Timothy J. Pruitt's Blog, page 138

Writing Bits And Pieces

Some of the greatest ideas, characters, and stories have arrived in bits and pieces. A small fragment here, a passing thought there. When they’re assembled they can form something incredible, if they’re curated first.

We’ve talked about recording ideas, but I would suggest avoiding the temptation to wait until it’s bigger to write it down. It may never get bigger until it’s written down, because it may be small enough to forget right now. The size of it at first doesn’t indicate how big it can become.

Ideas should be both collected, and curated. Collecting is simply recording the idea when it comes to you. Curation is how you archive and routinely revisit the collection until something is needed.

Whether it’s as simple as routinely revisiting your idea box, or having an organized system of the bits and pieces you review monthly, you need something. The way you collect the ideas is important, though it doesn’t have to be detailed. However more important is the practice of revisiting the ideas you collect.

The same way an interior designer will collect pieces, or a craftsman collects tools, a writer should collect ideas. The designer returns to review for every project, and the craftsman practices before he needs to use it. I would suggest to collect, review, and try out your ideas in different settings routinely.

The bits and pieces that didn’t fit in one setting, may fit perfectly in another. Writing bits and pieces can rejuvenate a stalled story, or jump start your creativity when ready to write something new. A writer must be both a collector and a curator to have a long term writing career.

Deer Thanksgiving – A Thanksgiving Mystery

In our second Thanksgiving gift of the year, we offer a Thanksgiving Mystery. It’s our hope that Deer Thanksgiving warm your heart, and remind you that even an old iron deer can be a reason to be Thankful.

The year she won it was 1942, off the back of a cereal box. Great Grandmother Henderson was so proud, they say, of her triumph. “Your Great Grandmother had sent in over two hundred jingles to that contest. She ate cereal every other meal for months, but she did it. Her grand prize, an iron deer.”

I had asked Grandmother Tolbert a thousand times, so she answered automatically, even though I hadn’t this time. “It was a status symbol. Most iron had went to the war effort, and we had given any scrap we had. Now that the war was over, she viewed it as a symbol of victory over Hitler, Mussolini, and a celebration that her three boys had returned from service safely.”

“As children, all of the grandkids loved it, but none of us were too keen on inheriting it from Uncle Gerold. I had one incident with it that was not fun at all, but I finally took it at the last minute.”

“Somehow it became important to have it, as a connection with Grandma, family is so important. It’s been in my yard ever since. I suspect your Mother will eventually melt it down, or stick it in storage.”

“Mom, I’d never do that, I mean I can’t stand the ugly thing, but it’s important to you. I’ll stick some flowers around it and put it in Frank’s den. We agreed it’s too bulky for your new condo.” My Mother Jessica Tolbert Keene meant well, but everyone else knew Grandmother didn’t share that “agreed” upon viewpoint.

Who was I to argue, I lived in an apartment the size of a suitcase, not literally, but it felt like it. I’m Natalie, the oldest of Mom’s kids, but not the oldest grandchild. Anyway, the iron deer seemed like a member of the family. Aunt Hattie named it Nat, after Nat King Cole. He was her favorite singer.

She liked words, and was an English Professor. She was also my inspiration to become an Etymologist. I work at the University, in the dusty department. It’s what everyone calls it, they call all of dusters, because years ago they all coughed from the dust. Now everything is computerized, so we look it up that way.

I mention etymology along with Nat because it led to a very surprising November. None of us had any inkling as to what was happening that day, things were just in the process of getting started. The only thing I knew was, I had to call Professor Irwin.

Professor Irwin was writing a book. He teaches at the University, and I was helping him research his book on Economics During Strategic Times. Don’t tell him, but it seemed really, really boring to me.

I called him in between shopping. “Hello Professor Irwin, this is Natalie. I’ll have those documents for you tomorrow. Hang on a sec. .. Grandma it’s by the Iron Deer. Sorry, I had to answer my Grandmother.”

He went crazy. “Iron Deer! Did you say iron deer, as in a World War II era lawn ornament? Where is it? Can I come see it, please?”

It was such a weird conversation, I didn’t know what to say, so I said yes, and gave him the address. “That’s perfect, I’ll be there this afternoon, thank you!!!”

It turns out Professor Irwin, Jack Irwin to be exact, charmed my Grandmother. He was nicer to her than he had ever been to me. It wasn’t that he had been rude, but he had been professorly with me. With Grandma, he seemed normal.

“Would it be possible to buy it, Nat did you say? It would be great if I could. How much would you be interested in selling it for?”

“Thank you young man. It’s not that it’s financially valuable, but sentimentally it is. If I sold it, what would you do with it?”

“I’ll put it in my garden. My Grandfather knew a girl who had one as a teenager. He always mentioned it lovingly. I think it’d be a great gift for his birthday. It’s on Thanksgiving Day. I have to admit I didn’t realize until we were introduced that this was the iron deer Grandpa had talked about for years.”

Grandma suddenly had a weird look on her face. Her tone changed slightly. She wasn’t rude or anything, but now she was guarded. “I don’t think Nat would be happy in a garden I’m afraid, I’m sorry.”

Professor Irwin was confused at the change, he picked up on it. “Are you sure? It would mean a lot to him, he’s had a rough couple years.”

Her tone changed again. “What’s your Grandfather’s name young man?” Now I was curious.

“Jackson Silva, I’m named after him. Until Grandma passed two years ago, he lived in Colorado, but he moved back here. He’s staying with me until he gets a place he likes.”

Grandma sighed. “Tell Jackson, Nora says hello. You can have the deer young man, on one condition. Your Grandfather does not come with you to pick it up. I wish him well, but no disrespect, I never want to see that man again in my life. Good day.”

Grandma went into the kitchen without saying anything else to anyone. Mom followed, which I couldn’t believe. I work with this man, I didn’t know what to say to him.

“Professor Irwin, I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on. My Grandmother is a wonderful woman. I’m sure there is a misunderstanding.”

He laughed. “Yes, but not the one it sounds like. I didn’t realize she was that Nora! They didn’t date. Your Grandmother saved my Grandfather’s life. Though not long after, she never wanted to see him again, it’s all wrapped up in that iron deer. It was because Grandpa could have gotten her thrown into prison by accident.”

I told him this was a story I had to hear, but he refused. “It’s not mine to tell I’m afraid. I doubt Grandpa would share it with anyone. I suspect he feels bad about it all, but you’d have to ask him.”

With that, he thanked me and left. I was bewildered, confused, and curious. I was able to wait two whole seconds before bolting for the kitchen where my Mom was already pressing Grandma for answers.

“I do not care to discuss it. Jackson Silva turned out to be nothing but trouble, and I want no part of him. I’m sorry for his loss, Grace was a beautiful lady, but I will not see him ever again. Natalie, you be careful, that young man seems nice, but he looks and sounds just like his Grandfather, he’s dangerous.”

When Grandmother set her mind to something, no one could change it. You might as well talk to, yeah I’ll say it, an iron deer. I had one possible trick to play, and I didn’t know if it would work. I’d have to wait til the next day to find out.

With coffee in hand, a full two hours before work, I was at my desk. I was looking for any scandal where my Grandmother, or Jackson Silva, Jack Irwin’s Grandpa was named. After two hours, I turned up nothing but a recipe for turnip casserole from a home economics article where they both were mentioned.

It took some digging, but I found a class roster for that class. It included Jackson Silva, Grandma, Grandpa James Tolbert, and Jack Irwin’s Grandmother Grace. They had all been classmates. The only other name that interested me was the teacher’s, and it was only because it had a unique ring to it, Lydia Popov.

The trail was cold. The one thing I knew about Jack Irwin, besides that he could bore you to tears with economics, was he liked his coffee. I like coffee, Jack Irwin loved it. I ran out to the local campus coffee shop and picked up a special latte, the fanciest thing they had, which cost double what my cappuccino did.

I knocked on the door. “Good morning Professor. Here are the documents you had requested. Also here’s a pumpkin latte I picked up for you. It’s my way of saying, yesterday was weird.”

“Can I ask a quick question about the other day. What did your Grandpa do? Are you going to take the iron deer after all?”

He smiled, nice smile. “That’s very nice of you, and thank you. Grandpa definitely wants it. He laughed his head off at the way she reacted, no disrespect. I asked him about you wanting to know. He said he wouldn’t go against your Grandma’s wishes, but to tell you to look up the school paper, not the news article.”

“It’s the same High School I tutor at on the side. So I got a print out from their library. Now I won’t read it to you, but I’ll just leave it here while I step outside. I’m going to place an order for some more of this coffee, I love pumpkin.”

Jack Irwin had a sneaky streak, maybe he was a little less boring than I thought. I tried not to holler out when he left. He waited five minutes before coming back. I looked up smiling.

“Did you read the part about the FBI?” He said upon his return. I nodded, floored. Then I pointed to the last paragraph at him. It was the one about the missing money.

He shook his head. “It can’t be in the deer, surely she looked years ago. Besides Grandpa’s well enough off, he’s not rich, but he doesn’t need the money. He wants it for sentiment. Your Grandmother, not to be crude, but is she wealthy?”

I shook my head no. “Grandpa and Grandma made good money, but nothing like that. If there was anything, that deer would be just a memory. She mentioned it connects to her Grandmother, and to a bad incident when Grandma was younger. When you are going to take me to see your Grandpa?”

“I didn’t say I was. I didn’t tell you any of this. I haven’t been in trouble with him since I wrecked his beat up second hand Ferrari, I don’t intend to start now.”

I can be pretty convincing. “That’s okay. I can just wait til you are out of class and follow you home. Or I can look you up in the faculty guide and show up at your door. Which one do we try?”

He laughed. “It runs in the family. Okay, four this afternoon, but let him tell you what I did not say audibly? I did not audibly tell you what happened, right?”

Jack showed me in, and we walked out to the garden. Mr Silva was planting some roses. When he saw me, he did a double take. “You’re Nora Tolbert’s Granddaughter. You look just like her. Jack, are we going to have another talk about Ferrari’s and going down the wrong road?”

Jack looked a little nervous. “Probably, but later, after she’s gone. For now, tell her what her Grandmother won’t tell her Grandpa. Tell her how you both almost started World War III.”

Mr. Silva looked at me. “The boy is mischievous, gets it from his Grandmother Grace. I loved that about her. Sit down young lady, but keep in mind there’s three sides to every story. There’s my version, your Grandmother’s, and Lydia Popov’s version. One of those ladies’ versions almost got me killed, and someone else in prison.”

The story took two and a half hours to tell. He didn’t embellish I don’t think, but Jackson Silva was an expert storyteller. I was a little sad when he finished with the line, “An that’s why we never spoke to each other ever again.”

Jack was as enthralled in his Grandfather’s story as I was, even though he’d heard it before. I could tell he admired his namesake. They looked alike, both were tall, had nice smiles, and blue eyes. Even their hair was similar, thick full hair, though one was gray and the other was black.

“So what are you going to do young lady with all of this info? Are you going to forget it. Go public with it? Or maybe write it down like Jack here?”

I looked at Jack suddenly. “Write it down? Don’t tell me your going to put this into some boring academic article?” I didn’t mean to sting by calling his work boring, it slipped out.

“Hardly, he’s turning it into a fictional novel. I think the deer becomes a deposit box, or bonds, something a bit more believable. He thinks the iron deer is a little far fetched, but Hank Randolph made it for Lydia. I guess Grace was too romantic a person to throw it out.”

Jack smiled, and changed the subject. “Grandpa, why don’t you fix up some of your famous gumbo. I’m guessing like me she missed lunch. Do you like Cajun food?”

I smiled, and we headed to the kitchen. Mr Silva just laughed. He muttered something about Hank Randolph again and started cooking. It was the best gumbo I had ever eaten.

I thanked them after supper, tried to help with the dishes, and they refused. I left soon after, and went straight to Grandma. “You went out on a date with Jackson Silvia’s grandson? After I told you not too?”

I was appalled. “I did not go out on a date with him. I went to find out what you wouldn’t tell me. I just had dinner with his Granddad, and him. That’s not a date.”

“Which one of them asked you to stay?” She asked with a fierce look in her eye, and a twinkle of a smile. When I didn’t answer, she laughed again. “That’s the same way the boy’s Grandpa got Grace to go out on their first date.”

Did I know it was a date I asked myself. I refused to answer Grandma or me at that moment. “Any way, that does not change the fact that you had this amazing story, and you never told anybody. Grandma, this could have replaced Uncle Gerrold’s football story every year!”

“As much as I cannot stand that story, I don’t have any intention in my harrowing experience to be told and retold over pumpkin pie every Thanksgiving. We will not discuss it. Good night dear, I love you, but good night.”

She woke up up at midnight. “Dear, I’m sorry to wake you, but I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t leave things the way they were. I guess the statue of limitations may have run out by now. If not, oh well.”

I set up, trying not to giggle like a kid. It had been a while since Grandma had told me a bedtime story. Especially one that sounded this mysterious and intriguing.

“We were teenagers. I was in love with your Granddad, Jackson was in love with Grace. We did not really see much beyond each other. We were not the only ones in love though, so were two of our teachers.”

“What we did not know was, one of them was not who she claimed to be. That’s what almost got Jackson Silva killed. It didn’t start out that way, it started with a cup of what you would now call pumpkin spice coffee. Back then it was a lonely bachelor’s way of keeping busy.”

“As I understand it, Hank Randolph was a former soldier, shop teacher, and amateur artist. He was also incredibly lonely. Mr. Randolph was from a big family and joined the military as a young man. When he got out, he no longer had siblings or soldiers to room with.”

“He started any and every project he could to stay busy, until a new teacher arrived in school. That morning, in the teacher’s lounge, he was offering his pumpkin coffee concoction to anyone who would try it. The home economics teacher was new, Lydia Popov.”

“Hank was in love from the start. At first, they said she was receptive. They would have coffee together, go on dates. Rumors were starting, and that’s when everything changed. Lydia suddenly stopped having anything to do with him.”

“It broke his heart. Hank Randolph tried anything and everything he could to win her back. He would send her gifts, try and talk, but nothing worked. When anyone is desperate at love, there’s a pattern dear. First he plays it smart, then he goes from questionable to, well reckless.”

I laughed, Grandma meant that the more heartsick you are, the crazier you act. I remember hitting Tommy Calloway in the face with a black eye when I was five, because he stopped sitting beside me at recess. Tommy moved away that summer.

“One morning, we showed up at the school, and inside the classroom, was our stolen iron deer. It had been taken the night before, and that didn’t make sense, much less this part of it. That was weird enough, but the card on the deer was weirder.”

“He did not resort to any corny pun at least, I wish he had. If it hadn’t been for that stupid note we would have been confused, but not involved. That note almost got someone killed.”

She paused for effect, and I couldn’t wait. “What did it say? How did that note almost get someone killed?” Grandma laughed, she was enjoying telling this after all.

“I never quite figured out what it said, only what language it was written in. The note was in Cyrillic, or Russian. Jackson Silva knew that it was Russian, he had seen it used in signs for the props of the Brothers Karamazov in the school play.”

“I remembered laughing when he told me. ‘You’re kidding. Mr Randolph is from Texas, and they say Ms Popov is from New York. What would either of them be doing writing Russian?’ That’s the sentence that almost got him killed.”

“Jackson Silva could not stand to be laughed at back then. He jotted it down, and went to his Drama teacher, Mr. Chevalia. He confirmed it was Russian, and said that the words were very dangerous. Mr. Chevalia asked Jackson to grab the note. Jackson grabbed it just before Ms Popov returned from yelling at Mr Randolph.”

“We thought he got away with out her seeing him with it, but we were wrong. Her car tried to run him down that afternoon! I was standing beside him, and pushed him out of the way because he wasn’t looking.”

“The only thing was, even though I knew it was her car, I couldn’t see the driver, only their hand. It looked like a man’s hand, not a woman’s. I made the mistake of telling Jackson this. He insisted that it had to be Mr Randolph trying to stop us for her. He didn’t have a car.”

“There was no reason to not believe Jackson, so we devised a plan. We had to have proof, and we didn’t. You know in mysteries when the amateur detective tries to confront the murderer, well it only works in stories.”

“I tried to outsmart Mr Randolph into confessing while Jackson was recording him. Mr Randolph was angry, started yelling at me. Told me to mind my own business.“

Grandma looked at me. “I know how far fetched it all sounded, but the next day, Hank Randolph, Lydia Popov, and Evan Chevalia were all gone. Thinking about it later, we think Mr Randolph didn’t steal the deer after all, but Lydia Popov did. We think he was trying to persuade her to give it back to keep her out of trouble. The news at school was one was arrested, and the other two had turned in evidence against her.”

“The kids believed she was a Russian spy, though who knows what she was doing at our school. We assumed the other two went into witness protection. At any rate, no one ever saw the three of them again. I was so shaken up, I never wanted to see Jackson Silva again either.”

Grandma kissed my forehead like when I was a child and said go to sleep, as if. I realize how old that statement makes me sound by the way, but it was the way I felt. Something felt, if you’ll pardon another pun, hollow. I called Jack Irwin as soon as the sun was up, and within an hour I was having breakfast with him and Jackson Silva, quickly recounting Grandma’s version.

“Now that I know your version, and her version, why don’t you tell me the third version? You mentioned there were three sides to it, I want Lydia’s version.” I smiled for effect when I said it. That morning a little bit of research of my own came back before I left to join them. It yielded some interesting dividends.

Jackson Silva looked at me a minute, then at his grandson. He sat there silent for a moment or two. Finally he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Why not, it was declassified last year. So you want the Agent version?”

He just laughed. “That incident inspired me to join the military. It wasn’t the only reason, but it did set me on the path. Eventually I transitioned from the military to intelligence. Curiosity had me dig into the iron deer story. What I found was surprising. It was a story far different than I, or your Grandmother Nora thought.”

“Hank Randolph was exactly what he seemed, and who he claimed to be. Lydia Popov was not who Jackson Silva 1.0 thought she was. Her real identity was highly classified. ”

“There was no Russian spy, but there was a bank robbery. Special Agent Lydia Copland was undercover trying to catch the guy, and the group he was connected too.”

“The thief was low level, connected to some higher people by association. He was an out of work actor. The man sometimes taught drama in school, Mr Chevalia.”

“Mr Chevalia was too smart to keep the money on him, so he hid it. Lydia thought it was in the hollow part of the deer. She took it late one night to try and retrieve the money. Hank, who was lovesick, had showed up at her apartment that night to talk to her.”

“He saw her bringing it home. He assumed she had stolen it. Trying to be chivalrous he put it in her classroom, figuring she’d return it.”

“Hank didn’t know it was from a house connected to the students. It was Cyrillic, but Hank didn’t write it. That note is what Mr Chevalia dropped near the deer. Lydia had picked it up, but then she dropped it in her driveway.”

“Chevalia had written it in Cyrillic because he figured no one knew it. It was directions to where the money was actually hidden. Two were witnesses, one was arrested, but it wasn’t Lydia, as far as she was concerned, it was over that day, or at least she thought.”

I laughed. “Hank had other ideas didn’t he? Which one of them won?”

Jackson laughed. “Both of them. Lydia told Hank that she was an agent, and had no interest in him. According to the dossier, she was pretty convincing, but Hank was stubborn. She was about to walk out of the room when he said something silly, about their first argument, and she laughed.”

When she did, he said, ‘Lydia, you’ve got two choices, either marry me, or arrest me. If you don’t I’ll tell everyone in the world you work for the government, and you’ll be too famous to investigate anybody.”

“They argued, until her Chief called her in. ‘We can reactivate him through the military and ship him off somewhere if you want. Seems like a nice guy. Do you want me to make the call, or…”

“Lydia stormed out at him. ‘Chief are you crazy? I’ve got important work to do. Of course I don’t want …’ She stopped. The woman couldn’t bring herself to say anything.”

“Lydia was a loner. Her parents were gone at an early age, and she went to law enforcement like her Aunt. Her Aunt was gone now too. Lydia Copeland was alone in the world, or at least she had been.”

“Her Chief handed her a folder. ‘There’s another option. He’s going to be under this name’, I won’t share that part of course, ‘he could use a Mrs. The boy looks like he could use someone to take care of him. I can get you a job in the local police force if you’d like?’”

“The two of them got married, raised five kids, and I don’t know how many grandchildren. Besides getting the girl, Hank got the last laugh. The first year they were married she sent him to pickup a turkey for Thanksgiving. He came back with a venison roast instead, on an iron platter.”

I was smiling, but I still didn’t move. Neither did he. I don’t know if he knew I was bluffing, or if he thought I had more than just a feeling. Either way, I was playing my card.

This time he didn’t laugh. “I told her it wouldn’t work, I told her. Jack go call Nora, ask her to drive over.”

When she walked up, she didn’t acknowledge anyone but me. “Hello you precious little snoop. You’re just like your Grandfather. You may have my face, but his brain. Go ahead Jackson.”

He did. “It was about twenty years later. I had moved on from the iron deer. I think your Grandmother had. I know my Grace had, but one or two people hadn’t. Primarily, your Grandfather. Nora says the man loved a good mystery. He figured out what no one else had, the location of the money.”

“James realized the iron deer wasn’t where the money was, but the key to the mystery. He figured it had to be some clue that made everything else fit. She laughed at him when he went outside, but wasn’t when he came back with the key. It was hidden in a hollow part of the hoof, somewhere no one had looked.”

“James called the Bureau, and they assigned me to the case. No one including your grandparents knew I worked for them, it was a shock when I called. I came to town as a old school friend and fishing buddy. We could use that cover to go to the money.”

“It was at the dock. Mr Chevalia had one of the old lockers, paying rent on it from a distance for years. When we called to inquire about it, as procedure, the owners let him know.“

Jackson Silva finished. “That’s the real reason your Grandmother didn’t want to see me. Chevalia showed up at the dock, and tried to shoot your Grandfather. I managed to keep him from getting seriously hurt, and get him to the hospital. Then I went back for Chevalia.”

Grandma looked at me. “I know it wasn’t Jackson’s fault, but seeing him reminded me of how pitiful your Grandpa looked in that hospital room. It just was a hard memory, but that’s behind us now. What you have to do, is totally forget this ever happened.”

I looked at her astonished, trying not to say anything that would get me in trouble with her. “Grandma, what does it matter now? Hank and Lydia ended up happy, Chevalia went to prison, and all the money went back, why is it important who knows?”

Now she had a surprised look. “What do you mean Lydia and Hank ended up happy? What do you know that I don’t? Jackson?”

He looked at us both. “I had never told her what I told you. Back then it was still classified. Nora, we didn’t mess up Hank and Lydia’s life. If anything, our curiosity brought them happiness.”

“Had we not reported everything, and made a huge mess, Lydia Popov would have left town with two broken hearts, hers and and Hanks.” He quickly gave her the short version.

“They tell me that they thought fondly of us every Thanksgiving. We were what brought them together, a few bumbling teenagers, and an iron deer.”

Grandmother smiled. “All these years I had felt bad because I thought they were miserable. I suspected she loved him, and I knew he loved her.” Grandma looked at me and Jack, I mean Professor Irwin.

“They turned out as happy as me and James, and you and Grace. Jackson I’m sorry for being rude. Why don’t you and your Grandson join us for Thanksgiving, if you don’t have plans?”

He accepted with a smile. No, Mr Sillva and Grandma never dated, they were still too much in love with the memories of their spouses for that. Jack Irwin and I on the other hand did. Thanks in large part to the machinations of Grandma and Mr. Silva.

A year later, we got married on the weekend after Thanksgiving. It was beautiful. By the way, the deer stayed where Grandma wanted it too, we ended up moving into Grandmother’s big house. She ditched the condo in favor of the little guest house and we’re all together.

Mr. Silva bought Jack’s old place. It was easier than looking for anything else. Plus, it had been where he and his wife would stay while visiting the family the last few year’s holiday visits. Family as Grandma had said, is so important!

We had the wedding outside. We played Nat King Cole, and decorated in fall colors. There was pumpkin flavored mouse in the cake, and our wedding pictures, were taken, beside of the iron deer.

Now we had our own story with the deer to share with the pumpkin pie. Believe me, it’s much better than Uncle Gerold’s football story. Like most families, our story linked generations. I was thrilled at the thoughts of retelling it every November. I even had a title for it, Deer Thanksgiving.

iPainting Franklins Turkey

This iPainting of a Turkey reminded me of Benjamin Franklin, which in turn reminded me of our story featuring both from a past Thanksgiving, Franklin Serves Thanksgiving.

Have Fun Writing

We’ve talked a lot about writing, from starting to structure, but a few days in, I want to remind you to have fun writing. If you don’t enjoy it, while it can still be beneficial, it’s less joy than it can be. Some writers say they enjoy it after it’s over, while I can appreciate where they are coming from, I can’t agree.

To me, one of the most fun things about writing, is the writing. Exploring new worlds, seeing where the story is going, how the characters end up. All of this is enjoyable for me, but especially in those times when I’m writing something inspirational.

Whether I’m writing an article about my Christian experience, or a historical account I find joy in knowing these words especially, will impact someone else. Solomon talked about how good a word spoken in due season was. The fact that words I’ve been given may help someone’s situation is both enjoyable, and reassuring.

Even when it’s not a serious piece of writing I find enjoyment in it. When it’s just a piece of writing that may make someone smile, laugh, or forget for a few moments about their sorrow. This means so much to me, and I love the process.

The truth is, I also love the tools of writing. I love pens, pencils, word processors, iPads, smart phones, and gadgets. I love, not only their convenience, but their potential. That’s why I believe in your writing, because of your potential to impact someone else.

Write to inspire, write to inform, write to change the world, but don’t forget to have fun writing. At the end of the day, before one reader sees it, you’ve got to do something many will never do. You’ve got to write words which, may change people in ways that only your words can.

Cranky Cranberries A Thanksgiving Story

I had never been an angry person, but I threw the can of cranberry sauce in the trash can very hard. I was cranky, and believe it or not, at that moment I blamed the cranberries. What’s worse is it was my company’s cranberry sauce. No I’m not crazy, I was just tired.

Tired, and a long way from home. My name is Charlie, Charlie Morrell, and I’m the President of What Cranberries? Inc. It was my Grandfather’s company originally, and I got the idea of doing something different with it. I’ve had nightmares about that day since.

My idea seemed good at the time, creating something different. A line of non traditional cranberry foods, like cranberry salsa. The board loved it. The board consists of Dad, Uncle Grover, my Wife Hilda, and my cousin Sally.

Several months later, at that moment I regretted it. I was in Texas trying to find a jalapeño supplier and a rare and random snowstorm meant I couldn’t get out of Texas in time for Thanksgiving. I couldn’t believe Wisconsin was clear and sunny, and Texas was covered in snow and ice.

Like most families, Thanksgiving is big for us, and I had never missed one. Here I was, the Monday before Thanksgiving and my flight Wednesday wasn’t going to happen. I did a call to Hilda, and then to everyone at once on a shared call. Everyone reassured me that it would be okay. Sally, my cousin and surrogate big sister went into protective mode and found the best place where I was to eat Thanksgiving dinner.

Dad reminded me, “We can do a video call, you’ll mostly just get out of carving the turkey. Uncle Grover can do it. I may even let him use Bertha.” Uncle Grover smiled, Bertha was the name we gave the electric knife he was so fond of using. Aunt Viv doesn’t like the noise so he doesn’t get to use it much.

As much as they tried to reassure me, I still felt miserable. It didn’t help that even though I signed the supplier that morning, I felt uneasy about the agreement. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something didn’t sit right. They were nice enough, maybe it was just the mood I was in.

It happens some times that, you can be very blessed, and ungrateful. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was being that way. All I saw for a moment was what I was going to be missing, in the process I missed a lot. Had it not been for the snowstorm I wonder when I would have seen it.

Craig Harp was the owner of the company I had signed with for the jalapeños, he was the owner of Bear Fire, the name of the food company. I liked the name because originally cranberries were also called bearberries, because colonists had seen the bears eat them. When I saw him that morning, he was in a suit, and looked uncomfortable. That afternoon, I went for a big lunch to feed my bad mood, and I saw him again.

It was the little diner beside my hotel, a hole in the wall is what Mom would call it affectionately. She loved little out of the way delis and things like this. I saw Craig, but this time he wasn’t in a suit, he was in a shirt and jeans, with grease stains all over the shirt. I did a double take, but I was sure it was him.

What I wasn’t sure of was whether to get up and talk to him or not. He made it easy, he came to me. “Good afternoon Charlie, I’d shake your hand but I’m a mess. My main truck broke down outside and I was trying to fix it. Finally stopped to get a bite to eat. Can I sit with you, I think we need to talk.”

“Charlie, I was dressed up this morning, the wife’s idea. She told me to impress you, and I’ll be honest I thought she was right. Now, I think I was given a second chance to do this right. Everything I told you this morning is true, we’re big enough to deliver everything I promised, that’s why I showed you all the financials, and a lot of the verifications you normally wouldn’t see. I wanted you to be sure you could trust us.”

“What I didn’t share is, we desperately need your business. Last year, a fire torched a lot of our equipment and part of our main building. We used most of what we had to rebuild, insurance covered some, but not enough. I had to streamline some things, but we need your business to come back to full strength, that’s what I didn’t share.”

I didn’t completely understand why he was telling me now. He was right, it didn’t make a difference to the agreement, but I can’t say it would not have affected my decision. What I wanted to know now was why he decided to tell me now. He could have explained the meeting fairly easily.

“Because it didn’t feel right. It felt like I was hiding something from you. Like I said, it doesn’t affect the agreement, but I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. Plus, it’s Thanksgiving week, sort of a bad week to have something distracting you from appreciating things.”

I realized what had made me so uncomfortable. Craig was bothered by it from the beginning, and I had picked up on it. I also liked that he was bothered by it, he was an honest man. In business, I had made my share of mistakes, but this guy realized his pretty quickly and fixed them. I could do business with a guy like that.

We had a great lunch, I even offered to help him with the truck. “I’ve had to work on a few cranberry trucks back home.” Between us, we got it running enough to get it back to his warehouse, which was right beside the family home. I laughed when he told me, “I thought I was the only guy who lived within walking distance of the business.”

“We bought ours mainly because it was close to the business. Something my Dad had done when he ran it. Grandpa had his house first, so he built the business near it. We’ve got a lot in common.”

He introduced me to his wife Gale, and their three boys Mark, Hank, and Ned. We had a wonderful dinner. It was a lovely evening. By dessert I had told them my story about the snowstorm and how it all went so crazy. I wasn’t as cranky anymore, but still a little homesick.

Gale looked at Craig and said “Hank Douglass.” Craig smiled big and repeated the name to her. He looked at me. “Charlie, be backed in the morning and be downstairs with everything at 3 am, can you do that?”

I nodded, and he said he’d better get me back to the hotel to get what sleep I could. Normally I’d ask questions, but I didn’t. It wasn’t that I was afraid of being rude, or anything noble like that. I wanted to go to sleep hoping I had a shot at being home in time for Thanksgiving.

The truth is, I didn’t get much sleep for the anticipation. I was down in the lobby actually about 2:30, Charlie showed up about 2:45. “You are in a hurry to get home, let’s see if this works.”

The if worried me, but I was committed. We drove for three hours, and pulled into a little municipal airport in a town I didn’t even catch the name of. There wasn’t time to ask questions now. Craig put me in Hank Douglas’ office with my bags and said he’d call me tomorrow to make sure I was home.

I’d like to tell you that it was a simple flight from there to home, but it wasn’t. What did happen was Hank’s small plane got me to another town, which got me to another town, and you guessed it to another town. From there I got a flight out of Texas thanks to a favor or two they all owed Hank Douglas.

Hank Douglas was a character it turns out. He was a war veteran, business man, and local hero who quite literally had saved someone from a burning building. No one could say no to Hank, and while I didn’t know Hank directly, I knew one of Hank’s friends, and that was good enough.

I flew in to our home airport a little after eleven that night. By ten minutes to midnight, I was standing in my living room, hugging my wife and kids. Janie and Justin were so glad to see me, and I started to cry. “What’s wrong Daddy, are you okay?”

I hugged my little girl and smiled. “Honey, Daddy is better than okay. This morning I thought I wouldn’t get home for Thanksgiving, and well Daddy was cranky. Tonight I’m here in our home, with our family, and I’m truly thankful.”

Justin, our 5 year old genius, sighed. “Daddy that would have been awful, you had missed the turkey, and the parade, and Granna’s Cranberry cake, and everything. What would you have done without all of that.”

It was a moment to teach my son what I had to be reminded of earlier in the day. I picked him up from my leg and hugged him. “Honey, believe it or not, I could miss all of that and I’d be okay. What I was cranky about wasn’t dinner, or the parade. I like all of that, but I was sad because I would have missed you, your sister, and Mommy.”

“I’m thankful, not for all the stuff we do on Thanksgiving, but for who we do it with, and for Who gave me all of you. On Thanksgiving, we thank God, not because of a good meal and some fun stuff, we thank Him because He has given us so many blessings. What does Gramps always say when he does the prayer, the last part?”

Justin smiled, he liked knowing answers. He repeated it word for word, though with a cute little lisp that his Grandpa didn’t have. “He says Lord, thank You for giving us You, our family, and our country. Thank You for not only giving us reasons to be thankful, but the ability to give thanks freely.”

It was a great day, family was together, the food was good, and the parade was fun. All in all, there was only one person who had a momentary cranky moment, Uncle Grover. He was still planning on using Bertha until Aunt Viv said “Put that away! Charlie will carve, and he’ll use the good knife that’s quiet.” Thankfully she followed it up with a kiss, and nobody was cranky when the cranberry cake was served.

iPainting American Elk

iPainting Panda With Orange Flowers

Writing Transitions

Transition, it’s described as the piece of writing that connects two topics or sections. Writing transitions can be both interesting and challenging. Whether it’s the changing of a chapter, the changing of a character’s actions over time, or handing off from one major sub theme in a book to the other, it needs to be navigated well.

We’ve talked about chapter changes, so briefly I’d like to say they should lead into the next chapter, and connect with the previous. While offering something new, they should not be a strange environment to the reader from the last chapter they just came through. It should be a true transition, not an abrupt change.

The transition of a character should be either understandable or relatable. The difference being this, some transitions people will not be personally aquatinted with. A dramatic example would be the transformation of a character into a super hero. A person will never get bit by an insect and suddenly climb the walls, but give them enough details to follow it.

The second type of character transition, being relatable speaks to a reader’s own life. A reader can not only read the facts of the character’s transition, but they can relate it something they’ve experienced. This is true even in some extreme examples, such as Ebenezer Scrooge. While most won’t become greedy old misers, they will see how rejection, pain, loneliness, and fear of losing control can lead someone down that path.

They can also see at the same time, not only how Scrooge became Scrooge, but how he became a better Ebenezer Scrooge than before. This transitions perfectly to the last topic, the handing off of one major sub theme to the other.

Over the course of A Christmas Carol, almost at the same time that we are seeing how the boy became the Miser, we are seeing the Miser see himself, and begin becoming a better man. The transition is so smooth we can consciously miss it, but it’s there. As a Wise man taught me, it’s about the flow of things.

Writing transitions well is very important to your writing. It will allow the reader to flow from the first word of your book to the last with understanding, relatability, and appreciation. They will see your book as well written, well structured, and one they can recommend to others.

Veterans Day 2021

Today we honor the men and women who have left the land they love to go places they never wanted to be. The Veterans who faced circumstances they never planned for, stood firm when we desperately needed their strength, and overcame the enemies of freedom, for all of us. We honor them because they loved their country, and their fellow citizens, to stand and fight.

We use the term stand and fight, but the fact is from standing to fighting on their bellies in trenches, mounting planes that could be shot down any moment, to fighting under the sea they showed a tenacious patriotism. One that was willing to position them in horrible discomfort, so we could rest easily through the night. One that had nothing to do with politics, or popularity, but with what the founding fathers called the pursuit of happiness.

I’m so thankful for the sacrifices made, and that are continuing to be made by every person in our armed forces. You are one of the main reasons we all believe in the United States of America. Thank you all for following in the footsteps of all those who believe in Liberty’s Light, and who fight to keep it burning bright for us all.

The Story Serves The Reader Part 2

Yesterday we began a conversation on how the story serves the reader, let’s continue. The plot of the story should serve the reader, and it can do so in many ways. First let me mention that some plots will be simple, and some complex, but both can serve the reader in their own way.

A simple plot is both easily understandable, and explainable. After a person has read a story, and tells someone else, they may be asked what the book is about. The simpler the story, the easier to communicate. A straightforward and interesting plot will serve a large pool of readers.

A complex plot may have a narrower, but no less enthusiastic pool to choose from. There is a difference between a complex plot, and a convoluted one. For the purposes of this articles I would define complex as having multiple points which may take time to discover. However a convoluted plot, one that is still difficult to understand even after you have all the details.

Many science fiction stories will have a complex plot, but that does not mean convoluted. There may be many moving parts, but understandable. Most stories have some common points in them. There is an obstacle, there is a goal, there is a hero, and there is an antagonist.

The antagonist may or may not be a villain, but there will be basic points in all stories. Some complex plots may have multiple heroes and multiple villains. The heroes may have individual goals, but they will share an overarching theme that brings them together, if not unites them at the end. The finale will determine the future of the characters, and whether or not the reader enjoys the story.

If it’s a multiple book series, there may be a goal that is bigger than the book itself, but enough should be resolved by the end of the book to satisfy the reader. Think of it as a movie franchise, one where they wrote the story from the beginning with sequel plans. Each movie is part of a trilogy, but the film would normally have an established ending point.

Exceptions to this rule exist, but as a writer and a reader, I like my movies and my books to have both an ending and an opportunity for a possible extension of the storyline. This brings us to the matter of a second story. Even if you wrote the first story without plans to continue it in mind, there are ways of doing this successfully.

One option is to convey an overarching goal that unites the two, even if conceived later, the idea should be conceivable. For example, introduce a piece of information the first book did not share, which ties into the book enough to stay true to the original story. If done well, the reader would not guess the writer didn’t have this plan when they began the first journey. They’ll think it was all intentionally connected from the beginning.

A sequel, or any story is not a mistake if it serves the reader well. If it does not, it could very well be a problem, but you won’t know it until you write it. Once written, you can evaluate the rough draft to see if it’s the draft, or the idea that needs work. If the reader can smile at the end of the story, then you have done something right as a writer.