Rod Miller's Blog, page 21

The birth of Father unto Many Sons.

Those who read this stuff regularly know that Father unto Many Sons is a novel. It was conceived on my computer. Gestated in the inner workings of Five Star Publishing. And now its birth is imminent. The delivery takes place Friday, August 24, at 7:00 p.m. at The Printed Garden, 9445 South Union Square, Suite A, in Sandy, Utah. It’s a fine bookshop, just a mile or two from where the book originated. If you’re within driving distance you are invited—nay, entreated, encouraged, urged—to attend the blessed event. It will be a multiple birth, and while it is difficult to say how many copies of Father unto Many Sons the stork will drop off, there will surely be enough for you to adopt and take one home for your own. Many of the new novel’s siblings will also be there looking for good homes.Put it on your calendar. Saddle up the horse. Hitch up the buggy. Gas up the car. Bring your friends and neighbors. See you at The Printed Garden, Friday, August 24, to welcome Father unto Many Sons into the world.

Really Stupid Words, Chapter Three

American English is a rich language. It’s always changing and evolving. New words and usages come and go. Many that come along are helpful. They clarify, they improve, they enhance and enrich. But some are just plain stupid. They obfuscate, they complicate, they confuse. They reveal a lack of understanding. One of my favorites is “readjust.”Now there’s a word (if it is a word) with absolutely no reason for being. If something needs to be adjusted, you adjust it. If it needs doing again, you simply adjust it. You can adjust it again. Then you can adjust it some more, as often as need be. Adjust is somewhat related to “change.” You can change things repeatedly, but no one ever calls it “rechange.” Same with move. You can move things over and over. But if you “remove” them, that’s something else altogether. I am firmly against the use of “readjust.” And I will remain that way, unless or until I readjust my thinking.

Happy Holiday!

Today, as I post this, is July 24. Here in Utah it’s a big day. Pioneer Day. A state holiday. Lots of folks who work for a living get the day off. There’s a big parade in downtown Salt Lake City and fireworks will light up the sky tonight at many places around the state.For some reason, Utah’s Pioneer Day holiday is confusing to a lot of people. Immigrants enjoy the day off, but can’t wrap their heads around the reason for it—well, lots of them know the why of it, but still don’t grasp why that why matters.It all started back in 1847 when Mormon leader Brigham Young’s wagon pulled into the Salt Lake Valley and he raised up from his sickbed and said this was the place the Mormons (having been chased out of New York, Ohio, Missouri, and Illinois) would settle. His declaration was no big surprise—some advance members of the expedition were already here plowing when Brother Brigham showed up—but he made it official. He hadn’t asked permission to settle here, either from the bands of Ute and Shoshoni and other Indians who frequented the area, or from Mexico, which held title, such as it was, to the place.But here the Mormons settled anyway, intending to form their own little nation with a theocratic-type government. But, much to their surprise, they soon ended up back in the United States in 1848 when the land was seized following the Mexican-American War. Commemorating the arrival of those Mormon pioneers in the Salt Lake Valley is the reason for all the hoopla. I don’t know why that’s so confusing. When I lived in Nevada, most of that state shut down for a day in late October to celebrate Nevada Day, commemorating statehood. (Nevada, by the way, was originally part of Utah before the federal government started slicing off chunks to make and add to the new state. The same thing happened with parts of Colorado and Wyoming, too. The Mormons originally claimed big chunks of California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Oregon as well, but the government never recognized that claim. It’s all covered in a chapter of my book, The Lost Frontier .)But never mind all that. Just have a happy holiday. We could all use an excuse to celebrate.

My Favorite Book, Part 15.

Since the late nineteenth century, the American West has been an environmental battleground. At one extreme, rabid capitalists see the region as nothing more than a rich land to be exploited for personal gain, never mind the effects their profiteering has on the land and the people who live on it. At the other extreme are radicals who believe mankind has no place in the West; that it is best left to the elements and we humans should only be allowed to sneak in and take a peek every now and then, then leave. Most folks, as is usually the case, are sandwiched somewhere nearer the center of those extremes and look to achieve some kind of balance betwixt and between. Even then, viewpoints are fervent and disagreements intense. Although somewhat dated since its publication in 1971, Encounters with the Archdruid by John McPhee paints arguments between conservation and development in vivid colors. And, the fact is, the arguments have changed little since then—or ever.The book sets the views of David Brower, outdoorsman and long-time leader of the Sierra Club and the titular “Archdruid,” against three powerful men with contrasting views. One of the encounters lies outside the West, featuring a real estate developer on Hilton Head Island off the South Carolina coast. Another concerns mineral mining in remote areas, specifically in a wilderness location in the Cascade Range. The third, and most engaging for me, pits government dam builder Floyd Dominy against Brower during a float trip through the Grand Canyon.McPhee, a meticulous reporter and imaginative writer, allows each man to state his case during each encounter, and allows readers to take from the debates what they will. And, like all good art and literature, Encounters with the Archdruidasks a lot more questions than it answers.

A Viewers Guide to Roadside Animals.

Few things—if anything—in life gave my Dad more pleasure than horses and cattle. He knew them well and worked them like few have the ability to do. But even when not working, you might find him out in the corral “messing” with the horses. You’d often find him horseback in the pasture, or sitting on the tailgate of the pickup truck, or on the tractor seat after winter feeding just watching his cows, long beyond his original reason for being there. When traveling, he always noticed cattle and horses in the pastures and on the open range flying past the windshield. He’d comment on how “slick” (or maybe “poor”) the cows looked, admire the growing calves, point out a well-made range bull, praise horses and colts.While not as practiced at it as Dad, it’s a practice I picked up from him. Our car often hears comments about grazing cattle, usually accompanied by regret that almost all of them nowadays are black. Sighting a herd of our favored Herefords gleaming red and white in the sun is a rare and precious thing. Were you with us, you’d also hear my mockery every time we pass one of those yellow diamond-shaped roadside signs warning of livestock grazing on open range—with a picture of a dairy cow on it. But, perhaps, my favorite remark concerning roadside animals is one I heard decades ago from a rodeo traveling pal; a comment that betrays a real love for the sport. Drive past horses in a pasture and Marlowe “Bird” Carroll would likely say, “You think those horses would buck?”I still wonder.

Reporting on poetry.

The Spring/Summer 2018 issue of

Lies They Tell Writers, Part 44: Editors Love Enthusiasm.

Once upon a time I wrote a short essay about passion—being passionate, following your passion, lack of passion being a fatal flaw, that sort of thing—rendering my opinion that the whole notion is overblown.It caused something of a stir. Some agreed with my ruminations, others did not. One reader (and fine writer) opined that passion was a prerequisite and that fire and enthusiasm for the work were important considerations for editors. Perhaps. And there’s certainly nothing wrong with being passionate about your writing if that’s what butters your biscuit. But it ain’t necessarily so.A reliable—but not precise—accounting of editors I have worked with includes some 15 or so with magazines and periodicals, at least two dozen on anthologies of short fiction or poetry, and somewhere north of 20 in the process of getting books, both fiction and nonfiction, into print. Some editors I have worked with on only one or a few occasions; several of them many, many times. None ever asked about, commented on, or required enthusiasm—passion—on my part.But I have absorbed a few notions about what seems to be widely regarded among the red pencil set. Here’s some of it.Good ideas are valuable. Not just ideas that are good on their own, but good ideas that fit the nature of the editor’s requirements. It should go without saying that they expect quality writing—well-structured and readable and all that, with a certain amount of flair. Research—when applicable—should be thorough and your facts should be straight; even fiction should feel credible. Your manuscripts should be clean; as free of typos as possible with proper grammar and punctuation and spelling and such. Finally, and probably most important, editors like reliability. If you meet deadlines, keep your promises, and do what you say you will—and are asked to—do, you’ll be doing everyone a favor. Including yourself and your career. If you’re passionate on top of all that, fine. But don’t plan on enthusiasm alone getting you through.Woody Allen is credited with this little bit of wisdom: “Eighty percent of success is showing up.” In the broader sense, that advice certainly applies to writing.

Really Stupid Words, Chapter Two

American English is a rich language. It’s always changing and evolving. New words and usages come and go. Many that come along are helpful. They clarify, they improve, they enhance and enrich. But some are just plain stupid. They obfuscate, they complicate, they confuse. They reveal a lack of understanding. Think about “proactive.”I was surprised to learn that it has been around, in a limited way, for a long, long time. Fortunately, no one used it much until, say, 30 or so years ago. Since then, it has become one of the most overused words in our language. Not only in business circles, where made-up trendy buzzwords often find a home, but by regular folks, as well. It’s supposed to mean the opposite of “react” or “reactive.” Apparently, no one stops to think that those words are opposites of perfectly good words—act and active—so don’t really need an opposite themselves. If “active” doesn’t seem to fit, try “aggressive” or “concerted” or “determined” or “resolute” or “take the initiative.” We could go on. Whatever words you choose to describe an active approach to something, there’s no point, really, in resorting to a stupid, meaningless, but apparently important-sounding (to some) word such as “proactive.” Therefore, I will be proactive in my efforts to eliminate it.

Along the Old Spanish Trail.

There’s a well-known saying about the Old Spanish Trail: it isn’t old, and it isn’t Spanish. But from 1829 until 1848, more or less, it was an important trade route linking Santa Fe to Los Angeles. Mexican traders (and others) loaded strings of pack mules with woolen goods in New Mexico, trailed them to California, and traded for horses and mules. The animals—many thousands of them—were trailed back to New Mexico then sold on to Missouri, Old Mexico, and other markets. Thieves also raided California ranches for horses and mules for the same purpose, as well as selling them to the U.S. Army for use in the Mexican-American war. Traders in Indian slaves used parts of the route as well.Not long ago, I had the privilege of exploring the Old Spanish Trail through Utah with the Utah Westerners. Through slickrock and sagebrush, deserts and mountains, sand and shadscale, we followed the route as nearly as possible, almost from border to border. Along the way, we were guided and educated by well-informed local historians as well as members of the Westerners.The Utah Westerners set off on such a field trip every summer, but this was my first with the group of historians and history buffs. It will not be my last.

(Thanks to Utah Westerner Steve Berlin for the photos.)

My Favorite Book, Part 14.

A River Runs Through It is a small book. Something over 100 pages in most editions. And it’s the only “book” Norman Maclean ever wrote. (There is a published but unfinished nonfiction book about the Mann Gulch Fire, Young Men and Fire, and a few long short stories, published with A River Runs Through It in some editions.)On the surface, A River Runs Through It is a story about fly fishing on Montana rivers. I am not interested in fly fishing. What the book is really about is love—not romantic love, but the love among a father and a mother and their two sons, with a tiny bit of romance thrown in for good measure. It contains elements of some old stories. There are hints of Cain and Abel, Isaac and Ishmael, and the story of the Prodigal Son. Unlike many books, but like many of my favorite books, there’s a lot of ambiguity in its pages. You have to pay attention. And it doesn’t end in what many readers would consider a satisfactory way. Again, there’s some ambiguity there. Maclean doesn’t provide many answers, but he does deliver a lot of questions. And that means the story stays with you long after you close the book. So much so that, like me, you’ll be inclined to open it again (and again) sometime to see what kinds of questions it asks this time.