Tom Kepler's Blog, page 12

A Sane Environment for Writing

My wife recently said that I am most prolific in my writing when my outside environment is orderly and predictable. "If there's nothing outside that is distracting or disrupting, then you feel completely free to put your attention inside and create."

I hadn't thought about my writing in exactly that way, but I think there's a lot of truth in her observation. When I was teaching full time, I knew exactly when I was going to write, to the minute--usually early in the morning at home and for a few minutes each day during my prep period at school. My goal each week was to write a thousand words from Monday through Friday, and a thousand words over the weekend--2,000 words a week. Ten months at school would lead to 80,000 words.

Also, when I was caregiving my first wife who had cancer, I wrote very little. I was very, very busy, and very, very focused. Now I have focus on my mom (92 years old), and a few other family items, not as intense as with my first wife, but I still see the truth of my wife's insight. I'm slowly moving in the direction of finding my stride, my rhythm of life and writing. I'm turning sixty-five next month, so I'm working through insurance issues, and I'm still enjoying the freedom to be more physical and to enjoy outdoor activities such as bicycle camping and gardening. (Not too much of either during the winter here in SE Iowa, although some bundled up biking!)

I revising a flash fiction story right now to submit to an online magazine. Short story writing is enjoyable right now because the commitment is more short term. Writing within my Dragons of Blood and Stone universe allows my creative juices to flow. I can look at the map and ask myself, "Now what would be going on in that area?" I find the map I've developed a great source of inspiration.

Some writers can write no matter what is occurring in their lives. I can do that, I have just chosen not to. I've always felt that writing is not my total life, that my life includes other avenues of expression. I'm looking forward to writing, just as I'm looking forward to many other pursuits.

Perhaps some time in the future, someone will say, "How much could he have written if he'd really pushed himself?" I understand that, but if someone who really knows me were to hear that comment, I think the reply would be, "Tom is interested in his total life, not just his life as a writer."

There's a certain romance to the troubled, starving, suffering artist persona. There's also a certain anguish, which I'd just as soon avoid. Every life needs a little tomfoolery!

Book Review: Fire in a Nutshell, poems by Bill Graeser

At poetry readings, Bill Graeser doesn't read his poems, he recites them. His eyes with the audience, owning his words from memory, he speaks to his listeners, shares his experience with every syllable.

I find reading his book, Fire in a Nutshell , produces a similar effect. His cadences of language produce a viable buy-in of ownership, although "there is no shareholder, no overhead but the sky," to quote from Graeser's introductory poem, "These Are Mine."

These poems find the good and grand in the world, and proclaim quietly that the simple and the mundane are not lacking. It is our vision that is lacking, our attention. Many of his poems point out the celestial in the pedestrian--"Well, now, would you look at that!" He raises and uplifts our everyday lives, and I thank him for his work.

Take the poem "Socks," for instance. He gives a view of life, somewhat pungent, somewhat humorous, and richly insightful. Socks are "underwear for the feet" and "hiding places for holes and smell-bad." There are drawers full of socks--and then the poem turns, like a classic Petrarchan sonnet, to a deeper, more universal meaning, of those without socks and shoes, who dream of socks and cowboy boots; of peasants, with "cracked and calloused feet," dreaming the dreams of kings.

These poems take us beyond ourselves, as in the poem "Cleaning Fish," a task best done with "a knife in one hand, a cigarette in the other." But there is another perspective, how some find a way, like fish in water, to swim the world, to "enter with their whole body the sea. I have seen them--their eyes blazing, the hooks gone." This, too, is our world, our possibility.

Reading the poems instead of just hearing them recited also provides a chance to acknowledge Graeser's craftmanship as a poet. His line breaks and stanzas, his use of imagery and sound ground his ideas in the sensual world. As readers, we are able to meet "the earth with our palms," to have fallen down and to have "smudged the lipstick of mud on our knees."

This poet's vision is broad enough to praise Grandma's '59 Oldsmobile, to lullaby Godzilla to sleep, to praise small pencils and the Irish jig, and to worship in the church of cows. It is a perspective that does not throw stones at tanks but does "write a poem for those who do."

There's a lot of good in these poems, and Bill Graeser has found it in our weedy, wondrous world, where "sunlight anoints" us. It's a good world, and we are told "the clouds unload their rain cargo for you as for the rest." I take solace in that.

Three Days Left for This Fund Raiser

GoFundMe.com/p/79cxzEvery day Morgan stands outside the men's dome on MUM campus, selling cookies and seeking donations for her course fee to learn the TM-Sidhis program. She's been doing this for over a month.

Imagine Morgan standing at attention behind her stool, holding a pie plate of cookies, her hood up, the faux-fur ruff whipped by the wind. Or don't imagine but head out at dawn to see her on duty.

In the rain. Surrounded by a white hard frost. Wind-blown and red-nosed.

I call this perseverance, and I hope Morgan Potts can receive the funds she needs to achieve her goal. Anyone who wants to contribute to her goal can do so at her Go Fund Me site.

Here is the online link: GoFundMe.com/p/79cxz.

As of today, Monday, she has three days left!

Words of Thanks

I wake in the early AM of this Thanksgiving Day.

In the dark enveloping warmth of bed, there are no responsibilities, nothing to do. I float in darkness, in nothingness, in consciousness. I'm surrounded by space, am space. I breathe--in, out. Such a simple expression of life.

I remember how a word, a phrase would come to me, and I would close my eyes and sink into those words, surrounded by space, the words becoming transparent, permeated by space, expressions of the ultimate essence of space. Just the words, the meaning, the being behind the meaning, being expressing qualities of itself.

I remember how my first wife Barbara would say, "Breathe, Tom. Remember to breathe."

Such practical, funny advice, including a bit of a poke with the sharp tip of the blade.

Breathe. Breath.

The meaning of the word inspiration: to take in spirit. To take in spirit, to express spirit. To be truly ourselves.

This is the nature of life. This is our purpose in life.

On this Thanksgiving Day, remember to breathe. Enjoy simplicity.

Book Review: Prince of Outcasts

Prince of Outcasts, by S.M. Stirling, is the third book in the third cycle of his Change alter-reality, post apocalyptic fiction series. He's sixteen novels into the series now, where the laws of nature change and time/space is fractured.

Three novels--Island in the Sea of Time, Against the Tide of Years, and On the Oceans of Eternity, form a set about how Nantucket Island is sent back in time or into another time dimension. The remaining thirteen novels center on our known universe and world that has Changed, with electricity and a few other laws of nature being neutralized, and how the world fares. The first three books, beginning with Dies the Fire, follow the lives of those who live through the Change from Day 1. The next seven novels, beginning with The Sunrise Lands, chronicle the lives and events of the second generation of survivors, notably the character Rudy Mackenzie. The last three novels (and more to come, no doubt) follow the third generation.

Here are the ratings for the last three novels (linked to my reviews):
The Golden Princess, three starsThe Desert and the Blade, five starsPrince of Outcasts, three starsSo, why three stars (a so-so rating) for Prince of Outcasts?

My evaluation of this novel is much the same as for The Golden Princess. Stirling is going to publish a Change novel once a year for a long time--so what's the rush? He is now not so much writing novels but an extended (and extensive) chronicle of an alternative reality. Sure, there's a story line, stuff happens, but there's also all that interesting anthropological detail about the development of ecosystems and cultures after the change. Let's include that, because if someone's read all the other books (including a short story anthology by various authors, The Change), then we've got 'em hooked. Right?

Prince of Outcasts, avoiding spoilers, is about Asia, post-apocalypse, and about bonny Prince John Arminger Mackenzie, who we can assume is the "outcast." There is an alternative storyline about Princess Orlaith, John's sister, and a Japanese princess/queen. And the anthropological detail is interesting, so thank you, S.M.

However, sometimes the detail is too detailed, so to speak, and the storyline drags. Six pages of description about when the two princesses hit town and what the town looks like are just too much. I could give more examples (too many more), but one gets the idea. There are places where the story's momentum bogs down.

Good and new elements have been added to the Change tome, though.

Pip, a descendant of British royalty stranded in Blackout Australia, is a scrappy and original addition to the series' characters, as is her protector/sidekick Toa, who appears to be a Maori warrior. The good ship Tarshish Queen and captain and crew provide good sailing adventure.  There are some episodes of good action and magical storm.

Personally, I found Stirling's development of the Far East setting rather bland, and his Eastern evil characters rather diffuse. And, to be honest, the protagonist, Prince John, is a bit of a bore--a young man just coming into his own time, and not quite there.

Ultimately, this novel is another transition piece, introducing new settings, new characters, and new conflicts. It is much like the introductory novel of the third cycle of the Change novels, The Golden Princess. If you've read the other novels, you'll enjoy Prince of Outcasts for some good moments interspersed with new places and people. If this were the only novel in the series you were to read, though, your reaction would be as the Beatles said in "Daytripper": you "took me half the way there now," S.M., you big teaser.

The novel even ends with a cliffhanger.

In all fairness, the second novel in this third Change cycle, The Desert and the Blade, was an excellent read that held up on its own and moved along at a reasonable clip.

OK, so I've read sixteen novels and one short story anthology about the Change (or, as they say in Oz, the Blackout). As a fan, I hope things work out for the descendants of the Change. As a writer, I hope things work out for Stirling and he cranks out another five-star novel with his next in the series. As a reader, I hope the next novel is a real page turner. This one, meh, wasn't that.

Vote Gandy for Jefferson County Supervisor

I recently received an email regarding the local Jefferson County Board of Supervisors election. The letter urged me to “split my ticket” in the election by voting for one Democratic candidate and for one Republican candidate, excluding one Democratic candidate, Paul Gandy.
I was surprised, as I have known Paul for fifteen years--and have known him to be a good community member and a person of integrity. The letter listed reasons why Gandy was not endorsed, focusing on CAFOs. Well, I just contacted Paul, forwarded the letter to him, and asked for his responses.
I happen to think that voting for a Republican in the current political climate should be a very hard sell. Given Paul Gandy’s credentials--and given the fact that I am a lifelong Democrat--I am not planning on "splitting" my ticket and voting for a Republican. More to the point, I was not convinced by the letter, and believe that Paul Gandy and Marg Dwyer, Democrats both, are the best choices for Board of Supervisors. 
Sometimes as good people we go so far out of our way to be "fair" that we miss the obvious truth right in front of our face. Paul Gandy is a perfectly fine candidate for Supervisor, with sterling qualities. 
Based on Paul’s responses (which were of the high caliber I expected), I plan to vote for Paul Gandy for County Supervisor.
Here is a quotation from the “split ticket” letter:

We face a growing onslaught of factory hog farms (CAFOs) and other dangers to our quality of life – much of that driven by outside corporate interests. We need Supervisors who will make it a top priority to protect our soil, water, and air, and to look for sustainable solutions. We also need Supervisors who will face the social challenges of our community, including our unacceptable levels of hunger and poverty (higher than average in Iowa). And we need Supervisors who are committed to Strategic Planning, to create a more positive future for all county citizens.

I think this description fits Paul perfectly. Below I’ve posted a few points from Paul’s comprehensive Facebook post that list reasons to support Paul’s candidacy.
Paul supports JFAN and has done so for years. “Please also show caution with any group asking their supporters to disregard or circumvent the rule of law in suggesting to you that a best course of action is to somehow separate your community from state and country. I believe this is a dangerous and unnecessary direction. In Jefferson County we already have an advocacy group that has been quite effective in limiting the siting and expansion of CAFOs. Let their work continue.” Paul will bring his skills as an attorney to the Board. He understands the law. “[D]on’t be led to overestimate the power of the County Board of Supervisors. The scope of authority of the BOS is defined by state statute. If you want to expand the BOS role (e.g. local control and siting authority of CAFOs)—the level of government at which to effect change is the state legislature. That’s where attention should be placed for this kind of change.”Paul respects farmers and will sort out the ethical from those who break the law. “Good farmers are good business people. In any type of business, however, there are people who bend and break the rules. Please don’t confuse my listening to both sides of an issue as me not expecting CAFO operators to be held accountable. While I support governing with a ‘light hand,’ that doesn’t mean not governing. They are, like all of us, bound to act within the law.”Paul understands the emotional and financial impact policy decisions can have on county residents. “For over 25 years, I’ve dedicated the majority of my law practice to serving people in extreme financial distress, successfully helping over 2,000 individuals and families get a fresh financial start. From first responders to factory workers, teachers to truckers, seniors to single parents, and pharmacists to farmers—I understand the financial impact of small and large businesses on families and communities. I also understand that county policies today affect lives tomorrow, and so do county administrators. Tomorrow is now.”
If you have any questions regarding whom to vote for in the Jefferson County Board of Supervisors race, Paul urges you to attend the County Supervisor Candidate Forum hosted by the Fairfield Area Chamber of Commerce and Fairfield Economic Development Association at the Fairfield Arts and Convention Center’s Sondheim Center for the Performing Arts on Tuesday, October 11th, 2016, at 7pm. The doors open at 6:45pm. All four candidates will participate in the question and answer forum. 

Mom, Almost 92, Is Still Teaching Me

Yes, I have been 2,000 miles away from home for a month. Yes, I miss my wife, my children, my grandchildren. Yes, in all honesty, there is a part of me that would like to be somewhere else rather than sleeping on the sofa in my mother and brother's mobile home, taking care of my mother's age-related infirmities and my brother's broken (again) leg. 
Part of accepting who we are is honesty. 
It's a funny thing, though, spending time with Mom. With her recent time in the hospital, she's received a concrete indication that her heart is weakening. At ninety-one years of age, no one needed to tell her that she was in her sunset years, that the first stars are already lighting the sky. She's lain in the hospital bed, though, lain there in the solitude of night, listening to the dark bustle of the night nurses, a former nurse now an elderly patient. 
I've been there with her; I'm here with her now. 
"When it's your time, then not all the doctors in the world can save you. That's what Dr. Clay says. When it's your time, it's your time," Mom says.
And I listen. 
And I hear acceptance, and courage, and peace--and even a wry humor. I hear love and gratitude, patience and perseverance. Wisdom. 
I am a long way from home, but on this journey, who could ask for a better traveling companion? We are all travelers, and all travels end. With love and gratitude, with patience and perseverance, Mom is showing me the path, reminding me to watch my step, to be a good son, and to please enjoy the journey. 

(Written and posted with iPhone 6+)

Mom Is Talking My Leg Off

"Sometimes I'll talk to your brother Pat, and he doesn't seem all that interested in what I'm saying. Your dad was like that, too, sometimes. You're more like me that way."
"I don't see you every day, so I like to catch up on all the stories you have."
Mom and I are sitting on the sofa. Earlier, I was on my iPhone, using Google Docs to give some feedback to my wife on a business document. So there I am editing the article while Mom jabbers away about this and that. We all end up happy--wife, mom, and me. 
"I don't want to make you work too much," she says about supper. "I've got apple sauce or pudding. I can have some of that lunch meat."
"You want a grilled cheese sandwich?"
"Oh, that's too much work."
"I don't mind cooking for you."
She leans against me, arm to arm, gesturing. She tells me to donate Dad's music to a school "in honor of your dad."
"Yes," I say, "and we can donate photos to the college historical society, like your school friend Haskell did to Chico State, in honor to you and Dad."
"That's a good idea."
We get ready for supper, which includes a chicken and pasta dish. 
Mom says, "I remember when my dad killed a chicken for dinner. 'I'm not eating Henry!' I said."
Of course not. My mother would never do something like that. 
(Composed and posted by iPhone 6+)

Halfway Home, Then Back to Oroville

I'm so proud of Mom, gaining back her strength and keeping her independent spirit, even with some depression with her circumstances. 
The Denver, Colorado, airport--that's where I'm at right now. Yesterday on the Amtrak Zephyr I received a phone call from my brother. He had gone next door to talk to a noisy neighbor, and whatever ensued, he fell again and had pain where the steel rods have been inserted where he broke his leg a couple of years ago. 
Then my brother told me he was spending the night in the hospital and would have surgery on his leg. 
Phone reception is techy on the Zephyr. Receiving information in bits and pieces as I rolled through the empty West and the Rocky Mountains, I managed off and on to hire Mom's driver and neighbor to take care of her, give her the meds she needs, and to tell Mom I was coming back to Oroville. 

I detrained halfway home at Denver. My wife was so kind to get me an airport hotel for the night, and tickets to Sacramento and a shuttle to Oroville. 
So I'm waiting for my plane, reasonably rested considering everything, and am heading back to take care of business. 
I've done this before, but I don't plan to be gone seven months this time. A lot of details are in place now. 
I almost made it home!
(Composed and posted on my iPhone 6+)

Mom at 1 AM

I wake and see Mom's bedside lamp is on, so I tiptoe to her doorway to make sure she is all right. 
Since her hospitalization last Saturday for congestive heart failure, and after three days of diuretics to remove excessive liquids from her lungs, she has been gaining strength and learning to use the low-level nose-fed oxygen assistance apparatus during the night. She has steadily gained more strength and confidence during the last three nights. Tomorrow morning we will probably let her bathe without the neighbor coming over, if she wishes to try alone--even though the neighbor has provided little assistance, just a steadying arm at the right time. There is a bit of risk going solo, and we hope for health care support to be available next week. I will stand at the bathroom door and listen, as will my brother, when I leave in two days--as a more distant "back-up."
Now I stand quietly at the door, watching Mom. She sits on the bed, fingering the light, flexible tubing, finding by touch the up and down of the gear so she can correctly put it on. She cannot see what she is doing because she is almost totally blind. She cannot hear me because she is almost totally deaf. 
I do not step in to help because after one more night I will be gone, back to Iowa. I am amazed and proud and humbled by her practicality. She carries on, her despair from her weakness overcome by her natural self-sufficiency. Like a ghost I witness her success, feeling guilty for not helping, but steeling myself to not interfere, knowing I will soon be gone, knowing the more times she experiences independent success, the stronger she will be. 
She sits for the longest time; I quietly watch and wait for the longest time. The nostril nose feed is inserted, feed tubes looped over her ears and secured "bolo-style" at the neck. She still sits. She's been sneezing, a side effect of one of her medications. 
At the hospital, one male RN said he was amazed at how few meds she takes, at 91 (92 in three months).
"It's because I never smoked or drank," she says. 
I do nothing now but stand and watch at the doorway--my 1 AM vigil. Mom switches off the light. I tiptoe back to the sofa, my bed. I've done my job of letting Mom take care of herself. She's done her job of taking care of herself. 
My guilt fades, almost gone, replaced by a vague, 1 AM melancholy. But I am inspired and uplifted, knowing that when I leave, Mom will soldier on. She doesn't want to be a burden, and I've helped her find her strength. 
For both she and I, for now, body and mind and soul are willing. 

(photo: Mom resting during the afternoon, with a "What the heck are you doing?" expression as I take a photo.)
(written and posted with my iPhone)