AMAZING MENTAL GYMNASTICS, KEN KESEY

Facebook informed me last night that everyone was waiting with bated breath for my next entry. Also, nowadays, Facebook keeps inviting me to boost my blog entries with dollars. I have refrained from that thus far. Is boosting worth anything? I'm not going to pretend I don't want people waiting for my sci fi novel to come out.

My last entry, if you recall, was about all the balls one must keep in the air—the memory required—to write a novel, specially a detective novel with many mental mazes included within its pages. Sometimes the thing to be recalled is quite simple. Just this morning, my character, Charley Manning, was recalling his last meeting on the sidewalk before his apartment building with Misty Frampton. Then I had to recall whether or not I'd removed that meeting for some other important reason. At last, not able to find the meeting, I kept in his thought about last seeing Misty [for romantic reasons], but I removed the reference to any specific place. That's a simple example how things must be juggled. An example of why Ken Kesey quit writing.

PS: I keep extensive plot notes, but, then I make changes and don't update the notes. The notes become as much of a distraction as the novel itself.

DE NIRO, SCORSESE, AND A BEATNIK MEMORY OF DESPAIR

I'm on page 288 of remaining 402 pages of Ghoul World. With only 113,812 words remaining, I'm sure to get below 400 pages and maybe below 100,000 words before rewrite is completed. The publisher I intend to send Ghoul World to says they prefer novels to be above 80,000 words.
  
As is obvious to anyone reading Silent Boomer, I've been on a tear for last year. Inspired by Han-Shan, I wrote many more than 100 lüshis. Now back at novel rewrite. Have in back of my mind writing another screenplay but subject matter is cloudy. Could be based on Ghoul World for all I know or another novel of mine, The Porn Writer.

Watched one of my favorite movies last night. Taxi Driver. Before I quit drinking, I often had moments when I felt like Travis Bickle [minus murderous thoughts], alienated, angry, alone and despairing. I used to call it existential angst. Was it so philosophical or was it merely feeling sorry for self? No matter what I call those moods, I was driven once to crash my car on purpose, accelerating while going around a corner so fast I knew I couldn't make it. The act was totally unplanned,  happened in an instant on the spur of that cornered moment. I'm so far removed from those days I can't bring the feelings up anymore. Sometimes, for the sake of my art, I'll wish I could, but do I really? My thought as I accelerated was, "They'll be sorry." The women in my mind at the time shall go nameless. That's everything I know about suicide. How many times have I told this tale?

DAMS, DAMN IT

Coming out of my cold at 15 days time, still coughing, however, from time to time. Three lüshis yesterday and four lüshis today. They must have been stuck behind the damn of phlegm in my throat, waiting for the strength to push their way out. That's all the news I've got today. Thank you to those still following this ancient beatnik from the Silent Generation. These days, I feel my not so silent observations come from a unique viewpoint in time, so listen up, everybody. Laugh here if you must or want to. I'm so glad I discovered Hanshan [Cold Mountain] 25 years ago during a summer of great internal freedom.

BEATNIK MEETS SELF IN SUNTAN

Today 92 people checked into The Silent Boomer. Have no idea why, but the number of people following this blog has leaped in the last week or so. Thank you to anyone looking in to see how I'm progressing toward my sole bucket list item. Still patiently awaiting the official contract about that poem of mine. Writing progress is as boring a report as I can give—I rewrote Chapter 7 this early afternoon while a steady rain fell on Vancouver Washington across the river from the Portland International Film Festival. Heavenly PIFF XL has gotten in the way of my rewriting task. I'm joyously crossing the Columbia River almost daily to catch a show. Saw the second best film so far last night at Cinema 21—Suntan. Found myself many times during the film, back in my falling apart days in the 1960s and early 70s. A late start after a four year term in US Navy made me an "older dude" as a teaching assistant at Southern Illinois University, drinking heavily and too much attracted to far too many women too young for me. Of course, I didn't go half so far as Kostis does in Suntan, but I felt what he felt more than once back in those bedeviled days. Worse...I was married.

Last night before the film, after eating at Dick's on 21st, I took a dreamy rainy walk eastward from 21st Avenue toward the heart of Portland, found a little coffee shop on 18th, World Cup Coffee. Sat in the rainy night across the street from the International Hostel building, reading E.O. Wilson's brilliant book, The Meaning of Human Existence and dreaming about all those things an aging man thinks about who has not exactly stormed the citadel of fame and fortune as a writer. I tried to start a poem and laughed at myself. Those poetic days are through, I thought, then found myself starting another Up Your Ass prostate cancer poem last night about the bloody pee I splashed into the bowl two nights ago. I mean bloody pee. Scared the living daylights out of me. But such events often result from irradiation of the prostate. E.O. Wilson makes me want to live to be 150 and see what wonders lie ahead. A delicious night last night, all in all. 

BEATNIK BOOMER IN BURST OF JOY

Here's looking at you. This will be short and sweet. Got to get on to exercise. Yesterday I pushed myself hard on the bike and brought my heart rate to the "high level" for a 79 year old male. I felt invigorated afterwards. I'm emerging from the physical weakness created by the radiation treatments for prostate cancer. Am rewriting Ghoul World at a chapter a day pace and believe it's as readable as a novel can be. Where in hell is that perceptive agent who sees its worth and its cinematic potential? Yesterday 82 people looked in on The Silent Boomer writing blog, AND I got news about a poem of mine that I won't disclose until it's confirmed by contract. It's a bit more than a publication in an anthology and encouraging and humbling at same time. AND tonight is my first film at the Portland International Film Festival: We Are The Flesh. Wahoo!

GOOD NEWS BAD NEWS, BOOMER BEATNIK

It's Monday. Two rejections of short stories came in last week. Bad news was mixed with good news. A scan of my abdominal region showed no traces of cancer in that region of my body. Interpreting those two news items according to my stated goal to get someone other than myself to publish a novel of mine before I kick the bucket, they cancel each other out. The failure to get another short story accepted and increasing the value of my bio is countered by good news as to potential life expectancy. 

My wife pointed out yesterday that my greatest success has come in getting poems published here and there over the decades. Speaking of poetry, I just finished rewriting a series of poems I want to put together into a book and enter into contests. Maybe will be called The Alcoholic Life or House Before the Meadow. They were written in a rickety old farmhouse seven miles outside Cheney Washington that I lived in for two years after my third divorce. As to "poet" or "novelist", I counter in my own thoughts with poet James Dickey's success with his novel Deliverance. I was certain my novel Ghoul World would deliver me from the middle class blues. How can a detective caper filled with a future world populated by people who suffer from Necrotising fasciitis fail? I'm thinking of its cinematic values.

Necrotising fasciitis

Six hours ago 108 people were reported to have checked into my Facebook page, "The Silent Boomer". The more people who do check into my blogspot blog, the stronger the appeal to an agent to handle a book of mine becomes. Thank each of you who is following this old writer's struggle in the fields of literature even as the number of fields we labor in shrink.

Tomorrow I go in for a full body bone scan.

BLOGGING BEAT BOOMER BEATS HEAD AGAINST WALL... AGAIN!

The query for Angie's Choice I sent by mail came back today, the one that reminded me of how much work it took to send off a query in the old days. I sent it off to the Zoe Pagnamenta agency. She answered within two weeks. NO! I had high hopes for it because of the methodology of the query. Don't know why printing out and mailing my query and sample felt more hopeful. Emotions are mysterious things even though they command our every deed and thought. I need to push the sci fi novel, Ghoul World, more forcefully. I let it languish, but it's a very interesting idea that ought to get at least a moment's attention somewhere.

On a positive note, yesterday, this writer's blog which also goes to a page I manage on Facebook , The Silent Boomer, received 221 hits. People are watching to see what might happen to me in my quest to "get someone other than myself to publish a novel I've written." Or "to produce a movie I've written."  Thanks to all who follow my journey. Many days now, I think it's time to fold up the writer's table and leave the dusty old bazaar to other scribes much younger than myself.

One very interesting thing about writing a movie script. The length of a 90 minute film takes from 90 to 120 pages. I've discovered that my elderly memory is able to keep track of 120 pages more easily than it tracks a plot and subplots through 400 to 500 pages of ms. I've already got several story lines in mind for films that I can't share because they are quite interesting. On my death bed, I'll tell all. 

SILENT BEATNIK BOOMER BANGS ALONG ON ALL THREE CYLINDERS

Find Photo Source Here

Currently reading The Moral Animal by Robert Wright for a second time while plowing ahead on my untitled sci fi screenplay. Nearly finished with first draft, I'm enjoying the process a great deal, and, I already have another idea for a film script. This is an odd trajectory because it's even harder to find an agent for a film script than a novel. 

A couple of days ago, I sent off a query for my novel, Angie's Choice, to a New York agency. But the interesting thing was how I felt about the query process since it was an old fashioned agency and wanted a hard copy query in the U.S. mail service. As I took out the two pages of auto bio and 20 pages of manuscript and tapped them on the desk to align their edges, I experienced a bodily sensation that returned me to the years when all queries and manuscripts were sent through the U.S. mail. I recalled putting together and sending out whole manuscripts, boxed up and carried to the local post office. I felt connected to all the past writers of the world, through all the most recent centuries of the world when manuscripts were ink on paper. 

My children, now all grown up beings in the world, suggested I ought to begin to make these "Silent Boomer" blog entries as videos. They say that many people have found multitudinous followers by doing blogs as video presentations. My oldest boy says that it seems the more awkward and unprofessional the video is, the better followers seem to like them. I'm intrigued and think about it from time to time. I ask myself if that would really help me to achieve the one item on my bucket list: to get someone other than myself to publish one of my novels before I kick it. 

Addendum: Or film script.

181 PEOPLE CHECKING OUT THE SILENT BOOMER

Today, I rewrote two chapters of Ghoul World at Starbucks on 164th. Only 3 more chapters to go and the third rewrite of my science fiction novel will be completed. I hope I'm able to take a break after that and concentrate on sending work out. Besides the novels, I've got several short stories I'd like to send to literary magazines. I'm also considering putting together a short story collection, but I'm afraid the style of many of my short stories isn't in favor at this time. Walked today in the neighborhoods east of the Fred Meyer on 164th. Snapped a couple of photos of the autumn colors while I walked. 

One day, recently, 181 people checked on my writer's blog, The Silent Boomer. Not bad. That number continues to grow. Thank you, one and all, who are taking an interest. There are times when I tell myself it's silly of me to be trying to succeed financially with my writing far after most writers' prime is passed. Here's an interesting thing I consider when I send out query letters for my novels. Should I not tell a prospective agent about my blog where my age is revealed or should I tell them about my blog which reveals, also, my steady process of pursuing my goal of getting someone other than myself to publish a novel of mine before I sink into the dust? Which would most appeal to a potential agent?

BEAT BOOMER MEETS DON BROWN IN INFERNAL COMPETITION

Brown's book jacket photo

My wife has read the first 100 pages of the Manning novel and finds it  sufficiently mysterious to intrigue her. Since she reads mysteries by the cartload, I feel her judgment comes from competent and well grooved synaptic responses. Speaking of mysteries, I tried to read Dan Brown's Inferno and bogged down before I got through the first page. Far be it from me to cast aspersions on a writer of such popularity, but I thought Brown's writing was extremely purple. My wife, however, liked Brown's recent book too so I best be cautious what I say about Dan Brown's writing style. 

My wouldbe jacket photo

As for the style of Manning, I find I'm learning to reign in my style in order to get to the point. Sometimes, the more words I use the less clear my meaning. Often, when I look at a purple passage of my own, I see that I haven't focused enough to understand what it is I want to say.

I have to be careful of jealousy at another writer's success as that has not proven to be of much help to my own efforts toward success, and, if you will recall, the whole point of my last years as a writer is to "get someone other than myself to publish a novel of mine". I believe I'm writing such a novel now. Only time will tell.

ONCE A LITTLE SILENT, NOW AN OLDER ONE

 There was a beginning to The Silent Boomer who would like to write one book that sells before he dies. When he was born, he was pronounced to be the largest baby born to the smallest woman in Miami Valley Hospital history. When he was one year old, he won a contest to decide the most beautiful baby. By the time he was 30, his life was disintegrating around his ears, his hopes and 

dreams dissolving before his blood shot eyes. During that time, he was declared to the biggest baby by his fellow graduate students at Southern Illinois University.

Now, many decades later, he stands before a couple of shelves of his collected writing, magazines and anthologies his work has appeared in, and books, chapbooks and microzines that his friends and acquaintances have appeared in. Happy enough, married at last to a woman he is actually present for nearly every day of his life, he peers out from the photo with a hopeful smile on his kisser.

SILENT BOOMER IN THE VANCOUVER VECTOR

I'll soon have an article published in The Vancouver Vector, a new paper on the Vancouver, Washington scene. It bills itself as a paradigm shift, and I expect lots of modernity within its pages if February 2013 is any example. http://www.vancouvervector.com/

By now, this hopeful entry may be made of lies, hopes and misunderstandings....