A.R. Simmons's Blog: Musings and Mutterings, page 5

Are Your Reading Goals Cheating You?

Reading a book is a journey, not a destination. Unless reading for you is like eating your vegetables not because you have developed a taste for them, but because you think it is "good for you," then why quantify it? Why stare at the odometer instead of enjoying the scenery and anticipating what may be ahead? Setting a goal of reading X number of books a year may be robbing you of the intrinsic rewards of reading itself.

Develop reading habits that carry their own rewards. Finishing so many books or pages in an allotted time could be detrimental. If reading becomes a chore for you, then you may be counter conditioning yourself. It could well be aversion therapy, and wouldn't that be a shame?

So, why start down the road of secondary rewards in the first place? I suspect that the answer lies in a faulty teaching strategy. We often try to encourage children to read by offering "pizza points" or some other bribe to read (or claim to read).

Open a book and step into a new world.

My Life as an Ozark Boy; Persimmons

In My Life I’ve been given a few nicknames, the least imaginative of which was “Persimmons.” My nicknamesake (if you’ll allow me to coin a word) is an Ozark fruit that cannot be eaten until it looks disgusting. Until then, it will turn your mouth inside out. Possums and most dogs love the wrinkled, purply, and seed-filled things. Our Rottweiler Shady couldn’t wait until the ground was littered with shriveled persimmons. She ate them deep into winter when they had dried into a sort of pasty candy.

My cousin Jerry and I used them for the sort of entertainment that moms find infuriating. We cut and sharpened limber switches and skewered green persimmons on them. Rearing back we slung the switch forward like an atlatl. Momentum then caused the persimmon to release and fly off at great velocity. When they caught you squarely, the hard, green persimmons hurt like the dickens! Direct hits splattered a clear juice on your shirt that transformed in the laundry into a damning dark brown stain. The switch might then be used for a less imaginative purpose: a seat-of-the-pants correction that I assure you did NOT hurt Mom or Dad more than me.

DEVILRY (A Not-Paranormal Mystery)

Devilry is available in paperback and Kindle at

https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00DWAU8T8

I am keenly interested in your reaction and opinions. Specifically, who of what would you like to know more about in the series? Do you have any suggestions?

Comments and suggestions concerning the book and the series are welcomed and solicited. You can drop me a line here or at my Goodreads Ask the Author section.

Also check out my Blue Creek Novels website. You will find a wealth of information about the series, the characters, and the humble author.

http://www.bluecreeknovels.com





Devilry

Evolution of the Richard Carter Series: Novel #1

I "wrote" the first Richard Carter novel a decade and a half ago. I both loved and detested it. I think that was because I lacked the ability (or will) to filter what I writing. The result was a hodgepodge that distracted the reader rather than captured his attention. I shelved it for a number of years while I worked other stories.

I actually wrote a second book using the two main characters. It went better, so I returned to my problematic first manuscript to see what, if anything, could be salvaged.

The plot that eventually became Bonne Femme was a problematic, yet interesting, suspense story, and the characters well-defined and believable. However, a plethora of extraneous details, anecdotes, asides, and instances of purple prose bloated the story. The manuscript required major surgery, and I had to resist setting every thought in print.



The genesis of Bonne Femme was a question I posed myself: Can trust betrayed ever be regained? The logical answer, of course, is "No." But life is not always logical, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. Logically speaking, my story was unbelievable.

























Then I came across these wonderful lines from Mark Twain:

"Life does not consist mainly--or even largely--of facts and happenings. Life consists mainly of the storm of thoughts forever blowing through one's mind."

Keeping that in mind, my characters and their dilemma became frighteningly believable. Taking heart from that, I pared away 60% of the story and then rewrote the entire thing. As I did so the characters became real. I could hear their dialog before I wrote it. I could feel their emotions and share their fears.

Bonne Femme

When my story came to an end, I found that I didn't want their story to end.

So, I took them home with me. I moved Richard and Jill from Michigan to my native Ozarks. Thus begins the Richard Carter/Blue Creek series.

Why I Can't Write Literary Fiction

“Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few are to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention.”

So wrote Francis Bacon.



The latter category of books he spoke of, I believe, can be found today in what we call "Literary Fiction." It's the pinnacle of literature, isn't it? It's what serious, professional writers labor to bring forth.

Literary Fiction stands above genre fiction and relegates it to mere story telling. It is the realm of deep insights into the human condition. It's where one finds masterpieces of genius.







I can't bare my soul enough to produce it. Like all people who've lived to my age, I've had moments and extended periods of life that are tragic and shattering—things I've lived through and carry the scars of. I can't delve into them enough to share them with readers. It would break my heart, and I'm not strong enough to inflict the pain on myself. Furthermore, my story is personal and perhaps magnified in my own mind far beyond its real significance. Still, I can't lay it out for everyone to see.

What I am is a story teller. I write genre fiction for the entertainment and diversion of readers who will honor me with their attention.

Since one can only write what he knows, I sculpt my fiction from scraps of memory and imaginings, and occasionally am able to produce a poignant moment, a quotable passage, or an interesting insight.

I suppose Literary Fiction is beyond my ability because I can't or won't spend enough time reliving the pain. But I'm not a bad story teller, I'm not in the class with Conrad's Marlow, but sit down at the table with me. Let me spin you a tale.

The "Birth" of Richard and Jill

I suppose the Carter family came from a question I pondered one day while driving to work. At the time, I taught in an Ozark high school thirty-five miles from my home. Driving alone always leads me into the world of reflection and imagination. As the world slips by outside my window, I daydream a lot.

One day, I posed myself this question (I don't know why): "Can trust betrayed ever be regained?" In business and in politics, the answer is "Probably not." In matters of the heart, however, I suspected that the possible answers fall on a continuum tending sharply toward t he negative.

Without attempting to definitively answer the question, I became intrigued with the idea, and a story gradually developed. That story became Bonne Femme, my first stab at mystery/suspense and at a novel-length story.



It won't spoil the plot to tell you that both the betrayal and the circumstances that caused it were extraordinary. When the story begins, terrible things have happened, are happening, and are looming (at least in the mind of ex-Marine Richard Carter.
He brings his nightmare world to coed Jill Belbenoit. Their characters are born and develop toward what they become on a small, rocky island in Lake Michigan not far from Pere Marquette University where they attend.

There, we learn how damaged Richard is and how strong Jill becomes. All the while, a strange, confusing, and improbably plot develops—so improbable that it was almost still-born. Then, I came across this wonderful quotation from Mark Twain, the patron saint of Missouri writers:

"Life does not consist mainly—or even largely—of facts and happenings.
It consists mainly of the storm of thoughts forever blowing through one’s mind."

That "storm of thoughts" running through Jill's and Richard's minds is what gives birth to and fleshes out who they are, and portends who they will become.



The door is unlocked. Come in.

Bonne Femme

A Childhood Memory

Awoke at four this morning. (Yes. There is a four in the morning.) Took the dog out, and was blessed with the sound of a whippoorwill calling in the predawn. It took me back to my Ozark childhood. Although at that time whippoorwills sang when evening was nigh.

I don't know which is more evocative of memories, scents or sounds. Surely the smell of honeysuckle or elderberry can take me back to my youth, but the mournful (or is it hopeful) sound of whippoorwills calling challenge from the forest do the same. And in the dark, i can imagine with dewey-eyed memory that I am once again that blissfully ignorant and innocent boy.

Take time to observe the small miracles. It puts good things in your memory bank and enriches you so.

Shooting In The Dark

I think that a mistaken policy has been adopted in haste.

I am a little distressed, a little miffed, a little disappointed at a recent change in Goodreads' policy concerning blog posts. For some reason (I'm sure it's a good one), I no longer get notification as to number of views a post receives.

I need the feedback because most readers make no comments. With this new policy, I'm left to guess at the effectiveness of each post.

This is not a plea for comments. It is simply a statement of frustration.

If anyone knows the reason for the change, please tell me via a comment.

I feel like I am walking through a ghost town and cannot discern if there is anyone there but me.

April Freebies (Limited at Amazon)

Starting April 2, novels #6-#10 will offered on successive days (one day each).

Watch this post for updates and information.



Here are ads for #6 Call Her Sabine, #7 Devilry, #8 Road Shrines, #9 Cold Fury, and #10 The Daughter.

Truth to tell, I am fishing for word-of-mouth referrals, reviews, and more importantly readership. I am an indie writer. Download and enjoy these stories in early April.











Check out
News From
Blue Creek



http://www.bluecreeknovels.com/id177.... for the latest deals and information about the Richard Carter series.

How to Make Kids Hate Writing; A Personal Observation

I have thirty-five years of experience in secondary education. Teaching is a noble profession. Its main reward is intrinsic: the gratification of inspiring and encouraging children to love learning. There is, however, a traditional dead hand, something which can kill the love of learning quickly and perhaps forever: It is the ignoble and inane practice of assigning written work as punishment.























If you do this, what are you thinking? What are you teaching? Is it not the idea that writing should be avoided? Surely that is not teacher's intention, but it is absolutely what results.

Enthusiasm is all-important when teaching. It is our best tool, and it touches everyone in the classroom. Think of your best teachers. Did even one of them act as if they would rather be somewhere else or be doing something else? I doubt it.


















Let's take three legendary teachers:

First Socrates.
Socrates was a great teacher because he taught students to question what they thought they knew and to think for themselves. He taught that honest inquiry was important.

His best student was another great teacher, but whereas Socrates asked questions, Plato lectured while walking in a grove. He spoke in a way that encouraged his students to look at what was in a new way.

His best student was another great teacher, perhaps the best the three. Aristotle taught his students to gather information, categorize it, hypothesize based on what the information suggested, and then test it by what amounts to the modern scientific method.

These three ancients differed greatly in their methodology, but they had one thing in common: they loved learning and they taught their students to love it. They encouraged thought. They did not concern themselves with punishments.

The simple truth is that rewards work better than punishments, and the best rewards are intrinsic. Learning is immensely gratifying. That is what our emphasis as teachers should be. Our love for learning should shine.

Can you imagine Socrates being upset at the behavior of Plato and telling him that for punishment he would have to consider three additional questions? Or Plato telling an erring student that he would have to walk and listen to him for an extra hour? Would Aristotle tell one that he had to collect an additional fifty items to classify?

Humans are learners. Their minds are built for pattern seeing and interpreting. Self-expression is our forte. Don't pollute the natural process by applying counter-conditioning to the marvelous mechanism that is hard-wired in each and every one of us. We are natural story tellers as well as learners.


















Give your students the gift of your own enthusiasm. If you have none, please leave the profession—and don't let the door hit you on the way out.