Sandbox Camp Tales from a Maine Storyteller

You gotta be nuts!

2012-01-10T09:35:00.000-08:00

Well that's what my wife said. "Why would you want to own a 38 year old car? And not just any car, but a VW Beetle?" She had a good point. Why? Since buying the car I've been trying to figure that out. For one thing, its fun. For me anyway, its a ton of fun to just drive around in the thing. My first car was a 1954 Bug. I drove that heap back and forth to college and sold it when I went into the Navy. I think secretly I've always wanted to own another one. So there's the nostalgia aspect. Mid-life crisis and all that. Some guys buy motorcycles or campers or sports cars. This ain't no sports car. What appeals to me most I guess is the honesty of the car. It has no pretentions of being anything other then what it is...plain, simple transportation. Also for me its a statement. Its my way of rebelling against the ultra wired vehicles of today. Most cars have so many switches, screens, voices and wi-fi connections they're like a rolling computer. Plus the engines and suspension and everything else about the car is all computer controlled. The driver is just along for the ride and to give a little guidance when there's a corner ahead. But if something goes wrong...you're dead. forget your password our your electronic key or have a hiccup in the onboard computer and you aren't going anywhere. I hate that feeling of helplessness. I've always been an independent sort of cuss. There is not much that can go wrong with a VW that you can't repair on the roadside and at least be able to limp home or make it to a garage. I can only tell you in a general way how a modern car works, but I can tell you exactly how a VW works. I've taken them apart and put them back together, and tuned them up and timed them and adjusted the valves and the carburetor. So I know. And that gives me satisfaction. So maybe I am nuts. A sort of Luddite railing against the wonders of modern transportation, but I know when I go toodling down the road in the VW I have a huge smile on my face. I have no doubt about how it runs and how it gets me from here to there. My old VW had no heat and neither does this one. When we were dating Jean carried a blanket with her in the car in order to keep warm. She does the same thing now. Who says we can't go back in time? We do every time we take a drive and for now we're loving it.

Shout out for a friend

2011-12-08T05:10:00.000-08:00

"A Christmas Thief" written and illustrated by Middy Thomas is finally published and available for purchase. http://thechristmasthief.com/ Maybe just in time for Christmas. This is a childrens' book written by a vibrant, fun loving 80 year old artist. Middy lives in mid-coast Maine and this is her 6th or 7th or 8th book, so she says. Its a delightful story children will relate too and Middy's illustrations bring the characters and action of the story to life. Its a beautiful book. But it makes me wonder if the parents and children who'll read it, have any idea of the work and effort and time that has gone into making this book, or any book? Its a lot of work. But more then that, for a writer or artist (and Middy is both) it seems with each new work, each new creation, the writer or artist gives up a little piece of themselves. They put so much into the act of creating something new and fresh and compelling. There's joy and satisfaction and relief in the end, but the process is often not easy. Books don't just happen. Writing a book is a business, even if you have no intentions of publishing. There are long hours of typing and painting and re-writing involved. And then when you decide to take the work public it becomes even more of an enterprise involving money and taxes and time tables and schedules and compromises and working with other people. It's not easy. I will never forget when "Sandbox Camp Tales" came back from the first editing. I was devastated! I had no idea the readers and editors would make so many changes. How could they? This was my work. Those were my words. I'd written the sentences they way I wanted them to sound. I was stunned. The publisher was matter-of-fact. "They've cleaned up a lot of mistakes and eliminated confusion", she said. "They've killed my book!" I said. She looked at me and rolled her eyes. "Do you want people to be able to read this or not?" she asked. Hard. Cold. Unyielding. "Well, yes...of course." I stammered. "Ok then," she said, "Lets go over the changes." And we began. Reviewing all the changes was agonizing. But there is was. Editing and re-writing is part of the process. Middy told me she was unhappy with the colors. "They didn't come out like the originals," she said. And I knew exactly what she meant. We laughed together. "It's like giving birth," I told her. There's a lot of pain an discomfort but its worth it. Middy said "I suppose so." As I said, "A Christmas Thief" is a beautiful book. It was written and illustrated by a beautiful person.

Into the digital age

2011-11-06T10:56:00.000-08:00

Welcome! I hope you have found this blog by following the link embedded in the description of my e-book "Sandbox Camp Tales from a Maine Storyteller." At least that's how we hoped it would work. That readers would find the link and then be curious enough to link to this blog and see what's up. "Sandbox Camp Tales" was actually published in 2008. The ink was hardly dry on the pages before friends began urging me to put my book on Amazon. Well it was for sale on Amazon already, but that's not what they meant. Eventually I caught up on my reading and learned all about "Kindle" and "Nook" and e-readers. Then I read some of the self helps and blogs that told how an author was supposed to properly prepare his text for uploading to KDP. "Kindle Digital Publishing" The more I read the more daunting the process seemed. After all, I am in my 60's and as a early member of the "boomer" generation HTML coding does not come easily. The CD with the book sat in my drawer for three years, until this past fall. I had not forgotten and was all too aware of the explosion that had occurred with e-readers and the iPad. It seemed more important now then ever to get the book published electronically. But how? Then along comes the Maine Writers Alliance in Rockland. I found out they provide a service for encoding and formatting books for uploading to Amazon and Smashwords. Done! With Cheryl's help and expertise we've made it at last. And now you are here wondering no doubt about the book and whether its worth your money and your time. I guess that depends on what you enjoy reading and what kind of mood you are in. Its a simple book. Just a collection of personal and family stories that I finally took the time to embellish and write down. Really that's the genesis of the book. At first I put them in a 3 ring binder to have at the cabin for the enjoyment of family and friends who came to the lake. Then they told me I should see about publishing the stories as a book and the result is "Sandbox Camp Tales." You should know we named our log cabin, the "Sandbox" as it is situated on a sandy beach and that's where we come to play. Hence we called it the "Sandbox." The "tales from a Maine Storyteller" was added by the editor/ publisher. My sons tell me I've written the perfect Maine backhouse reader as each story is just about the right length for reading while spending a few minutes in the privy. I've written in other places that my stories are not much different from the stories of other Maine families or any families that recreate in the outdoors. Its just that I've taken the time to write them down. Almost all of the stories in this collection have been published individually. After I retired I began to write more and worked harder at selling my stories to magazines and papers. Almost all of these pieces have appeared in other magazines. You'll find some reminisces from my childhood growing up here in Maine during the 40's, 50's, and 60's. And you'll find some adventures I've been part of while banging around the woods, lakes and streams of Maine. There are also a few pieces about my family. I like to think some of the stories are thought provoking and others are just long anecdotes told merely for the enjoyment of it. Its like we were all at the "Sandbox Camp" at the end of a beautiful summer day. Its about 8 o'clock and the moon is rising up over the trees on the east side of the lake. Away off across the water the loons call and sing. Their weird songs echo off the surrounding hillsides. Someone kindles a campfire on the beach and as it grows darker they throw on more branches and stumps. The supper dishes are finally done and people are attracted outside to the fire. They bring their beers and folding chairs and cozy up in a circle on the beach while they watch the glowing embers drift upward toward the sky. People speak in low voices and then someone says "You remember when Dad tried making those beanhole beans?" "Yea, that was a mess." "But he didn't give up." "Did you Dad?" And there's my opening and my audience. One after another we tell stories and laugh at our own jokes. Imagine you are there with us sharing in those stories, maybe even telling one or two of your own, and then you'll know what my book is like.
I know you'll enjoy reading the stories.

Time to hang it up?

2011-06-12T13:25:00.000-07:00

Its now June 2011 and I wonder if perhaps I shouldn't just delete this blog and wait for another time to create one. It reminds me a little of all this old stuff we now have lying about the house. All these inherited books, pictures, household items, furniture, clothes and tools. None of them have been used for a long time and we won't be using them. My goal is to pass them on or get rid of them. The space in our home is more valuable then these artifacts from our family. If its not something we use at least once or twice a year then we should dump it. Same for the blog, if I visit it only once or twice a year, I should dump it. I guess after all I'm not the blogging type, nor the facebook or twitter type. In the long run, I don't get it. Whenever I read someone's blog or a facebook page it seems like gossip to me. Nonsense, insubstantial prattling by people with apparently nothing better to do with their time. I'm sure they would all say its their way of connecting, of keeping in touch, of staying current with friends. But what did they do before these social networks came on the scene? We grew up without any of these things and somehow it seems like our lives have been more fulfilling then the lives of our children. I'm sure there are people who would say just the opposite that people's lives today are richer and more fulfilling because of these programs and instant communications. I recall when my sister and I received our first bicycles for Christmas and how my father warned us to be prudent and careful when riding. He said there were be a lot of people watching us and that word would get back to him. And he was right. Everyone in town knew who we were and where we lived and who our parents were, and if we had been irresponsible in riding the bikes, our folks would most certainly have heard about it from the neighbors. He knew that and so did we. Our town was a real social network. Except you had to face the person you were talking to. I don't know, I dont' want people to know that much about me and I certainly would not willingly broadcast my intimate or personal information for all the world to see. Nor do I care to know so much about my friends. Writing what you had for breakfast today hardly seems worth the effort to type or to read. So I'm unconvinced. I'm leary of anything that dominates my life and operates by battery. I'd be suspicious of a pace maker. Because it seems just when you need the device or the help the most, the battery dies. It can be frustrating to be so dependant on an inanimate machine. Someone who cared about all this would also be prompt about making entries into his blog. Obviously that's not me. When I have something worthwhile to say maybe I'll return.

Dad's Death

2011-02-09T06:54:00.000-08:00

Its been a while. But we have been distracted. Dad died on Dec. 3, 2010 and I have not been quite the same since. Not sure why. Rather empty I guess. His was an easy death,
if there is such a thing. I tell everyone he slept through it. Which is true. The Veteran's Home nurse called and said they'd discovered him coughing up blood when they were doing their bed checks. They called the ambulance and sent him to the hospital. We caught up with him in the ER. By then he was in a coma and he never did wake up. I'm not sure if he recognized me. The doctors pronounced him terminal and the desires of the his living will kicked in. We returned him to the Veteran's Home where he had been living since New Years day 2010. Four days later he passed away. He never did awaken. We spent most of every day there at his bedside. I've thought a lot about loosing my Dad. But the more I think about it, the more I have come to realize that I had really begun to let him go out of my life when we took him to the Veteran's Home. We visited him almost every day, but it was like he had become someone else. The old Dad who had been my parent had checked out gradually over the past few years. His dementia and liver disease slowly but inexorably changed him into another person. So I don't feel too bad. He died easily and within a short time. We can all hope for such a gentle passing. Both his mother and father had lived into their nineties and Dad had hoped to do the same. I hope he was not too disappointed. Now we're looking forward to burying him and mom this coming summer. Both were cremated and Dad wanted his ashes to be mixed with her's. Some people think this was a lovely idea and others find it creepy. We never did bury Mom because of this. Dad kept her urn on a pedestal there in the living room beside the television for eleven years waiting for him to also die. The urn just became part of the furniture. However there were friends who stopped visiting because Mom's presence in the room made them uncomfortable. We just vacuumed around it and dusted it off. This summer we'll bury the one urn that holds their ashes and that will bring to an end their love story and life together. Until now I have not written anything about Dad except to alert the relatives and family. There's just a persistent emptiness now in my life. I know the passing of time will cure that. At times like this you do dwell on the nature of death and dying and come around to the notion that there's nothing you can do to change it, so you just accept it and move on. I have this image of a table in a dark room and the table is filled with hundreds of those little votive candles. All burning with a tiny flickering flame. Think of them as us. And very quietly you just moisten your fingers and pinch one wick and the candle goes out. But the affect is hardly noticed. The light barely dimmed. And just as easily you might strike a match and start another one or two candles and no one would ever know. I think death is like that. I suppose also this would be a good time to ponder what comes next. Nothing, I think. Despite what various religions try to teach. I just look at nature and observe the cycles of birth, growth and death and rebirth, and that's good enough for me. Animals and plants decay and return to the earth. People do the same. Its the way life works and we're all a part of the natural world. We spread some of Mom's ashes beside the pond and we'll spread some of Dad's there too. We'll think of them when we see the Lady Slippers bloom in the spring.

The Wedding

2010-10-15T13:48:00.001-07:00

Well, you don't do that every day. Last Saturday I had the privilege of actually marrying my son and his bride. Pretty awesome. I'll tell you how it came about. Back in the winter he gave her a diamond and she said they would have a fall wedding. Then almost as an afterthought, they said "Dad, you can marry us." Well, yes I could. Maine, South Carolina and Florida allow a Notary Public to solemnize a wedding. Forthwith I submitted the paperwork to become a notary. Paid my fifty bucks and I was "official". Like so many young people these days, the kids were not into religion and merely wanted a simple nonsectarian wedding ceremony. I thought what I would want to tell them and then I searched for some quotes and writers who might fit the occasion. They had decided to be married at our very remote wilderness cabin. That also presented some challenges as the place is not easy to get to and has no paved roads, no running water and no electricity. The wedding party would be limited. Then they had the idea to get married on one weekend and have the reception on the next. Nothing like thinking outside the box. So that's what we did. When I mentioned these plans to my sister, who by the way is very religious, her immediate reaction was a question. "Can you do that?" she asked. "Won't that be a problem? Is that legal?" "Yes it is," I told her. I called the state bureau of statistics and records just to make sure and I was right. Everything would be legal and above board. So far so good.
But you know its kind of a funny feeling to take on such responsibility. I mean, who was I that I should have any authority or moral right to pronounce these two people husband and wife? What gave me the right? Well for one thing, they'd asked me. And for another I was Jeremy's father. And Jean and I owned the camp. In a way I was in charge. I guessed if a ship's captain can perform a wedding then so could I. I wondered if my Maine Guide's License contributed anything to the proceedings? The truth is like many young people these days, Jeremy and Shannon had somewhere in their past days together made a silent commitment to each other and for all practical purposes were husband and wife. My few words and signature on the marriage license would just make it "official". I thought how, in some ways, this whole process is backward. How its so easy to get married and so difficult to get divorced, and I wondered if maybe it should be the other way around. Maybe there were be fewer divorces if more work were done up front ensuring the couples were compatible and level headed about their enterprise? Last Saturday was a lovely fall day. We assembled on the beach of the lake in front of the cabin and we all smiled as the beautiful bride came down the steps to meet her new husband. I read from Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gift from the Sea, and then a piece by Robert Fulgham called "Union" and then I asked them "Do you?" and "Do you?" And that was it. "By the power vested in my by the State of Maine I now pronounce you husband and wife." Then there was laughing, and whoops, and clapping and lots and lots of hugging. We'd done it. No, I warrant there aren't too many fathers who can say the did the wedding ceremony for their son. We have some friends who've done the same for their daughter. He and I commiserate over what a rush the whole thing is. Never to be forgotten. Can you imagine the story these kids will be able to tell their children? So, if you get the chance, do it. If your kids should ask you, do it. And if you don't happen to live in Maine, So Carolina or Florida; then maybe you'd move just so you could say "I now pronounce you husband and wife." I'll never forget the moment.

The Floating Campfire

2010-09-11T12:08:00.001-07:00

I wasn’t all that enthusiastic about a pontoon boat, but now that we have one, my ideas are changing. At first I thought they were just too awkward and clumsy to be much of a boat. Sort of like a floating barn door. Definitely not my idea of a vessel suitable for off shore adventures. But she persisted and I found a used one we could afford. Its twenty feet long and the first comments from the kids was why hadn’t we bought one sooner? I decided what appeals is the sociable aspect of the thing, what I have come to call the floating campfire. The outdoor campfire at our cabin is a gathering place. As the evening draws on someone kindles a fire and as it grows darker and perhaps a little cooler people begin to assemble. They automatically form a circle around the burning fire, being carful to stay out of the drifting woodsmoke. We pull up beach chairs and stumps for seats and people poke at the coals. They stir the burning ashes and throw on more limbs and the fire flares up. Then the talk begins. About the day and what we’ve done and who was where and the swimming and the fishing and the mountain biking. The kids tell stories and ask questions and before we know it old family legends and fables are being told. Someone brings his guitar and plucks a few chords. Maybe it’s a tune we know and people hum along. We draw closer to the fire and shake up the ashes and watch the sparks soar upward amongst the tree branches to take their place in the star -studded night sky. Everyone feels cozy in the circle of firelight. Well at least that’s how I see it, and now we have a similar experience with the pontoon boat. We find it brings people together. In some instances they may all be following their own interests, but for the duration of the cruise, they’re all here and part of the crowd. The floating dance floor allows everyone to come. The young wives sit in the back and read their romance novels. The teenagers sit at the table and eat their snacks and drinks. The two year old sits on the deck and plays with his toys. Three young men on the bow cast lures against the shore looking for the first fish of the day. The oldsters can sit comfortably without being scrunched up. They can get up and walk around and stretch. The engine is not overly loud so people talk and can be heard. Nor do we go fast but merely idle along the shore. The water slaps playfully against the aluminum tubes that are the pontoons. We take turns passing the mixed nuts and the drinks, netting a fish and steering. Now it becomes clear why she wanted the boat. It’s social. Like the campfire it makes a gathering place and encourages people to interact. The teens debate the merits of their favorite singers and song groups. The men laugh together when one cast his lure over the other’s line. The toddler walks back and forth between the mothers in the stern and his father on the bow. Everyone sees the eagle drop from his perch high in the top of a giant pine and fly low over the surface of the pond. We all hear loons when they take up their chorus for the evening. It takes maybe two hours to circle the lake at our rate of speed but no one complains. The girls pull on their hoodies as the evening chill descends. When we get back to the dock there’s just light enough to see the path up to the cabin. His father has to carry the toddler who is now mostly asleep. People speak in whispers as if they don’t want to disrupt the quiet of the evening and the woods. The floating campfire has done its job bringing people all together at the end of the day. Forcing interaction and conversation and togetherness. In a few minutes someone will kindle the other kind of campfire and people will gather round the fireplace. I have to admit she was right. The pontoon boat has been a good buy. It’s brought a whole new dimension to our days at the cabin and the time we are able to spend with our family. Slowly I’m growing somewhat fond of the boat. I never thought I’d like such an awkward craft, but it just proves there’s a place and time for most everything. And right now this pontoon boat is pretty neat.

Checkmate

2010-07-04T07:09:00.000-07:00

I never liked playing chess. It always seemed like a very cruel game to me.
But then I’m a very noncompetitive person. I couldn’t seem to get my head
around the idea that the goal of the game was to defeat your opponent, and
yet at the same time playing was supposed to be fun. And too, some of the
friends I knew who played took the game very seriously. The press was not
encouraging either, presenting stories of world chess masters with minds like
computers that no one else could hope to understand. I smiled to myself when
they created a machine with enough computing power that could finally
defeat the world’s best players. Friends used to tell me how they loved the
game because it was a metaphor for life. I thought it was more like war. What
I hated most of all was how when the end came there were no options other
then toppling the king. Checkmate. All roads out were blocked. All bridges
destroyed. All doors slammed shut. You were trapped like a rat and had to
concede defeat. That’s how the game is played.
But now I find myself part of a real life chess game and the metaphor has come
back to haunt me. My father is living in a nursing home. Putting him there was
like finally giving up the fight and admitting defeat. It was checkmate all over
again. That’s what happens when all your options fail, all alternatives shrivel
up, and you’re left with no other choice. I find life, like chess, sometimes is a cruel game. Poor Dad had been failing for years. Every since Mom died he had continued
living alone and doing his best to get by. But the onset of dementia and physical
infirmities put him at risk. He was either going to leave the stove on and burn
the house down, or he was going to have an auto accident and kill someone.
As each week passed the pawns fell one after the other. He lost track of time.
He became incontinent. He didn’t eat. He fell in the kitchen and we had to
call the EMT’s. He went to the hospital and then rehab and then we brought
him home. The VA provided some in-home care to help with bathing and
cooking and shopping. We had meals on wheels and Dad just stacked the
unopened meals in the fridge. He could not learn to take his medications.
He passed out and could not get out of bed. We had to call the ambulance
again. Now the knights and bishops were being eliminated. The progress of the dementia
was slow but unfaltering. He tried smoking and burned his clothes. The
state finally took away his driver’s license. There goes the queen. He
collapsed again and went to the hospital. For a while they had him on death
watch. He was comatose, but he revived and the question was what to do
now? He couldn’t return home. That was out of the question. Check.
His needs were beyond what his family could provide. Check again. He
needed nursing care throughout the day. He needed a safe environment. He
needed help with simple daily tasks. He couldn’t dress himself. His needs were
so great he didn’t even qualify for assisted living. They discharged him to
the Veteran’s Home. And that was checkmate. Nowhere else to go. No
other options. No new ideas. No hope of recovery. The king is defeated.
As I said, chess and life can both be very cruel. And right now I’m not
enjoying the game.

Memorial Day at the Maine Veterans' Home

2010-06-05T19:14:00.001-07:00

Well it's been a while. Lots going on of course, but nothing directly to do with the book. Mostly marina stuff. Putting the docks and moorings in the river, getting the place up and running for the summer. The big project was choosing and then installing a wi-fi system for our customers. That has been successful by the way, but that's not what caused me to open this screen and begin typing. No, what I would like to record is what happened a week ago at the Maine Veteran's Home. Dad now lives there. He has been there since New Years Day 2010. On Monday we were invited as family to come take part in the Memorial Day festivities. When we arrived the staff and nurses were just beginning to wheel many of the old vets out of the home into the parking lot. Those who are mobile like Dad shuffled along with their walkers. It was a sunny warm summer day on the Maine coast. Before long the sidewalk was filled with about 100 assorted old veterans and their families. When I scanned the crowd I saw caps with gold gilt names on the hat band: Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Merchant Marine, Coast Guard. They were all there. And then we heard the parade. The Scarboro Memorial Day Parade was marching down US Route 1 and turned up the driveway to the veteran's home. The Vet's home was the last stop for the parade and the site for the town's memorial service. All the veterans got to see the entire Memorial Day Parade pass in review. The high school band, the color guard, the girl scouts and boy scouts, the old cars
and tractors and the fire engine. All traveled around the circle of the parking lot and then stopped. The services began with the pledge of allegiance. That's when I heard a stirring and all about us these old old soldiers and sailors struggled to their feet. Those who could stood up and faced the flag, flapping proudly there in the light breeze from the coast. Some saluted, others placed their hands over their hearts and in voices barely audible recited the oath. It took a few minutes to get them all seated and comfortable again. The band played, the bag pipers squealed, the drums beat and the guest general gave a nice short speech. The ceremony honoring those who had given the last full measure of devotion to their country, and their buddies who had made it home was almost over. The high school band members stood up from their seats and raised their horns. They began playing the national anthem. One by one, the veterans rose one more time to stand and gaze at their flag flying in the morning sun. They remained standing while the VFW color guard fired a gun salute and then off to the side of the parking lot a high schooler played taps. The aching notes echoed off the sides of the Veterans' Home. the last note faded to silence and Memorial Day was done. Family and staff began to circulate and assist the aged vets with their wheelchairs and walkers and guided them back toward the open doors of the building. I'm not sure all knew or remembered why their nurses had brought them outside that day. But some did. Dad knew. He said it was a great time. It reminded him of Memorial Days gone by when it was called Decoration Day. I kept thinking to myself, "its so little", to recognize these veterans for what they did on just one day. And now here they are, many of them infirmed and unable any longer to care for themselves. I thought, we forget too soon. I honored the day by wearing my Vietnam Service Medal. Once a year I find that token and wear it for the day. We were together helping Dad to his feet when a stranger asked if we were a family. I said yes and she asked to take our picture. Jean and me and USN Shipfitter First Class Bob Randall, age 87 years, stood in the sun and smiled at the camera. Dad was tired and ready to return to his room. It seems to me at least this is one holiday the stores and merchants will not be able to commercialize. I hope people will keep the day pure and solemn and that at least once each year we all take time to remember and say Thanks. Its the least we can do.

Gaffett's Town

2010-03-21T13:37:00.000-07:00

Whenever we visit Dad at the nursing home, I come away discouraged. Oh don't get me wrong, the Veteran's Home is a nice facility and the staff are as nice as possible. We think Dad is getting excellent care there. But when all is said and done its still a nursing home and after a number of visits the place seems rather bleak to me. As we walk the halls and skirt the various vets in their wheelchairs and scurry past the open doors to the rooms that hold bed ridden elderly, I can't put out of my mind the elephant in the room. That elephant we all know is there lurking, but no one acknowledges its presence. That elephant that hangs over all the activities and daily routine. That unspoken elephant that says almost everyone has come there to die. For most, not all, but most of these folks this facility is their last stop before they die and move on. Even Dad remarks how almost every week they wheel someone out and then the next day a new person comes to occupy that room. Sort of like a train station where people wait, often not all that patiently, for their train. When the train stops they present their ticket and get on board and their seat at the station is taken by another traveler. I began to think along these lines and I remembered Captain Littlepage's sea story in Country of the Pointed Firs written by Sarah Jewett. In the book Capt. Littlepage spins his yarn about being shipwrecked on the coast of Greenland. While the survivors waited for rescue, Capt. Littlepage befriended another lost mariner and its from him the captain got his story called The Waiting Place. The man Gaffett told about his ship and crew being lost in the Artic, further north then any ship had ever sailed before and how they came upon this town. Gaffett went on to explain how the sailors were amazed to find an occupied town so far north and yet the people they saw on shore were - insubstantial. They were ghostly and flitted about. When a sailor would try to approach one of these souls they would vanish. Gaffett went on at great length about how they saw groups of these wraith-like people and individuals but were never able to speak to any of them. In the end they decided these creatures were neither living or dead. Gaffett told Captain Littlepage the strange town they had stumbled upon was a sort of waiting place between this world and the next. Capt. Littlepage was not at all sure about the weird town so high in the latitudes but as he grew older he wondered more and now in the book he repeated Gaffett's story, as if it might have been true. Who could say? I know the story's true. Gaffett town and the people in it are not far away in the Artic, they're just up the road in the "B" wing of the Veteran's Home.

Striking a chord

2010-02-28T06:32:00.000-08:00

You never know when you might strike a chord that reverberates with many others. Its something many writers hope to achieve, but then we never really know because there's little feedback. Some of us might get an occasional email saying I read your piece and I liked it. That's always encouraging, even if there's only one. Or then we may bump into a friend in the grocery checkout and she'll say hey I read your book. I never knew you were so talented. And we mutter Thanks. Glad you enjoyed it. So bit by bit, with drips and drabs we suck up little hints that insinuate what we have written is not trash and that once in a while someone really enjoys our stuff. For amateurs like myself we live for these little morsels of encouragement and praise. But I was not expecting the wave of feedback I got from a little piece I wrote about my dad. Dad is now living at the Maine Veterans' Home where he is getting the care that he needs, but at the time I wrote the essay Dad has just lost his driver's license. He had been flirting with loosing the license for a couple of years. Dad's dementia had progressed to a point where the neurologist reported him to the state as a driving risk. Dad received notice he was to appear for a road test and don't you know, the wily old fox charmed the examiner and passed. As the months went by though he did drive less and less and we did not encourage it. Then he passed out in his home and we called the ambulance and he went to the hospital. His license was automatically suspended. I remember the day I slipped the dirty plastic license out from the pocket of his wallet and put it in an envelope and sent it back to the state. I knew that was the end of driving for Dad and that's what prompted me to write the essay. I called it "A Man Without His Horse" and it appeared soon after in the Wolf Moon Journal. Here's the link: http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/02/a-man-without-his-horse/ Writing the piece had been helpful for me in that it let me get out some of the angst and pent up emotion I felt at having to be a party to my Dad's driving suspension. Little did I realize how many other folks would read the essay and be affected by it. I did after all strike a chord. People sent me notes and caught me on the street and either told me similar stories about their parents, or about how they themselves feared facing this reality when they became elderly. The idea of loosing your drivers license seemed to strike at the very heart of people's self image and brought to light many other issues related to aging and independence. I even had one request to re-print the article for a local 55 Plus newsletter. You can read the essay yourself and see what ideas or feelings it might engender. What pleases me the most though is how it has sparked stories and thoughts from so many others. I suppose its not unlike a minister who delivers an exceptionally insightful sermon and hears about it as parishioners file out of the sanctuary. I didn't intend it that way, but it is gratifying when you write something and every once in a while strike that chord that reverberates with readers and gives them pause and causes them the think and to reflect. In many ways I think that's part of what being a good story teller is all about.

Sleeping with your dog.

2010-01-05T05:21:00.000-08:00

Did you sleep with your dog? It seems to me one of my most cherished childhood memories is having my dog sleep on my bed with me. I wonder how many kids enjoy that experience today? Not many I'd guess. Today we know too much and are too wary of all the bad things that might happen if a child were to share the bed with his dog. But we lived on an old run down farm and our farm collie was just part of the family. I don't recall we every thought too much about "Digger". He was just always there. When we kids went outside to play, Digger was always there with us. And when we were in school Digger patrolled the worn out farm fields and encroaching woods. Somehow he knew when the rural school bus was due to stop at the end of our dirt road and drop off my sister and me and the neighbor kids and Digger would be there waiting. We'd all come trooping down the road toward our homes with Digger somewhere beside us. We never knew anything different. In the evening when Mom called us to come eat supper, Digger would position himself under the kitchen table. My sister and I could rest our feet on his furry back while we ate Mom's clam casserole. And when we went to sleep, Digger would jump up and lay across the foot of my bed. I could feel the weight of his body pressing against my feet. And that's just how it was. Our parents didn't think it was strange that the dog should sleep with us, or think it was dangerous. . That is until we moved. Life on the old farm changed and Mom and Dad bought my uncle's house in town and we moved. Mother was delighted to begin housekeeping in a nice house with some conveniences. And she intended to keep it nice and clean and respectable. As soon as we moved in she declared that dogs slept in the basement not in bedrooms. Digger was banned to the cellar. My sister and I made our way upstairs to our new bedrooms and the dog was ushered downstairs to the basement and Mom closed the door. Digger had a way of moaning and sounding a little bit like a lonesome loon. We could hear him whimpering down there in the dark. This went on for a couple of nights. But then one evening after supper when we were all in the livingroom watching Milton Beryl on the old Emerson TV, Ruthie and I saw Digger get up and every so quietly nuzzle the door open and slip upstairs. We didn't say a thing. When I went up to bed and into my room there was Digger lying under the bed. You're not supposed to be here, I told the dog. But that was all. I climbed in under the covers and Digger jumped up on the foot of the bed. Just like old times. When Mom made her rounds and opened our bedroom doors to say good night, she discovered the dog curled up with me, and she did nothing. I think maybe she knew there were some things she couldn't change even when living in a new house. Or maybe she thought the change in life style was hard on my sister and me and that some things however small should remain the same. At least Digger was allowed to sleep with us from then on. I remember all that now and wonder at how intelligent or clever that collie dog was. We have a little niece who for some strange reason has a fear of dogs. She cowers and retreats and begins to cry whenever she is near a dog. She's only nine. When I see her act this way I think of my own childhood and how our dog slept with us. I hope other kids have the same experience although I'm not so sure. Today we seem so overprotective and paranoid about things that might happen, even though they seldom do. Sleeping with my dog just seemed natural and correct. I know its one of my fondest childhood memories and makes me miss that old farm collie.

Deer Camp

2009-11-30T13:27:00.000-08:00

Deer camp is over for another year. This time we only had three days, but we crammed a lot into those few days. Of course the object isn't so much to shoot a deer as it is to hang out together at the cabin and revert to pioneer life and mountain man ways. If we had a drum, we'd have beat on it, but instead JT brought his guitar. We had some strangers though. When you broadcast an open invitation to your buddies to come join us at the camp, you don't always know who's going to show up. This time one friend brought along two of his friends. They were welcome of course. Always glad to have a few more hunters stay at the old cabin, but within a few hours it became clear they had come to actually hunt. We didn't have the heart to tell them there were no deer in the neighborhood, but by the end of the day Saturday they'd come to that conclusion on their own. The three of them came driving down the driveway in the monster four wheel drive Chevy with the dual exhaust, and piled out of the truck and declared in no uncertain terms, "there ain't no f....g deer within twenty miles of this camp!" Well I knew that, but I asked them if they'd had a good day? Had they seen some nice country? Had they enjoyed being out in the woods? My questions fell on deaf ears. Without pausing too long they announced they were going back home where they might at least "see a deer." It took less then an hour for them to pack up and shove off into the dark. We heard the dual exhausts rubble into the distance as they drove out the camp road. Inside the cabin the gas lights gave off a friendly glow and the old woodstove radiated heat. Too much heat really. Thousands of hibernating house flies had been tricked into thinking it was June and they had invaded the cabin. Flies were everywhere buzzing against the windows and the screens. Falling into our hair. One fell into the bowl of popcorn. Soon it was all out war. We sprayed and sprayed and the flies were dropping like....well...flies. It took two hours to kill, sweep and discard the plague of flies. As the evening drew on we four enjoyed playing cards and knocking back a few brews and stirring up noble hearty meals on the stove. We sang a few songs and read a few stories and later in the evening we began to recall other "deer camps" and days gone by, and past hunts and past meals and history making cribbage hands. By midnight we were all snugged into sleeping bags watching the woodfire flicker through the grate of the stove. Ben yawned and said in a loud voice, too bad those fellers took off. Yeah, we said, they missed the best part of deer camp.

Buried treasure

2009-10-27T10:55:00.000-07:00

We introduced our friends to geocaching and they loved it. It was our annual autumn get away in the western Maine mountains with dear dear friends. Before going I download
the coordinates for several geocaches in the Sugarloaf area. In case you don't know (and our friends did not know either) geocaching is a game played by people around the world. Geocachers hide things in likely outdoor places and then publish the latitude and longtitude coordinates for the site on the geocaching.com website. Other geocachers look at these caches and attempt to find them by using their handheld GPS. Often going after a geocache is just an excuse for a hike or a road trip, but seeking the treasure is a lot fun...as our friends found out. We began with three caches that were supposed to be hidden along the trails of the Maine Huts and Trails association. The friends did not know what to expect. The gps will usually get you within ten feet of the cache but then you must scouer the ground and the trees and rocks searching for the elusive hiding place. Some caches are very cleverly hidden. The first one was hidden in a stump and when we pulled it out everyone laughed and smiled. That only whetted their appetite and enthusiasm. where's the next one? they all wanted to know? This time the box was hidden under a rock. We prowled around the brookside turning over logs and bending down to peer under boulders. Here it is! one of the friends shouted. I found it! I found it! Usually a geocache contains trinkets and small items for trading as well as a small log book for recording your "find". The idea is to take an item and replace it with something you brought And so the game goes on. The ones I had downloaded into my handheld were not high on the difficulty scale. But it didn't matter. Hiking together along the trails and then scattering around in the woods to find the cache was huge fun. The last one was near the road and hidden inside the guard rail. We walked right past it but the gps pointed us back to the location. When we returned to the cabin all the talk was about the morning hunting geocaches, and how this one was obvious and this one was hard to find, and this one was hidden so well and on and on. Who'd have thought six adults would have had so much fun chasing after hidden treasures? But after all its not the cache itself that creates the fun but the searching, and puzzle solving and the sweet feeling of success when you reach under a root and feel the tupperware box. Plus it was a group effort. Working together to unravel clues and then sharing insights on where the "cacher" might have hidden their
stash only added to the fun and feeling of accomplishment. I wasnt' sure they'd even be interested in the sport but now their asking about which devices to buy so they can take their grandkids out in the woods and search for more buried treasure. But as we all found out, the treasure is not in what we found, but in the journey we all took to get to the cache. Happy geocaching. the public site that controls caching around the world is geocaching.com.

MIlestones

2009-10-16T05:24:00.000-07:00

In olden days the distances along the old Boston Post Road were marked at every mile by a stone post. These were usually chipped out of granite and stood upright in a post hole to mark the progress along the road. They were called "Milestones."It seems I've
been thinking about various milestones in my life of late. For one the editor for my book is hosting a signing and meet 'n greet next month, but I won't be there. Unfortunately her open house conflicts with "deer camp" so I was forced to make a tough choice. Whether to spend the time in the woods with my sons or join a few other authors for a couple of hours when we might meet two or three patrons of the bookshop. I had participated in a similar affair two years ago when the editor had a booth at the local craft trade show. That was fun. But again the traffic on my afternoon was rather thin. Besides "deer camp" is a family tradition and I don't plan to miss out as long as I'm able and healthy enough. Fact is there'll be a day not all that far in the future when I may not be able to go. So this is kind of a milestone, much as I'd like to publicize the book, I'm choosing another route. We passed a milestone too with our 18 month old grandson when he had his first haircut. We were a little surprised we had grown so fond of his longish hair and curls. But his mom was under pressure because people were mistaken him for a baby girl, so off to the barbershop they went. Another milestone of sorts. Its amazing to me how we reach and then pass these significant and not-so-significant events in our lives. In his case its things like taking the first steps (he's a very good walker these days), sleeping through the night, drinking from a cup, his first words, his first haircut, boarding that big yellow school bus for the first time. Oh the immensity of it all! Its a wonder we ever make it to adulthood and beyond. But we hurtle along life's path passing first one milestone then another and before we know it we pass the "last" milestone and disappear around a bend in the road and those left behind us cannot see beyond. I guess what intrigues me the most about all this is the inevitability of it. No matter what we may do, most of these events are going to transpire in our lives. We are going to change and things are going to happen and then we're going to move on to something else. All of which reminds me that the joy is in the journey and so we should enjoy the trip and savor each milestone we reach. Even a first haircut.

FLATTERY IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED

2009-08-31T07:01:00.000-07:00

Good things come to those who wait...or so they say. Well in this case the results were well worth waiting for. Back in the middle of this rainy wet summer, Carol Standish from Points East magazine paid me a call and we spent part of the morning together discussing the book and life in general. We had a great time thoroughly enjoying each other's company. From that interview Carol wrote a review of the book as well as a description of who I am, and both are published in the September 2009 issue of Points East. You know it is always a thrill for a writer to see his or her name in print, so I'm grateful to Carol for having been so generous and sincere in her remarks. Points East is a local boating and cruising magazine. Usually people on summer cruises have a bookshelf in the cabin of their boat stocked with a variety of books. Some to wyle away a summer afternoon while anchored in some remote picturesque island cove, or to help maintain sanity when becalmed with day after gloomy day of fog. Carol advises that my book might be a surprising addition to any boat library. Actually its been a slow summer for the book. We've been preoccupied with so many other things it seems that selling and promoting the book has taken a back seat. We did enlist the aid of a computer literate friend to help prepare the text for eventual uploading to Amazon's Kindle. This is still a work in progress which we hope we will have to complete this fall. Also the writing goes on and the volume of stories continues to grow. We have the material for a second book, but now we need to find a publisher. Having been turned down by a few here in Maine it might be time to cast our net further afield and see what might come up. I hate to do that as my stories are so closely associated with Maine and our life here, but the impulse to be published again may overcome any allegence to publishers here in the state. So we'll see. But in the meantime go find a copy of the September issue of Points East and read what Carol had to say about the book and about me. It's pretty good reading.

Radio Spot

2009-07-12T17:18:00.000-07:00

Well, that was fun. A while back an editor had offered a chance for us to talk on his weekly radio show. It took a month or so before we could both show up at the same time, but last weekend we made it. He was in the studio with two other authors and I was 180 miles away on the other end of the telephone. The engineer called me during the commercial break and when the last strains of the car jingle faded away I was "ON THE AIR." The idea was to talk about my book and so we did in a conversational way. Pretty laid back actually. But we hit some of the key points like the name of the book and where you can buy it. We had fifteen minutes and that was it. On to the next writer and goodbye to me. Good thing I hadn't driven three hours to get to the station. Who knows how far the station reaches or what the listening audience might be? But as I say it was fun nevertheless and one more experience to chock up with publicity for the book. There's another editor who has asked for an interview. She's planning on a book review, so that too will probably be fun. The one I did last year for the newspaper was enjoyable and resulted in a nice complimentary article. Book sales are dragging though. Without being proactive about the selling effort, there's little chance people will just happen onto the new book. Now I'm struggling with Amazon and formatting the book for Kindle. The more I have read and heard, the more difficult the whole process sounds and it seems as if Amazon might have misjudged the computer expertise of many amateur writers. HTML is not something I speak or what's more even care to speak, but evidently its somehow important to getting your book uploaded and looking correct for the Kindle crowd. I think I'll chicken out and call for some help. Years and years ago I remember taking a tour, probably with my Cub Scout Den, of the composition room for the local paper. I'll never forget the formidable type setting machines that clanked
and banged and spit out out lead. The type setter asked each of us our name and then he poked the keys and explained how the type faces were dropped into a tray and then how hot lead was drizzled over them and out came a shiney lead slug with our name neatly spelled upside down and backwards. I'm sure those old guys pounding on the linotype keys would have no problem formatting my book so it would look just great.

Facebook - the experience

2009-05-30T11:27:00.000-07:00

Well it's not good. So far at least. We finally got around to trying Facebook and fell flat on our ...face. I guess. It sounded like a good idea. People had suggested we create a page for the book, so we thought we'd give it a go. We went to Facebook and found a invitation that asked if we were creating a page for a band or product or art. Hmmm, we thought. I guess writing is an art, so we clicked on that and sure enough we were allowed to choose "writer" as one of the categories. I thought well this makes sense so far. Next we were asked to upload a picture and write a little something. I wrote that I was creating this page to publicize my book...which was true. It took a while but eventually the picture popped up. So far so good. I wanted to include a link to the Youtube clip and tried that and it also worked. I was feeling better about things and my mind was busy thinking of other things I might add that would let people know about my book. I thought of the book cover and uploaded that too. I had to create a photo album to do that. I wasn't sure why, but that seemed to be how it worked. So bit by bit I was getting there - I thought. Hovering off to the side was this ominous message that reminded me I had not published this page. I figured eventually the chance would present itself for me to "publish" what I'd done so far but it never happened. I clicked on the next choice and was told I needed to create a profile. It was all down hill from there. What high school did I graduate from? What college did I attend? I wondered what those questions had to do with my book but I filled in the choices and that was the last I saw of my book. Gone! I tried everything to return to my book page. I knew I'd uploaded those pictures and entered
those links, but no, I was stuck in a profile somewhere. OK, so I missed a step I thought. I'll bomb out and try again. After all I had created an email and password.
Click. Facebook disappeared and was back at the internet screen. I quickly typed in
Facebook and....I was right back at the profile business. What had happened to my book? Where had my pictures gone? Why couldn't I find my pictures? Oh boy. Talk about frustration. Click click click. I tried every option on the screen. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. No pictures and no evidence of my book. I logged out and returned two or three times. No change. I always ended up at the same old place. I even tried finding some FAQ's that might give me a hint. I knew enough to do that. But even then every time I went to Facebook I ended up in that profile section. Finally I quit. Geesh I thought. This website is one of the most popular in the world. Bazillions of people use the thing, and I can't. Go figure. Now I'm afraid to try again. What do I need another identity? Maybe I should go in the witness protection program? I think now Facebook knows about me and won't allow me to proceed or go back. Years ago the Kingston Trio had a hit folk song "Charlie on the MTA". It was about a poor rider on the Boston subway who didn't have the dime that was demanded for him to get off the train. In the 1940's the fare structure for the MTA was so complicated it was laughable and one piece of it demanded you pay a fee to exit the car! Poor Charlie didn't have the dime he needed to get off so he would ride forever on the MTA. I guess that's me and Facebook. There's got to be some toll or trick or bribe that will
get me started again or get my pictures back, but I don't know it, so like Poor Charlie I guess I'm doomed to forever be stuck on a profile screen. I need somebody to slip me the extra "fare" so I can get off. I guess when friends ask me how the Facebook thing is going I'll just have to say "Not so good. Not so good."

Just Showing Up

2009-04-21T11:37:00.001-07:00

Occasionally I've been asked to read a book and write a review about it Whenever that happens I'm flattered, but also a little hesitant. I have this feeling readers appreciate a book review when it finds fault with the writer and what he or she has created. It seems to me, sometimes, that a reviewer is not doing critical thinking about the book at hand, unless he can somehow find fault with it or at least make suggestions for improvement. I think I've done maybe six or eight reviews and I can't recall finding anything to publicly complain about in any of those books. In the first place I don't feel as though I have the right to criticize another writer's creation. His world and my world are different and there's no way I'm going to be able to put myself inside his head and have different thoughts. For me writing a review is a chance to tell what the book is about and indicate why someone besides me might want to make the effort to read it. Usually there are some good reasons. I'm especially fond of reviewing a new writer's first book. I see it as a chance to be encouraging and perhaps draw some readers to the new book. We joke around these days about some of the lousy work ethics we experience in the market place, and we note that ninety percent of succeeding at a job is just in showing up. For that reason alone the new writer deserves to hear some priase, because he has "showed up." And when your writing fiction, poetry, history, and non-fiction just showing up takes courage. Courage and persistance and determination. I know because I've done it. I was very lucky when someone reviewed my book and wrote favorably about it. They were kind with their remarks and gave the book a nice endorsement. Now I try to return that favor. I've reviewed other books that are antiques. Books that have gathered dust for years on a shelf or in a cardboard box and its been my good fortune to unearth the book and discover it again. That's fun also. To write a review about some long forgotten or minor book and try to convince people it might be worth reading again. Sometimes its surprising how current some old works are and how they too have something valuable to say about our lives today. There's more then enough angst, anger and rage in the world these days. Popular TV "reality" shows make a virtue out of voting people "off the island." Drivers honk their horns and flash hand singles at other drivers out of some mistaken idea that they may be better drivers or know more then the person in front. Audiences shout cat calls and hoots when a non-descript person steps out on to the glaring stage. People have drawn an impression of that person before they've even heard her speak or sing. I think that's as true in entertainment as it is in schools and in business. So you won't read any critical rants or diatribes about books from me. I figure we're all in this together and there's room in the lifeboat for everyone.

Facebook

2009-04-10T12:56:00.000-07:00

"Facebook" everyone says. You got to be on Facebook. Do I? I replied somewhat cynically. How come? Everybody's there, they tell me. You should be too. It's the latest thing. Oh Really? Hmmm. Well maybe they're right. After all I am a computer neanderthal. I thought figuring out how to post this blog was pretty advanced. Well, lets see. I guess if I go on Facebook lots of people will be able to see me and and then I'll be able to see them. It's Social networking, they say. I suppose so. But when I was boy social networking would have been the local Grange and the party telephone line. Everyone knew everyone else's "ring" and would listen in. The soaps were on the radio so the party line provided another form of entertainment especially for the farm wife having a little rest and a cup of tea after putting up her jellies. When a child came up missing at supper time it was an easy matter to pick up the phone and ask if anyone had seen the boy and if they had to send him home. Uncle Mont and Mr. Towle both raised some cattle and they shared vet expenses when it came time for insemination. Sometimes this took a little bit of coordination to set the right day and time and where would the vet go first, so Mont would ring up Mr. Towle to talk about the cattle business. But before launching into the matter at hand, Mont would clear his throat and loudly announce into the mouthpiece that he and Mr. Towle were about to discuss breeding, and maybe the ladies would like to hang up. Mont would have a satisfied look on his face as he would hear the various clicks on the line as the prim farm wives hung up and left him and Mr. Towle to discuss the finer aspects of cattle breeding. I don't know how we did it so many years ago, but people knew their neighbors even those a few miles away. And they knew who had which jobs and where they worked and who their kids were. We recognized everyone's car or truck when we passed
them on the road. Grandfather ran a successful service station and towing business
in town and he used the one telephone in their house. There was no phone in the shop. But somehow he got by. He received the calls he needed to get, he had plenty of cars to work on, and he made a living. Heck even when I was at the university the dorms were so decedent as to have a pay phone on every floor. Imagine. Usually down at one end of the hall. There were no phones in the rooms. Nor TV's or computers for that matter. When the phone rang someone nearby would pick it up and then yell out "Hey Bud its for you." Somehow we lived and prospered and I don't think the quality of our education suffered much. Social networking on campus meant hanging out at the student union. So I don't know. Is Facebook something new and different? Or is it just another incarnation of what we've always done? If Facebook weren't here would we still be listening in on the party line and would we know our neighbors just as well?

Maine Authors Collection

2009-02-26T05:52:00.000-08:00

Well that was a bit of good news. Received a note from one of the librarians at the Maine State Library indicating they had purchased three copies of Sandbox Camp Tales to add to the Maine Authors Collection there at the library. I was honored. I've been there in that room filled with all the assorted books penned by Maine writers from way back when. It's pretty humbling to think my little book will end up on a shelf there somewhere in "R's". If the book has no more sales or gets no more recognition at least a few copies will have been preserved for some future reader to discover and enjoy. This is turning out to be one long snowy winter. It's been years since we've had snowbanks shoved up so high. Kind of makes us wonder if Spring really is on its way north. For us it can't get here soon enough. The old woodpile is diminishing at an alarming rate. We've already decided we'll need to lay in an extra cord for next winter. Makes you wonder how the old timers got by and how much energy they had to spend just to keep warm and make it through the winter. Guess we're soft today by comparison. A few nights ago I watched an interview with Walter, who is pushing 112 years. He was in a nursing home but still seemed to be doing ok. He talked about the Great Depression and told how things were so bad families had to all move in and live with each other just so they could survive. He said sometimes there might be only one person earning any money and they all had to make do with that. And yet our parents and grandparents survived and their legacy and the lessons they learned back then continue with some of us today. I know some of us "baby boomers" are disappointed and discouraged when we witness the greed, waste, and self indulgence which has come to define the more modern technology generations. Maybe this current economic downturn will have a lasting affect and force people to rethink what something is worth, and the value of family and neighbors and friends. When you read the book you'll find a few stories of what is was like when we were kids growing up in the shadow of those depression times and how our parents continued to live wisely and economically.
And that's the sermon for today. Amen.

Deep midwinter

2009-01-22T10:07:00.000-08:00

Darn it's cold around here. And the snowbanks reach to the eves. Reminds me of the Russian winter scenes in "Doctor Zhivago", but this is Maine. Everything seems to have slowed down even the writing. Although I did send off two new pieces last week. In each case the editors responded and accepted them for now. And this morning I launched a home grown direct mail campaign of twenty-six letters addressed to various bookshops within Maine. I had probably sent these same stores emails in the past, but now I'm beginning to think unsolicited emails get rejected about as often as they are read. This time I went with good old "snail mail". Handwritten no less. At least the address and the envelop. This was a two page letter introducing the book and encouraging folks to include it in their plans for the summer. Here in Maine the craft shops and book stores and gift shops all must do their buying early in order to have inventory for the summer tourist season. So I thought I'd try to get in on that cycle. The small number of letters reminds me of a "Calvin and Hobbes" cartoon in which Calvin has set up a sidewalk lemonade stand. He's charging some outlandish price for a single glass of very weak lemonade. When Susie confronts him about his high prices, Calvin says something like he only has to sell one in order to make a profit. I wish it were that easy. The other impediment to creativity has been all the hype about the inauguration. Certainly it was history making and had world wide significance and like everyone else I was carried along on the wave of good feeling and hope that seemed to sweep from coast to coast. But now that the oath has been taken I wish the media would go find something else to write about and let the new guy get on with his job. We'll see. Around here besides shoveling snow, we're still looking for new publishing and publicity opportunities. I'm also reminded of "Come Spring" by Ben Ames Williams and how his families longed for spring and how they struggled to keep warm and fed during the winter. We began the season with just two cords of firewood and they're shrinking fast. I guess if we can make it to March we'll be OK.
Hope so anyway.

The search goes on

2008-12-20T10:46:00.000-08:00

Had a nice meeting with a possible new publisher. She bought the coffee and we discussed the general malaise of the print publishing industry. Definitely not an auspicious beginning. We talked for about an hour. Plenty of time for her to get to know me. Then we said Goodbye and she offered to get back in touch after the holidays. Hmmm. We'll see I guess. I'm not very well schooled in that sort of "business speak" or verbal body language. I hope she was genuine and sincere but it could also have been her nice way of saying "no thanks." Hard to tell and I hate being cynical about such things. I'm not that way so maybe I'm more vulnerable then some. On a brighter note the demand for the book continues slow and steady. One bookstore bought more copies for the Christmas selling season and some individuals have asked to buy copies. We have a friend who makes craft soaps in her basement. She's been doing this now for a few years. Once she got started and began to sell some products she quit her day job and went into soap production full time. She and I are alike in many ways. Her with her soaps and me with my book. We're both selling "some" but not really setting the world on fire. Seems like we have the same problem to, ie. attracting some notice. She puts all her money into supplies and maufacturing and has neither time or cash left over for advertising, other then on the web. Me too. No money = no advertising and very little public awareness. No wonder celebs and others get into scraps with the law and the tabloids. Even negative press is something I guess. Oh yea, the publisher did ask about a second book. I told her I probably had enough stories already for another book. Perhaps that was a good sign. The winter issue of Wolf Moon Journal is out and one of my essays is featured. Hurrah for that. Perhaps the next step in the "journey of shameless self promotion" will be publishing on Kindle, Amazon's e-reader gizmo. After a few years in the market the thing seems to have established a niche or beach head and is attracting more interest. Amazon will take all the profits, but having a potential audience of a quarter million readers might make it worth the effort. Again time will tell. Ho ho ho and Merry Christmas.
The Winkumpaw

The Grange supper

2008-11-21T16:07:00.001-08:00

We had the best time. A friend invited me to come to their monthly grange meeting and discuss my book. So we went. We met wonderful people and thoroughly enjoyed the potluck dinner. When I met the program chair lady she thanked me for coming and then said how they were looking forward to having me tell "Maine stories." Ooops. Somehow they had me figured for a performer. But when the time came I simply told them all I was a writer and my stories were in the book. No problem. I just flipped the pages and began to read. We had more fun. I embellished the reading a little and they all laughed at the right places. Once in a while the listeners would be reminded of something that had happened to them and they'd chime in. For a little while the entertainment was just our conversation. But they enjoyed it all and even invited me back. I don't think a writer and his readers could have had a much more authentic experience. It was a treat to be there in that ancient old grange hall with the wood paneled walls and folding tables, and to be greeted by people whose only agenda for the evening was to get together and share a meal and enjoy each other's company. I think it was a down-to-earth as you could get. I won't soon forget chewing the fat with those wonderful folks in that little grange hall overlooking the lake in the rural Maine. This old story teller and writer felt right at home.

A brush with death

2008-11-06T12:14:00.000-08:00

If you think that is a scary title, then you should have been here for the real event. I was more scared then I have been in years. More frightened then when I was in Vietnam and getting shot at. It all happened so fast, there was no time to even think about what to do. We were pulling mooring blocks out of the river for the winter and had just begin to lift a 3000 lb granite block off the bottom when the chain fell off the winch and the barge surged or jerked and I was catapulted into the river! Just like that. I was under water and the current was sweeping me away from the barge and my friends. The water was pre-winter frigid and I was dressed in heavy work clothes, dungarees, fleece, wool shirt, and steel toed boots. Thank god we were all wearing life jackets. The PFD popped me to the surface and turned me on my back. Things were happening way to fast. The guys couldn't help. They were in the middle of the river attached to a granite block. I just couldn't believe I had gone overboard. The closest shore was 100 feet away so I made like a penquin and began flapping my arms and doing the backstroke. Oh gawd I thought. This is dangerous. I knew I'd better get to shore quickly as I was chilling down fast. Gamely I just kept flapping my "wings". I must have weighed a ton with all those soaking clothes. Finally...eventually...it seemed like I'd been paddling forever...I reached the ledge and grabbed a tree branch to haul myself up out of the water, but the branch broke and I fell back into the drink. Talk about an awe heck. Next time I crawled up the darned rock. By now things were very serious. I was wet and cold and exhausted. The guys weren't having much luck either. After a couple of false starts they finally jetisoned the mooring and came to my rescue. We rushed back across the river and I sloshed my way up to the garage where I wiggled out of all the wet clothing and boots and hit the hot shower. Ahhhh. thank gawd. I can only imagine what would have happened if I'd not been wearing that life jacket. With the tide falling and the river so cold I would have been a news item in the local paper. Geeesh. So there it is. They say everything that happens in the life of a writer is "material." That must be so. There's one story in Sandbox Camp Tales about when I was in college and flipped over in a canoe and another one about a canoe trip on the Machias River when my buddy and I overturned. I guess if I wait long enough this recent brush with death will make its way into a story and whatever comes next after Sandbox. I can't wait to see what that is.

Youtube!

2008-10-24T07:35:00.000-07:00

Well we did it! We posted a video clip about the book on Youtube. Friends said we should get with it and use the internet to promote the book. Hard to believe there is so much available these days. And I'm so envious of the young people who seem to know all about it. For us it took a little while and some help but the final product isn't aweful. We went to the cabin for a weekend and shot some views and a short interview. Then Bill swizzled it all on his Apple laptop, added some sound affects and voila! we were in the movies. Sort of. You can find it by going to Youtube and opening the "entertainment" category. Then search for "sandbox camp." Scroll down a little and you should see me wearing a red felt hat. That'll be it. It's the same old problem though. Trying to attract some notice and some attention just so people will know you've got something to offer. Earlier in the year I tried some mass mailings via email and sent out maybe a couple hundred custom-designed letters to B&B's and sporting camps. But I never heard back from any of them so don't know if they decided to look at the book or buy it. At least with Youtube folks have a chance to make comments (that's a scary thought) and it counts the views you get. I suspect someone will only run onto the clip by chance or if they happened to be searching for something else about Maine or storytelling. I guess a next step might be Facebook or Myspace. Hey once you head down this path you might as well keep going. I will need to work up to it though. It takes some courage I find to post these things out in the wide wide world. I wonder if I'd get any "friends" in Facebook?

New Friends

2008-10-04T16:58:00.001-07:00

When I wrote and published my book I never envisioned the new friends I would
make because of it. But that's just what's happened - happily for me. I have met all kinds of
wonderful folks because they've read my stories, liked what they read, and because of that have
gone to the effort of hunting me up. Only on this past Friday I hunted them up. My new friends
that is. They happen to be the ten girls and two boys that make up Mrs. Vigue's Creative Writing class at Nokomis High School in Newport, Maine. I'm not exactly sure how this all came about,
but a friend who happens to be a librarian invited me to come speak to this high school class. I'm glad he did, because we, or at least I, had a blast. The kids are learning how to write stories and they had a copy of my book as an example of some local writer who'd figured it out. That would be ME and Sandbox Camp Tales. When I got introduced I told the kids there was no need to say more because they had read some of my stories, so now they knew all about me. I told them there's a little bit of my and my philosophy and my heart and soul in every one of those stories, layed out in the open for everyone to see. So if they had read the stories then they had a glimpse inside me. From there things just got better. We beat the subject to death. We talked about language mechanics and writer's block and Archemedes and publishers and pointy-headed editors who change what we write. We examined all the dirty laundry that is writing and selling stories at the Pay-On-Publication level of the craft. When those kids asked a question it was a good one. We could have probably talked for hours and then all collaborated on a poem or some piece of fiction. Being with the kids just energized me. They have such great ideas and their enthusiasm for the works they create is contagious. Too bad we ran out of time because I wanted to tell them their work has value even if they do it only for themselves. Even if they never publish a thing or never write another word, the stuff they're creating today in that class will be with them and their friends the rest of their lives. Really I believe if you're writer then you'll write anyway no matter how your life turns out. A housewife will sneak in working on a poem between doing the laundry and going to the school bus stop. The truck mechanic will scribble in his notebook at night after supper, or the nurse will find time after her shift to fire up the PC and continue on her novel. I hope my new friends all do well in their class and that the writing skills they learn this year will serve them well whether they write TV scripts or write excuses for their kids' teachers. As a result of this visit I now know there is a pool of undiscovered writing talent
right here in central Maine, right down the hall in Mrs. Vigue's Creative Writing Class. All I can say is "Go For It Guys" ....Go for it. and oh yeah....It was great to meet you.

Dog Days

2008-09-16T05:38:00.001-07:00

Well its been a while. Book sales have dropped off at the marina, although I did have one dear lady take six copies. She said she'd be sending them out as Christmas gifts to friends and relatives who have moved away from Maine. The tourists have all gone home for the most part, so now the roads are free of traffic and the checkout lines at the grocery store are not backed up. Since Mother died on August 18 the book has sort of taken a back seat while Jean and I experience a little more freedom. A while back I sent out review copies to two Maine publishers and one copy to the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance, but have not had a response from any of them. I suppose that's not a good sign. On a more positive note I've been asked to speak to a social club about what it's like to write a book and I've been requested to address a high school English class about writing in the "first person." I told the friend who asked, that appearing in front of a bunch of high school sophomores seemed a little like being invited as the guest of honor at a cannibal bar-b-q! Oh well, if my experiences can help or inspire even one person or student then its all worth it. Three regional publications have accepted stories from me for printing in future issues. This business proceeds slowly considering how the editors are working months in advance. Which means their contributors have to be writing even more in advance, so you end up trying to write about Christmas in the middle of July. My sister wrote that she has been sharing her copy of the book with her bible study group and that each person who has read the stories has enjoyed them very much. That's good news. Likewise another reader here in Maine caught up with me and said she'd read every piece and "loved them all." Certainly this book business is no way to get rich, but then again some of the personal responses and kudos you receive from friends and strangers is priceless.

Bit by bit, row by row

2008-08-22T09:10:00.001-07:00

Sales have actually been pretty good at the marina office. I find the trick is to meet people face-to-face and let them know I have a book to sell and they almost always buy one and sometimes two. That happened yesterday with a long time customer who was just coming down for a day on the water. We chatted a little and then I asked if they'd seen my book for sale. Well no, they said, What about it? So I told them and they were delighted and even bought one for their kids. No doubt about it, being what is essentially an independent writer is like being a small family owned business with all the same issues and concerns. Not the least of which is marketing your product. I've written before about how hard it is to raise awareness for your product when you have very few outlets and no money for advertising or promotion. So far the efforts on the internet have provided little response. I should have expected that considering how vast the internet is and how websites and email boxes are bombarded with ads and junk emails. Heck some of my notes might not have even got past the junk mail filters. One thing I have not tried yet is the craft fairs and flea markets. Those will all be going this fall in preparation for the holidays. The issue there again is paying for the table, which is after all how they make their money. But maybe a good one or two day craft fair would be a good place to invest a few hundred bucks. You'd sure have to sell a bunch of books just to earn back the entrance fees. I love it on Antiques Roadshow when the appraiser tells the object owner..."In a well advertised auction this object would bring in the range of ten thousand dollars." And then the owner picks themselves up off the floor. But that's what I need - a "well advertised" auction.
I suppose I could also hit the road. I read a small book once called "Yankee Drummer" which was all about John Gould's life on the road as a farm implement salesman. This took place back around the turn of the century and the early 1920's. He tells about going to the fairs and showing off they new manure spreaders and then selling to the farmers on "spring terms". Well my book isn't exactly manure, even though some might think it has more then its share of B-S.
But if you can sell cow flap spreaders at a fair maybe you can sell some books.

Book sales up - publishers down

2008-08-11T05:52:00.000-07:00

The good news is we're selling books. Not a lot, but some and in a few good places. Kittery Trading Post bought half a dozen to try. More friends have ordered some too. In two instances they were gifts to their friends. I also heard from Jessica at Maine in Print. She asked for a picture and details about the book and said she would try to include the information in the next issue. I have spoken with two prominent publishers in the state and laid things on the line with them...so to speak. That is I let them know our publisher was jumping ship and we needed someone to come rescue our life boat. Their response was cordial and encouraging. Send us a copy the said, and so I have. Now we wait some more to see what they think and if they will get back to me. Meanwhile I've been sending out more unsolicited emails. Again this letter is pretty forthright. I've sent it to a variety of book stores and book sellers in Bangor and the Ellsworth area. The letter basically says "Here I am world. Please take notice." Oh well, its still fun. Thankfully it doesn't cost anything more then my time to hunt up the addresses and send these notes. If I send ten and get one response that would be success. Years ago in IBM we used to plan on a 100:1 ratio. That is you had to have 100 prospects that would eventually reduce to ten potentials that would become one buying customer. In those days we used to do mass mailings via the post office. Now we can just click SEND and accomplish nearly the same thing. What I like most about this though is meeting the folks. Eventually someone will call or send a note and then we can swap a few emails and get to know a little bit more about each other and our businesses. As far as finding a new publisher goes...if I don't make it with publishers in the state then I'll have to go across the boarder to NH and the rest of New England. I notice many "Maine" themed books on the shelves that have been published by firms outside the state. So that's not the worst way to go. I expect those writers also offered their works to the prominent in-state publishers and when nothing came of that, they went looking elsewhere. Or maybe the out-of-state publisher had better terms or catered to a niche market. For now it's a bit of a waiting game, waiting to hear back from the emails and from the in-state publishing houses. I have had one request to speak later this year at a local Grange meeting. That sounds like it could be a lot of fun. With a little luck it would be in conjunction with a pot-luck dinner which is one of my most favorite things.

Bump in the road

2008-08-01T18:38:00.000-07:00

Oh oh. Things seemed to be going pretty well. Too well someone might say. I should have suspected a rat would show up eventually. They have a way of popping up. This rat turns out to be my publisher. Wouldn't you know. Well it's not all her fault....but then again maybe it is. She's going out of business. For whatever reason she couldn't keep the bills paid and the returns and low fees were killing her. Well sure, no one's in business to loose money. When you can't make it pay it's time to cut your losses and move on and that's what she's doing. But it does sort of leave us, her authors, in the lurch. For us its like we're starting all over again searching for a publisher, auditioning, selling ourselves. That's tough, because now I need to devote time to finding a new outlet for the book instead of concentrating on publicizing and selling the book. I've already started looking. Sent emails to some local publishing houses. No responses yet. And there are some online gigs which might be useful. Only the costs do go up. Bad time for that too as we are just beginning to pick up some momentum on sales. Little victories here and there. I look at it like a geometric progression. At first its just one or two readers telling other readers. But then those readers tell more and they tell even more and eventually you have nuclear fission! Or lift off. Or something good happens. So there it is. They say you should dance with who brung ya' , but when she dumps her date, you gotta drag the line and hope for the best. There are more fish in the sea and one of them is a publisher who will fall in love with my work.

Front page news

2008-07-18T06:37:00.000-07:00

The newspaper interview came out in last night's paper. Pretty cool. Its always cool when you see your name in print. In this case the reporter's story took over half a page. The headline reads "Saco author weaves camp tales into first book." Then she goes on to tell all about who I am, and how the book came about. Then she quotes a few excerpts from the books and focuses on the one story which I told her was my favorite. She did get a few things incorrect or misinterpreted. That always seems to happen. But they were minor errors and did not affect the spirit of the piece which was basically about the fun I have had writing and publishing the book. All in all the interview was an enjoyable thing to do. The paper has a circulation of 22,500 so hopefully that many people will now know about my book and that was the goal. As I have said, this is just one more step in a "journey of shameless self promotion." I hope a few people will be intrigued enough to visit the local book store and buy a copy. Not only would it be nice to sell more books but it would be nice for the bookstore owner to sell out of all her copies. Who knows? The notoriety may catch some other folks attention and lead to some new opportunities. You never know. As my friend Winnie-the-Pooh said " You never can tell about bees."

Extra! Extra! Read all about it!

2008-07-02T03:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was interviewed by a reporter from the local paper. Just another step in this journey of "shameless self promotion." Actually the owner of the local bookstore had suggested how it would help her and me if I could get some attention from the "Journal". She did agree to buy a few books and put them on display but thought some local publicity would help sales. Sounded good to me, so not knowing anything about how to proceed, I just sent an email to the paper. Turns out they do read the emails they get and this one caught their attention. A young woman called on Monday and invited herself here for an interview yesterday. She picked a perfect afternoon to come. Beautiful, warm sunny day on the water. We sat at the picnic table down by the river and talked about writing and - life. She was very busy taking notes. One question she asked was "where do I get my ideas?" Oh good grief. I live with my ideas. I have them all the time. They pop into my head continuously unbidden, uninvited and at really inopportune times. It was like asking when do you breathe? I suppose other writers are the same way. Story ideas are like this mulligan stew we have in our heads that's boiling and bubbling constantly, and we add ingredients to the mix every day. Some times the result is tasty and fulfilling, and other times not so delicious. But she was nice and eager and told me a story might be forthcoming within a week or two weeks. I let her take a copy of the book. If she reads the introduction she'll have all she needs to write a piece because I layed it all out in that beginning chapter - my motivation for writing the book, my goals for my readers and my apologies. I'll alert the public when the interview is scheduled to appear.

Cold Calls

2008-06-27T18:04:00.000-07:00

Today we hit the road and boldly walked into five different book shops. Hi, my name is Randy, I said to each one, and I'd like to sell you my book. (or words to that affect). Wouldn't you know, three of the store owners/ buyers were really nice and encouraging and actually agreed to buy a few copies. Hurrah. In another case the buyer was in a meeting but I got her email address and have since sent her a note. Then there was another buyer who was out to lunch. I wasn't about to hang around an hour waiting for him to return, so took a rain check on that visit. But the others went fairly well. The buyers were encouraging. They congratulated me on publishing the book and each wanted a "review" copy. That made sense to me, so I had prudently stocked ten copies in the truck. My wife says to keep track of those copies and we'll write them off as promotion and advertising. One of the owners of a small local independent book shop suggested I should try to have a story about the book in the local daily paper. I have launched an email to both the weekly and the daily paper asking how one goes about having a story written about - themselves! Hmmmm, just another example of shameless self promotion I suppose. But in every single case, the buyers today told me there was no way they would have known my book is available and applicable to their customers, except for my friendly visit. Go figure. It's no wonder publicizing a small book from a small press is so arduous. But I am encouraged and now plan on filling the truck up with gas once again and hitting the road to visit more book shops. Hey Mom....look at me. I'm a salesman.

Pick me! Pick me!

2008-06-23T13:55:00.000-07:00

Do you remember school and that pesky kid in the back of the room who was always first to shoot her arm up into the air and holler Pick Me! Pick Me! Oh no, you might have thought. Give it a rest. I remember being cajoled along with all my boyhood chums into attending ballroom dance class where we were supposed to learn a few steps, practice some social graces and round off our rough edges, so to speak. The boys would crowd around in one corner and the girls would all titter and giggle grouped in another corner. When it was time for the "gentlemen" to ask the "ladies" to dance you could read the silent message in certain girls' eyes that said "Oh don't pick me. Don't pick me." Imagine some little kid with a squeeky voice standing many rows behind the assembled mass of the football team, soccer team, baseball team, basketball team and marching band raising his hand and saying "Pick me. Over here. Pick me." Dwell on these images for a moment and you'll begin to understand what it's like for a very small book written by an unknown author to get noticed. It's darned near impossible. The problem is we're now talking about advertising and publicity and self-promotion and most new writers have neither the skills nor the experience to carry off this important part of the book publishing endeavor. How to get noticed? I wish I knew. Pick me! Pick me! Without the might and money of a large publishing house behind you or the name recognition of a celebrity author, getting noticed is an uphill struggle. We settle for a little free publicity amongst our friends. We send out some email notices to libraries. We hope one reviewer out of ten might read the book and condescend to write a few favorable lines. Craft shows, a radio call-in show, some good old ground pounding and personal schmoozing by the writer all help, but it's like trying to a bail the Titanic with a bucket. Fortunately "Sandbox Camp Tales" is a regional book with most of the potential readers living in Maine or visiting Maine. But even then getting the word out just in this rural state is a huge task. With the price of gas the way it is, I won't be driving to many gift shops, libraries and book stores. Maybe the secret ingrediant is time? Maybe if we hang in there long enough and the book gets passed around enough - maybe, just maybe we may begin to get a few orders.

About the book

2008-06-20T07:03:00.001-07:00

Ah yes....the book. What's it about? Well a lot of things. Mostly about me growing up here in Maine and then banging around the woods and the coast with my friends. There are some stories about my family and a few essays with "deep" thoughts. The book is a collection of stories and articles most of which have been previously published in other magazines and journals. After writing and selling stories to different publications off and on for four years, my wife just said "Your pile is big enough...maybe you should do a book." And so I have. If you interviewed a bunch of families who have lived and grown up in Maine for the past sixty years you would hear many of the same stories, or very similar ones. These are the stories families tell when they all get together for a holiday, or when everyone gathers at the old lakeside cabin, or when Grandpa begins to reminisce about the "good old days." My stories are not all factual. That is they are not journalistic reports of what happened and who did what. They are all based on real events and things that actually happened to me or my friends or my family, but in some cases the facts may be blurred a little - or a lot depending on what I was trying to write about. So they are "stories" like you'd tell around the kitchen table, and depending on who's doing the telling you may get a different point of view and some embellishments. But it's all in good fun and as I have said before my goal in writing these stories down has been merely to entertain and distract folks from their daily cares, even if only for a few minutes.

Dreams come true

2008-06-19T06:34:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had a dream come true? You know - like finally graduating from school, or getting your first real job, or hearing her say "Yes" when you get up the courage to ask, or making the team or maybe finally catching the biggest scrappiest bass in the whole dang lake. Sure we all have dreams of things we'd like to do, things we'd like to accomplish or of the person we'd like to be. For a lot of us the dreams finally do come true. My dream was to write a book, and now I've done it. My dream has come true. It wasn't easy. It only took about fifty years of waiting and doing all the other things having a career and raising a family demand. All of which I have done happily and with joy. But then when I retired, the old dream came back to me and I knew if I was ever going to publish a book I should get on with it as the days and years seemed to be slipping by way too fast. In other posts I will let you know how I went about writing stories and finding outlets for them and how I've had a bit of luck and how people have helped me along the way, but for now just know that my book is a reality. Writing and publishing the book has been a sort of happy adventure, and now we're embarked on a whole other phase of publicity and marketing. Even though I've had a great time writing the stories in the book, I figure the book is not really complete until other people read it. That's what it's all about isn't it? Putting it out there and sharing what I've thought and written with others. Maybe making them smile a little or causing them to think a little more deeply about something. It's scary you know - writing and publishing a book. Opening yourself up to public scrutiny and criticism. Its a challenge to listen and read what other people may say about the words I've slaved over and worked so hard on for the past four years. But you don't get anywhere in life without you take some risks and for an apprentice writer there's nothing more fraught with angst and risk then opening the covers and letting others read what you have written. You hope they will smile and laugh and read more and finally say "Ya done good."
You hope. After all, my dream has not just come true, but I am living it. My book is finally published and it's out there for all the world to see. I'm holding my breath.