Elizabeth Engstrom's Blog, page 10

The Little Bucket List

I was talking with my good friend Mike Sack the other day and he said he was making his "little bucket list." I asked him to explain, and he said that after all the years he and John have been living in Seattle, there are so many things right there in the city and environs that they've always said they wanted to do but never done. Isn't that the truth?

Usually, "bucket lists" are grand schemes. Sail around the horn. Fly cross country in a balloon. Raft the Colorado through the Grand Canyon… But what about the amazing little sights and events and natural wonders in our own back yards? Where I live, in Oregon, they are legion, and my eyes, thanks to Mike, have been newly reopened to them.

Al and I regularly take what we call "ExplOregon" days and weekends, where we visit a place we've not been before, but it's been a while since we've done that. And there are so many other things that I've always meant to do that are right here, twenty minutes or an hour away that would take an hour or a day to do.

I don't know about you, but long-distance travel isn't much fun any more. I don't mind sticking close to home for the next year or so, but now that I see the local, experiential riches that are on our little piece of note paper stuck to the refrigerator, I'm happy to be right here.

Candyland: The Movie

For those of you who may not know, my dark, very disturbing novel Candyland is currently in development to be a motion picture. Rusty Nixon wrote a wonderful screenplay and Scott Peake is set to direct. The film is cast with amazing actors and the executive producer is now in fund-raising mode.

How can you help? Please go to the www.thecandylandmovie.com website, watch the trailer and then connect to the Facebook site, click "Like" and post a comment. Those who know about these things tell me that buzz is important in film fundraising, and I'd love to see this work translated to film.

If you'd like to read the source material, Candyland is available for the Kindle.

Let me know what you think.

Ability is no Indication of Character

This latest revelation of bad behavior by a member of Congress should really come as no surprise. He is just the latest of a long line of elected officials who think they can get away with anything.  He won't be the last.

To my mind, there are two reasons for this. The first, is that there is a truism that states: People have contempt for those upon whom they are dependent. In other words, congressmen have contempt for their constituents, welfare recipients have contempt for the government, labor has contempt for management and vice versa, etc.  This is sad, but when we have a system that fosters the few to have so much and so many people to have so little, this is what we get.

The other reason for bad behavior among government officials is the way they're elected. We don't recruit those with the highest values or the strongest character. We elect those with the loudest party line who look the part and have the most money to spend to sway voters with whatever misleading information they and their supporters can fabricate and/or spin. Anthony Weiner and his kind may be good at their jobs, but if we expect leadership from these people, we are looking in the wrong direction. The same goes for athletes.  Why are we dismayed when they fail to live up to whatever elevated standards we think they ought to abide by? They're athletes. They weren't elected to higher office. Their ability is no reflection on their character.

Don't get me wrong. I believe we have real leaders with true character currently in office. But those individuals do not comprise the majority in this broken system. Were we to recruit the best and the brightest with the highest possible standards, people who will provide real role models for this nation's (and the world's) children, then we need to change the system.

 

War is Stupid

Yesterday was Memorial Day. The mainstream media (local and national) as well as social media was filled with wreaths, parades, flags and cemeteries. Lots of interviews with veterans and the widows, widowers and children of "our fallen heroes." I'm a veteran. I know the patriotic mindset. And I know that much of what I saw yesterday was an attempt at justifying that which has no justification.

War is stupid. There's no reason at all that those young men and women shouldn't be living their long, productive lives with their families instad of getting blown apart and killed on foreign soil.

In WWII, the Germans were the enemy. They're our friends now. Also, in WWII, the Japanese were the ones to kill. Now they're our friends and allies. We waged a horrible war in Vietnam, but now, Vietnamese are very welcome here and Vietnam has now become a popular U.S. tourism destination. We take horrific delight in murdering our enemies, but then when it's over, it's over, and the Department of Defense (notice that this is not the Department of Offense) starts looking around for some new place to validate its existence and job security. War is stupid.

The United States could take the position that it stands for Peace and refuse to engage. For those sad countries that continue their war-like behavior, we could just pull back our aid. If they're going to act like children, we can treat them like children. Let them know there are consequences for their actions. If they behave, they can play on the world stage. If not, they're shunned. And if they want to retaliate: well, that's why we have a Department of Defense.

Not only are the costs of war horrendously high for our service members, but all that cash could be redirected to support schools, our failing infrastructure, provide clean energy, economical health services and figure out a more honorable way of electing our officials.

I'm not the first one to say this. It's been said many times before. But now, for me, it has become a spiritual issue. Are we going to actively engage the "family values" that everybody talks about? Don't forget that the men and women who sign the papers that send our kids off to war die of old age. They, and and for the most part, their children, don't die on battlefields. 

This election cycle, ask your candidates to itemize and explain not only the current issues, but the underlying values they hold and by which they will make decisions on your behalf.

There are no spiritual values that include war.

War is stupid.

The Legend of El Gringo Grande

While in Zihuatanejo, Mexico last January on a writing retreat, my husband Al and I walked over a beautiful stone bridge that spanned a canal. This was a flood water control canal, and as this wasn't the rainy season, there were only about 3″ of water in it, flowing across the beach to the bay.

During the day, this canal was filled with birds: ibis, snowy egrets, greater egrets, pink spoonbills, all feasting on the minnows that were silvery thick. Beautiful. At sundown on our first night there, we saw a snowy egret try to fly away with the rest, but his leg was caught in something and he couldn't get loose.

Al had a restless night, thinking about that egret. Named him Edgar. In the morning, we borrowed a pair of scissors from the front desk of our hotel, and went to rescue Edgar.

The canal had 8′ concrete walls and a concrete floor, except for the south side by the beach, which had broken away. Al couldn't see that the floor was broken from his vantage point, so he endeavored to wade into the canal from that side. Soon the water was up to his hips and it was clear that he couldn't go any further. From my vantage point on the bridge, I could see the deep hole and encouraged him to go back out to the beach and come in on the north side, where the concrete floor was intact. This is what he did.

A Mexican man came up to me all in a panic and said, "What is he doing?" I pointed at poor Edgar, still sitting there about thirty yards up the canal, and told him what Al was about. "There's a CROCODILE in that hole!" the man said.

"Al! Al!" I yelled. "Crocodile!"

Al looked around. "I don't see any crocodile," he said, and continued on his way.

Soon, a crowd gathered. The gentleman who had warned me about the crocodile now became the emcee of the event, giving everyone who gathered in the morning light a blow-by-blow description in both English and Spanish, of what they could certainly see with their own eyes.

Then someone called the fire department. I can only assume that having a tourist eaten in the canal is not good PR.

A Bombero (fireman) conferred with Al over the wall , then two of them went to the beach side of the canal where they saw the croc and they trained their M-16s on it until Al was safe.

Al calmly picked up the bird and while it pecked at his hands, he cut it free from the entanglement of fishing line.  

Big applause by everyone crowding the bridge.

Then he picked up the rest of the yards of old fishing line and one of the firemen told him a better way to get back out of the canal. The Emcee said to me: "Your husband, he's"–he flexed his bicep–"grande!"

"Si," I said.

Then he turned to the crowd, puffed out his chest and made an announcement. "Mr. and Mrs. Al," he said. "You Americans come to Mexico and RESCUE OUR BIRDS!" Wild applause.

Al knew nothing of any of this. He just came onto the bridge, pockets full of old fishing line, and wanted to go have breakfast.

For the rest of the trip we called him El Gringo Grande. He liked it until he found out that it didn't mean "great man," it meant "big man".

I say it takes a big man to brave crocodile-infested waters to rescue a bird.

The Hometown Book Signing

I've written before about the very few golden moments in an author's life. Mostly it's just bloody hard work, disappointment and aggravation. Writing, rewriting, editing, marketing, traveling, speaking engagements, working with editors and agents, rewriting again, more editing, more marketing, schlepping books, trying to get paid, shuffling money while the check is "in the mail"…

I know. I shouldn't whine.

But Sunday afternoon was one of those times when it became crystal clear that it's all worth it. I held my hometown booksigning and launch party for York's Moon. Lots of people came. New friends, old friends, people I hadn't seen since… since my last booksigning.

I felt the love.

What's important to me about this event is not that I threw myself a party and a bunch of people came, it's that people are still reading, still buying books, still supporting the local independent bookstore. We held this event at Tsunami Books, where Scott works 70 hours a week to maintain the local new/used bookstore. It's an institution and worthy of all the support we can give it.

It always amazes me that I'm fortunate enough to continue to be published in this economy. Apparently, I'm writing what people want to read, and that is enormously gratifying. We sold all the books that Scott brought in, along with a few of my out of print titles. As we were packing up the last of the food (just enough for Al's dinner), Scott came over to me and said, "You have fans!" I know. I'm humbled by that.

It was a great party, a successful booksigning and a fine launch of what I hope people will find to be a good read. Thanks, everyone, for reminding me about how grateful I am to be doing the only thing I was really invented to do.

P.S. How can you not love a bookstore that has a section like this?

Some of My Latest News

A quick update on what's been happening.

First, my newest book, York's Moon is available at Amazon.com and on my website. The launch party will be at Tsunami Books, 2585 Willamette St., Eugene, OR, April 17, 3-5pm. Come celebrate!

The trailer is up on the Candyland website! It's very dark and creepy.

"Honing Sebastian", a short story, is available as a podcast at PodCastle.

"Music Ascending", a short story, is available as a stand-alone.

When Darkness Loves Us is in audio production.

I just got back from a great vacation and am now back at work.

Hi, Dad.

Hi, Dad.

I understand that you're nearing the end of your journey here. We'll miss you when you cross the threshold, but it won't be that many years before I'll see you on the other side. I know you don't think that's in the cards for us, but to my mind, this whole earthly experience would be meaningless if relationships weren't carried on—for eternity, if we choose.

I hope you can look back on your life with great pride in your accomplishments and very few regrets. We're all human, subject to the vicissitudes and frailties of human existence, but your unshakeable, unwavering faith in God has always been an inspiration to me, even as we all fall prey to our baser natures now and again. Take with you all your exquisite memories of joy and peace and family and love, and just leave the other memories behind. They're the product of a material existence, and will have no reality in the next world.

I've come to understand that the veil between this life and the next is very thick and impenetrable when we're young and it thins out as we grow older. Now, I expect, you've got a foot in both worlds now and then, perhaps even crossing over when you're sleeping, and stepping back into this world when you awaken. Don't be afraid to just look over your left shoulder at the light and walk toward it. There's no reason for you to linger in a world of pain and disease. Your angels will help you make the transition if you ask them and then listen carefully for their instructions.

I believe that what you find there will surprise you; the next step on a marvelous eternal journey of love and universe adventure in our Father's service. Grandpa is already there, and I hope you'll look him up, or maybe he'll be there to greet you. I'll certainly look for you when I arrive, and we'll have a nice time talking over old memories of our strange earthly association from the new perspective of spirit.

I'll love you forever.

–Liz.

Lighting the Creative Fire

Today a student of mine called to say that she just sold her novel to a major New York publishing house. She was having a celebration and would I please come.

Ah, the rewards of teaching.

As a published novelist, I know, like perhaps nobody else in her immediate universe, what it means to get a book contract. I know the heartache and the angst and the Himalayan-size obstacles to overcome to get a good story down in 120,000 words, find agency representation and get a publishing contract. I can celebrate with her on a sub-atomic level. And I will.

The interesting thing to me is that to her, my novel writing classes are all about her story. She focuses on her story, she works on her story, she does the homework using her book as her class project. And so it is with all of my students. To them, the class is all about them.

But I know the truth. I am the teacher, and as much as they think they learn in my classes, nobody learns as much as I do. My goal is to light their fire, to give them a taste, to prod them to learn more on their own. But they each challenge me every single day to new insights about my own craft.

I'm sure they think that after many books and short stories and more than a decade of teaching the basic elements, I know everything there is to know about the craft. But writing fiction is more than craft; it is engaging in fearless, relentless introspection, and there are always more layers to peel back, more depths to plumb, more insights to be had. And always, new techniques to try. 

One of the things a fiction writer must study in depth is the motivation of their characters, and while the characters I devise are not me, they are of me. Their motivations come from thoughts, feelings, attitudes, longings and imaginings I've had. So then, one must ask now and then, what is my motivation for doing what I do on a daily basis? Why do I teach fiction?

First, and most obvious, I enjoy hanging out with other writers. Many of those who take my classes don't even consider themselves writers because they're either not published or they're not accomplished, but being a writer is more than that. It's a state of mind, a curiosity of being. I can be my socially-inappropriate self with a bunch of other social inappropriates. It's fun.

Second, it's their job to challenge me, and they're very good at it. When I stand in front of a class, I set the tone. If I'm enthusiastic and animated, asking questions and giving meaty information, they're taking notes like mad, having insights about their own books and their own selves, and the questions start to come. Many times I can see they're surprised by their own questions. Many times they begin by saying, "I'm not sure how to phrase this," or "I don't even know what it is I'm trying to ask," and then they go on to ask a question that gives me pause and makes me search the mental databank. Many times I'll alter whole areas of my syllabus because of one student's question. Many times I'll go home and try out what they were asking about, to see if it works, to see if it's valid, to see if I can do it, to see if it makes sense.

Invariably, it does. And when that happens, I give a hoot and scare the dog, and my craft has just taken a monumental leap forward, out of my practiced tedium and into new unexplored areas.

So I'm going to go have coffee and cake with the Woman of the Hour, the new author, and I will hear her give me some kind of credit—but I know the truth.

The credit all goes to her, because she is the one who made it happen.

I just let her teach me about it on her way.

Adventures in Fiction–Mexico Style!

It was an honor and a privilege to teach the fine art of fiction along side my pal John Reed for his first annual Adventures in Fiction–Mexico Style! writing retreat last week in Zihuatanejo, Mexico.

The week began Sunday afternoon in the third floor open-air classroom in the Hotel Casa Celeste with an exquisite catered reception, then all of us, including spouses, went to dine on the fine Mexican cuisine on the beach, under the stars.

Monday, we got to work, writing hard and fast, having sessions on structure, character, marketing and fielding all manner of questions. The participants each wrote two complete short stories and we critiqued them all in a marathon session on Friday.

It's always my hope and intention that with every class I teach, each participant picks up a golden nugget or two to carry with them throughout their writing career. This time, I picked up more than one, both from Mr. Reed and from the articulate and probing questions from the participants.

After a hard week of work (amidst all that is wonderful about Zihua), we ended with a celebratory dinner. Then we went our separate ways with fresh  knowledge and new friends.