Narcissism

My Writing Sucks….

/ cigarman501 / 4 Comments

 

I’m absolutely at war with myself.  The problem is I’ve been reading when I should be writing…or cutting grass or weeding the garden.  Actually, I’ve done them all.  Anything to avoid writing.  I did cut grass and weeded the garden and I’ve read Roy Blount Jr., Julia Reed, Rick Bragg, and James Lee Burke…it’s Burke’s fault…and Jeri Lynn Wolfe Cooper.

I didn’t know I had the desire to write until my former student, Jeri Lynn, put a bug in my ear…or up my butt.  A burr under my saddle.  A bee in my bonnet…any others?  After twenty-five years we reconnected through another bane of my existence, social media.  She was Lynn Wolfe thirty years ago…she’s Lynn Cooper now but I liked the way Jeri Lynn rolled off the tongue of my Southern brain back then.  Still, do.

Wouldn’t you know it?  She’s a writer.  Anyway, my bad writing career is her fault.  “You always told great stories…you should write them down.”  I did…and try to force you to read them.

I studied other people’s writings, Lynn’s included.  I say  “Lynn’s included” because Lynn writes hot, romantic tales, something my wife says I know nothing about.  “Honey, I’m just taking notes for later.”  She didn’t buy it…I don’t guess I bought it either. ..but I still buy Lynn’s books.

Sometimes I have a hard time reconciling the sweet young woman who used to sit in my sociology class with the writer who pens scorching, passionate fiction.  Really scorching, real quality.  Her writing would be good even if it wasn’t sizzling.  I can reconcile it after all.

It’s the way Lynn’s words flow and roll off the page, the way she creates vividly erotic scenes without being graphic,  it’s her deeply painted descriptions of characters…my characters look like stick figures.

My excuse is that my last English class was over forty-five years ago.  I’m having to learn on the run…jog…walk.  The only creative writing course I took was exactly fifty years ago.  I remember writing about the sex life of a door knob…it was the “free love” Sixties but a daunting task for an eighteen-year-old virgin.  It’s all I remember about the course.

My writing experience involved forty-five years of creating lesson and practice plans with the occasional grocery list thrown in for good measure.  So, I’m struggling, and the Thesaurus is not my friend.  I’m in the “my writing sucks” frame of mind as I attempt to hammer out a thousand words…words someone might want to read.  Hmmm, “If it doesn’t fit use a bigger hammer.”  I don’t think that will work.

Since we seemed to have skipped spring this year, I picked up James Lee Burke’s latest to avoid the heat of the midday sun.  I had finished my weeding, and my potatoes and tomatoes are doing quite well.  I’m not going to say anything about my squash, I’m sure the squash bugs are listening and waiting to pounce.

Maybe I can get an idea, maybe I can learn something…maybe I can just enjoy Burke’s writing.  I learned I can study a dictionary from now until death takes me and I’ll never ever have anything near James Lee Burke’s vocabulary.  Should have picked up a “Dick and Jane” book instead.  ”See Spot run….”

James Lee Burke writes about pain and he describes it in a way you feel the pain like an abscessed tooth.  He writes about people and doesn’t just describe them, you become them.  Their pain and suffering is your pain and suffering.  He writes about the good and evil in man…sometimes contained in the same flawed person.  He paints with a vivid brush.  Oh, how I wish.

Okay back to the next great American novel…or I can wash my car.  My car really needs washing…

If you are interested in hot, romantic short stories and novellas you might wish to drop by Lynn’s author’s page at  https://www.amazon.com/Lynn-Cooper/e/B00LPX4HGO

If you are interested in nonfiction or historical fiction you might try Don Miller’s page at https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B018IT38GM

If you are interested in Don Miller writing romantic adventure as Lena Christenson, her page is at https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B07B6BDD19  My beloved still wonders what I might know about romance.  Well, I read books.

Image from https://allthatjazzblogdotcom.wordpress.com/2012/10/19/of-struggling-scribes-and-pain/

 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY…TO ME

/ cigarman501 / 8 Comments

I used to get excited…not so much anymore. The road “past” is much longer than the road “future” and when dealing with my own life, I try to stay “in the now.” At my unstated age, I find it more comfortable remembering the past rather than pondering the future. People much brighter than me have suggested that “you can’t live in the past.” I agree but would suggest, “I can remember the past and wonder”…just don’t live there…too much. Which brings me to today, the day before the anniversary of my birth.

It was an Easter Sunday with all the jokes about the Easter Bunny delivering me to my parents rather than the traditional stork. Bright blue skies and crisp I was told. My father had revolted at the idea of rising early for the traditional Sunrise Service. I understand he was forced to get up even earlier than he would have wished.

A colorized picture of a one year old. A tow-headed child gazing sweetly into a camera makes me wonder why the blond hair turned brown before turning gray. Unfortunately, it has also turned loose. At some point I wonder if my sink will have more hair in it than my head has on it…or already does. I also wonder what kind of cake was smeared all over my smooth baby face, a face I no longer recognize in the mirror…with or without cake.

Somewhere in the past, a fourteen-year-old with darker blond hair, got excited about his birthday until he was presented with a brand new red Toro lawnmower instead of the red Mustang convertible he was wishing for. My dad, always the practical one…but then I was only fourteen. The mower wasn’t even a rider or self-propelled. I didn’t get the Mustang at age sixteen or eighteen either. I did get a green Mustang for my beloved when I was forty-six…I don’t even like green and it wasn’t for me…or my birthday.

I remember a “sweet sixteen” birthday party, painstakingly planned by my mother and held at the fire house just down the road from our house. All my friends and classmates were there dancing to forty-fives, eating cake and drinking punch. I never told her how embarrassed I was for all the commotion…and for the fact I was “sweet sixteen and had never been kissed” before the party…or for a while after it.

For some reason, there are no outstanding birthday memories from sixteen to fifty…or I need something to trigger the memory I’m not having. A gathering at a local restaurant on my fiftieth netted me a four-disc boxed set of Jimmy Buffet’s greatest hits, from a friend I daily worry about. Because my six-disc changer is loaded with all four of my Buffet disc’s, there is a great chance I’m going to be reminded of my friend anytime I get into my car. I am also reminded of the battle I fear he is losing to his addiction. I think I’m going to call him on my birthday and remind him of the joy he brought me.

On my fifty-sixth we gathered with family at the same restaurant as my fiftieth, this time after church on a bright and warm Sunday afternoon. I had a great time but felt physically ill as I drove the winding road home. Queasy, I contributed it to the garlicy pasta I had consumed along with the copious amounts of birthday cheer in the form of birthday cake. It wasn’t until I got home that I considered a heart attack. The elephant suddenly sitting on my chest fueled my suspicion.

The attack may have been the greatest gift I could have ever received…even better than a red Mustang convertible. I survived and became a better steward of the health my creator granted me. Eleven more years with my beloved, seeing my daughter graduate from college, marry and start a family of her own…beginning her THIRD vocation while seven month’s pregnant. Miller Kate and Nolan the grandbabies. An epic Sixtieth in Atlanta with “too good” a friends attending a James Taylor concert. Front row seats within touching distance and a limo ride to and from. Madeline Roo and Matilda Sue, two Australian blue heelers who have made us their own, worming their way into my heart for the past twelve years.

Just to be clear, Linda Gail has already stated, “We are not going to celebrate your birthday on this Sunday.” Superstitious or just not willing to tempt fate? I had not thought about it…guess she does love me just a little. Well…Happy Birthday to me.

Visit Don’s author’s page at https://goo.gl/pL9bp or pick up a copy or download his new book, Musings of a Mad Southerner, at https://goo.gl/zxZHWO.

HIATUS BUT NO VACATION

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I MUST go on hiatus. I like that word…hiatus. It means a pause or gap in a sequence, series, or process. What it does not mean is A vacation. So, I AM NOT TAKING A VACATION from “Ravings of a Mad Southerner.” I am taking a pause or a gap from it. It is not that I want to pause but this will be my last blog post for a bit. What was that I heard? The gnashing of teeth and hearts breaking? NO! I just moved and my knees made crackling sounds. This is a busy time in my life and I can’t afford my self-imposed schedule of postings. Instead of being able to “Count all the bees in the hive” OR “Chase all the clouds from the sky,” AND my continued telling of stories, I have to take control of my life and actually act like a grown up. No I am not going to grow up but I’m not getting any younger and my “to do” list is not getting any shorter. Fear not, or in spite of your fear, “I’ll be back!” And, I will continue to write…just not post…not on a schedule…JUST WHEN SOMETHING BOTHERS ME SO!

I have no notion that I am a good writer. I think I have gotten better and “No I am not fishing for compliments.” I am a teller of stories who then writes them down, sometimes quite badly. Some memories, I am sure, are only important to me and many times I think “Gee, that sounded a lot better in my head” and I punch delete. I am also AWARE there were times when I should have made the same determination about other stories and didn’t. Sorry!

I find that I am addicted to writing. Like the analgesic I rub on my knees, writing is an anodyne, something to remove distress or pain. To quote Buffett, “He went to Paris looking for answers to questions that bothered him so.” I hate flying so I just went to writing.

I also write because deep down I am a narcissist. In the Afterword of “Winning Was Never the Only Thing…” I wrote, “A former student and friend, who is now an author in her own right, commented to me that she had succumbed to a bit of narcissism by including herself on the cover of one of her books.” I agreed with her because I believe all successful authors…and coaches are a little narcissistic. Being a bit narcissistic is probably not a bad thing… up to a point. We all want to win a championship or write the “great American novel” and we all want to hear and see our names put out there as long as it is positive and not something criminal or stupid. “And here he is Hall of Fame…whatever!” I really just want to sell more books than I give away and see that someone has viewed on my blog. Is that too narcissistic?

The key word in the previous quote is “Successful.” Success may be just being able to write better. I believe PATHWAYS was written better than the previous two books and when I look back on some of the stories I have written I shake my head and ask why did you say it that way? I hope my blog has been written better, again I am not fishing.

I worry I might lose my readership. I have built a bit of a following. Some people will read anything including a cereal box. Not just my former students and friends either but from people I don’t EVEN know. People from all parts of the world…and I hate to say I get nervous when people from SOME countries are reading me. I am such a terrible person. I appreciate when my former students and friends take the time to read my rantings. Actually I probably write for you as much as I write for me. Wow, did I just hear “Thanks for doing me no favors?” Somehow it keeps me connected to people who were and are important to me. I thank you all who are clicking on my WordPress.

So I shall bid you a SHORT and “fond adieu” along with my thanks. I’ll shall return in the fall when the garden is done, the roof has been replaced on the outhouse AND garage, the porch is cleaned, painted and some of the rails replace, the wood for winter has been cut, split and stacked, and when…hell freezes over I’ll be back?

If you just can’t live without me, please click on the following link and buy a book or click on a post that you haven’t read. I need the money and to feed my narcissism. Just remember I am a work in progress.

http://www.amazon.com/Don-Miller/e/B018IT38GM