A Week Where Writing Took a Back Seat

Last week, three things dominated my gray cells and not one of them was writing or anything related to writing.

First, we had a bit of rain. It began on Tuesday with a forecast of two inches from the defunct tropical depression Ida. Now my cat Nikki is not a fool, but when she camped under an umbrella indoors I thought it was a bit of the belt-and-suspenders approach to life that she is embracing in her later years.


The rain stopped three days later. My rain gauge topped out at 5" before overflowing. The second round read another 1/5 inches. I don't now how much more fell, but it was enough to swamp our stationary dock -- which, by the way, had been two feet above the level of the lake. The Blackwater River, one of two main rivers which feed Smith Mountain Lake, was running at 6,900 cubic feet per second, up from its normal flow of 80 cps. Yup, the rivers were roiling and the lake, creeks and everything else did rise.

Okay, so we had rain. Lots of it. But what happened on Wednesday was even better. After waiting for three years, my dear friend Glenn finally underwent his kidney transplant. His stepdaughter Jen was his donor and everything went very well. After three days, both were out of the hospital and home. As you can guess. Glenn's wife Michelle might have wished for another day in the hospital, because suddenly she had two whiney, high-maintenance patients and three Scotties on her hands. Glenn's prognosis remains excellent and for the first time in three decades, he feels well!!!

Lsstly, the week ended with our final Navy home game, a thorough drubbing of Delaware. Our junior QB has rushed for 22 TDs already this season with two games to go. Why won't the Heiseman committee take a look at this kid? He's frankly outstanding but because he plays for Navy, he gets little outside respect. Sigh. Time for a letter to the committee.

All is well here. Back to writing, querying and sending out poems in search of a journal to publsh them.

Musicians of the Sun

On Saturday, Nov 1, my husband and I attended the world premiere of Steve Margoshes' Musicians of the Sun. Based on a chidren's picture book written by Gerald McDermott, which in turn is based on an Aztec tale, the work was a piece written for chorus and orchestra. The music evoked the vivid colors of the picture book and the chorus brought the audience directly into those colors.

The work was narrated by Samuel E. Wright who starred on Broadway as Mufasa in The Lion King, was thr voice of Sebastian the Crab in The Little Mermaid, and was Grapes in the old Fruit of the Loom commercial. Sam read the text of the children's book in a voice that recalls the richness of James Earl Jones and Dennis Haysbert.

I loved two things about this performance. One, the convergence of chorus, orchestra and spoken narration from a children's book. Two, my daughter Aleta Eriksen was in the chorus.

If anyone has a chance to see a performance of this work (with or without my daughter!!), see it. It's uplifting and you will leave the event happier than you went in.

Catching Up

Sorry about being MIA for a couple of weeks. Nothing bad happened. Just too much work and too little time to do everything.

So, what's happened in the last three weeks?

I recorded a radio essay for WVTF two weeks ago. It's called You're Never Too Old with a main theme of it's never too late to behave like a little kid. It has a smooshed cake in it.

My novel, Unintended Consequences, was selected as a finalist in the Smith Mountain Arts Council Unpublished Novel contest.

I sucked in my breath and sent a poem (!) called Three Weeks to a MAJOR national magazine. Three months wait to see if the editor is interested. Fingers are crossed, but hey, nothing ventured, nothing sprained.

I sent out six more query letters and collected three rejections (two form, one personalized and quite nice -- must be a new agent!!!) from the first batch. It's a dead heat between my short and long query letter.

I went back to Jeff Herman's Guide and was surprised at how many agents still want snail-mail. Some agencies have gone totally green, but many agents clearly said they gave more credence to snail-mail.

I got to thinking about this and saw the rationale behind using USPS. Why? Because when you physically sign a letter, put it in an envelope, remember to put stamps on the SASE and march it out to the post box at the end of the drive, you give more thought to what you are doing.

Even though we all know that an e-query must be as professional as a hard-copy query, and even though we know we have to check and double-check whether we are querying the right agent, it is somehow easier to pick an agent, tweak a letter slightly, cut and paste a chapter into the e-mail message (if requested) and hit the Send Key.

Yes, I'm keeping track of snail- versus e-queries. More to report later.

Willie and Bob and John

No, it's not a variation of the old lament, Abraham, Martin and John. It's a concert I went to in Virginia Beach Saturday. Three signature performers, each doing a full one-hour set.

We started with 76-year-old Willie Nelson. Still sounds like he always has, but with a voice that is somewhat lower. Looks much the same as he always has. Of course, Willie's looked dried up for decades. Willie sang many of his old favorites and the crowd got into it, singing along and rocking in the stands.

Next was the kid, John Mellencamp, formerly known as John Cougar and John Cougar Mellencamp. At least we can pronounce his various names, unlike Prince. Melloncamp at 58 was the youngest and still hasn't decided if he's a balladeer or a rocker. He was best at hitting his rock groove, but disappointed the crowd by not singing his signature ballad, Jack and Diane.

Last was the 68-year-old voice of a generation, Bob Dylan, heavily amped, huge sound, garbled words. Oh wait, Dylan always garbled his words. Voice is much lower. He didn't do anything acoustic, which is what I liked best about his early work. Only two signature songs. He was pushing a new CD. Can't decide if it's good or not. He growled and chewed his words to the point where his voice became a percussive instrument. Oh yes, he still plays harmonica better than he sings.

I saw Dylan 40 years ago. Now I can cross Willie off my bucket list. John was never on it.

All in all, the tied-died and support hose group enjoyed a wild evening, even if it wasn't completely what it wanted.