SILENT BOOMER EXCHANGES SPAGHETTI FOR TURKEY

Have been doing nothing for the last several days except play games and eat because it was turkey day for those who aren't vegans and spaghetti day for those of us who are, and Mertie and I had family over from Spokane and down from Seattle to feed and partly house. Looking forward to tomorrow and return to sci-fi script I began two [?] weeks past. But I also had the emotional energy for a novel enter my brain tonight and perk up my synapses. If it's still with me tomorrow, I might try to type down the beginning scene for it. It would open with a half-ass suicide attempt and continue from there, backwards and forward in time... maybe. Today, I sent out two queries for my novel The Man In the Mirror and a question about my novel Angie's Choice to a small film company, wondering if they'd like to read it with a movie in mind. Hope everyone had an enjoyable and dietary Thanksgiving. Jeez, we ate so many bagels and pieces of pie with ice cream made with almond milk that our dietary regime blew South with the wind. Current reading is Yukio Mishima's Confessions of a Mask, basically a confessional novel about his homosexuality in the 1940s and 1950s.

ONE-HUNDRED-ONE-THOUSAND-THREE-HUNDRED-FIFTY-SEVEN

Six am. Did anyone other than myself catch the error in the title of my last entry? The title of this entry is correct. I was drowsing in my old man's recliner yesterday, thinking about that title and realized I'd made an error in writing out 101,357

ONE-HUNDRED-THOUSAND-ONE-THOUSAND-THREE-HUNDRED-FIFTY-SEVEN [no]
ONE-HUNDRED-ONE-THOUSAND-THREE-HUNDRED-FIFTY-SEVEN [yes]

But this blog is a writer's blog, not a mathematician's blog so

I forgive myself. Beside that, I've also surpassed that number with the writing I did yesterday. 

Following the writing of this early a.m. blog, I'm going to send off The Man In the Mirror today for its first trial run into the hands of an agent. I believe it ought to be labelled "... something along the lines of Crime and Punishment" in the cover letter, plus "the story of a murderous little high school teacher"? Something along those lines. Speaking of Crime and Punishment, a couple of weeks ago, I caught Woody Allen's "Crimes and Misdemeanors" which I think is much closer to the way things might happen than the way they happen in Dostoievski's novel. Unless, human nature has really changed that much in a hundred or so years.

BEATNIKING AROUND FOR LAUGHS

Man Preparing To Leap From A Mirror

September was an interesting month. Can report I've now finished entirely with the final, the polishing, rewrite of The Man In the Mirror and wrote a plot outline for it too. It's ready to be sent around. Also, just this month entered Angie's Choice, in two literary contests. Goodbye 50 bucks! I don't have much hope for it in contests since it's closer to commercial writing and less like workshop writing. My progress was like that for me with my MFA when I learned how to write a publishable poem, and, sure enough, some of my poems began to find markets. Did I get better or did I only learn how to please editors who looked for poetry like they wrote and, of course, would think was good poetry? From my own experience with editing, editing is one way to learn about where you rank among poets in your own mind. Also, last month, as reported elsewhere, Toni Partington, Christopher Luna,  Eileen Elliott and I were featured readers at the Angst Gallery celebration for 100,000 Poets For Change/William Stafford Centennial.   A combined affair. September was a busy month.

THIS BEATNIK'S WEDDING TOAST WAS A SUCCESS. LAUGHTER AND TEARS.

USS Hornet a WWII vessel

Sorry, folks, there was my daughter's wedding, but now I'm back with an intention to push rapidly through to the completion of the Manning novel. Things are starting to round out toward a satisfying if disturbing finish. Finish could still be a year away, but I'm over some sort of mental hump for the time being and seeing my way through to completion. Also, the final dusting off of The Man In the Mirror is pretty far done now. I'll soon have two completed novels to send around: it and Angie's Choice. Angie's Choice has had an agent in the past, and I see it as a pretty successful adventure novel with a potential for a motion picture much like the movie called The Desperate Hours. Frank Sinatra was the lead as a bad guy in the 1955 release of that film that came out as I prepared to head off to the Navy at age 17. Nothing much else to add at this time, but felt I had to put something here in a vain attempt to keep a regular offering of blog entries. Supposedly every other day. Not. 

THE BEATNIK BRAIN ON SLEEP ... OR NOT ... ASPECTS

One of the most difficult aspects of writing at my age is getting enough sleep each night to bring a fresh mind to the task. Yawning my way through a manuscript doesn't lend itself to creative leaps of insight. 

Aspects ... that's a word that rings a synapse or two. I clearly recall, while I was failing to get my master's degree at Southern Illinois University, reading somewhere about teaching English 101 that the word "aspects" was being used way too frequently in scholarly papers and other essays. Don't recall who wrote the article in which that appeared or the rest of the article at all. All I recall is that one idea about that one word ... aspects.

source of photo found here

I'm doing a final rewrite of The Man In the Mirror, a final polish. Wife Mertie, seeing what I was doing as she headed off to bed and come to my side for our goodnight kiss, asked me what I was up to. She couldn't imagine I would be going through the novel again. Made me realize just how difficult and time consuming the writing of a novel is.

Another thing I realize as I go red-penciling through the first novel I ever wrote, and initially wrote in 11 weeks—I always work better on a hard copy rather than a computer screen when it comes to a final polish. Of course, a book is never completely finished in my mind. I don't care how often my brain rewrites, it will come up with another way to say almost anything it's tried to say another way. 

I'M BEATNICKED, BUSHED AND LEFTOVER

I looked into what they need at the Red & Black Cafe in an owner/associate. Damn! I see it would require a greater investment of time than I want to give, and, also, a physical stamina that's beyond my capacity though I'm healthy enough. My ambitions saw all the upside and overlooked the cliff of the downside. Thanks to Olin Unterwegner for following through and coming up with the information about the Cafe's needs. He writes they are also fund raising and pursuing a crowd funding option. For more info, see link to Cafe above. Any contributions to the worker-owned business would be appreciated, I'm sure.  

see photo source

As for moime's boy, I haven't written on The Last Days of Planet Earth (aka Manning) but one day out of the last six. Political nonsense has wakened me at all hours of the night and early morn. Yawningly tired and distracted, I've not been able to find the vitality that leads to good writing. However—CELEBRATION—I did finish entering the last pages of The Man In The Mirror into editable files. Will print it up and give to Mertie to proofread and make suggestions, if she has any. I wouldn't have made this effort had she not said she liked the novel when she read it, and she's an avid mystery reader. Frankly, I see some problematic writing in it, but I've polished as best I could while I typed it into computer files. No major revision. Mertie said, as I typed the last sentence, that she was amazed that a person could take on a typing task like that and complete it. She hates the paper work part of the job she now has.  

Now I have two novels to send around while I finish Manning, and I have two other novels that need rewriting.

SILENT RAGE EXPLODES INTO GASEOUS ELEMENT

First, let's get the worst out of the way first. 
I've nursed this cursed blame with lips pursed
Till I almost burst. Feels like I'm whipped with quirts,
And I don't know if I durst in verse
Complain, but my heart, to do it, thirsts:

Angry at Google in Vancouver

Google is a bastard company. I've been blogging on Blogger for decades, long before Google scarfed them up. Now, I play hell getting to the Blogger page where "thesilentboomer" resides. They continually try to force me onto Google+ and keep me away from the society of Facebook. I can easily get to "thesilentboomer", but only as a viewer. To get to where I can post a new post, I've got to stand on my head, repeat the "Star Spangled Banner" twice from last word to first while whistling "Dixie" through my keister. The whole thing really smells. 

But, more importantly, writing has gone very well for nearly 5 days. I mean rewriting has gone well. I'm only one chapter, chapter 28, from completing my second rewrite. As you recall, I removed chapter 7 and began a rewrite to make all things consistent with its removal, then, after I discovered a plausible explanation for the events in chapter 7, I returned it to the mss and began another rewrite to make all the other chapters consistent with that returned runaway chapter. Also, I've stuck to a rigid schedule of a page a day of transferring my first novel, The Man In The Mirror, from hard copy to editable files.

PS: I should mention that chapter 28 is, probably, only about half way through the finished book. Still a long write to go. 

SILENT BOOMER, BEAT-TIRED, MAKES OBLIGATORY POSTING

Last year I took a course in blogging and self-publishing. Learned that one ought to make an entry every other day, keep it short and include a photo or picture to grab the attention of browsers. I'm perfect on the picture bit, far from perfect on frequency and not even close on length. I can only hope that reader interest substitutes for brevity. 

I'm into the ninety-something in pages typed into the computer from the yellowed, hard copy of the The Man In The Mirror manuscript. Manning continues unabated and slow, and, tonight (throat irritant warning) I nearly gassed myself to death, making dinner. Made a skillet dish of seitan and cabbage to spoon over rice or potato. After browning the seitan in teaspoon of olive oil, I added two teaspoons of dried thyme, some garlic and red pepper flakes, but as soon as I dropped the thyme into the hot skillet, smoke ascended from the pan, and I began to cough. Am still coughing, hours later. 

As I write Manning, more than ever, I see it in movie scenes. Nothing like my previous mss. Being a movie buff, I suppose the transformation was inevitable. I could easily do what is called a "treatment" in the movie business. 

Speaking of movies, tonight, wife and I viewed Corpo Celeste. A brilliant Italian film with several references to the work of my favorite director, Federico Fellini. Like all my favorite movies from the 60s and 70s, the film ended in delightful ambiguity. Magnifico! Even more delightful, I have found myself discussing the evil/good false fantasy world of modern movies with several brilliant youths fully involved with the computer life. They give me hope, and I won't be around to feel it. 

BOOMER GOES OUT TO TORQUE AND BLACK ROCK TO WRITE

A very productive day today, but not a lot to say. I finished another section of Manning earlier in the day and realized some interesting plotting to develop and a clue to drop to see how alert my readers are of what's gone before. I just now finished typing three more pages of The Man In The Mirror while my sweetheart was doing Bikram Hot Yoga up on 164th Avenue. This hot yoga stuff turns her on, relaxes her, makes her feel very good physically and mentally. She's always claimed there is something about physical routines that work wonders for her. She used to love Tai Chi, but that instructor was not of her political persuasion, and he would not let off, talking his talk, so finally, after years, she quit showing up. She's a very loyal person. She wouldn't quit on anyone without making an effort first. Oh do I love her! Walked by the Columbia today. Overcast, winter coming, and I took a few pictures of the I-5 bridge. Handed out a couple more Silent Boomer cards to baristas also where I do some of my writing when home office gets gray with overcast. Hello, there, if you're looking in.

REPORT FROM THE SILENT GENERATION'S BEATEST BOOMER

Picture: Daniel Selmeczi/Steve Bloom / Rex Features

My goal remains to get someone other than myself to publish a book of mine before I drop dead. Currently I'm working on three novels simultaneously. Mertie is making a final reread of Angie's Choice, and with each chapter she finishes, I correct errors she's spotted in that novel. She's only finding one to three minor errors every two chapters. I'm very grateful that she's doing it. When I send out the first chapter or first 20 pages (whatever an agent or publisher requires), I have been very certain that technically it's as correct as it can be. I read sections of it every once in awhile, and I KNOW the writing is solid, and I think there's sufficient suspense to keep an average reader interested. Now, it's like fishing. Have I got the right lure for the pilot fish I'm trying to catch? 

Every day or so, I sit down and slowly transfer the first novel I ever wrote—The Man In the Mirror—a page at a time, typing it into an editable file on my computer. Of course, the new novel, working title Manning, is my full time writing gig. Progress is steady. Today, on my daily walk, I came up with several more plot elements for Manning that will add to its suspense and, I hope, interesting reading for the reader. I can see several chapters into the future. I always carry a small notebook in my back pocket to write down my thoughts. Lately, I've also written some brief reviews on Amazon for the works of living writers I know and appreciate. The walks are getting colder now, and I'm stepping out pretty briskly, enjoying the trees, the clouds and the neighborhoods I pass through. 

Sidenote: on the very northern margin of my neighborhood walks from our condo, I pass through a very upscale neighborhood. Two homes of the wealthy sported political signs. One home had my favorites as their favorites. The other was not as intelligent.

KENNETH HOPKINS...A GOOD WAY TO LEARN TO WRITE

Rewriting on Angie's Choice continues, and my wife has begun to read the yellowing, typewritten pages of a novel I wrote in 1965 while I was a candidate for a Masters in English at Southern Illinois University. She tells me without a trace of irony that she likes The Man In the Mirror.

Kenneth Hopkins and anonymous lady

British writer, Kenneth Hopkins, created the excellent opportunity to write that novel. He'd been a humor writer for Punch after WWII until a round of economizing cost him his position. He decided he had enough money to last two years and, with his wife's agreement, he took that time to write and sell a mystery. 

Hopkins was the first visiting writer I ever encountered at a university. SIU brought Hopkins over to teach one section in creative writing. First day of class, Hopkins announced there'd be only two grades in his course—A or F. If you completed a long project—poetry ms, novel or play—you earned an A. If you didn't complete a long project, you got the F. He never held another class but said he'd be available in his office if we gave him a call first. I sat my ass down and typed an 11 chapter novel in 11 weeks to earn my A. (The boundless energy of youth, eh?) Mr. Hopkins liked the novel so well he took it too England to show his editors. They said, "Have Mr. Thomas write a couple more novels, and he'll be able to rewrite and sell this." The story about what came between me and those "couple more novels" would fill a biographical chapter. Or two.

REAL BEAT BOOMER PLOTTING ALONG HIS WAY

the whole scene

Of my four completed novels—The Man In The Mirror, Delinquent Lives, Angie's Choice, The Porno Writer—the book I'm currently rewriting, Delinquent Lives, is the most difficult to disentangle. I've been forced to sit down and graph the plot. 

a detail

When I wrote this book, I didn't rely on plot. By switching back and forth between two limited points of view, I saw the book as developing by giving the reader bits and pieces of information about each of the two main characters that would add up to a full psychological profile of them and justify how they came out as the novel concludes.  

Delinquent Lives does develop along a chronological order, but I've used so many flashbacks, I can see where a reader might be put off from reading to the finish. Continuity is problematical. I was letting my love of Fellini's "8 1/2" influence me. Fellini believed his audience had the knowledge to understand what he was doing, but reading a book is different than watching a movie.

I can see the psychological rationales to most of the decisions I made about scene placements, and I tried to make each event have it's own intrinsic tension, but as I rewrite all these years later, I discover scenes and information whose necessity I have to question. Again and again I learn that an old cat can learn new meows if he's motivated enough.