Change of Venue

I'm a creature of habit and getting more so the older I am. I don't like a change to my routine and can become somewhat of a grump when that happens. Since I was lucky enough to work from home already, the pandemic didn't alter much for me in that regard. But the outside world does occasionally intrude into my cozy little cocoon.

Here in Colorado we have the Pine Gulch Fire, which is the largest single wildfire in the state's history. If you see photos, the scene is very much apocalyptic. My home is sixty miles east of the inferno and a gray haze colored the air. In the morning and evening you could smell the smoke. A week ago I woke up about 2 AM, sniffing smoke. I lay in bed asking myself, what was burning? I got up and walked through the house, giving every room the sniff test. The odor was so strong I expected the smoke detectors to start shrieking. When I stuck my head out the front door, there it was, the smell of forests burning. Previous to this, the state smell was weed smoldering in a bong.

Days of summer heat didn't help diminish the fire or the smoke. Then on Thursday, I noticed that the afternoon sky was overcast. I heard the crack of thunder. The Internet forecasted rain. I stepped outside to enjoy the rattle of a cool breeze though the neighborhood trees.

The fragrance of impending rain was too enticing to ignore so I decided to set my laptop on a front table table and watch the storm roll in. My dog Scout doesn't like thunder but too bad for him. I dragged him onto the porch to keep me company.

As I typed away, the rain started. A drizzle at first, then the proverbial cloud burst. I expected hail but we didn't get any, thankfully. Rain poured out the gutter spouts and spattered on the sidewalk. Scout curled up in a corner of the porch, safe from lightning and the rain, giving me a doggie stink eye the entire time.

Though I wasn't suffering from writer's block, the prose gushed out my fingers. Fifteen hundred words later, the rain subsided with a serene drip, drip from the trees. I sat back, pleased and thankful for this break in my routine.

Follow Your Heroes

Once in a while, I get asked to speak to young people about writing as a profession. When the time comes to offer career advice, I ask them, Who are your heroes? Why are they your heroes and why can't you be a hero like them?

I ask those questions because when I look back on my life and see the direction it's taken, I realize that my way forward is along the path illuminated by other writers. Reading about inventors and moguls was hit or miss, so I was never destined to be a business tycoon. However, the biographies of literary greats like Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Rice Burroughs, and F Scott Fitzgerald spoke to me. I understood their struggles. A favorite source of inspiration was The Red Hot Typewriter, a biography of John D MacDonald, and my takeaway was his blue-collar approach to his craft. He wrote every working day from 8-Noon, 1-4, and during his career he published over forty novels. In 1964, he published five! Using a typewriter! No whining about writer's block from him.

Another hero, though he's excoriated by the literary world, is Harold Robbins because of his steadfast application at putting words on paper and spinning bestselling yarns. And there's Anita Loos, a screenwriter who defied conventions to become a pivotal force in the movie business and invented that Hollywood staple, the romantic comedy.

Not all worked out for my heroes. It's no spoiler if I tell you that the lives of Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Robbins went off the rails during their later years. On the other hand, while literary critics like to talk about the burdens of artistic genius and its toll on the writer's psyche, Burroughs, MacDonald, and Loos kept pecking away at the keys well into their sunset years.

What brought these thoughts to mind is that I'm close to finishing one project, the next and long overdue installment of my Felix Gomez series. Now I have to decide what next to dig into. Those of you who've written a book know what it's like to stand on the ready line for another long march. No matter my approach, it takes a year to eighteen months to write the first draft. I've tried schemes, like Chris Fox's 5,000 words-per-hour method, to shorten my turn around time, but when I do that my result is a pile of mush that needs serious editing so I gain little. I wish I had the focus of Cindi Myers who can crank out four-to-six novels a year. People who've attended a writing retreat with her say she easily produces 15 thousand words in a weekend. And it's quality work since since she's won numerous awards to include a Colorado Book Award. Another slayer of the word count is Kevin J Anderson who's hammered out more than fifty bestselling novels. I've been at WordFire parties and when the rest of us are about to start yet another late-night cocktail, Kevin says he's got to go write. That's dedication.

My heroes.