--NEVER CAN SAY GOODBYE


...This is something I wrote that was published in Airplane Reads...

         Planes

 My daughter is running out of room.  Where she’s not pierced, tattoos take birth on all exposed areas—eyelids, and even inside her lower gums.  Her face is a rash of Roman Numerals and glyphs that I can’t decipher and she will not divulge to me.  She shaves her head so she can add more—some kind of dragon embryo entwined with thorny vines.
 She’s reading or pretending to read, shoreside of the lake on a lounge chair, naked but for two hankies covering her breasts and pubis.  Sun screams across her body, liking the bejeweled bits most, the orb more confused than anyone, shooting silver claw marks across the water surface.
 This is our first time back and will be our last.  Our flight leaves tonight.
 Surrounded by taped boxes, I sit at a desk flipping through an old photo album.   After my wife died, the therapist did his best to relieve me but certain stains won’t ever fade. 
 Now the word “if” is a cliff, a fantastic and obscene weight.  If I’d left sooner I’d have missed the traffic and she might not have boarded.  If I’d begged, sworn to forgive her.  If her plane hadn’t caused one of the 4.03 fatalities per million of air miles flown.  If “if” hadn’t become so important.
 My daughter used to favor pink, everything bubblegum bright, her bedroom then a cotton candy carousel.  I would read to her at night.  She’d blather and giggle, saying, “Please, Papa, my gut is going to break open,” and I’d say, “I hope so.  It’s full of jelly beans and I’m starving.”  Then she fell in love with ladybugs and we put up ladybug wallpaper and she had ladybug sweaters and a ladybug backpack.  When I asked why, she said she felt sorry for them, that they couldn’t fly right and would usually bump against the window, chubby and stranded.
 My daughter used to be husky herself, but then things happened and she turned so thin, marking her dermis with those tats, poking and punching holes.
 A year ago, I overheard a nephew call my daughter odd, adding some other labels, most of which I’m unfamiliar.  I should have took the kid aside, knocked his teeth out, slammed him against a wall, but I guess I didn’t think I deserved anything so cathartic.
 I walk down the narrow trail, letting my shoes crunch as loud as they want.  An eagle soars overhead, watching me while I take the open chair.  Sweat clings to my clothes and my clothes to every crease of skin.
 There are a million paths and I’ve not planned anything.  It just feels like time.
 I take the metal leg of her chair and swing it around.  I say, “It’s okay to hate me.  I get it.”  Glare from the cold sore sun makes her squint. “But if you’re going to hate me your whole life, you should do it for the right reasons.”
 “I don’t want to talk to you.  I never—“
 My arm leaps out like a stump, palm shading her face.  “I’m going to tell you everything, all of it, and then when I’m done we’ll leave and you can hate me more than before or less, but at least you’ll have the truth.  At least you’ll know.”
 When she doesn’t object, I take in lake air and shrug off the memories it makes.  I concentrate on the story I’m about to tell, about the crash before the plane crash, and how to help my daughter find the broken pieces as well as the beauty in between.

--TELL ME WHAT YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF AND THEN I’LL ADD TO THAT

…There are over 650,000 people that live in Seattle, more folks than live in all of Alaska.

Yesterday I went into the city. It was a perfect Seattle summer day, the ones we wait for through many months of rain.
The sky was clear. It was 78 degrees, no humidity. The air tasted clean.
People in Seattle like their coffee. I mean they REALLY like it. There is a Starbucks on all four sides of the Nordstrom store, plus Nordstrom has an espresso bar on Pine Street facing a Starbucks. Every place had a line, despite the temperature.
I feel guilty and stupid when I visit espresso bars. You stand in line so that you can pay someone five dollars to give you a cup of coffee that, by all accounts should cost maybe $2.00
It seems idiotic, asinine, but then clearly there must be a lot of idiots around.
A different espresso bar had a chalkboard sign on the street featuring their Maple-Bacon Latte. Just the thought of that makes me queasy.
Seattle has the highest boat ownership per capita of any city in the US. Probably the world. We have the ocean and lots and lots of lakes, both big and small. (On the lake where I live a float plane landed last week. That’s pretty illegal, and unsafe, since this is a small lake. But it was kind of thrilling to see this monstrous vehicle dive bomb the water—poor kayakers! They probably peed their pants—and then watch it lift off, barely clearly a copse of evergreens.)
On the highway, driving home from Seattle, I saw a driver texting. Saw another on her cellphone. Saw another brushing his teeth while driving (true story.)
On the drive home I had a rush of gratitude, feeling fortunate to live in such a beautiful place.

...These are some things I like:

"I've seen extreme bravery from the least likely of people. Life is about the moments when it's all gone wrong. That's when we define ourselves." Bear Grylls

"A man who makes no mistakes makes nothing." Winston Churchill

"Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known." Carl Sagan

"There is more in us than we know. If we can be made to see it, perhaps, for the rest of our lives, we will be unwilling to settle for less." Kurt Hahn

--YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE I DON'T FEAR

...I thought this was pretty good...

Thirteen Writing Tips from Chuck Palahniuk

Number One: Two years ago, when I wrote the first of these essays it was about my “egg timer method” of writing. You never saw that essay, but here’s the method: When you don’t want to write, set an egg timer for one hour (or half hour) and sit down to write until the timer rings. If you still hate writing, you’re free in an hour. But usually, by the time that alarm rings, you’ll be so involved in your work, enjoying it so much, you’ll keep going. Instead of an egg timer, you can put a load of clothes in the washer or dryer and use them to time your work. Alternating the thoughtful task of writing with the mindless work of laundry or dish washing will give you the breaks you need for new ideas and insights to occur. If you don’t know what comes next in the story… clean your toilet. Change the bed sheets. For Christ sakes, dust the computer. A better idea will come.

Number Two: Your audience is smarter than you imagine. Don’t be afraid to experiment with story forms and time shifts. My personal theory is that younger readers distain most books - not because those readers are dumber than past readers, but because today’s reader is smarter. Movies have made us very sophisticated about storytelling. And your audience is much harder to shock than you can ever imagine.

Number Three: Before you sit down to write a scene, mull it over in your mind and know the purpose of that scene. What earlier set-ups will this scene pay off? What will it set up for later scenes? How will this scene further your plot? As you work, drive, exercise, hold only this question in your mind. Take a few notes as you have ideas. And only when you’ve decided on the bones of the scene - then, sit and write it. Don’t go to that boring, dusty computer without something in mind. And don’t make your reader slog through a scene in which little or nothing happens.

Number Four: Surprise yourself. If you can bring the story - or let it bring you - to a place that amazes you, then you can surprise your reader. The moment you can see any well-planned surprise, chances are, so will your sophisticated reader.

Number Five: When you get stuck, go back and read your earlier scenes, looking for dropped characters or details that you can resurrect as “buried guns.” At the end of writing Fight Club, I had no idea what to do with the office building. But re-reading the first scene, I found the throw-away comment about mixing nitro with paraffin and how it was an iffy method for making plastic explosives. That silly aside (… paraffin has never worked for me…) made the perfect “buried gun” to resurrect at the end and save my storytelling ass.

Number Six: Use writing as your excuse to throw a party each week - even if you call that party a “workshop.” Any time you can spend time among other people who value and support writing, that will balance those hours you spend alone, writing. Even if someday you sell your work, no amount of money will compensate you for your time spent alone. So, take your “paycheck” up front, make writing an excuse to be around people. When you reach the end of your life - trust me, you won’t look back and savor the moments you spent alone.

Number Seven: Let yourself be with Not Knowing. This bit of advice comes through a hundred famous people, through Tom Spanbauer to me and now, you. The longer you can allow a story to take shape, the better that final shape will be. Don’t rush or force the ending of a story or book. All you have to know is the next scene, or the next few scenes. You don’t have to know every moment up to the end, in fact, if you do it’ll be boring as hell to execute.

Number Eight: If you need more freedom around the story, draft to draft, change the character names. Characters aren’t real, and they aren’t you. By arbitrarily changing their names, you get the distance you need to really torture a character. Or worse, delete a character, if that’s what the story really needs.

Number Nine: There are three types of speech - I don’t know if this is TRUE, but I heard it in a seminar and it made sense. The three types are: Descriptive, Instructive, and Expressive. Descriptive: “The sun rose high…” Instructive: “Walk, don’t run…” Expressive: “Ouch!” Most fiction writers will only use one - at most, two - of these forms. So use all three. Mix them up. It’s how people talk.

Number Ten: Write the book you want to read.

Number Eleven: Get author book jacket photos taken now, while you’re young. And get the negatives and copyright on those photos.

Number Twelve: Write about the issues that really upset you. Those are the only things worth writing about. In his course, called “Dangerous Writing,” Tom Spanbauer stresses that life is too precious to spend it writing tame, conventional stories to which you have no personal attachment. There are so many things that Tom talked about but that I only half remember: the art of “manumission,” which I can’t spell, but I understood to mean the care you use in moving a reader through the moments of a story. And “sous conversation,” which I took to mean the hidden, buried message within the obvious story. Because I’m not comfortable describing topics I only half-understand, Tom’s agreed to write a book about his workshop and the ideas he teaches. The working title is “A Hole In The Heart,” and he plans to have a draft ready by June 2006, with a publishing date set in early 2007.

Number Thirteen: Another Christmas window story. Almost every morning, I eat breakfast in the same diner, and this morning a man was painting the windows with Christmas designs. Snowmen. Snowflakes. Bells. Santa Claus. He stood outside on the sidewalk, painting in the freezing cold, his breath steaming, alternating brushes and rollers with different colors of paint. Inside the diner, the customers and servers watched as he layered red and white and blue paint on the outside of the big windows. Behind him the rain changed to snow, falling sideways in the wind

--EVERYONE'S HAPPY, EVERYONE'S MISERABLE

…Last night I watched the little known movie "The Perfect Host" starring David Hyde Pierce (Niles, from "Frazier").  It was one of the most inventive and bizarre films I've ever seen.  Not a dull moment.  It's out on DVD now, or Netflix if you have it.

…This week I learned these random things…

…Joey "Jaws" Chestnut at 68 hot dogs in 10 minutes to win Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest in Coney Island, NY, tying his own world record.  The women's record is 45 dogs.

…One third of China's theme parks were built in the last two years.

…Fed data show that the income of the typical American family declined from 2007-2010, dropping almost 40%.

…Scientists announced they are getting close to creating an MRI scanner that while alow people to translate thoughts into messages on an electronic tablet.

…The #2 best selling album in America for the year is Lionel Richie's  "Tuskegee," featuring duets and covers of country songs.

Adele has the #1 and #10 albums.

…When a shark stops swimming, it will die.

…This article was recently in the London Sun:

Britney Marshall, a 14-year-old from Nottinghamshire, England, is the youngest girl of the Marshall family and the only one without breast implants. Her mother, Chantal Marshall, told the Sun, "Britney is going through a funny phase at the moment and saying she doesn’t want to get her boobs done."
And Marshall really wishes she would, telling the Sun:
"At the moment she doesn’t really have what I would say are boobs -- but I’d like her to follow in her sisters’ footsteps... I really love the fake look of my girls and I know Britney will go that way when she’s a bit older."

…Here are some things I like for the weekend:

"When a person is lucky enough to live inside a story, to live inside an imaginary world, the pains of this world disappear.  For as long as the story goes on, reality doesn't exist." Paul Auster

"Even if it's a little thing, do something for those who need help, something for which you get no pay but the privilege of doing it." Albert Schweitzer

"The difference between what we do and what we are capable of doing would suffice to solve most of the world's problems." Gandhi

"Now is the hour of miracles, when no one's watching." Erica Wright

--SOME ARE THE MELODY, SOME ARE THE BEAT

 ….Yesterday CNNMoney's Fear & Greed Index hit 58, back in "Greed" territory after a long stint in "Extreme Fear" during the worst of Europe's debt crisis. Before last Friday, the index hadn't been above 50 since April 9 -- the day markets sold off on a lousy jobs report.

…Yesterday two different women in two separate emails wanted to give me millions of dollars.  Mrs. Betty Shotts wanted to give me $4 million and Karen Baeane (weird spelling) wanted to give me $8.8.  All I had to do was give them my contact information.

…Yesterday it rained so violently that I had to run down and scoop water out of the water bike that nearly sank.

…Yesterday someone said something nice and somebody else said something cruel.

…Yesterday all my troubles seemed so far away.

…Yesterday I heard that lyric in my head and wrote a story about a man battling drug addiction who steals from his company to feed his habit.

…Yesterday I was only marginally productive.

…Today is Independence Day.  Tonight there will be thousands of fireworks exploding over the lake well into the night.

…Today the sun is shining and it's feels like a hopeful day.

…Today I plan on smiling a lot and laughing quite a bit.

…Today is a good day to be alive, don't you think?

…Live free.

…I like this:

"Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest accomplishment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around." Leo Buscaglia

--SOME ARE LIKE WATER, SOME ARE LIKE THE HEAT

…I learned some interesting (if not bizarre) things this week…

-There’s a man with a hundred pound scrotum (true story) who refused an offer of free surgery because he’s afraid he might die on the operating table.

...And this was in the news:

A Seattle man accused of trying to rob a woman at knifepoint from his wheelchair has been charged with attempted theft.
King County prosecutors contend Jerry Lemaster, a 54-year-old homeless man, attacked the woman just after 6 p.m. in the city’s Belltown neighborhood.
According to police statements, the woman and her boyfriend were waiting to cross at First Avenue and Bell Street on June 11 when the woman fled a tug on her purse and something sharp jab her backside.
The woman shouted in shock as she and her boyfriend turned to see Lemaster sitting behind them in a wheelchair. According to charging documents, Lemaster held the woman’s purse strap in his left hand and a knife in his right.

...The cost for a cup of coffee is $8.29 in Tokyo, Japan.  A movie ticket is $26

In Moscow, Russia that same cup of joe costs $8.37 while a liter of whole milk is $8.89
A fast food hamburger is $14 dollars in Zurich

...Despite an ailing economy, the number of Americans taking cruises has doubled in the last decade.

...The most common ways PC viruses are sent:
40% --Searches
12% --Emailing
7% --Social networking
5% --Accessing porn

…Regarding sex, and women’s views on the popular activity:

-68% would pass on sex for a month in exchange for the perfect bikini body
-15% would rather give it up than spend a weekend without their phone
-12% would give it up anytime for better sleep
-20% would go without sex rather than give up looking at their friends recently posted pics
-21% would go without sex for a year rather than lose internet access
-75% would pass on sex for as long as they were able to eat their favorite food

…I like these things to start the week:

“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret. It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye.”
“If you love a flower that lives on a star, it is sweet to look at the sky at night. All the stars are a-bloom with flowers...”
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

"I've seen and met angels wearing the disguise of ordinary people living ordinary lives." Tracy Chapman

“The writer must believe that what he is doing is the most important thing in the world.  And he must hold onto this illusion even though he knows it is not the true.” John Steinbeck

--LISTEN TO ALL THE PEOPLE WALKING IN THE RAIN

...These are some poems I wrote about three years ago.  I can't remember what prompted them, although I did know a rough-houser named Mickey Purcell who once swung my head into a concrete wall, giving me a concussion...

Seconds

I find you in the bath,

buried in bubbles,
your eyes skirting the rim of a book
about God’s great reach
and that’s enough.
I don’t bother with disrobing
even though this tie cost
fifty dollars.
Sometimes seconds with you
are more precious than possession
I might have.

One More Thing

Before you go,

you should know the hinges on that door
are ajar,
flapped open like a bear trap ready to
spring.
Remember that story you told me
about the boy scout
lost in the woods
who had his leg ripped off at the ankle
because he wasn’t looking where
he was running?
Yeah?
Well, you might want to rethink your exit.

Twenty-seven

 

To celebrate his father’s birthday,

in Fourth grade,
Mickey Purcell took a bat to
twenty-seven cars at the school lot.
Exactly twenty-seven.
I was one of the few kids to see it happen,
Mickey swinging sweat and wood,
windshields and mirrors popping
like champagne shrapnel.

Yesterday I saw him in the paper,

twenty-seven himself now,
charged with battery and assault.
The bartender’s face looked like a blackberry pie
someone had stepped in,
and Mickey,
he looked
satisfied.