Imaginary people

The characters that inhabit my book are selfish.

On this rewrite, one gets a new love interest (but no explicit sex, na-na-na-na). A couple of others get hugely expanded parts. One stays about the same as to word count but becomes (gosh, I hope) much more interesting.

One bad guy becomes more baditudinous (my blog, my grammar – get over it) and yes, I do believe some people are simply irredeemable. Another becomes more forgivable or at least, we can better understand how he got to be who he is.

Each and all of their stories and sub-plots are improved, or so I believe.

The thing is, while each of them is probably happy with her/his enhanced position in the story, none of them seem to give a thought to how much work I’ve had to do to give them what they needed.

I took out several scenes and others I scaled back - I want to say sharpened but we’ll see what the readers think. One major story arc is gone completely. Lots of my many months of hard work hit the cutting room floor. Okay, so it’s the archive file in my computer but same concept.

All this sweat and tears by yours truly and do you think the characters appreciate my labors? Not on your tintype!

I think I’m beginning to hate imaginary people.

Alan Branch

I’ve been away from these pages much of the last month or two while I finish editing Da Book but while checking the news feed during a break I came across an item that caught my attention and drove me to offer this.

In an interview for CNN this week, football player Alan Branch expressed why he declined to go to the White House with his team to be congratulated by Donald Trump. Apparently, it has become traditional for the winning Super Bowl team to make this pilgrimage. But Branch is the father of three daughters and a son and it seems that his duty as a role model for his children is more important to him than a photo op in the Oval Office.

“I’ve got to go back home and look my daughters in the eye,” he said in part, “and I don’t want them to view me in a different light because I did that. I would miss two softball games with my oldest daughter to meet this person. So for somebody to have me miss family time, which I don’t have during the season, that’s somebody I would have to respect. I don’t have enough respect for him to take time away from my kids and my wife just to shake his hand. That’s not me.”

Mr. Branch, thank you. 

Home Friday

I’ll be home Friday and when I walk through the door – okay, make that when I’ve unpacked my go bag and put away my travel stuff – I will officially be on leave.

Lots of things I intend to do over those nine days.

I have to get the book in final shape for submission because I have my first round of agent / editor pitches in early May. In narrowly selfish terms, this is a big priority but not the only thing I’ll be focused on.

 I’m working on the concept for my new website, which I need to have up and running by the end of May. Speaking of concepts, I’m working on planning the next book and a couple of other things.

I will be spending time in the gym, but that’s not a new thing.

Daughter One is moving into a new apartment so I will likely be helping her prep for the move. Over the last two years a lot of her ‘stuff’ has become intertwined with ours.

I will spend time with Mary. Some of it active, as in going places together, maybe doing some yardwork. And some of it more passive, just being in the same room together. Nine days of being able to look over and see her there.

Coming up on thirty years and I couldn’t dream of a better way to celebrate our lives – our life in common. When we first got together, all I needed was time with her. And next week – 1500 weeks later - that’s still all I need.

I’ll be home Friday, and I can’t wait. 

Not a good time

This is not a good time to look like me.

I spent the last week in a non-wealthy area of a minority majority city. I pretty much shuttled between the work location and my hotel, in part because we were way too busy for sightseeing and in part because the sights I did see were troubling. And sometimes, even scary.

To be sure, I did have some nice but brief encounters with local folk. It won’t surprise you to learn of my penchant for striking up conversations with total strangers. One younger man was six months into his marriage and we spoke of the challenges of new couples melding dietary habits and preferences. He’s a lover of animal proteins and his new bride is near vegan so good luck with that.

It was a nice oasis of friendliness in a sea of worry.

Every business and almost every private residence has some form of bars denying unauthorized entrance. The Garmin lady took me to five grocery stores in succession before I came upon one at which I was comfortable parking and getting out of the car. Is this because of legitimate fear or simply a function of my own ingrained prejudices? A bit of both, maybe?

Anyway, I got a really good dose of being the face that stands out in the crowd. Can’t say I much cared for the experience.

This experience of being the alien in the inner city got me to thinking about my otherness in a wider sense. Most of the people I consider friends outside of work are women. Which means my Facebook feed is chock full of posts that celebrate strong women and identify men as the enemy in one way or another. And as the father of daughters, I can’t say I resent the women doing the posting. I get it. But it is difficult to be identified even tacitly as one of the enemy.

I’m a conservative, in the sense that I strongly believe the best government is the least possible, effective government. I would never single out Planned Parenthood for defunding, but it does fall into the category, along with hundreds of other in-some-way-taxpayer-supported organizations that I do not feel lie within the legitimate province of government to fund or regulate.

I think I would choose a single payer approach to health care, but not while Mitch McConnell and his ilk have a say in what that means. And even if we’re successful at the mid-terms, there’s always another Mitch McConnell arising from the ooze.

I’m white, male, non-religious, looking over my shoulder at middle age and generally conservative.

In the eyes of many people whose opinions matter greatly to me, this description makes me one of Them. I don’t blame my friends for this label. They’re mostly just reacting understandably to the upwelling of bigotry in all its forms that brought the current occupant to the White House (when he’s there, that is).

I blame the guys who look like me who created this situation. I am assumed to be a member of the club but it’s not a club I would have voluntarily joined.

I do not like this, Sam I Am.