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.

A MAN FROM THE GREATEST GENERATION IN A DIFFERENT WAR

BUKOWSKI

Some poets have always found the material for their work from their personal suffering. I tried Bukowski's path for a long time myself, but there came a time when I said enough is enough. In fact, Bukowski came to a place where he also grew tired of writing his poetry on the bones of his psyche. I first wrote the following poem about myself, then I gave the nightmare back to Bukowski.

BUKOWSKI’S NIGHTMARE

Stuck between the gap of earth and sky,
He once reeled single in our afternoons.
While sun pinned shadow to his feet,
His seemed the only motion on the street.
Cling and move to cling again, he leaned
To each bare, solid thing along the way,
Pausing now and then to rest the errors
Of his feet, his clinging progress stopped.
There, holding to any solid post halfway
Between some mindless thing or other,
He'd note the shadow at his feet,
Its flatness, and the way it filled a crack.
Then memory with its awful motion would
Move again and press him to the nearest bar
Where no single shadow plagued his feet
But all was shadow which took all in,
And there was no, not even passing, rest
While he stood still and spoke with shadows

Out of noon and into evening.

SILENT'S NOVEL IDEA COMES TRUE WAY AHEAD OF TIME

 Tammie Lou Van Sant, photo by USAToday

A futuristic novelist can't work fast enough to keep ahead of the technological world itself. No sooner does one of my characters in Manning say in describing one of several options for his new smart phone system to a friend, "You can get a pair of Chiptoman granny glasses with Earmax speaker/mikes, Eyemax combo screen and correctional lenses, and the communicator in the temple all together," then I look on the newstand at USAToday and read about Google's new wearable computer: 

Although a number of scientists have been toiling in obscurity since the 1970s on glasses that harness computing power, Google was first out of the commercial gate with a lightweight, voice-controlled device that features a small square prism just off the right eye and a touch-sensitive temple. Through voice and touch, Glass can shoot pictures and video, make and receive calls and texts, and access the Web.

I'm still ahead of them in several of my smart phone devices which can be bought and used in several combinations in the future, but I'm not mentioning how they haven't caught up yet. I think they might be reading my mind, and I need to sell the novel first.

BEACH WALKS, CHAPTERS AHEAD, CLEAR SAILING FOR WEEKS

the beaches we walked

Over the weekend, in celebration of my 76 birthday (October 20th) my wife and I spent a weekend on Camano Island, north of Seattle, walking the beaches in fog and mist with nary a sign of sunshine, except in the love in our hearts for each other. That's all sunshine. Camano Island is stuck between Whidbey Island and the Washington Coast. Hardly an island at all, a couple of dump trucks of dirt would fill in the slough and creek that separates the mainland from Camano Island. We drove to La Conner, north of Camano Island for fried oysters. In fact, I broke so free of my vegan/vegetarian regime that I put on five pounds in two days of eating, but three disappeared as soon as we returned to Vancouver. Like magic. 

Today, I roughed out ideas for the next two or three chapters of Manning, adding several mysterious deaths that will puzzle Manning and, I hope the reader too. As I've said before, I see the ending, with only one decision to be made there, but getting to that ending should be all the fun of it for the reader.

GHOST TOWN ANTHOLOGY: A CELEBRATION TO BOOM

Vancouver, Washington, I said.
You mean, Vancouver British Columbia, don't you?
No, I mean Vancouver, Washington, that little city across the Columbia River from Portland, Oregon.
So?
Well, I got an interesting poetry anthology to tell you about that hails from that city. 
Oh, no! Not poetry?
Shut up your face and listen.

Christopher Luna (recently named Clark County's Poet Laureate) and Toni Partington have put together a collection of poems selected from the poetry of those who have read at the Ghost Town Poetry open mic from 2004 through 2010. The open mic which includes featured poets from California to Seattle (and points East of the Cascades but West of the Rockies) takes place the 2nd Thursday of every month at a little book store in North Vancouver, called Cover To Cover Books. Google if you don't believe me. Mostly free verse, the collection—Ghost Town Poetry: Cover To Cover Books 2004-2010: An Anthology of Poems from the Ghost Town Open Mic Series—is a lively representation of all that poetry has to offer in the Pacific Northwest. You can't help but be entertained while you get an idea of the kind of poetry that the West Coast has long been known for. Production values are top notch so it's a good-looking book to hold in hand as well as a handsome read. Also, friends, if you've never experienced an open mic event, I tell you that a read through Ghost Town Poetry will give you a delightful taste of that experience. So buy the book and go to an open mic event. You'll be glad you did. 

PS: In January 2014 look for another Ghost Town Poetry anthology by means of which Christopher and Toni will mark 10 years of putting together open mikes at Cover To Cover Books. 

PPS: The Silent Boomer will have a poem in this one.

SILENT BOOMER BOOMS THROUGH ROADBLOCK ...TECHNICALLY

Yesterday, I finally saw my way through the technical problem and came up with a communication system that's plausible. The future of the futuristic novel, Manning, began to have a heartbeat once more. The more you know about how the brain works, the less plausible "thought commands" seem.

photo link

Finger Food Please, George

On other fronts, good things. A poem is to be anthologized in an upcoming anthology out of Printed Matter publishing, Toni Partington's and Christopher Luna's house. Due out in December, I think. Chris and Toni also interviewed me for an article that appeared in our local alternative newspaper, the Vancouver Vector. I also reconnected with poet, songwriter, sometimes journalist, Kurt Lipschutz (aka klipschutz) while he was sailing up the West Coast on a book tour for This Drawn and Quartered Moon. Mertie and I published Kurt in George & Mertie's Place (a monthly microzine my wife and I produced from 1995 thru 2001). Also huffed and puffed up my courage and ventured into Portland to participate at Three Friends open mic, my first reading South of the mighty Columbia River. Featured poet that night was Douglas Spangle whose recent poetry collection, A White Concrete Day, came out from GobQ Books. You can get it at Mother Foucault's Bookshop in Portland.

Today I learned: the more names a writer drops, the longer it takes to get a blog entry finished. Hail Columbia! Roll on!