For the loving and tender-hearted woman that Eva has become

Scott is supportive and funny and a gentle person himself

He’s got a warm laugh and he’s a real gentleman

The first time I met Scott, he shook my hand,

And very sincerely and respectfully called me, “Mister Thomas”

I looked around to see who he was talking to

Scott Furuta is a very bright fellow also and a college teacher

He learned that the Thomas family is very competitive in games like Trivia and sports

My two sons are still injuring themselves in sporting competitions to this day

After one or two Thomas family gatherings

We quickly learned that Scott Furuta plays a mean board game himself

I think we all agree he’s the best among us with his quick and ready intelligence

Of course, none of that competitive stuff means a thing to Eva

She knows and we all recognized immediately that Scott

Is one of the most gentle dudes around

Finally, another wedding toast tradition is to give marital advice to the couple

I have only one good piece of marital advice to offer both of you

I got it from my oldest son, Sean

He and his wife, Sheila, will celebrate 30 years together next year

A couple of years back I asked Sean what he owed his long marriage to

He said, “I watched what you did, Dad, and I do just the opposite.”

Well that’s my five minute toast

Families and friends of the couple, 

As the British say, "will you please all be upstanding"

And raise your glasses and your hopes

In a toast to Mr. and Mrs. Scott Kiyoshi Furuta

With love for the newlywed couple,

Dad