Waiting for lightning to strike

The days turn to weeks far too easily as I await Henry's edits. Since last I posted, there is little to chronicle: the contract was signed, I spent time re-reading several classic short stories and a novel I'd already read, revisited a novel ms that I put into suspended animation a year ago to finish the collection, and pitched a couple of conferences. As usual, I also managed to squeeze in a couple of fishing trips.

The stories I most enjoyed recently: First, Eudora Welty's A Worn Path. What a powerful story, made more so by its direct, simple story-telling. Being from Jackson, Welty is a good place to start when searching for reminders of how high the bar has been set from time to time. I used to see her once in awhile, mostly at plays at New Stage Theatre. Sat down the row from her during a run of The Ponder Heart. What a treat. My takeaway: keep it simple. Twists, turns, punch lines and surprise endings don't create characters like Phoenix Jackson.

Another story I reviewed was Flannery O'Connor's A Good Man is Hard to Find as a refresher on dialogue. If you're struggling with making dialogue interesting, yet sounding as if every word is fitting and expected, go read this story. Much to learn there.

Dayne Sherman's novel Welcome to the Fallen Paradise was as good this second time around as the first. Great first novel. Check him out and keep your eyes open. He'll have staying power to chronicle these dusty Southern towns. I'm anxious to see how he does with the IPOD generation who replace their granddaddy's mule with a 90-horse diesel John Deere.

I revised the chapter outline for a ms I tentatively call The Graceland Conspiracy and reread my first 120 pages to get back into the flow of the story. While Henry edits, I'll spend some time with that piece. I'm trying to stay away from writing short fiction as I await possible rewrites to the stories.

On a bright note, a conference I've attended a few times invited me to speak. I won't preempt their own publicity just yet by mentioning it. More to come on that springtime conference later.

My uncle, that last sibling of my late father, died two weeks ago. But when visiting with the family I finally had the wonderful experience of meeting my first cousin's son, Philip Wyatt Shirley, named for me I'm proud to say. Little Philip (Wyatt they call him) is six months old. Fun stuff.

I've been thumbing through old copies of Writers Digest and ripping out features on finding an audience for a book. Let's hope there's a workable idea or two in the stack piling up on my tiny writing desk. Until next time, be safe.--Philip

Drinking Silver Oak on a school night

When friends showed up with a 2001 Silver Oak Cabernet I knew this would be a great night for a Monday. I worked until 6:30 at the office and rushed home to begin cooking before our friends arrived at 7. The menu: mangrove snapper (I caught them chumming and fishing poagie chunks near a natural gas rig in 104 feet of water 18 miles southwest of the lighthouse at Dauphin Island) pan seared and topped with a crab meat and wine reduction sauce, garlic beans, cheese grits, and a salad of tomato/avocado/vidalia onion drowned in Ken's Italian dressing. A great Southern meal. Of course, we drank the Silver Oak before the meal. Silver Oak 1982 was the wine Reagan served the Queen--at least that's what my college roommate Larry told me. Larry presented us with a bottle of '82 Silver Oak in 1992 as a tenth anniversary present, which I've kept stored away in the cellar for this year--25th anniversary. I put my I-Pod playlist titled PS High School, full of songs from 1970-71 or so, as background tonight. It starts with a little Junior Walker and the All-Stars, with A Whiter Shade of Pale playing now. So what does this have to do with the book. Not a damn thing, other than to say that life goes on, book or no book. And sometimes the writing life takes a backseat. But not for long, and the alarm will be set for 6 a.m to get back on a couple of edits. Today I emailed back and forth a couple of times with the publisher David and editor Henry O ( I simply cannot resist calling Henry Henry O, for obvious reasons), forwarding them a nice email I received from a great writer who says he's eager to write a blurb for the book. Next up: cover designs and final details worked out on the contract. Fun stuff. My 13-year-old lab is looking over at me letting me know I've kept her up past her bedtime. Jerry Butler just came on the playlist...Later.

Rejected with grace by The Louisville Review

The dreaded thin SASE arrived in the mail this morning. The Louisville Review ( http://www.spalding.edu/louisvillereview/default.htm ) has gracefully said no to a recent story. I'm disappointed, of course, but have no one but myself to blame this time. It was the last story that was under consideration for publication by a literary magazine prior to the collection being published in April next year. Silas House, faculty guest editor, was kind enough to write that this was "Some really good writing" but he immediately followed that welcome comment with a suggestion for "pruning" and determined the story to be "a bit overwritten." I first became aware of Mr. House through his work in the first volume or two of Stories from the Blue Moon Cafe, where my fiction was first accepted for publication. His novels have received incredible praise and are worth a look if you don't know his work.

I took the liberty of sharing this personal note because the time Mr. House took to respond with a hand-written note will pay off for me, and for that I owe him a genuine thank you. So, Mr. House, "Thank You." I'm not being sarcastic, I mean it. Having edited two magazines, I know the difficulty of taking time to jot even a note or two to a hopeful writer. It's impractical to do so with every submission, but it means the world to the writer. Now, I'll be buoyed by what I'll consider a near-miss in a magazine for which I have great respect. And I'll be dragging out that story with my pruning shears in hand, for this editor knows his stuff if he edits as he writes. Hold on a second, while I open that story file and take a quick read...

..okay, he's probably right. The first paragraph alone had three or four extra adjectives. I'll take out the shears later today cut the story from 2200 words to something under 2000 and see how it reads. The story (A Death in the Family) follows a grown daughter watching her mother linger on her deathbed, providing the daughter too much time to ponder her own failures and consider her own death. Below is an excerpt (pre-pruning of course):

I’m not distraught that my mother is dying. She is 93, after all, and has suffered few hardships in her life, growing up in a family of means. No, I’m sad because I know my last memories won’t be about hugs, parting words of love, or encouragement to carry on as the one she always knew would accomplish great things. I see no such future, rather an end not unlike what I see before me. I can foresee no entry into the elite group of women who have so influenced our family, position gained not so much by accomplishment as by longevity.
My mental video will replay her relentless begging to let her die. Or something meaningless, such as her story of the bowl of coins her mother kept near the door during the Depression for men who came knocking at the big house offering to rake leaves or clean gutters. Or the look of contempt she flashes me in her rare lucid moments. Of course, that’s on top of reminding me daily in those last weeks when we actually carried on conversations, before the last stroke, of my three failed marriages.
And there’s the other subject Mother finds worth her time: my child who has nothing but venom for me. The child without memory of the long nights I held her tight and rocked her to sleep when her daddy didn’t come home. My child who chooses instead to remember only that last year she lived with me, when my best friends were vodka and television movies until 4 a.m. When she fed herself cereal and walked to school, afraid to ride with me in my car with dents down the entire passenger side from mailboxes placed too close to the street.

By the time you see the entire story, let's hope it has shed its dead limbs. See ya next time around.....

Rasslin with style

No blogs for a long time, as I have been under water trying to fight my way to the surface of a story driven by plot and in search of an interesting character or two. Plots are easier than characters, and sometimes the work suffers from it. But I've been struggling with the notion that character-driven stories are inherently better than plot driven ones. Well-read friends tell me so, and perhaps they are right. I suppose we do remember interesting characters long after the details of the plot fade. Who was that guy talking about Gatsby anyway? But is there a time when what happened really is the point? Regardless of who it happened to? Or does the why give fiction life? The facts of telling versus the truth of revelation of motive. Personally, sometimes I just like the action. Is it shallow to crave the satisfaction I feel when the girl gets the guy, or if the husband figures out its not his baby, or if Aunt Lulu wakes up after the knock on the head from crazy cousin Goober. Sometimes that's enough for me. Is there a time when the paper-thin, cut-out character is the best way to keep the distractions of the character's angst out of the way of the plot? Is there a place for plot-driven stories in a world of literary force? I don't know, honestly. And I suppose it will not be my choice to decide. Of course, if the occasional salty character wanders into the headlights of my oncoming story I suppose it's just as much fun to knock him to the roadside and rush him to the hospital for a near-death rescue as to run down the stranger and leave him for dead.

I suck at blogging, but the book has a name and a date

I was shocked to see nine days had passed since my last blog. Not really an encouraging sign. But there's a bit of news. Henry (my editor) emailed today to confirm the publisher and editor have agreed to my second title I was considering. They like and want to go with Oh Don't You Cry for Me.

For those who have read or heard any of my stories that will appear in this book, you'll notice that most of the characters I find myself drawn to write about are irreparably flawed, scarred by the jagged edge of daily events that surround most of us who pass through life with dysfunctional families, the raw flesh of self doubt, and the too-frequent sacrifice of pride or money or ego required to move on into another day--yet none of these characters wants your sympathy. Each finds a way to deal with his or her predicament and goes about life without much of a proverbial chip on their individual shoulders.

Since my last blog a week and a half ago, I have worked daily on the new story. I passed 8500 words this week, and am happy to finally begin to see where things may be headed. I'm guessing the first draft should go to 11,000 or more words. That should give me a good 9500 word story after one pass at editing.

Henry also said we have a firm date for publication: April 1, 2008 for official release and story stocking. Books should ship March 1.

Armed with that information, I'm now opening discussing specific opportunities to talk, read, sign, sell, or generally find an audience.

Oh, I did get to spend last weekend writing at Dauphin Island. The wind kicked the seas up to five feet, so fishing was out. Instead, my great friend Charles Woods (Bubba outside work) and I piddled around a little with the boat while our wives walked the beach. Mostly, we shucked raw oysters raked up earlier that day by Mr. Johnson who sells from a little, green cinder-block building without even a sign (just pull up and one of the grandkids will yell for pawpaw that somebody wants oysters) and fried a few shrimp fresh off the Skinner's boat. I was busily at this computer by 5 a.m. both days to get in a couple of hours before the house woke up.

Until we meet again, happy writing, or reading, as the case may be for you......

Balancing writing with marketing

Since my last post I have continued with a new story that's reached 4850 words as of 7 a.m. this morning, traveled to Biloxi to work, then Birmingham for a charity golf tournament for the Kidney foundation, and back to Jackson to work on the back yard so I can sell my house.

Also learned from a trusted friend that one of the other stories might need a fresh look. So I gave it one. Boy was she right. I got her suggestions, along with an overview from my editor of the story, which (fortunately) he liked but agreed could use a little work here and there. I've re-read the story to think about how to fix a few of the obvious problems, but will hold the rewrite until after a couple of drafts of the new story are complete.

I've also been working the phones and email to begin trying to arrange appearances on panels or whatever I can find in the way of conferences next spring. Have made contact with a couple of people well-known in literary circles, who are helping me find the right committees to talk with. Also have begun talking with writers I respect to ask them to consider reading the MS and writing a blurb for it.

Balancing the needs of the book with 9-10 hour work days is quite fun. I hope the adrenalin doesn't wear off soon and the coffee pot stays full. Did I mention I'm building a new house and trying to get the old one ready to sell. Yikes, what was I thinking? Well, duty calls me to answer a few emails for work before tomorrow.....

Meeting the Publisher and Editor

Much has happened since my last post at the start of a vacation week. Importantly, I finished a story that week titled The Trust Jesus Society about the underground religious group that spray paints all the Trust Jesus graffiti on the interstate highway signs. My new editor is now looking at the story. I was also lucky enough to harvest a trophy-sized turkey on my vacation, with a 12 1/4" beard.

Two days after getting back from my cabin in Paint Rock Valley in North Alabama, I had a two-hour meeting with Jefferson Press publisher David Magee, who happened to be in Jackson on a book tour for his new book The South is Round. A very funny read www.david-magee.com. His editor Henry Oehmig was also there for the meeting, at which we agreed on next steps. We set a tentative schedule for an official April 1, 2008, release date, but will shoot for having finished books in our hands in mid-February in case I have an opportunity to appear at any conferences next spring.

My next duty is to finish another story or perhaps two. Last weekend during the long Easter weekend I travelled to Dauphin Island to write and finished 3,000 words of a new story that may go 6,000 words. More on that later.

The contract is about finalized and should be signed in two weeks or so. And a final schedule will be confirmed. Then the edits must be completed, cover art finished and materials prepared for the catalog. Work calls....I'll be back later for another post....thanks for reading.