Photos of Fall

Back in October, I posted that I was glad it wasn't autumn yet because there was a lot to be seen in Wilderness Park. This month it is definitely autumn, but there's still a lot to be seen. Since the weather is fantastic, I decided to take advantage of it and slung my Canon over my shoulder for a long walk.

True, some of the park looks mostly brown, but it can still be pretty:

  

There were things to see when I looked up:

and when I looked down:

Some things I almost stumbled over or missed, but were worth a second look:

Some of the colors surprised me:

                  

I'm glad I paused on the bridge over the stream.

As I was leaving, a woman asked me, "Did you see anything?" I pondered for a moment, spread my arms and said, "Just general beauty." She smiled and continued on her walk. I hope she saw as much as I did.

Thanks for joining me on a walk through the park!

Reconnecting

I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I made my usual trek up to Nebraska to spend time with my family, which makes this one of my favorite holidays. I love my family and I'm always glad when I get to reconnect with them.

During this time, I was able to ask someone who grew up on a farm about how corn grows. At first I was afraid to look dumb, but then I asked the question anyway ... and I got a useful answer. This might not seem important to you, but it was huge for me: the reason I asked about corn is that I'm trying to write a scene involving some characters running around in a cornfield.

That's right: I'm writing a scene! After over a year, I'm starting to reconnect with my characters. There was a dog named Nick in the National Dog Show and I immediately thought of my pilot. I'm starting to think about asking Reg's advice again. I'm trying to look at problems through Lamont's eyes.

What a relief. There were times I thought this would never happen again. It doesn't mean that I'm going to sit down and write my whole fifth novel next week, but now I really am beginning to believe there's a good chance it will get finished.

To those of you who write, I know you've probably gone through writer's block before. Maybe you're going through it now. Believe me, I know how scary it is when you think you're never going to write anything more than an email again ... but I'm here to tell you this: you will get past it! Just keep trying, just keep hoping, just keep writing (even if the result is awful). Remember what it is about your characters or story that excited you in the first place.

I have to laugh at the timing. I'm ready to get to work again, just as I'm getting hit with holiday decorating, gift-planning, baking, parties, etc. But I don't mind. Writing is a gift and I'm going to take some time to unwrap it again.

Have a magical holiday season.

Not Quite Yet

Autumn might think it's here. The calendar might say it's here. But Wilderness Park says otherwise. No, summer is hanging on.

We only have a few leaves turning color so far in southeast Kansas, although the sumac is pretty.

 

Most of the butterflies and flowers are gone. This means that when I go walking in the park, I have to look more closely for the little bits of color and beauty that try to hide in the greenery.

 

It does make me work a little harder to find tidbits to photograph, but I don't mind. If everything were out in plain sight, I might not enjoy it as much. I might just stride by, nodding my head and thinking, "Oh, there's another colorful leaf," instead of searching each area for something of interest.

I almost stepped on this guy!

I like it that the leaves are still green. They'll be beautiful colors soon enough, but right now they make a nice contrast to the little splashes of color out there.

Autumn can hold off just a little longer. I'm still enjoying the warmer air, the refreshing breezes and the greenery. They'll be gone soon enough, so I'll appreciate them now while I still can.

Have a beautiful autumn, no matter what color it is.

Perspective

First of all, I want to apologize for not posting in August. I think that's the first month I've missed!

I held off for most of August because I thought I was going to have a great post. I thought I was all set to describe with full enthusiasm the total solar eclipse that I'd witnessed.

As so many things in life go, it didn't quite work out that way.

I'd planned ahead. I had the day off from work. I had the official solar eclipse glasses. I had selected my route and I even had a companion for the journey to St. Joseph, Missouri. That was going to be one of the top spots to see the eclipse, so that's where I was going. Never mind that the forecast said it would probably rain.

We drove up there and passed through a very heavy downpour around Kansas City, but it didn't last long and we managed to avoid the crowds to find an ideal spot in the parking lot of an abandoned grocery store. It was partly cloudy, but we could still see the moon starting to cover a little bit of the sun. I'll admit that it was a pretty amazing sight.

Then it clouded over. Then it rained. We couldn't see the sun at all anymore.

As I despaired, my companion reminded me that we would still experience totality: the darkness, not the actual sight of the moon covering the sun. I tried to take some comfort in that, and it was pretty cool when the sky got darker. The temperature fell and everything looked eerie. The horizon turned sunset colors of pink and orange. Those two minutes were unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

Then the sun came back out and it was still cloudy. Not only that, traffic was so bad that it took us an extra two hours to get home, after sitting motionless several times in bumper-to-bumper vehicles. Meanwhile, we listened to people on the radio tell us how incredible it was to see the corona.

It took a few days for me to be able to consider the trip without bitterness. It didn't seem fair that so many people got to see the full eclipse and I didn't. It stung when other people gushed about how spectacular it was.

But when I think about it, it was my fault. Weather forecasters aren't perfect, but when they say it's going to be cloudy, all the wishful thinking in the world won't clear the sky. I was stubborn: I had a St. Joseph eclipse T-shirt, so I was going to St. Joseph! Next time I'll listen to the forecasters and try to be more flexible.

I have less than seven years to think about that while I'm planning for the next one.

Me in aforementioned T-shirt August 2017

Wheels Turning

I know someone who's a big bicycling enthusiast, so we recently spent a few weeks watching coverage of the Tour de France. In case, you don't know, it's a bicycle race that involves 21 stages through various mountain ranges in and around France. To call it grueling would be an understatement.

Whenever I hear professional athletes complain about how tough they have it, I try to sympathize. I don't personally go out 162 days a year and try to hit a little white ball somewhere that doesn't have someone trying equally hard to catch it. I don't run a few yards only to be smashed to the ground by a gigantic person who wants that brown object in my hands. I don't slice across the ice on tiny blades while trying to hit a puck without being crushed by another person who can get an awful lot of momentum on that ice.

So I don't feel I can comment on how tough it is to be a professional athlete. They battle tough crowds, injuries, the always-constant possibility of losing their job. I understand that it isn't easy.

But I also want to laugh at most of them. Sure it's tough, but why don't they try this: get on a bicycle, ride 100 miles or so up mountains and across windswept plains, battling hundreds of others, sometimes getting knocked down when someone else loses control but then climbing back on the bike to continue. Do this all day until you can barely breathe or walk. Collapse on the ground or stagger to a trailer. Then get a few hours of sleep and do it again. Repeat every day for three weeks (with only one or two rest days).

Some of those cyclists ride with broken bones. Some of them are bleeding. It's hard to get water or food sometimes. They have to battle through crazy fans who think it's funny to crowd them or try to pat them on the back.

And they choose to do this! There are several races across the world and they show up as often as they can to apparently try to kill themselves so they can be first over that line and bathe in the short-lived glory of victory.

As I learned this year, it's actually a team effort ... but it's still one person on that bike who has to make it through the day. And the next day. And the next.

I hope I'll remember that the next time I think I'm having a hard day at work. I'll look at the cushy desk chair I'm sitting in. I'll feel the air conditioning (or lack of rain on my head). I'll reach for my fruit bar and cup of water. I'll think about the weekend. And maybe I'll realize how relatively lucky I am.

Amazingly enough, though, we have one thing in common: they love cycling, I love writing. They'll keep doing it, I'll keep doing it. That's what we're here to do, in a way.

And that's what it's all about, isn't it?

Shelter

A few days ago, I was sitting in my car, waiting at the stop sign in front of my house, when I spotted something small in the cross street. It looked like a bird, but that didn't make any sense. A big white SUV drove by, making me wince, but its tires straddled the little shape, which was buffeted by its passing. By now I was sure it was a bird. No matter how strange the situation was, it was time for me to do something.

I backed up my car so I could park at the curb and hopped out. There was another car coming, which made my heart beat a little faster, but then it signaled that it would be turning onto my street. Sensing an opportunity, I stepped into the street and found myself standing over a little female sparrow. She was young, but she had feathers so she'd left the nest. How she got into the street was a mystery, but she was obviously in shock because she didn't even try to get away from me.

Another car was coming so I bent down and scooped her up in both hands. Her little body was warm, which was a good sign, and she was very soft. I carried her from the street into our side yard, where I carefully deposited her in a depression under one of our forsythia bushes. She settled in there and didn't move. I wanted to stay, but I knew that would probably traumatize her even more, so I left. The good news is that when I came home for lunch, she was gone. I'm hopeful that she recovered enough to fly away to safety.

I've thought of that a few times since then. The poor little bird must have been overwhelmed, sitting on hard pavement with gigantic beasts rushing over her head. Then two big hands wrapped themselves around her and carried her away. After all that, though, she found herself in cool grass with shade so she could gather her wits.

I think we all need that once in a while. I know I do. Sometimes things just seem to pile up in my life until I feel buffeted and confused, unsure how I got there or what to do. Those of you who see a religious answer to this are certainly welcome to make that connection, but I found a somewhat more secular response.

I was at work a day or so later, feeling a little overwhelmed by several things going on in my life at the same time, when I asked a co-worker about meditation. I know she's interested in that type of thing and I wondered if it might be good for me. Without judging or questioning me, she immediately gave me some advice and found a Youtube video that might be helpful. She also told me I could talk to her about it anytime. I'll admit that I almost cried at her compassion.

Sometimes those hands appear when you need them the most.

My advice is this: if you see an opportunity to be the hands to help someone else, please take it. It might only take a little effort on your part and it might make all the difference to that person. And if you're on the receiving end, show your appreciation if you can and try to carry on in a better state of mind because that's what the owner of those hands was hoping for.

I wish the little sparrow a long, happy life. And I'm giving meditation a try.

The Quest Continues

I think I’ve mentioned before that I’m a birder and I’ve been keeping a list since 2003. I finally got to 200 birds last year, which was a real milestone for me. So what’s next?

I’ve got the quantity, so I’m going for the quality. Not that the birds already on my list aren’t great! I’ve seen some remarkable birds … but there are still those that aren’t yet on my list. The elusive ones. The maddening ones.

Then there’s the Big One (although it’s small), the bird so amazing that it’s hard to believe it’s real.

The painted bunting.

Click here to see info about Painted Buntings

I look once again in the bird book and shake my head. Not only do I wonder how such a colorful bird can exist, but I wonder how it’s possible I haven’t seen one yet.

It’s not for lack of trying. I’ve searched in areas where they’re supposed to be found. I’ve quizzed my fellow birders. Last year, based on a tip, I found a good place to look, but I was too early in the season. This year I tried again, almost a month later.

Some of you might be asking why I’m doing this, why it matters.

To answer that, let me tell you about last weekend.

The weather was fantastic and I took a well-known highway north of Pittsburg, where I missed my turn (that sign was pretty small!) and had to turn around. Then the paved road turned to gravel, which didn’t make my Toyota very happy. I kept going, though, until I reached the small town of Mulberry, Kansas. I couldn’t remember where I’d gone last year, so I ended up driving around various roads, trying to find a good spot with thickets that might be inviting to a little feathered work of art.

That was the first half hour or so.

Finally I drove along a rural road that looked familiar. Ahead of me I could see a hazy shape in the middle of the road and another perched atop a telephone pole, so I pulled over to use the binoculars. The one in the road was a good-sized turkey and the one on the pole was a kestrel, so I took that as a good sign and parked the car. I walked back along the road and around a corner, where I came upon a chirping field. Actually, it was a field full of chirping birds. I must have tried for ten minutes, but not a single one of those birds showed itself. I’m pretty sure they were dickcissels, which usually perch in plain view, but these were determined to evade me.

So there I stood, staring at a field of birds, none of which I could see, and wondering why I was even there.

Then I heard it.

There was an odd squawk, followed by three little sounds that are hard to describe. I can tell you that I’d never heard that before. It came again: squawk, squawk, followed by almost bell-like sounds, a real contrast. That was intriguing, so I turned my back on the field (if you birds don’t want to be seen, so be it!) and studied the trees on the other side of the road.

Then I remembered a hard rule of birding: it’s easier to bird by sight than by sound. In other words, you can hear the birds (like those in the field) but you might not see them, especially when the trees have all of their leaves. It’s better to watch for movement and then you’ve got something.

I had nothing, except for the sound … which had stopped.

I told myself to walk away because I would never see it in all those leaves. I told myself that it had probably flown away anyway.

But I stayed. And I heard it again. Then I took three steps to my left … and there it was.

It was sitting out on a bare branch in plain sight and singing so I’d know it was the one.

I stared through the binoculars, making little mental notes, although I had already guessed what it was.

Nope. It wasn’t a painted bunting. But it was still pretty cool: a yellow-breasted chat. That was good enough to be #203 on my list!

After that, I drove around some more. I found a beautiful spot with running water (one of my favorite sounds in nature), trees and a preening Eastern Phoebe that let me get a good look at him. I walked along that road to the sound of a calling red-shouldered hawk.

And that’s what it’s all about, I guess. Birding takes me out of my own little world and shows me another one. It lets me meditate on nature, discover the unexpected, feel a sense of accomplishment when I spot and identify a bird. Even when I don’t see anything new, I still see something worth seeing.

And someday I’m going to see that painted bunting.

March in April

It was chilly, in the low 40s, and there was drizzle in the air ... so why was there a group of people, myself included, standing in the middle of the street this morning in Joplin, Missouri?

We were there for the March for Science. You might have heard of it, because there were marches held all over the world today in hundreds of cities. Thousands of people took part. Joplin didn't have thousands of people, but there was a respectable turnout. There were men, women and children. Most of us didn't know each other, but we smiled and chatted. We waved signs at passing traffic and cheered when the cars honked. After a while, we walked four blocks, carrying our signs and chanting in unison. Then we turned around and did it again.

So why do this? Why brave the unfriendly weather and wave a sign that now sits unused in our kitchen? Why chant slogans such as "One Earth, No Time" and "Stand Up, Fight Back" if not many people other than the marchers were there to hear?

I can't speak for the others, but I was there simply to show my support for science. Scientific findings and funding have come under fire lately, and I think that leads this country, and all countries, in the wrong direction. I greatly value scientists, engineers, researchers and educators ... and I think everyone else should, too. These people are making a big difference in our lives and should be encouraged to continue. They should also be allowed to travel in order to take part in research and education. They will bring us the next big technology, discovery and/or cure.

I know I didn't make a direct difference. It was purely symbolic on my part. (Just for the record, I would do the same thing in support of the humanities, too.) But if some influential people took notice of this movement, and if any of those people reconsider their stance or their beliefs or their actions, then I will have been a part of that. And that's a good feeling.

Diane after the March for Science April 2017

By the way, I didn't do this because I'm a member of one political party or the other. To me, this had nothing to do with politics and everything to do with the whole world. Politics plays its part, but it's only a part. Everyone, not just politicians, needs to pay attention.

Besides, if you take "Defiance for Science" and remove efc, you have "Diane for Science." How could I argue with that?

Happy Earth Day.

Transition

Tomorrow is the First Day of Spring.

That phrase means many things to me. It means sunlight, warmth, birds, flowers, baseball, hope. It means I can think about travel and birding and long walks in the park. It means I won't huddle inside, shivering in the darkness even when the furnace is running.

Later, there will be bugs, loud motorcycles, people not wearing enough clothing ... But I won't think about that now.

Phlox in our front yard March 2017

For now, I'll look at the flowers that survived the sudden frost this past week and I'll smile. Winter has been vanquished once again ... at least temporarily.

I wouldn't have it any other way. What I mean is this: I wouldn't enjoy spring if I hadn't had to struggle through winter first. It's only months of neutral colors and chilly temperatures that can make this season so special.

Grape hyacinth in our front yard March 2017

If there were hyacinth blooming all year long, would I even notice them after a while? Probably not. If there were mockingbirds here all the time, would I cherish the first time I hear that unique series of songs and calls coming from atop a telephone pole? Nope. If I had to mow the grass all year long, would the sight of green in the yard make me happy? Certainly not.

I salute winter for making me appreciate spring. I can still recall snuggling under a pile of covers, happy to be safe and warm, dreaming of long days and a time when I could put hats, gloves and coats into storage. I'm grateful that winter gives way for a while, allowing us to take a deep breath of fresh air without making our lungs hurt.

Flowers in our back yard March 2017

I might even miss winter eventually. But not now.

Happy Spring!

Update on the Fifth Novel

It occurs to me that this blog is supposed to help you keep track of where I am on my novels, but it's kind of hard for you to do that if I don't post updates once in a while!
So here goes ...

The fifth novel, which does not have a title that I want to share yet, has a long way to go. This weekend I finally started to break part of it into chapters so that it's not just one big lump of story. I've done some other minor formatting, but it doesn't have headers yet.

The biggest problem is the story itself. I had a story written, but it's too short and the beginning is horribly boring. Because of this, I decided I needed to add something to the beginning, and that's where I've gotten myself in trouble. It turns out that it's very hard to add onto the beginning of a story because you have to come up with stuff that not only fits in with what's already written but also doesn't mess with the themes or give away anything that's coming later in the story. That's hard!

I also find that it's hard to write toward something that's finished. In other words, I'm used to writing with no particular ending in mind, which gives me a lot more freedom. Right now, I'm limited on where the story can go or what the characters can do, and that's had a negative effect on the writing itself. I wrote myself into several dead ends and had to backtrack to get where I wanted to be.

I like most of what I've written and I think I can make all of this work, but there's still a lot to be done. Because of that, I'm not very far along. I'm sorry to say that, because it makes a potential reader a little exasperated, I'm sure.

I am working on it, though! I spent quite a bit of time this weekend on the novel, which felt incredibly good after my long bout of writer's block, so I'm confident that this novel will see the light of day.

We'll just have to see when I can finish it, but I think that's a lot better than having to see if it will happen.

In the meantime, if you'd post a review of any of my novels, I'd really appreciate it! Please be honest if you do so. You can post a review on Amazon, Goodreads or wherever you prefer.

Thanks! And thanks for reading my blog.

Closet Spaceship Part 19

I was looking for Reggie when Tim Caswell spotted me in the corridor of Penumbra.

“Hey,” he said.

I winced, hoping he’d forgotten our last talk. “Hi.”

He laughed. “Caught you.”

“I was actually looking for Reg …”

“Is it important?” he asked.

“What?” I said. “Uh, well, no, I guess not. Not really.”

Sometimes I have to stop to admire how articulate I can be. This was not one of those times.

“Good,” Tim said. “Then it can wait.”

He beckoned and led me into the radio station, where we sat down in some chairs a few meters away from the microphone.

I fidgeted a little, wishing I could hear the song that was playing throughout the ship so I could lose myself in the words or the instruments, but he’d turned down the volume so it was inaudible. I looked at the blinking lights on the control panel, the crumpled candy wrapper on the floor next to the wastebasket, a scuff mark on the floor that looked like a bent cactus.

In short, I did almost everything but ask him what I wanted to ask.

Tim might not spend a lot of time around people, but he’s not dumb.

“You want me to find Reg for you?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” I said. “I can’t ask him any more than I can ask you.”

“Ask us what?”

“What’s going to happen?” I slouched down in my chair. “Don’t answer that.”

“Happen where?” Tim asked.

“In my novel. In my life. In the U.S. Everywhere.”

When I saw the puzzled look on his face, I added, “Sorry. Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” Tim said, “but maybe I could walk out of here and leave the database unlocked.”

I shook my head. “I’m trying not to get you fired.”

“Okay, so what set this off?”

“A lot of stuff. Amazingly enough, having the Cubs win the World Series didn’t solve the world’s problems. Or mine, although it made them a little less obvious for a while there.”

Tim started to say something, but then he shut up.

“No,” I said. “You can’t say whether they did it again. Why am I even having this conversation?”

“So you won’t have to tell me about the cubicle?”

I laughed, which felt good.

“If I did walk out of here,” Tim asked, “would you look?”

“No,” I said without hesitation. I’ve always had a fear of knowing the future, because if it’s not good, I can’t do a thing about it. If I don’t know, I can still hope for the best. “Would you?”

He thought about it for a while. “No, I guess not. But I do know this: you’re not going to tell me about working in a cubicle.”

“Not if I can help it,” I said. “You’re better off not knowing.”

“It’s funny,” Tim said. “I’m not a big fan of secrets, but we can both keep ours: don’t ever tell me and we’ll be even.”

“It’s a deal,” I said.

I can hope for the best, but will I?

I’ll try.

Unwriting

Writer's Block.

The mere phrase strikes terror in the hearts of writers everywhere. Nobody wants to think about it, but it happens to all of us.

I have several methods to deal with it. I go for walks so I can think. I listen to my favorite music. I read books by other people. I reread my own books (to remind myself that I can do this).

Lately, though, I've recognized that something else is called for. This one took me a long time to figure out when I first started writing.

Here's what's happening: I write a few sentences and then it's as if my characters stop and look at me to ask what's next. I write a few more sentences and they stop again. They're not running out ahead of me like they usually do. They're looking at me as if to ask, "What are you doing?"

After this has happened several times, I finally admit it to myself: they're doing this because something is wrong. If I can't figure out what happens next, it means I'm not happy with where I am. Somehow, I've gotten off track and I shouldn't be here.

So I do one of the hardest things for a writer: I "unwrite." In my case, that involves cutting and pasting text into a Rejects file, in case I want to use some of it later. Basically, it means removing a big section of what I've written most recently. That hurts, especially when I've been battling writer's block and I'm so proud of myself for actually writing something, anything. It has to be done, though. My characters are telling me that they shouldn't be here, so I have to take them back to where we went wrong and start again.

This has worked for me in the past. I think my subconscious recognizes that I went astray at some point, and I just have to figure out when that was and correct it. Once I get it right, my characters usually run out ahead of me again and we're all on track together.

Meanwhile, I've also recognized a major plot mistake in this novel, so I'll be trying to correct that.

All in a day's work for a writer.



Thanks for reading my blog. Feel free to post comments. Happy 2017!