GHOUL WORLD, GHOUL WORLD, GHOUL WORLD

Me behind reflections on my glasses with crooked smile as I begin the unknown number of another rewrite of my science fiction novel Ghoul World. You know? I believe in this novel. I knew it was a good idea when it first struck me in the head a decade or so back. Agents are dumb things, looking for I don't know what, but they are sure missing a good book with a potential to be turned into a sci-fi movie.
 

OH, THE FEAR/PAIN/JOY OF SUBMITTING

Odd things happen with writers and their submissions. Currently, having finished another rewrite of The Porn Writer, I'm not trying to submit it, believing no one will want to publish my disturbing glimpse into the lives of desperately troubled people, and I'm also suffering writer's block. I clearly expect if I sit down to my computer, nothing will appear to write about. I'm too old and et cetera....

Then, an email arrives from the prestigious Prairie Schooner with the editor's message, "Although we have decided against using 'Buffalo Wallow,' we were interested in your work and would be glad to see more of it during our general submissions period, which will open again on September 1, 2021."

The creative urge fires up again, but my problem is the story "Buffalo Wallow" is an old story, written years ago, and all my recent stories are empty of the style I attempted back then. What to submit? One of my old stories or a new one?

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. 

BOOMING ALONG, FISHING FOR REAL

Me and some cousins

Big breakthrough. I'm writing at home on my desktop computer. Rewriting a novel called The Porn Writer or Reprogramming Frank Singletary or who knows what? Happy to unblock. I hadn't thought of it as writer's block. I considered it an inconvenience created by the plague. I'm certainly much happier to be writing or rewriting at something. 

My newest short stories are being rejected by literary magazines, but two more rejections were very positive. One wrote, "We were very impressed with your work, but unfortunately will not be able to include it in [...] this year. We hope you'll consider submitting to us again in the future." I must must wait till September to try them again.The other wrote, "We'll be happy to consider any new work you care to submit in the future."

Nice to feel so close. Like they're swimming down there, tempted by my bait. I've put together a collection of stories too, but I need to bring those tales into line with latest revisions. Maybe the impact of all of them in a contest might get a publisher's interest. Who knows? Maybe try The Iowa Review contest. 

The photo? Yep, that's me, the tough guy, first born of cousins, on the top right. Top left, my cousin Edward. Both of us Navy vets, but he died of complications of alcoholism while I survived. He was a powerful personality. Booze life? It's so much fun until it isn't. I'm sad thinking of him.

BEATNIKING THROUGH THE RAPIDS

 Photo by Ivana Cajina @unsplash

What more can I say? I've been roughing out a story every couple of days. Found a groove that works and that I trust. Will have to go back for rewrites, of course, but I like how these tales adhere to reality as I've experienced it and think about it. I tell you this...some of the trick is to change the names and tell it like it was. Words pouring out like rushing waters. Would not imagine that an 81 year old could feel this rejuvinated as a writer.

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?

OLD SILENT BEATNIK JUMPS THROUGH A BIG WINDOW

Wow, good week. Nearly 200 people checked in, and a poem "Reams Of Poetry Adrift" has been accepted by Big Windows Review. It will appear online August 10 and in hard copy, I believe, in November, Issue 13. Thank you Editor Tom Zimmerman and students working with him.

Rewrite of Ghoul World is moving along. I keep putting different chapters first, trying to catch the reader's attention. I think I've got it now. Shifting chapters around creates problems for this old brain. Being a science fiction novel, a certain amount of information has to be presented. Making sure the same information isn't offered repeatedly or that it's presented in a coherent sequence calls for a much younger brain than my own. I hope I'm successful. I've eliminated nearly 2000 words in just 24 pages. I've a bad habit of thinking I must explain everything to my readers, and when I'm writing a scene, I sometimes put in too many qualifying clauses and phrases to explain the action, such as, "He was stunned. Before he could think about it, he strode to the door and disappeared into the fog." Sometimes, the sentence could as easily read, "Stunned, he disappeared into the fog." Depends. Every time I rewrite, I change things. Always.

COLD MOUNTAIN/OLD GRAYHOUSE, COMPARE AND CONTRAST

What can I say about my tardiness in making entries in this blog? I have no excuse except the writing of lüshis is carrying me away, and I hesitate to keep using that as an excuse. I think constantly about rewriting Ghoul World, but the creative juices that flow as I write these 8 line poems can't be resisted at this time. As any writer knows, you can't stop one project to start another without totally destroying the state of mind that is driving the first project. My aim is to put together a ms of 100 lüshis before I stop, but if my drive cools down before I reach 100, then, of course, I'll stop. Not more than a few months back, I thought all creative juices had dried up for this 80 year old, but Hanshan's poetry is serving as a springboard for my own work. I've reached a stage where I use Red Pine's translations of Hanshan's work as my starting point. I see some of Hanshan's work as being that of a reclusive and sometime moralizing ancient poet in a rural landscape whereas I'm a modern poet in an urban landscape. Thus I use Hanshan's work as sometimes a contrasting force for my lüshis and sometimes as a comparative force. I'd give you and example, but I'm seeing repeatedly that many literary marketplaces don't want to see submissions of anything that's been published in blogs so I'm mute at this time.

BEATNIK BOOMER FINISHES A CREATIVE TASK

This afternoon I found the energy to do a final rewrite of the screenplay, Distant Enemies. It wasn't much of a chore. I was just tidying up a few errors Mertie found while doing a final read through of my script looking for typos, lapses of logic and et cetera. Still, I feel hopeful about returning energy. The senior exercise class I attend at Firstenburg Community Center is paying off.

I have learned another useful health fact. If your bladder is not working properly, do not follow the suggestion to drink at least 64 ounces of fluids a day if you have spent your entire life training your body to function while drinking much less than that. I'm certain that my recent attempts over the past six months to follow that 64 ounce recommendation gave me hours of unnecessary excruciating pain and discomfort. Still catheterizing, but I'm doing just fine on a much smaller intake of fluids, and I'm getting longer periods between. My doctor told me that the 64 fluid ounce requirement is just a recommendation and that the figure was for all intents and purposes "made up". His words exactly. The fluid intake falsehood might be another of the many fallacies brought to us by the medicine distrusting and vaccination avoiding Boomers who have made up health directions and diet recommendations from whole cloth. Most of them in order to create health and diet businesses for themselves.

SILENT GEN BEATNIK BEATEN DOWN AND STALLED

Exactly two weeks since my last post. I have not written nor rewritten anything creative in that time. I've been so exhausted by lack of sleep and debilitated by the intensifying painful side effects of the radiation treatments that ended a year ago this month that my mind is a dull blank day after day. I feel I've tumbled rudely into a tangible fragile old age. Frankly, I'm frightened by the prospect before me.

find photog here

However, I do have a plan. For the foreseeable future, I will set my writing aside and attend to my health, forgetting all else. I plan to exercise as much as possible and stretch my muscles and go to the gym, lift weights, walk as much as I can until I stabilize and improve my condition. I do also have an appointment on August 31 to address my current ill health with a urologist, exactly one year to the day when I received my last cyberknife treatment at PeaceHealth Hospital. I will make blog entries from time to time and hope I can complete a few more creative projects before my health stops me altogether.

DISCOURAGED, RUN AGROUND, REJUVENATED

Find photographer on unsplash:

I'm disheartened today, unable to write because of lack of sleep. A curtain hangs between my creative self and the words on the page. Nothing means anything. The characters are dead, the plot lacks liveliness and meaningful action. Up a zillion times last night to pee so I'm pulling up stakes at this here Starbucks and heading home in this soon to be 105 degree day to where the curtains are pulled and the darkness of despair awaits this silent beatnik boomer. Actually, I'm going to turn up our window air conditioning and pig out on Curb Your Enthusiasm. "If one can't create himself let him watch something creative," I always say. 

Find photographer on unsplash:

THEN what happens! The air conditioning comes on strong in this Starbucks, and I get a second wind as I realize it's allergies that have me down. Now I'm joyous. I'll stick around and work some more.

BOOMERIZED BEATNICK ON THE SAME OLD ROAD

marcelo-quinan-37437.jpg on unsplash

I'm currently tearing to shreds the structure of my science fiction film script Distant Enemies with an intention to add more action in middle of script. I have about 10 to 15 things [poetry and short stories] out to several literary magazines, and I'm facing another rewrite of Ghoul World to correct several major tactical decisions I made in envisioning the whole. They were comical ideas, whimsies that should have never survived a critical look at the novel. For example, the key evil corporation I call McDaniel's and they sell Irisher meat that sustains the non-Irish population. They're called McNugguts. Funny, eh? But really not up to the seriousness of the themes. The poetry manuscript that once was Up Your Ass has become You Awake One Morning, Remembering, primarily because the "you" pov calls so many cultural and political memories into the text. My daughter Eva wants me to keep the original title, and I understand that whole argument too. For all I know Up Your Ass may again become the title. 

My major problem these days is depression and confusion when first awakening. I have trouble making decisions about what's next, and I constantly forget things when I leave the house. Like this morning when I drove to Costco and on the way remembered that I'd forgotten the shopping list. I hate spending so much time in the bathroom too, either pooping or peeing. Ages I spend in there.  

BUSY AS A BEE-ATNICK WRITER

Do I look as tired as I feel?

This morning, I finally got around to doing something once more toward achieving the first item on my bucket list. I worked on another cover letter to send to potential agents for my novel Ghoul World.  I've put that off for much too long and have not been sending out agent queries for any of my novels. I foresee another rewrite of my novel The Porn Writer too.


I've also been working through a rewrite of the poetry that was inspired by my encounter with prostate cancer last year. I intend to send it around to small publishing houses and to various contests. The title may be morphing from Up Your Ass to Cancer Doesn't Sing ... a reference to the prosaic rather than lyric nature of the poetry. 


The sci fi film script I now call Distant Enemies has been sent its merry way along with 50 dollars via the internet to the BlueCat Screenwriting Contest and, now, I'm preparing to send the first 30 pages of the same script to the Willamette Writers Screenwriting Competition. Deadline is June 15. Fee 10 bucks. A man could grow poor with his writing, eh? Still if feels good to be sending stuff out.

Outside this Starbucks where I write, the sun is shining and the birds are singing and there is a presence in the air that hints of a return to rain and daytime temps in the 60s and nighttime lows in the 40s. Thank you to anyone looking in on these blog entries.

CONTEST DEADLINE LOOMING AHEAD

This entry will be brief and to the point. I'm rewriting a screenplay in order to submit it to a contest recommended to the screenwriters at the NW Film Center by the Center. Deadline is May 31st. I'm hoping the Film Center's recommendation makes the contest authentic and safe. There is one big prize and several smaller ones. The size of the prizes suggest that many scripts will be sent in with fees. Thus I have to keep at the rewriting task and keep this short. At least Ghoul World is done for now. The screenplay is still untitled. Excuse me as I've got a script to tinker with. PS: Also notice alterations to my bucket list.

BEATNIK BELEAGUERED BY BOWEL MALFUNCTIONS

Find photo here....

Today I labored on the rewrite of Ghoul World, but I'm wondering if my sole bucket list item is receding from my grasp.Tuesday I went to see a biofeedback therapist to look into getting my bowels better under control. She was hopeful, and we also got into my frequent urination trips to the bathroom at night. Today, for example, I'm exhausted and it's only 1:00 in the afternoon. I try to go to bed at midnight every night and arise at 9:00. I get up about every one to two hours to pee and to experience a simultaneous hot flash. I don't know whether it's the hot flash or the urge to urinate that awakens me. In the last year, post-cancer, I've gone from being a vigorous pretty youthful old dude who walked an hour a day, 6 days a week, to a fretfully tired old codger whose thoughts are beleaguered by his incontinent bowels and his all too frequent trips to the pee-potty. Tiredness compounds my problems in that I must exert all my psychic strength to make myself exercise at all anymore, and of course, exercise helps in overcoming the other problems. I'm about to close up the rewrite shop for the day. I'm too tired to work effectively. For all I know, I'm creating more stylistic errors than I'm fixing when I work this tired. All in all, this is a down day. At least it's sunny outside right now and sunshine will hopefully stimulate me to walk outside. Hope for better tomorrow. 82 people looked in on this blog recently. Thank you. Some part of me feels hopeful about my bucket list item, i.e. to get someone other than myself to publish one of my novels, but I don't know why.

BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS ie A BLADDER INFECTION?

Today 125 people looked in on this writer's blog. Thank you for taking an interest. Cheer up poets and fiction writers, essayists and writers and philosophers of all sorts. E.O. Wilson writes, "If our species can be said to have a soul, it lives in the humanities." 
      The Meaning of Human Existence — p.185

I have done no rewriting for two days. Yesterday, I spent a good part of the afternoon in Kaiser-Permanente's urgent care on Mill Plain Blvd. I was pissing pure blood and pus and clots of blood. There was so much thick matter in my bladder that several times I had to push quite hard to get a flow started. I won't know until tomorrow, after a culture grows, if the cause of the bleeding is a bladder infection or the type of bleeding that can follow irradiation of the prostate because of a thinning bladder wall. For safety sake the PA put me on a strong antibiotic. Today I was too tired to write effectively. I didn't sleep last night for fear I wouldn't be able to pee in the morning when I got up. The threat of visit to an emergency room and a catheter was hanging over my head. Wanted to keep the flow going all night long. Drank quarts of blueberry/cranberry juice. Today, the urine is clear again. Whew. No catheter!

I'm tired right now and am bringing this entry to a close so I can go sit in my lounge chair again and luxuriate in the feelings of an invalid.Tomorrow the Zags play South Carolina in the NCAA tournament.

OLD BEATNIK POET FINDS HOME FOR POEM

Been more than a week since last entry, but we've had a crisis in wife's family so my writing schedule has, of course, been set aside. I did rewrite another chapter of Ghoul World Tuesday after our return from Spokane on Monday. Will hopefully rewrite another chapter today. 

Washington State Poet Laureate Tod Marshall has undertaken putting together an anthology of living Washington State poets to celebrate our state's 129th year of statehood. I'm thrilled to be included in the anthology.  Washington 129 will feature the poetry of 129 poets living in the state of Washington, and my poem "Legacy" will be included in the hard copy issue. It will also be turned into a handbill to be circulated at various literary events around the state. I look forward to seeing my name in the anthology among the many fine poets of Washington State, and I'm sure to recognize the names of old friends and acquaintances in the collection. As I learn more I'll let you know where you can purchase the anthology when it's published. Sage Hill Press will be the publisher. My poetry can be found at Amazon or Authorhouse. You can even find Gray House By Cold Mountain at Amazon for the low price of $2,498.00 through RedGooseMedia. Seriously. I think it's worth that at least. 

I forked over $765 to take a screen writing course at NW Film Center that begins in April. Since it's almost impossible to find agents for film scripts, the expenditure is just to keep my brain on its toes. I did write a sci fi film script two summers ago, and I thought I might have an inclination for writing scripts. We'll see. I'm going to work on that script for course work.

SILENT BEATNIK BOOMER AND THE BARTLETT

The Bartlett bar

75 people looked in on my bucket list quest yesterday. They find it on my Facebook page, The Silent Boomer, rather than directly here, I believe. I'm still confused by Google, Facebook and Silent Boomer connectivity. I'm going to have to step away from writing for the next five days or so again. On road to Spokane again, and I can't seem to write on the road. Speaking of the road, I watched On The Road last night for a 2nd time, a faithful chronological rendering of the novel. We're visiting my father-in-law who has recently entered hospice care from complications of diabetes. My wife has had to deal with my cancer last year and now her father is in decline. Think loving thoughts. While in Spokane we have previously ordered tickets for my son's improv group at The Bartlett.

I requested and received a confirmation about my poem "The Legacy" but still waiting the contract that makes it official before I say anything here. It's been months since I sent out any of my novels to agents. It's so hard for me to take the time away from actually writing to send out my work, tailor the query letters to the agents. I know there is now a service that takes over a writer's submissions, but I am slow to pick up on it. It's like having a paid agent for agents. Where does the retrogression end? Sometimes I feel I'm right on the verge...the "verge" of what?

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!