Hungry?

It’s so exciting to know a published author, in my case it’s Alethea Eason. Mary and I read the manuscript of “Deborah’s Choice” and made suggestions. Alethea’s story was picked up by Harper Collins and renamed,
“Hungry.”

Alethea Eason's "Hungry"

We’re now helping with the sequel. It’s going to be even better than the first.

The Washington Post had a short write-up on Alethea and Hungry in yesterday’s paper. What a nice Christmas present.


Tis the Season

Sunrise at our house

There are times during the holidays that I get overwhelmed by the crowds. I went to one of the malls that fester about on the landscape. People were relatively benign yet the amount of humanity and cars came close to gridlock. We all played parking bingo for spaces. It’s akin to musical chairs with cars. With one shopping day left, I thought I’d bring you a moment of Zen; take a deep breath and tell yourself, “It’ll be okay.”

Have a Merry (or Happy for my UK friends) Christmas and a prosperous New Year.

True Stories

I’m going through a patch of writer’s block. Nothing I write seems to be interesting (including this post, no doubt). I have fifty pages that I like and I know where I want to go; I just can’t seem to write the bridge to take me across the literary chasm. My characters have grown impatient and restless and have started to move off to other pursuits.

So to help me I listened last week to Stephen King’s On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. I recommend it to all wannabe writers. One of the things he talks about is his near death experience when in 1999 a reckless driver struck him while he walked along the right shoulder of Route 5 in Maine. On 19 June 1999, Brian Smith hit Stephen King with his van because Smith was distracted by his rotweiller nosing into a cooler filled with meat. You can’t make this stuff up.

I’ve thought about writing a scenario for my protagonist where he has to do some undercover work. Some reviewers on YouWriteOn.com have told me that a forester carrying a gun sounds far-fetched. California State Park Rangers started carrying guns about 30 years ago (if memory serves). I had one issued to me for about that long. If you wear a uniform and have to enforce laws in remote places where people are and dope is grown or cooked. … Well, let’s just say it goes with the territory.

Still, I don’t think I could write an undercover scenario as odd as Takin’ Bacon that Lee Lofland wrote on the Lipstick Chronicles.

2007 Bulwer-Lytton Contest Winners

The Department of English & Comparative Literature at the California State University of San Jose State University has announced the 2007 winners of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest

The winner of 2007 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is Jim Gleeson, a 47-year-old media technician from Madison, Wisconsin. According to the English Dept’s website, Gleeson is working on a self-help book for slackers, “Self-Improvement Through Total Inactivity.”

Here is the winning entry:
Gerald began–but was interrupted by a piercing whistle which cost him ten percent of his hearing permanently, as it did everyone else in a ten-mile radius of the eruption, not that it mattered much because for them “permanently” meant the next ten minutes or so until buried by searing lava or suffocated by choking ash–to pee.

The other winners can be found by clicking http://www.sjsu.edu/depts/english/2007.htm.

You may send your entries (for next year’s contest) electronically through the Contest’s Web site: http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/.

The Best Music You’ve Never Heard

I picked up a remaindered book by Michael Connelly a month or two ago. The Narrows was published in 2004 and shrink wrapped with a DVD titled “Blue Neon Night: Michael Connelly’s Los Angeles.”

On it, Connelly tells a bit about the detective he writes about: Harry Bosch. Excerpts from his stories are read as the camera pans across pieces of LA, “A sunny place for shady characters.”

The most haunting jazz I have ever heard is on that DVD. During the title menu, a snippet of Lullaby, a song written by George Cables and played by Frank Morgan, is on a loop. Frank Morgan was Charlie Parker’s heir apparent and released the album Frank Morgan in 1955. The expectation proved to be too much for him and he self-destructed. For the next thirty years he ping ponged from institution to institution, “Every time they tried to send me to New York I’d go back to prison.” Finally, in 1986 (Morgan was 54), Leonard Feather told him, “just show up and do what you do, and the world will open up to you.”

We liked Frank Morgan’s music so much we’ve bought two CDs, A Lovesome Thing and Mood Indigo. We play Lullaby every morning and night.

“Bosch thought he knew nothing truer than the sound of a saxophone.”

He may be right

Controlling, Preventing, Wildfire in California and Other Pipedreams

I listened to the 27 October podcast of KCRW’s Left, Right, and Center as I do every week. They discussed the recent fires in California (and other political wonkish stuff).

In the program, the moderator Matt Miller (holding down the center) wondered whether preparations were adequate and whether money could have been better spent (rather than in Iraq) on a few more air tankers (retardant and water-dropping aircraft). During news coverage, all the firefighters he saw said they didn’t have enough air support. The California fires were “a gripping disaster.”

Robert Scheer of Truthdig.com (on the left) brought up that no matter where one looks: education, health care, or public services, the amount of money spent on those compared to Iraq debacle is chump change (no disagreement from me).

Tony Blankley (listing to the right) mentioned that he had lived in Topanga Canyon in the 1970s when fire came through and had been grateful for the fire engines coming in to save his house.

These commentators typified much of the debate about allocations of resources for wildland firefighting and its future in California.

First, no amount of equipment will stop a wildland fire in six-ten foot high chaparral in seventy mile an hour Santa Ana (foehn winds). Why no air support? The aircraft cannot fly in winds like that and if they could the dropped liquid would be blown away and dissipated before touching the chaparral (the ‘fuel’ in firefighting parlance). When conditions are right, there just isn’t enough of everything, including aircraft. [see a drop here]

Fires burning during Santa Ana conditions (humidity close to zero and winds over fifty miles per hour) go where the wind pushes them, often jumping mile-wide barriers such as lakes. The standard firefighting technique for such fires has been to keep them as narrow as possible and herd them to the Great Pacific Fuelbreak.

Second, as long as people want to live in the mountains, hills, and canyons of California, the most effective methods for preventing, lessening, and stopping wildland fire are not possible. Chaparral is designed to burn. During the wet winter months, it grows and uses as much water as it can. It goes dormant when the soil moisture drops. The plants’ waxy outer layer and resins within help keep the plant from wilting but it burns readily. In fact, many of these plants making up chaparral forests need to burn to regenerate. Before humans arrived some 10% of California burned annually (about 10 million acres each year).

When Portuguese explorer João Rodrigues Cabrilho (sailing for Spain under the name Juan Cabrillo) sailed along the coast of California, he noted the plumes of smoke from fires burning in the Santa Monica Mountains. The native population set fire to the mountains each year to have the plants resprout later and provide forage for wildlife and thus hunting for them. The Mexican Californios continued the practice when they arrived.

Let’s consider what led up to these latest fires. This summer had been one of the driest on record in Southern California. The drought stressed thousands of trees. Beetles killed many of those trees. Undergrowth beneath these dead trees has been allowed to occur. This lower stuff makes a perfect fire ladder to the dead branches above. On the lower slopes, waxy pyric chaparral which hasn’t burned for years due to effective fire control bides its time. Now toss in low humidity, high winds, and high-voltage powerlines waiting to arc, it’s a disaster smoking a cigarette over a lake of gasoline.

Americans usually think in terms of high priced-high tech solutions. California’s southern neighbors have lower tech methods. Pragmatic Mexicans have placed herds of goats into hilly suburbs to control the chaparral—and have far fewer catastrophic wildfires. In the higher areas where pine trees grow, logging will change the characteristics of the fire ladder by making openings where the fire comes down to ground level again.

Unfortunately, goats and logging aren’t ‘natural.’ As though million dollar homes, gardens, exotic trees, etc., were.

———————

And, just so you can say, you read it here first, look for gripping stories on CNN, et. al, about the massive Southern California mudslides coming to a television screen near you in January. “Why didn’t anyone see this coming?” the newspeople will ask.

We Don't Own a Boat


Two of the happiest days in one’s life are the day one gets a boat…

Mary had a sailboat. The storms during the winter had reduced the number of functional cleats to one. During Mary’s ownership, it sank twice (Note the black tube on the starboard side–this is connected to a bilge pump). If it got loose from its mooring, a possibility during fierce winter storms, we were liable to damage done to other docks and boats.

…and the other is the joyous day one gets rid of said boat.
We gave it away.

We Don’t Own a Boat


Two of the happiest days in one’s life are the day one gets a boat…

Mary had a sailboat. The storms during the winter had reduced the number of functional cleats to one. During Mary’s ownership, it sank twice (Note the black tube on the starboard side–this is connected to a bilge pump). If it got loose from its mooring, a possibility during fierce winter storms, we were liable to damage done to other docks and boats.

…and the other is the joyous day one gets rid of said boat.
We gave it away.