Wednesday, May 26, 2010

The Hardiness of Plants


At Christmas, I was given a plant holder in the shape of a tricycle. It joins the rooster plant holder in the front of the house and several other architectural pieces designed to add color, but without a lot of the neediness of flowers.

The tricycle has a small pot holder where the "rider" would sit. I needed the right sized pot to put in there, so off I trundled to the garden (which has yet to be planted) where there is a number of last year's pots stored and waiting to be used. In spying the perfect pot, I noted last year's dirt and dead plant remains in it. And there amongst the detritus was a plant from last season, growing. I was taken by it.

Despite the 40 inches of snow and the freeze that followed, this Hen and Chicks plant survived the winter and was prospering in a pot crowded with dead sticks and crowded roots. I had to try and save it. And I hope it will prosper this season in a new pot.

While that plant positively impressed me, the Morning Glories from last year did also, but in a negative, aggravating way. They survive by having so many seeds and such a powerful underground root system, that they survive despite my best efforts to "control" them. Now they are starting to "fight" with three rose bushes.

We live in a pleasant relationship with plants and trees. They brighten our lives even in the depth of winter. The lushness of green grasses, the chartreuse of a locust tree, the velvet colors of day-lilies all add to the quality of our lives. But, make no mistake, under that foliage and along with their beautiful pastel colors, at the heart of the plant is a potent competitor with a long history of surviving in that jungle of beauty outside my window.

“One generation plants the trees, and another gets the shade”
~~ Chinese Proverb

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

The Query Letter

Among the most important pieces of writing that an author can send, is the Query Letter -- either to a literary agent that you hope will represent your new work, or to a publisher that will accept Query Letters directly from an author instead of through a literary agent. The purpose of the letter is to excite/convince/interest them in staking their reputation on representing you or getting a publisher to risk publishing your book! Thumbs up ... or thumbs down on something you have spent a goodly portion of your life.

Some agents have their own peculiar form, such as:
... send the first paragraph or
... send the first five pages or
... send the first chapter or
... write a one paragraph description of your work and I'll tell you if I want more.

Some have no form or template and depend upon you, the author, to "Wow" them with your concise, brilliant prose, written in a new voice, using words that have never sat next to one another -- in 100 words or less. And you hope that they won't "just shrug it off as the foghorn bleat of an over-privileged mediocrity looking for some attention." (Quote courtesy of the Anchoress, Elizabeth Scalia.)

If you are curious or ever need such a device as a Query Letter, take a look at Nathan Bransford's Blog http://www.nathanbransford.com/ (I follow it, so you can see it on the right of my Blog). He has a "form" to follow. Since he is a Literary Agent, the template should be "very" accurate.
Substitute "damn" every time you're inclined to write "very;" your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.
~~Mark Twain

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Hurst Lightning Rods

Yesterday, my son, Steve and his son, Jason (my Grand Son) went to a local car show of Pontiacs and Oldsmobiles -- two marques that have recently been relegated to the great car brands of the past, you know like Morgan, Dusenburg and Gremlin -- as well as a few Buick muscle cars from days past.
The show was a nice mix of local enthusiasts with some serious entries. Five year old Jason, particularly enjoyed the 1959 Oldsmobile 98, while his Father and I had our heads under the hood of a 1964 Pontiac 2+2 with a 421 cubic inch engine with three, two-barrel carburetors. (No Pansy fuel injectors on this model!)

It was a trip down memory lane for me, walking among these aging engine blocks, as I regaled my two younger males with stories of hot rods and porta-walls and metal dashboards from my youthful days "On Harrisonville Avenue."

"Grandpa Ron, Grandpa Ron. What are these?" Jason asked.

I looked closer inside the 1984, 15th anniversary edition of the Hurst Olds. There, above the ash tray (another historic anomaly) was the real gearshift and two other shifters, the "Lightning Rods." I had never seen anything like that before.."
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Well," I replied authoritatively, "one is for vanilla and the other for chocolate."
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Jason looked to his father for guidance, since he knew that I have kidded in the past. "Is that right?" Jason asked.
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"Grandpa Ron is having fun with that answer," my son replied. "Actually, the Lightning Rods allow the driver to shift up or down when he wants to, but without having to use a clutch, like I do on my Honda."
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Jason smiled at me -- knowingly -- and we walked on to the Pontiac Firebird 6.6.
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Maybe I shouldn't joke around with a five year old. Maybe he'll grow up with a distrust of adults. My Grandfather Borders joked around with me when I was growing up, and I turned out alright. Right? RIGHT?

“Does Grandpa love to babysit his grandchildren? Are you kidding? By day he is too busy taking hormone shots at the doctor. At night he and Grandma are too busy doing the cha-cha.” ~~ Humorist, Hal Boyle

Saturday, May 22, 2010

I Have Been Away



I have been away -- not in the travel sense, but away from this and other widely social settings. Among the things keeping me away is my third book. Even though the writing is complete, I have been revising the first chapter, an agonizing process for me, in preparation for sending it to an editor. And, as part of the process, I have sent off five query letters -- one to an agent that I carefully researched as to his interest in historical fiction, and four to publishers who accept contact without an agent. Four rejections; one is still out.

The book has also sent me searching for an illustrator to work with. I expect to use three or four illustrations, presumably from my main character who was an artist a thousand years ago. The search ended up in my own back yard -- the wife of my cousin's son; she is an '09 Fine Arts graduate from Kent State with quite a range -- from anime to portraits to insect illustration (she currently has a contract with Orkin).

In the past four weeks, Joan and I have presented four hour long concerts -- "Hymns and Their Stories." Each of these are formatted for the occasion; two of the three used an actor playing the role of a poet, with me writing their script. And then there is rehearsal; generally, I try to rehearse one hour a day with Joan for three weeks to get my voice in shape for singing and speaking an hour's length. As I age, my voice is not as forgiving of things like outrageous amounts of pollen. It's amazing to recall that as a younger singer, I smoked two packs of Winstons a day and got away with it (I think)! I couldn't do that any longer.

And then there is family -- Joan is preparing a 75 page booklet on our annual Memorial Day grave visits in Pittsburgh. Carefully researched stories and photographs of deceased family members proudly grace the pages she has painstakingly -- oftentimes in conflict with her computer and other mechanical objects that stand in her way -- assembled over two months in a spiral bound and tabbed edition intended for this and future generations. I have tried to stay away from her "process" but somehow always manage to become involved -- much as she does in mine.

The Grand Children are getting older and as they do, they become involved in sports and theatre and activities that grandparents want to see and photograph. How precious it is to get beaten by your 5 year old Grand Son in Bean Bag Toss; I think I can take him the next time!

Writing, Art, Music, Children -- I have been away Dear Reader, in a most pleasant way.

"Writers will happen in the best of families"
~~ Rita Mae Brown, American Writer, b. 1944