Susan Koefod's Blog, page 9

What Writers Hate and Yet Must Do

Crowing About Myself….Yet Again….

Heart sinks. Feeling behind on writer marketing and publicity tasks for the novel coming out this fall. Yes, I have good (actually unhappy so they are bad) excuses! But maybe the work I need to complete is not so terrible? After all:

Events are scheduled.
The book is finished.
Sure, maybe I could get my promotional materials (bookmarks, etc.) updated.
There’s that McKnight stuff to keep me going. A plan that will commence in a few short weeks. Still floating from the validation.

What has me a bit on edge is what happens now that the advance copies of Burnt Out are out in the world. Will they be cherished? Reviled? Ignored? I’ve had all three types of responses. The first response is wonderful for the writer’s ego and sales.

The second – well, we try hard to just forget about those. Bad opinions happen to good writers all the time. Everyone has their opinion. But when the right people have the wrong opinion about your book….well, you can figure it out. Aside from the ego bust, these are not particularly good for sales.

The third? At least it’s not the second response.

And my thoughts about writing have entered this new phase. I’m eager to jump into it, go beyond everything I’ve done so far. I wish Albert Park would find a publishing home and am  working hard on making that happen. But in my writing brain — I’m in that new era of the next book I’m working on. The published work (i.e., the mysteries) are almost a distant past to where I am now. Don’t get me wrong — I love Arvo and Christine and I know you are gonna love Burnt Out, but  the present ‘state’ of my creative mind is in travel mode. Arvo and Christine are still there in my writer’s hometown, but I’ve already passed through Albert Park and am off exploring places in the Big Cheesy novel (note that this last link concerns writing done half a year ago already! — much more has happened in the Big Cheesy novel not posted here).

Writing – from creation to publishing – is a longer journey than you’d believe. There are lots of rest stops, detours, Uturns, round-a-bouts and traffic jams. (Many, many traffic jams as there are so many writers with wonderful works on the same road I am.)

Deep breath. Dig in. OK, I will stop whining now.

Tagged: author, book, book events, book review, fiction, promotion

My CURMUGN Dad Knew How to Get Results

 

His license plate said it all. CURMUGN.

 

We knew that my Dad wrote many letters to the editor of the Pioneer Press over the years. But we never guessed the true extent of his cranky correspondence. He was passionate about his opinions, but he got results.

Happy Father’s Day to the dearly departed CURMUGN, and all the dads everywhere.

Tagged: dad, family, father, opinions, writing

Then Chocolate Pudding Landed On My ‘a’

There I was, typing out a story on a manual typewriter in response to the prompt “I started to sell my positive pregnancy tests” when someone tied a bib around my neck and began to feed me chocolate pudding, at first by spoon, and later via a pudding-covered finger.

Did I mention that the typewriter sat in the middle of a railroad track, and my fellow “Write Fight” competitor sat across from me typing away (and being fed pudding) as well?

Revolver had promised to distract us from our task – a single elimination writing tournament on the banks of the Mississippi. Write Fight was one of many artistic events in this year’s Northern Spark, an all night arts festival modeled after the French Nuit Blanche (literally ‘white night”). This year the festival took place almost entirely within the newly renovated St. Paul Union Depot complex.

The distractions for the rounds prior to ours seemed like nothing – whirling dancers accompanied by didgeridoo; middle-aged women leading sing-alongs of “Happy Birthday” and other familiar songs; audience members whispering suggestions into the writers’ ears. As the mother of three children, the wife of a drummer, and a career marketing writing gal, I’d managed to write several novels undeterred by the chaos of everyday life.

Things change when someone shoves a fingerful of pudding in your mouth. It was not so much the pudding, but the fact that the pudding pusher’s hand covered my view of my typewriter. Somehow I managed to keep up with my story of a hapless self-employed woman who sells pregnancy tests at home parties (demonstrating how they can be turned into Christmas ornaments and jewelry). My writing went down hill when my pudding pusher dripped a glob of chocolate pudding on my ‘a’ key.

Such a common letter as ‘a’ is very useful in writing, but when one’s dominant pinkie is hitting the other side of the keyboard, writing becomes tricky. At first the ‘a’ key was slippery. Then when enough pudding dripped down into the typewriter case, my left pinkie began to stick to the ‘a’ key. Enough pudding also splashed its way over to the ‘s’ key, and soon enough, the ‘s’ key became unusable as well.

I managed to conclude my story. My protagonist gave up trying to sell her positive pregnancy tests and instead rediscovered her childhood talent for juggling. She was able to juggle 10 tests at once, and began to light them on fire, eventually auditioning for and winning “America’s Got Talent.”

FINALLY time was called, and my competitor, a heavily bearded man who appeared to have survived the pudding feedings without a single drop of chocolate on his beard, read his story first. I went second and heard many laughs and loud applause, even though I had to practically make up half my story because my paper had been stained with pudding drips and, of course, was missing so many a’s and s’s.

The contest was decided by audience response, and after an initial survey, we were tied. For a moment I still wanted to win. Then I remembered I really wanted an exit. I had brought along three teenagers, one of who had to work the next morning at 8 a.m. If I won my round, I might be competing until well after 1 a.m. Thankfully, my opponent was judged to be the winner after a second round of applause.

I heard about the distractions planned for the semi-final and final rounds – but it seemed nothing compared to what we had just gone through. It occurred to me later what I go through to promote my writing sometimes feels a lot like forced pudding feedings on a railroad track: awkward, public humiliations one willingly accepts to further the writing career.

Well. In the end it makes a funny story and I got a blog post out of the deal. And now that I’ve washed all the pudding out of my clothes, I know I can survive anything.

Tagged: fiction, marketing, northern spark, nuit blanche, writing

“Dig in Schneider!” – Music in the Army

“Towards the end of training, we constantly were worried about being sent to Korea as we heard that a whole band was wiped out in a combat zone.”

- Jack Schneider (1930 – 2013)

In 2006, My dad wrote his ‘musical memories’ — a memoir of his life in music. The memoir was published in DUET, a publication of the Twin Cities Musicians Union Local 30-73. This excerpt from the story covers the Korean war years. At left is a picture of the band taken in Wurtzburg, Germany in 1952. My dad is in the first row, second from the right. 

Music in the Army – 1951-1953

I was drafted into the U.S. Army at the beginning of the Korean Conflict in 1951. On the information forms I answered yes to playing a musical instrument (even though I had not touched my sax or clarinet for two years). I left on November 20th (one day after my 21st birthday), first to Ft. Sheridan, IL by train, then for eight weeks doing US Army Basic Training at Ft. Knox, Kentucky. While marching up “Devil’s Hill” during Basic Training, I can still remember hearing the Drill Sergeant saying; “Dig in Schneider!”.

Basic training was then followed with eight weeks at the Fort Knox Music School. Towards the end of training, we constantly were worried about being sent to Korea as we heard that a whole band was wiped out in a combat zone. Fortunately on completion of music school in April, 1952, I was assigned for duty in West Germany. Again we left by train for the East coast, then boarded an Army Troop Ship.

After 12 days by troop ship we arrived in Bremen, Germany then transported by train to a city in southern Germany called Sonthofen for final assignment. The troop ship ride to Europe was somewhat boring except for playing in the ship’s band. It was also sort of fun in deriving methods of escaping other duties aboard ship like cleaning the ship, painting, and other undesirable tasks. Most of the time we would hide out in an unoccupied latrine (dozens of toilets in rows without any privacy). As the ship rolled so would the rows of toilets dump their contents vertically? The ride on the train was miserable with fold-down bunks, two high but being so crowded, all we could do was sit on the bottom rows for the ten hour ride.

On arriving in Sonthofen, I was given another audition, failed and was sent for further music training at the European Band School located in Dachau (of all places; a German Concentration Camp). Musically this was the best thing that happened to me, as the instruction lasted four months. We had some of the best German instructors, mostly professors,  had music theory and composition, lessons, concerts by the staff alternating each Friday between orchestra (strings) and band (wind instruments). The concerts were always followed with student assignments of analyzing and writing on the orchestral performances.

Being only 21 years old at the time, the history of what happened in Dachau did not sink in until later in life. All of our training, sleeping quarters, dining facilities, and other needs were in one building formerly occupied by the German  SS Troops. We even had waiters in the dining room. I believe the object at that time after WWII ended, was to provide jobs for the Germans. With Munich being so close we had an opportunity to sneak over a fence and go see this city. Train fares were still free for military personnel at the time. Dolores and I tried visiting Dachau in 1992, but missed out due to the camp being closed on Wednesdays.

Final assignment after training was being assigned to the 31st Army Band on an Army base in Wurtzburg, Germany. This band was originally all black and with the army beginning to desegregate, I was among the first small group of ten whites assigned to this band. For the first few weeks, we would hear jazz groups playing up in the rehearsal room into the wee hours. This band needed a Baritone Sax player, so I was assigned this instrument which I played for concert and jazz bands and clarinet in marching band. Our duties covered playing for military parades/reviews at various Army bases in central and southern Germany, concerts in small German cities, Army service clubs, non-commissioned officer’s clubs, and officer’s clubs (for which we received extra pay). The citizens in these small cities just loved our music as it probably was their first experience in listening to live American music. Our current commanding officer left for another assignment and was replaced by one we secretly called “Porky”. More on him later*. Since the band was quite small, we were required to learn an additional instrument to broaden our scope. With an acoustic bass violin lying around in the supply room, I choose this  instrument.. A teacher was brought in (German) to provide me with lessons. This lead me to playing bass after leaving the Army. Besides learning bass, I provided him with American cigarettes. We also had an occasional  beer to go along with lessons.  Beer was easily provided by Sam, one of our alcoholic percussionist and career rank of Army Private. His sleeves, where rank is normally sewn, were frayed from being promoted to corporal than back to private over his time in the army. Sam had beer hidden all over the building. We called them Sam’s eggs.

One time while doing a half-time show at a local Wurtzburg football game, one of our routines was for the whole band to reverse directions  and continue down the field in the opposite direction. With drums normally in the last row, Sam was now in the first row and he did not hear  a command to reverse so he kept going in the opposite direction all by himself. He was out about twenty yards out until he finally heard us yelling; “Sam!” He came running back in formation with his drum still on his gut. I guess it was unplanned entertainment for the football fans.

*This Warrant Officer, we called “Porky” (had a wife living off base), also had a German girlfriend on the side. During performances at different bases, we knew he would get nervous when knowing a base commander officer was present, we would purposely play quietly to get him mad. When he sensed this while directing, he would say “play you ‘sons of  $#@&%, play”.

Sightseeing in Europe

I bought a small used motorcycle and started on a trip to Italy which began with one of the percussionists in the band (fortunately he was a history teacher before being drafted into the army so he set up our itinerary). The Germans told us we were crazy (in German; Verrückt!) to go through the mountains with such small motorcycles.

My  cycle continued to overheat due to excess carbon from bad gasoline  and overheated brakes while going down through the Brenner Pass (Austria to Italy). This pass was really scary. We decided to ship both bikes back to Wurtzburg and continue touring Italy by train. Trains were still free to American troops in Europe after WWII ended. We visited Florence, Venice and many other cities on the way to Rome. I remember in Naples being approached by a man who recognized us as GI’s, opened his coat saying “Hey, GI, want to buy a watch? His coat was lined with watches. We even got to Pompeii (very few tourists there at the time) which was very close to Naples. This was the beginning of my interest in European history and still continues today.

On returning to Wurtzburg, I had the motorcycle repaired for one German Mark (25 cents at the time).

Tagged: army, father, memoir, musicians, writing

Musician First-Class – Thanks!

Jack Schneider toured post-WWII Germany armed only with his saxophone.

He traveled with an Army band from town-to-town, entertaining the troops and the town folk with Sousa marches and Count Basie big band jazz.

When he returned stateside he met a beautiful young blond at the business school both attended; he went to work at Univac (headed by General Douglas MacArthur in 1955), working as a systems analyst on the first computers; and he married the beautiful blond. She was not yet 20. He was 25. Over the next nine years, seven children were born to them. I’m number three of seven. He continued to be a musician, switching from saxophone to bass, and for many years was part of Francisco “Kiko” Rangel’s Latin jazz band. The group played at restaurants and, as seen below, often performed at the annual 4th of July St. Paul city picnic at Cherokee Park, a few blocks from where I live and my mom grew up.

On this Memorial Day, he’s in the hospital, trying hard to regain his strength so he can come home. Thanks, Dad, for your musical service to the country. You gave our soldiers respite from duty, and helped restore the flagging spirits of war-ravaged Germany after the conclusion of a brutal war.

Thanks also to my Uncle Jim, my dad’s older brother. His plane was shot down over the Pacific in 1944, so he never made it home to live the life his brother has been able to live. But his sacrifice, and others’ like him, made it all possible.

Tagged: dad, memorial day, service, thanks

What Gets Your Creative Juices Flowing?

An audience member asked this yesterday at an Anoka County Library ” Mysterious Month of May” event. I think this audience member was a frustrated writer who might have been looking for suggestions about how to get her creative juices flowing.

Thankfully the other two panelists answered ahead of me, as I had no idea how to answer this question. I’d really never thought about ‘creative juices’ before, and initially what came to mind was a tropical fruit cocktail, spiked with tangy turns-of-phrases, a potion blocked writers drank to lubricate the writing process. The idea made me thirsty, but didn’t help me to formulate an answer.

So when it was my turn to say something, I stammered out something about writing prompts and deadlines. In other words, that it helped to have an ‘assignment’ and a ‘due date’, just like the good old days back in school, and my present-time day job, one that is filled to the brim with assignments and due dates. (I’m a proposal writer for a Fortune 25 company).

But now as I think about it, it usually takes nothing more than for me to start writing in order to get those juices flowing. Once I type a sentence, the creative pump is primed, and thoughts and ideas come to mind, and then to the computer screen.

I don’t think I’ve ever suffered from writer’s block, meaning that I’ve never run out of topics to write about — a blank screen doesn’t shut me down. I just need to basically get going, type a sentence (even nonsense), commit to writing at least a paragraph. Or maybe I’ll pull up a piece I’m working on, or an old piece that never quite came together, and just commit to working out the knotted clumps of prose that are doing nothing for the story.

That’s how I get started.

I just start.

How I keep it going is another topic: helps to have a supportive spouse, kids who are in their teens, blocks of time to concentrate on the work. The McKnight Fellowship has given me a boost of stamina that I’ve long needed to help keep those juices flowing; and as a result, I’m looking at my writing in an entirely different light now. But even with all of those positive factors in my life, I still have to basically sit down and get started, just like I always have.

Tagged: author, book events, novel, winner, writing

One of Those Life-Changing Phone Calls for Writers

I learned on Thursday that I won a 2013 McKnight Artist Fellowship for Writers, administered by the Loft Literary Center. Five $25,000 awards are presented annually to accomplished Minnesota writers and spoken word artists. I couldn’t be more thrilled – the general validation is wonderful (“accomplished writers”); but to be more specific,  my fellowship submission included the opening pages of my unpublished novel Albert Park: a Memoir in Lies. It’s a book I very much believe in and I’m very happy that it impressed the judge, who read all the submitted works, all of which were anonymized. So the decision was based only on my writing, my idea about this crazy pathological liar (unreliable narrator). I was not judged based on who I am or am not . The wonderful value of blind reading is great!

The Zorro lunchbox pictured at left figures into Albert’s ‘story’. As I was writing the book, I began to collect some of the objects that appear in the book. They have a special power in the process of making the story. I’ve never done this before -gathered little objects like this- though I’d heard other writers do this. Frankly I thought this sounded kind of demented. But somehow Albert demanded it. He’s kind of demented. I hope one day that the book sees publication so others can hear Albert’s story.

I’m looking forward to my fellowship year.

Tagged: contest, fellow, fiction, Loft, novel, winner, writer

Wonder what it’s like to work with a literary agent?

Find out by reading my guest blog at Red Sofa Literary.

Tagged: agent, author, novel, publishing, writing

Get Your Rowdy Reading here – Includes Past 3MF Entry

 

Playing House
by SUSAN KOEFOD


Absolutely fantastic. I didn’t know where it was going at first, but came together during a second read. Hysterical.
- Meredith Greenwood

She threw herself onto the rosewood settee, the one where Janey had laid her lime-green lollypop. The lollypop stuck to Millicent’s best–and–only dress, its gloppy syrup instantly gluing her to the settee. She was stuck, and that was the last thing she wanted Reginald to know.

- – - More here.

 

Tagged: contest, fiction, humor, short story, writer, writing

I’ve Revolved

Check out Playing House by Susan Koefod – Revolver on Revolver.

Playing House by Susan Koefod – Revolver.

Tagged: fiction, humor, story