Pat Mcgauley's Blog, page 2

Somethin’ Good

Sorry, not a recipe. Or maybe it is.

I rarely volunteer for things going on in my community. Good things people are doing for others. I’ve served on a few boards and visited Hospice patients over the years of my retirement but I never feel that I’m making much of a difference. Again this year I was asked to teach a class on writing to kids in grades 4 through 6 at the Assumption Catholic School. My able assistant is Teri McKusky. Having taught seniors at Hibbing High School for many years I’d have to turn things down a few notches. Our goals were simple . . . instill a love of writing in young people.

Mostly I want to encourage kids to use their imagination and tell stories. To do so I find myself telling stories as it comes naturally to me. Yesterday I got them started on a story where the boy or girl (their choice of course) found a mysterious trail into the forest. Being adventuresome, I brought them to a fork in the road where continuing on the trail seemed a safe thing to do, but taking a much narrower trail that had a ‘No Trespassing’ sign and seemed to wind up a treacherous hill. There was something intriguing on the top of the hill. Just to add an element of destiny, whichever way they went there was something very special that they found. Some so scary that they raced out of the woods to their Grandma’s house. Grandma took the object into her hands and told the boy/girl that they had found something magical.

Next Monday we’ll see how the kids create a series of missing details. I told them that they were not to share with any others in the class what they had written. In other words, keep their story secret for one week. What are the chances?

Their earlier assignment was to select from a list of ’emotions’ they came up with (happy, sad, guilty, embarrassed, ashamed, proud and others) them write a minimum of 100 words of a personal experience with the emotion they chose. I enjoyed reading them. It brought me back to elementary school for a few minutes. It’s a much different world out there but kids are still kids just as you and I were. It was ‘somethin’ good’.

THE WRITING LIFE

Let me be clear. I love to tell a story. For several years the story has become a book. A self-published book. The process is complicated and each year I find myself saying ” . . . I’ve had enough! Or, I’m tired of all this.”

In the past two weeks I’ve spoken to groups, had several book-signings, done a brief radio interview, been on TV, and will be on the road again tonight heading for Duluth to do another book event — this one at the Bookstore at Fitgers (from 6:00-7:30). Six more similar events remain in the weeks ahead.

I’m grateful to many people who helped me with ‘Lester’s Gift’ — reading, critiquing, editing, formatting, developing the PR necessary to get the word out. Good people. Friends of mine. Volunteering their help. Wanting me to succeed. I am blessed. Every time I sign a book for someone I feel a sense of reward for the time, energy, and work that went into creating something worth purchasing. I guess that is the ‘bottom line’. People, often strangers, are the reason I know I’ll do it all again — God willing!

Seven of my recent books have featured Father Mickey Moran. He is the fifth generation of a fictitious Hibbing family and the last to carry the Moran name. In ‘Waiting’, the last Mickey story, I left my protagonist in a sort of limbo. That needs to be resolved . . . but I’m not sure how just yet. And, I’ve enjoyed writing my cop story (‘Lester’s Gift’) and want to do some more Adam Trygg stuff. This combination of things waiting to be done means a 15th novel will be necessary. Adam won’t be as difficult as Mickey will be.

So, despite the reality that few will read this posting, as I get very little feedback from my readers, let me pose this question to any of you who have followed the Mickey/Mary dilemma. Here it is: ‘should Mickey leave the priesthood and marry the mother of his son and the love of his life’? Or, should he remain in the priesthood and honor his vows?

I am curious to see what you think. Of course Mickey will have to decide for himself . . . but? Let me assure you, once the story begins it belongs to Mickey. In all honesty, I feel as if I am a ‘medium’ through which my characters live their lives. I don’t control them. Sound surreal? It is. That’s what’s fun for me. Everything else — rewriting, editing, promoting, selling — are tedious and draining. But necessary. Fact: sales revenues are usually just enough to cover the next publication. For me, that’s ‘the writing life’.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank God for his gift of story-telling. So credit to Him who deserves it more than I do.

P.S.: If you respond to this blog simply touch the following website address: https:/www.patmcgauley.com/

MY HOME TOWN

I can’t remember how many times I’ve driven up to the new mine view site already this summer — but it’s quite a few. When the master plan is finished, I believe Hibbing will have its first ‘tourist destination’. Maybe it already has. I believe that more than 30,000 visitors from all over have watched the mining activity miles below. It’s awesome. We’ve always been disadvantaged by the lack of a major artery of transportation passing through or around our city. Grand Rapids (HWYs 169 and Hwy 2 and Virginia has #53 that feeds off of Interstate 35) so each have the advantage of significant summer traffic. Granted we’ve always had a mine view and our majestic high school and Bob Dylan’s house along with other places to see . . . but now we are in a position to attract tourists off the major routes. I wish the new owner of Dylan’s house will create a world-class museum for a world-known singer, song-writer, musician and Nobel Prize winner. And we all know that tourism dollars spur economic development. Who knows, maybe some young families and retirees as well will find that our town is not a bad place to settle. Our schools are top-notch, our hospital first-class, and our airport becoming more and more attractive. Long story short, I’d love to see some of our talented graduates come back — I know that many of them would happily do so if there were more job opportunities.

To say that I’m proud to call Hibbing my home is an understatement.

On another note, I’m pleased to announce that I have a new outlet for my books here in Hibbing. Sunrise Deli on First Avenue will be the site of my first book-signing next month. Tom and Mary have put together an attractive display of all my titles. Stop by and take a look. And, while you’re there have a cup of coffee or a tasty lunch. More on my new book in my next post. I’ve been filling my calendar of signings for October and November so that information will be forthcoming on this website and in local papers. My first two events will be at the Sunrise Deli in early October and you might find me having a morning cup of coffee there from time to time over the next few weeks. Anyhow, I hope to see you at one of my events.

Back Again

BACK AGAIN

It’s post-Labor Day and I’ve been off-site for months. Hopefully, I’ll get back into some regular blogging. My 14th novel has been sent to the publisher after tedious months of rewrite editing. I’ve never spent as much time on one of my books as I have with ‘Lester’s Gift’–or money. (It’s well over budget). That’s my problem — not my readers. It’s due to be published sometime in October which is just in time for my abbreviated ‘sales timeframe’. More on that later.

To many of us Labor Day is little more than a long weekend. To some it portends the end of summer. To many young’uns it’s the anticipation of a new year at school. To my daughter in Florida and friends there, it’s the stress of Hurricane Dorian. I can only hope that my little place near the Gulf of Mexico doesn’t experience too much damage. It will get heavy rain, storm surge, and high winds . . . but all that is tolerable.

To me Labor Day, like Memorial Day, has a special significance. (I lost a dear cousin in Vietnam and have had many former students who have served–I’m sure with distinction). After high school and later as a man in his thirties, I worked in the mines–at Erie in Hoyt Lakes and National in Keewatin. I was steelworker’s union strike in ’77 while at National. And fortunate to be back in teaching shortly after the strike was settled. As a teacher and as a mineworker I belonged to a union.

But it wasn’t until years later that I really learned about the significance of unions. I was researching early Mesabi Iron Range history for my first novel back in 2000. I learned about the dangerous efforts of those who tried to organize for a ‘fair deal’ in the lucrative mining industry. It took courage to strike against the Oliver and other powerful companies back in 1907 . . . then again in 1913. But over the years the United Steel Workers of America have fought many battles to make miners’ lives better. The same is true for the NEA — National Education Association. So, organized labor to me and to many others like myself has provided us with livable wages, benefits, and a sense of security.

I spent much of the weekend watching my son ‘labor’ through the grueling Northwest Invitational Golf Tournament here in Hibbing. Chris is a good golfer and played the ‘senior division’ for the first time. He’s very competitive and his game has been solid all year. When he finished his last round on Labor Day he said, “Dad, you should go online and find the ‘Litany of Humility.'” Yes, he was humbled and I was heartbroken for him. But one thing I love about my son is that he gave his best and is determined to try again next year.

Finally, a Holiday is always a time of reflection for us ‘old-timers’. And we reflect on family more than ourselves. I have been blessed with three great kids and six grandchildren. Cali is oldest and serving with the Peace Corps in Tanzania, Jack is a sophomore at Babson University near Boston, Braden and Noah and Madeline started school today in Grand Rapids, and my six-year-old granddaughter Grace has already had two weeks at Saint Ann School in Naples, Florida.

I am certain that each of you appreciates your family as much as I do mine. Warm thoughts and prayers to each of you and yours.

LESTER’S GIFT

This morning I finished the ‘rough draft’ of my next novel. (Earlier I thought the title would be ‘Transmission”.

Lester is a homeless man living in west Duluth. A man with nothing but an incredible gift. Quite by accident, or Providence, that gift is transfered to a policeman named Adam Trygg. My readers will be familiar with Adam as a minor character. Now I have given him the role of protagonist. I think he does well. Lots of Hibbing in this story and, hopefully, lots of intrigue and realism. Sorry to those who have been anticipating the next Father Mickey story . . . I’m saving him for my last–and fifteenth–novel. Lots of ideas are floating in the back of my mind.

LESTER’S GIFT should be available in October. Until then remember that all of my titles are available at Sullivan Supply in Hibbing.

Church in Crisis?

Recently I received an email from my cousin in Washington state. Will Tusken in one of my readers and never fails to comment on a new novel. He believed that WAITING was my best and ‘most mature’ writing so far. (I hope to surprise him with something better this year).

Anyhow, Will grew up as a Catholic and is a very spiritual man–though not a practicing Catholic to my knowledge. He does know that I am Catholic to the bone. In my last story my protagonist puts himself in a situation where he has an opportunity for closure on something that has plagued his priesthood through my past seven novels. He loves Mary Reagan, and has for many years. They have a son together from a post-high school tryst but my priest–Father Mickey is not made known of it for thirteen years. Mary moved to Florida and raised Michael as a single mother and kept her secret from all but family . . . and family was never told who the biological father was. Anyhow, through a bizarre circumstance (after all a novel is fiction) he learns of his son.

Fast forward . . . over the years Mickey–a restless and unpredictable character who is his Bishop’s greatest headache–rises in the church due to his natural charisma and oratorial proficiency.

Will has wanted Mickey and Mary to be married and raise their son together. I have often wondered how many other of my readers have the same sentiment. To date, however, Mickey and Mary have a unique but, in many ways, and unsatisfying relationship.

Being a Catholic I would be remiss to say that I am not seriously bothered by the scandals of my church’s clergy. Sexual abuse has been rampant around the world and made even more heinous by the secrecy and coverup apparent in the hierarchy of the church. For years seminaries were a magnet for gay/homosexual men who preyed upon youth like sex-starved preditors. Strong language I know. The question my cousin raised is one that has been bantered about for generations–should heterosexual Catholic priests be allowed to marry? Of course, celibacy would be an option for those who choose it. There is no Scriptural mandate in this regard–only Church or Cannon Law. And, even more importantly, seminaries around the world must be cleaned up and those in positions of authority who have aided and abetted sexual misconduct must be excommunicated along with the abusers themselves. I sometimes wonder if the manipulation of offenders goes to the very top of the Catholic Church. Recent news stories–allegations– have caused grave concern regarding South American clergymen known to be friends of Pope Francis.

Food for thought that this writer will deal with in his final novel next year. Hopefully there will be some positive outcomes in the establishment of several necessary reforms before then.

TRANSMITION

Strange title for my blog today. Hope your New Year is off to a wonderful start . . .mine is. I am in Florida which will make some of my readers jealous, but my heart is always in Hibbing. Yes, if you’re curious, I am writing another novel. I’ve decided to take a departure from my beloved Father Mickey this year but that doesn’t mean that he’s history–not by any means. God willing, of course. (The God willing is one of the reasons I go to Mass most mornings).

Anyhow, I’ve always enjoyed Mickey’s friends . . . Mario, Lucy, and others that have passed away; some tragically.

Adam is a Duluth cop with a Hibbing connection. Someone once asked me why most of my stories are set in Duluth. Well, that’s where I was born and it’s always been an attractively unique city to me. Anyhow, TRANSMISSION, is the ‘working title’ and it’s been sweeping me away for the past month. I’m tempted to elaborate but can’t do so yet. At the rate I’m going–three hours every morning–I should have a rough draft completed by the end of February. Then I’ll go back and do the first of several rewrites.

Company coming in February include daughter Shannon and best friend, Gail. I’ll take a break for both visits but should return home in April with a completed manuscript. I’d still like to find a literary agent who can get my books into a wider market. Last year my only book events were in Nashwaulk, Hibbing, Chisholm, and Virginia in November and sales were enough to cover my next publication. The sales of WAITING were/are remarkably good but I don’t, for some reason, get much feedback from readers. It would be nice if someone would post a review on Goodreads.

Not much else to say this afternoon. If you are picturing me lying on the beach every day and sipping Margaritas under the palm trees every night . . . wrong. I’ve done some biking and visiting. Grandson Jack is home for Christmas break and Erin and Grace are only twenty minutes away. Naples is ‘in season’ which means it’s crazy busy down here. Construction is going on everywhere and the traffic snarl is a nightmare. Almost everybody loves the sun in January, February, and March I guess. Myself included. And Gail keeps up the home fort on Fifth. I’m lucky to have her.

PS: Just learned that daughter Erin might need surgery . . . still waiting. Might be appendix. Keep her in your prayers. Til next time, God bless your 2019 with health and happiness.

Home Away from Home

How is it possible that someone spending a winter in Florida could possibly miss northern Minnesota. The other night I attended my kindergarten granddaughter’s (Grace) Christmas program at her school. Saint Ann School is a large complex offering classes up to eighth grade. The crowd filled a rather large auditorium–I’d guess 300+ parents and relatives. Now i’ve been down here, and connected to the school in one way or another, for eight winters. Grandson Jack attended for three years. Anyhow, among all those in attendance I knew about five people, none of whom I know very well. I go to church, WalMart, the supermarkets, Walgreens, etc. without seeing a familiar face. Granted, here in Naples Land and Yacht Harbor where I reside, I have great neighbors–mostly from the Boston area. It’s already my fifth year in a park of 360 residences and, beyond my next door neighbors, I probably know eight or ten other people well enough to engage them in conversation. i will say that I’ve never met anybody here that is rude or unfriendly, but I guess I stay too close to home. There are activities of every imaginable kind . . . so many that I couldn’t begin to name them all. If you’re into woodcarving or chess or any sport (including bocce), bingo, Sunday brunch, dances, boating, poker, trivia contests . . . the list goes on. The only activity that I’ve participated in is trivia.

Now, the problem isn’t the people here in my little community . . . it’s me.

Upon self-analysis I realize that it’s much the same back home in Hibbing. I simply don’t get involved in much of anything. But, at the same time, I know hundreds of people and see them almost everywhere I go. When I go to Mass I know most of the people in the pews surrounding me. Yet, I wouldn’t say that I’m involved in church-related activities very often. If asked, I’m willing to help with whatever the project might be . . . but rarely do I actively volunteer.

Am I describing a classic introvert? Perhaps. Yet give me a microphone or a stage and I think I come across as an extrovert. Conclusion, as much we are the center of our own existence we often don’t really know who or what we are. Of course, as I used to teach in psychology at Hibbing High, we use others as we do mirrors to get impressions of who we are.

The other day someone asked me if I could live here in Naples year-around, despite the heat and humidity of summer, and I said “No.” The reason is probably that I’m just not home. Home is Hibbing where I’ve spent my adult life and as I write this blog I’ve got a slight case of ‘homesickness’.

In the past two weeks since arriving in Naples I’ve not walked the lovely beaches once. Nor have I biked more than a couple of times, and I didn’t even bring golf clubs along with me. So, my God McGauley, what in hell do you do all day? If I were to describe my daily routines you might think I’m looney. Morning Mass, three hours or so of writing, a decent walk, an afternoon Netflix movie, and reading a good book after dinner. Things I could be doing almost anywhere.

That’s about it for this afternoon . . . only got up to 68 today . . . what a relief from the low eighties.

Tell me I’m not looney.

RANDOM THOUGHTS

I left Hibbing early, and in the snow, last Thursday morning. It was treacherous up to Highway 53 and not much better to Duluth. From Superior and through Wisconsin to Eau Claire it had one clear lane but when I got to I-90 it was smooth sailing–relatively speaking. I had entered the ‘trucker’s world’ and would be in their realm through Wisconsin, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia, and . . . finally the Florida panhandle. I can remember when truckers were probably the best and most courteous drivers on the highway. But that was long ago. I’ve read about the shortage of truckers and how easy it has become to get licensed–demand and supply–so, the pay is quite attractive. But, I’m sorry to say, the caliber of drivers in this new generation drive like they’re on speed or some chemical uplift . . . or, it’s possible, a very tight schedule. Anyhow, three days later I had survived the ‘trucker’s world’ and arrived in Naples. Thank God! I don’t want to make that trip again.

Upon arrival, I found a shrub I’d planted two years ago had grown to proportions that I could never have imagined.

The Sea Grape bush had risen to the top of my house and nearly across my driveway. That would be project #1 after unloading. All looked good inside (my grandson had put out the patio furniture, etc. during his Thanksgiving break) but out behind the place where my patio where tropical perennials had graced the yard I say a weedbed that I could get lost in. I love flowers and took such great pride in my garden that I was heartbroken to see that most had been strangled to death. Project #2 would be to try and find the survivors.

Those first two days in Florida were hot and humid, as expected, but there would be no peace of mind until I’d done my chores–no sunbathing, no beach walking, no relaxation–only yard work. When I was done with the trimming and the weeding I filled five large ‘yard waste’ barrels. I’m not sure if I’ll replace the lost plants or not. I hadn’t budgeted for new plants, mulch, dirt, fertilizer, etc. I am grateful that my two patio palm trees were in excellent health and will soon be providing morning shade.

For the past several years my major achievement (and enjoyment) while in Florida was not sailing, surfing, or lazing on the sugar-sand beaches; rather, it was the excitement of creating a new story. Usually, that would take up a few hours of each morning and then I was free to do whatever including time at the beach and biking and enjoying my wonderful neighbor’s company. Tomorrow will be one week away from home, I’m settled in, and anxious to begin a new story. I’ve had ideas swimming about my thoughts for weeks but that first sentence remains elusive. I know it will come when it’s ready.

I’m sure that familiar characters will get me going . . . but maybe not the ‘one’ who is expected to be the protagonist. Where Father Mickey will fit is a mystery. In WAITING, my last novel (published in October), our restless padre was returning to the fold he’d abandoned. Mickey’s life seemed to me to be back in alignment. Yet, he always surprises.

With all the hoops of publishing a book, I only leave myself one month to do the most important task–selling enough copies to cover the next endeavor. I accomplished that with four events in November. WAITING has been successful beyond my expectations. I’ve talked with many who have already read the story and all have given it ‘five stars’. Not because I wrote it but because it was a good read. Now I have set the bar a little higher. As with everything else, however, is the problem of marketing a book without a distributor, or local bookstores. I have to rely on this website and Amazon. (Amazon sales, however, net me little more than $2.00 after shipping).

Fortunately, I have a local (Hibbing, MN) outlet for all thirteen of my novels and my children’s stories. My friend Tom Sullivan (Sullivan Supply) has agreed to market my titles for the months I’m here in Florida just as Patty Shafer did at her Mulberry Bush shop for so long. It is as a favorite song suggests, “We get by with a little help from our friends . . .”

If I don’t get to another blog before Christmas I want to wish all who read this posting to have a happy, healthy and blessed Christmas.

FAMILY

Still warm with feelings from yesterday’s Thanksgiving get-together at my place as I sit at my computer. Most of my family joined Gail and I here in Hibbing for a wonderful meal and socializing. Thanks Gail for all your kitchen work–the turkey and dressing, etc. were the work of a great cook. And, Susan (my daughter-in-law) for contributing to a table full of food that would feed an army. My grandkids (Chris and Susans) kept us all busy as they are both curious, crave entertainment, and have a million questions. How quickly they grow! Braden (11) has sprouted inches since mid-summer, Noah (9) likewise, and Maddie (turning 8 on December 1) is destined to be a model one day.

Daughter Shannon and granddaughter Cali were a great help and fun to be around for a couple of extra days. They left for Shakopee just this morning in mild weather so Cali could get to work later today. In another month Cali will be graduating from the University with a double major and then heading off to Tanzania, Africa for a three-year stint in the Peace Corps. So it will be her last Thanksgiving at Grampa’s for a while.

Daughter Erin, and her Jack a college freshman, and Grace a kindergartener live in Florida and couldn’t be with us.

How I love them all.

We talk and share our lives as often as most families do but . . . there are many things that are left unsaid. I know that each of us have our own journeys, our own personalities, and things that we don’t want to share–not even with family. So yes, it’s the things we didn’t share . . . the things that bring stress to our lives . . . that I regret. There isn’t a perfect family–not even the Cleavers (if you go back that far) and it has been said that every family is ‘dysfunctional’ to some degree. So it is with mine these days. As a father and a grampa I’m privy to some of the issues in the lives of my brood, but I hurt when I feel ‘blocked out’ from any opportunity of offering advice or counsel. In not a ‘fixer-upper’ but I am a good listener.

I don’t know how often I remember confiding personal issues I couldn’t figure out by myself with my Dad. He was gifted with marvelous insightfulness and when we talked I always found that he steered me toward answering the problem by myself in such a way that my decisions felt like my decisions. In retrospect, I wish I had his gift.

I would be challenged to define a ‘family’ in this day and age. I could only surmise that a family is whatever its members consider it to be. Blended, single-parented, adopted, multi-generational, nonmarried with kids from both sides, grandparents raising their children’s children . . . the list is almost endless. And, all too often, the arrangements don’t work well for the individuals involved.

While growing up I believed my family to be almost idyllic. Of course, it wasn’t. But, I didn’t know it at the time and didn’t come to grips with it well into adulthood. The times we live in since the fifties are part of the estrangement of today but it goes deeper than that. Maybe the expression ‘we choose our friends but are stuck with our families’ can be true for many. I couldn’t have picked better parents and I couldn’t have asked for better kids. Yet . . . nothing is perfect. Maybe that’s why I find myself praying so often. Maybe the most perfect prayer is the ‘Serenity Prayer’ . . . “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things that I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.” I know that it is a prayer that has saved countless lives of addicted individuals, but I think it works for me and I recommend it to all of you who read this blog.

God bless