Moving Right Along

Lilith's Brood by Octavia E. Butler

2008-06-22T09:47:00.006-05:00

Lilith’s Brood by Octavia E. Butler is actually a novel trilogy (Dawn, Adulthood Rites and Imago), evidently published separately, then gathered in the one novel. I became interested in reading the trilogy after hearing Lynn, from my writers group, talk about it. I couldn’t be more pleased that I did.

In Ms. Butler’s work, the people of earth have destroyed the viability of the planet through war. An extra-terrestrial race of beings rescue the few remaining inhabitants, place them in stasis until the earth can be repaired and go about re-introducing mankind along with a superior race of human/alien hybrids back to the again flourishing planet. Lilith, the title character, is chosen to be the “mother” of a group of beings in that she is charged with the responsibility of waking other humans from stasis. She must get them used to the idea they will no longer be able to reproduce via the usual method and she must teach them to re-inhabit a somewhat altered earth. It’s a daunting task for Lilith and marks her forever in the eyes of the rescued human race as a traitor.

The premise of the new earth, hybrid human/alien beings, and a radical new definition of parent, child and family is the backbone of this trilogy but, in my mind, takes a back seat to the characters Octavia Butler creates. As a reader, I was thrilled with the adventure of reading this book. As a writer, I was extremely impressed with Ms. Butler’s ability to make very alien creatures sympathetic.

By way of a practical analysis, the first two books of this trilogy zipped by very quickly. Even though the third lost a little steam for me, I still recommend this book. It’s a great adventure.

"Horseman, Pass By" ~ Larry McMurtry

2008-05-29T19:42:00.003-05:00

This book is McMurtry's first novel and a memorable start to a career of putting the reader in the hip pocket of, on the saddle with, and in the life and times of the characters he portrays with aching accuracy.

I wasn't aware this was the book on which the screen-play for the Paul Newman movie "Hud" was based until I recently read McMurtry's "In A Narrow Grave", a collection of essays. The first essay in the Narrow Grave book is about his experience with the making of that movie. I saw the movie when it was a first run in 1963 and thought it a gritty, powerful movie. As is often the case with Hollywood, the screen-play changed the focus of the story as McMurtry had written it from the story of a 17 year old's coming of age in the book, to that of a hell-raising, surly man played by the guaranteed big box office draw Paul Newman in the movie. Doing so is understandable in light of the medium, but a huge loss for the viewer.

"Horseman, Pass By" is the story of three men. Lonnie, from whose point of view the book is written, is a 17 year old, unsettled and anxious to get to know more about the world than his growing up on his grandfather's west Texas ranch has shown him. He's torn between his "itch" and his devotion to his grandfather and his grandfather's way of life. The grandfather is nearing the end of his days and sees his life's work snuffed out when his cattle develope the dreaded hoof and mouth disease and must be destroyed. Caught between is Hud, the old man's step-son who has an itch of his own. He wants the old man's land and he doesn't want to wait.

Larry McMurtry is a master at telling the real story of the cowboy, past and present. This is a very readable example.

Memorial Day 2008

2008-05-25T13:05:00.005-05:00

"Vietnam Reflections" by Lee Teter

Granite Walls

In August of 1966, I saw my husband of two weeks board a plane at Houston's Hobby Airport. It was the first leg of a trip that in six weeks would put him in the rice fields of Vietnam. I knew he would be gone for a year. As the doors of the aircraft closed and it pulled away from the boarding ramp, I was near hysteria, but I never once thought he might be seriously injured or killed. I was very naive.

Edward’s duty, as a machine gun-toting infantryman, was dirty, dangerous, and lonely. It was lonely because he saved his sanity at a time when it wasn't an easy thing to do. He closed in on himself, not letting anyone inside his mental suit of armor. Seven months into his tour, he was injured jumping from a helicopter on the side of a hill, to stand guard over injured crewmembers of a downed helicopter. His injury ultimately saved his life. He found out later many in his company were killed a week after his own injury.

Edward finally got back to the U.S. after a month in Vietnam spent dragging himself around on a homemade crutch, then a month in a hospital in Japan in a body cast. He flew home in a burn patient evacuation plane, glad enough to endure the horror of that flight to be back in "the world". He spent the remainder of his obligation to our government in hospitals and recovering in an army unit at Fort Hood, Texas.

It took thirty years of waiting, piecing together bits of information he volunteered, and gently probing, to get a picture of the horror he endured in those seven wretched months. Since he suffers no flashbacks, or post-traumatic stress, it’s been possible to move on with our lives. We have put that awful time he spent in Vietnam behind us. He suffered, but he came home alive. More than 54,000 men didn’t.

In August 2000, we visited the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial in Washington, DC. The trip to the capitol was a spur of the moment thing, a side trip from our late summer visit to Tennessee. While Edward stood at one of the catalog directories, looking for the name of a friend, a German tourist with a thick accent and a camera asked him if he was a veteran. The tourist then asked permission to photograph Edward as he examined the book. Edward agreed. I stood back while the photos were taken and thought to myself how lucky I was to be standing by watching my husband examine the book. But for the grace of God, I would have been looking for his name on the wall. The German tourist finished his photo shots, and quietly asked me "Is he okay?" I must have looked at him oddly, because he asked again, "Did he come through it okay?" I nodded “Yes,” with a big knot in my throat.

Today, in light of the U.S. war in Iraq and the horrors our young men and women have endured there, I have to wonder now if we will again memorialize soldiers killed in the line of duty in granite and bronze. Will we again memorialize our young Americans who have died in a foreign land with a memorial? Will there be bronze statuary of young American soldiers handing out food packages from a Hummer while another mans a machine gun atop the vehicle?

Granite and bronze awash in tears are poor substitutes for living, breathing human beings. Can’t we find another way?

Joy N. Vyoral

Every Man Also

2008-01-02T17:56:00.000-06:00

Always interested in the work of Texas writers, I plucked this book off the "Texas" bookshelf at Half Price Books. The cover noted this book to be the "Winner, 1998 Texas Review Fiction Prize". The author is Robert Winship.

Winship evidently called upon his experience as a member of Rice University's 1950 Cotton Bowl team and, later, as a pro-football player with the Philadelphia Eagles, to cast his main character as a former small college football coach forced out of coaching and religated to the position of Athletic Director. It was never quite clear to me why this happened but it was the reason "Mase" Mason betrayed his school's team in the playoffs with the Bears.

Mason's team, the Warriors, lose the championship because Mason has given all the plays to the other team's coaching staff. He has done so as payback for being forced out of the coaching job which he loved so much and for which he felt he was uniquely qualified. The $100,000 he is to receive as a payoff was for insuring the point spread for a big-time Chicago gambler is to be turned over to him at a hill country deer lease where Mason has hunted for years. Being concerned about his personal safety should he go there alone and not wanting his wife to know what he's done, Mason invites Freida, a PhD collegue, to accompany him on the trip. Freida is desperate to get away from her current life because of disturbing discoveries in her experiment on rats which deals with the effects of human overcrowding.

Mason and Freida are toying with possible infidelity when a tragedy surrounding the ranch owner's mentally handicapped son occurs. Mason's subsequent realization of his true purpose in life is the the author's basic plot. The remainder of the story deals with Mason's and Freida's efforts on behalf of the son and their individual acceptance of new roles in attaining long-time personal goals. Mason decides to use the payoff money to correct the wrong he's done the Warriors and to help the retarded son of the ranch owner. Freida becomes the young handicapped man's advocate.

I especially liked the characters Robert Winship created for this story and the way he captured the truth of what it means to grow older in a world that no longer values wisdom and experience. As a "growing older" person, I feel Winship did a masterful job of protraying the nuances of "Mase" Mason. I think the plot of this story is an interesting one but I felt the story moved too slowly to adequately support it. I also found the first chapter confusing. I'm not sure the first chapter was really necessary, even had it been clearer.

As I am all about characters of late, I did enjoy the book enough to recommend it to anyone also interested in characters done with maturity and flawed grace. The understated but accurate "feel of Texas" in Winship's work is icing on the cake.

Failure to Blog....

2007-10-29T15:06:00.000-06:00

Amazingly enough, Henri’s Companion, set as it is in the “no land to be seen anywhere” Gulf of Mexico, has been the cause of a serious dry spell in my blogging efforts. I struggled with the rewrites, waffled with the issue of the right name, and second-guessed myself for ‘way too long. One 1500 word short story shouldn’t take near that much time!

Pre-Henri’s Companion, I would have probably doubted (for the millionth time, I’m sure) my calling as a writer. But, in spite of the angst and protracted length of time in the rewriting, I believe that I have learned quite a lot. Seeing the project through is the major accomplishment to come out of the piece. There are lots of little notes of interest along the way, not the least of which is ‘… you don’t have to take every good suggestion made and shoe-horn it into the plot…’ I wasted more time than I care to remember with that one. I had to finally go back and decide that my basic premise with Henri’s Companion was a good one and that it just needed refinement, basic editing and then polishing. Let me say again, I am MUCH better off having learned to trust my first instinct.

So, back to the extended lapse in time between blog entries… since I’m still employed full time, am still a daughter, wife, mother and grandmother, my time is fragmented. I cling possessively to the Tuesday nights I spend with my writers group like a drowning woman because it’s the one thing I’m still doing solely for myself. The people I love and who love me have a right to expect a certain amount of my time and attention. I gladly give it to them. Basically, it’s the time I spend at work, an increasingly unfulfilling endeavor, which I find myself resenting. For the time being, there’s nothing to be done about that.

Onward…

Henri's Companion, Henri's Loss....Henri's Companion.... again?

2007-09-09T10:10:00.000-05:00

I've worked diligently on this little scrap of what is now about 1500 words. I've probably written 5000 to 6000 words trying to "get it right". I've had great critiques on this piece... clarifying, insightful and much appreciated.

My non-writer readers have been very helpful in pointing out problems which never occurred to me... the "why didn't they paddle over to the drilling rig and board it to save themselves" resulted in research on drilling rigs/production platforms with my brother and the ultimate writing out of anything thus related. The observation of my boating expert reader that Henri was obviously a negligent boat owner because the boat must have been poorly maintained causing it to sink sparked a discussion with my writing group in which we decided it didn't matter why the fishing boat caught fire and sank. There has been discussion with various readers and writing group members about vague references to the "companion" and more specific references to "Hank". I'm still working on that issue. Currently the necessary big fix has to do with the last paragraph where Henri's condition on rescue is being evaluated. Research from a knowledgeable friend has finally come through and I'll be fixing that today.

By far, the most frustrating issue for me has been the name of the piece....Henri's Companion... Henri's Loss... now, Henri's Companion again. Henri's Companion is the title that causes music in my mind. It feels right. That said, I recognize that titles are extremely important and what feels right may not always BE right. The title is still up in the air and I'm not so sure either of those will be correct in the end. The jury is still out....

Henri's Companion

2007-07-04T23:33:00.000-05:00

I've been struggling with a story for Humble Fiction Cafe's current project, our "Split" anthology. My dichotomy "appear/disappear" story was progressing but had grown much too unweldy for the time I have to devote to completing the project. I knew I had to do something different or risk not being able to meet our deadlines. I'd been reading a book (I'll supply the title and author when I have time to find the book again) on creating "scenes".

I went to bed last Friday night thinking about needing to do a new story which takes place in a limited locale and with a limited number of characters. I got up Saturday morning with the idea in my mind for a story I'm currently calling Henri's Companion. After my meeting Saturday morning I spent two hours at the Octavia Fields Library in Humble doing my discovery draft. I'm very pleased with the results and I'm very relieved to finally have something completed to work with. I know the rewrite is going to be brutal, but with some very good suggestions from Victor and Dorlana already in hand, I'm looking forward to working on it.

Spelling Confession... Entry 4 (and 5)

2007-06-13T09:10:00.000-05:00

The word is bona fide and the issue was whether it was one word or two. I spelled it correctly but was unsure of my choice so I had to look it up.

bona fide – (for my purpose) neither specious nor counterfeit; authentic

“I’ve created a bona fide ghost in my dichotomy.”

Okay, these issues seem to never end. I misspelled authentic (even while looking at it in the dictionary ) when I was writing the above definition, soooooo….

authentic – worthy of acceptance or belief as conforming to or based on fact

“The signature on the inside cover of the book was verified as authentic by the book appraiser who researched it on behalf of the museum.”

It's All About Haden...

2007-06-06T22:47:00.000-05:00

My oldest grandbaby graduated from high school last Saturday afternoon. It was a wonderful event, marked by the seventeen family members and friends who made the trip to Beaumont.

Haden graduated 16th in his class of about 300 students. He graduated wearing the collar of the National Honor Society, the golden ropes of an Honor Graduate and the multi-colored ropes of a Gifted and Talented Scholar. He received UIL Scholar recognition, scholastic merit recognition by the U.S. Marine Corps, and was honored as the only member of this senior class to have perfect attendance through four years of high school.

Haden will attend Lamar University in Beaumont in the fall, planning to major in Mechanical Engineering with a minor in Business.

Our lives changed dramatically when Haden was born in November 1988 and I expect it will again be dramatically different when he moves away from home for the first time August 18th.

Note: Photo is of Haden and Halee, his girlfriend, on the patio at Carrabba's, where we had dinner after the graduation exercises.

Spelling Confession... Entry 3

2007-05-07T13:37:00.000-05:00

The word is "ecstatic"... members of Humble Writers Group will know why I needed this particular word... meaning: of, relating to, or marked by ecstasy.

(A nod to Dorlana)... "Victor was estatic when his commercial won Grand Prize!"

....fingers crossed.......

Spelling Confessions... Entry 2

2007-05-04T16:34:00.000-05:00

The word today is "naive"... meaning marked by unaffected simplicity; or deficient in worldly wisdom or informed judgement.

This is a word I've looked up a million times and still am uncertain about and, therefore, I continue to look it up almost every time I have to use it. In a Word document, it's easy: Spellcheck will reassure me. Places where I don't have the convenience of Spellcheck, it's back to the dictionary. (sigh...)

The Rescue of Darryl, the Tech Guy

2007-04-27T19:43:00.000-05:00

Darryl is my computer tech. He's not mine, exactly. He actually belongs to the county in the sense that they pay him. Darryl has helped me out of more than one computer related jam in the last four and a half years. Today I had the chance to return the favor.

The AS400 serving my county government is in our building which is attached to the county jail facility. Our north end annex is getting a long-overdue T-1 line. It's been installed for a week or so but only today began to do its job. Darryl came by to tell me he was working on it. I talked to him briefly when he let me know what he was doing and I got busy with my work and forgot he was on the premises.

Then I got a phone call.

"Sheriff's Office..."

"Joy! This is Darryl... I need help!"

"Sure, Darryl... what's up?"

"I'm locked in the Boiler Room... COME GET ME OUT!"

I grabbed my ID badge and headed out the back door into the jail lobby and waited impatiently while the big doors were opened. When I made it past the internal security door, I asked the first jailer I met where the boiler room was. She pointed to the near hallway, a door I'd never noticed before. It wasn't an automatic door but one that only opens with a key so large as to look cartoonish. I banged on the door and yelled for Darryl. I could only faintly hear him banging and yelling back. The jailers looked at me as if I had finally lost it. The gawking jailers grew quickly to a group of six.

I asked, "Who has a key?" They looked at each other and shrugged.

My impatient "Find a key!" sent several of them off in different directions.

One of the remaining jailers asked how Darryl got locked in the boiler room. Then a newly arrived jailer admitted to having found the door ajar earlier. She had closed it for security.

Finally a key arrived and the door was opened. Darryl rushed out, sweating and very relieved to be released. He related how, after completing the T-1 inspection in the boiler room, he found himself locked inside. As it turns out there is only one corner in the boiler room, between the boiler itself and the pipe rack, where his cell phone actually got a signal. He had to hold the phone in the corner to get enough bars to make a call.

By the time we got back to my office, Darryl had cooled off a little and was able to laugh about the incident.

Any Friday is a good one when you get to rescue a friend.

I Found Bob Seger at the Gas Station

2007-04-21T16:40:00.001-05:00

I’ll admit to being a lady of mature years. Just how mature is my secret, but I will tell you I witnessed Elvis’ first television appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. Music has always been important to me and my love of Rock and Roll saw me through my teenage years. I now realize I missed a lot of fantastic music beginning in the mid sixties when I defected to Country Music. I’ve tried to make up for that with a willingness to listen and learn. That’s how I found Bob Seger at the gas station.

Sitting in the gas station with the car windows down and the sun roof open while my husband pumped gas, I heard a haunting melody from the Cadillac Escalade that pulled in next to me. The man driving the pearl white SUV got out to buy a soda but left the music playing at a level where everyone at the station could enjoy it. Had it been Rap or even the mind-numbing sameness of “New Country”, I would have been annoyed at having to listen to someone else’s music. Instead, I was intrigued at the hauntingly beautiful sound of the male singer’s voice filling the late evening coolness. I didn’t recognize the voice or the song so when the driver returned to his vehicle, I got out of mine and stopped him.

The forty-something driver was a little spooked by this lady of mature years approaching him and, until he made sense of my question about his music, he looked about ready to bolt.

“Excuse me, Sir.” I said as non-threateningly as I knew how. “Who is singing in the music you’re playing?”

He relaxed a little and looked down at me. He was quite tall and husky and I was short in comparison. “It’s Bob Seger.”

Now, I vaguely recognized the name and knew Bob Seger must have lots of hit albums out there. The man began to ease toward his vehicle and I could feel my husband staring at my back and wondering what the heck I was doing talking to this strange man.

I ventured further, “What’s the name of the song?”

He looked like this was way more conversation than he wanted to have with this strange woman but he quickly blurted out, “Turn the Page.”

I smiled and thanked him and turned to return to my car. He was away like a shot. As I drove away, my husband asked what that was all about. When I told him, he just gave me the look that means ‘I’ll never understand this woman’.

The next day, I searched my iPod music for Bob Seger songs. Many of the song files were given to me by my brother who is younger by six years and of a whole different Rock and Roll generation. I found a few Bob Seger songs but not Turn The Page. In my next shopping trip, I found the first volume of Bob Seger Greatest Hits containing that song and so many others I now enjoy. I followed up with Bob Seger Greatest Hits Vol. 2.

Since I found Bob Seger at the gas station, I found Phil Collins on Carol’s radio at work. Who knows who I’ll find next… and where.

Charlotte 1947~2007

2007-04-12T22:27:00.000-05:00

,,,

Charlotte’s birthday is Sunday. She died January 8th. She died from the complications of her alcoholic condition. I don’t know how long she had this problem. I only became aware of it five years ago. We haven’t been close since a few years after high school. She pushed me away more than thirty-five years ago.

Charlotte and I were first cousins and grew up in the same small town, going to the same small school and often in the same classes and after-school activities. I am older by about five months and I was always the leader, having the stronger personality. She was always happy to go along with whatever I wanted to do and I felt responsible for her in our elementary school days. In junior high, our relationship changed and she became more like the sister I would never have. We double-dated in high school and even worked for the same big corporation in Houston when we graduated. I assumed it would always be that way. To my dismay, it wasn’t.

When our children were small, Charlotte moved to Oklahoma with her husband, returning to his home town. I was astounded that she would move so far away from our childhood hometown, but I assumed it would only be a minor difficulty in our life-long friendship. Instead, it was the end of our relationship.

I wrote Charlotte and called often in the first few years after she moved. She was cordial when I made the effort but never reached out to me in return. I only saw her at occasional family gatherings, but she didn’t even call me when she was in town between those events. It took me a long time to get the message and, after I finally did, I spent a number of years feeling hurt and resentful. Eventually, I let go of the hurt and resentment and contacted her when I felt the need and expected nothing of her in return. I didn’t dwell on the issue.

When I learned of her alcoholism, I mourned. I wondered if I could have been a better friend, if I’d given up too easily and too soon. I don’t know what I might have done differently. Perhaps, I place too much importance on myself in her life.

I realize that I have shuffled Charlotte’s loss aside and I have avoided dealing with it. I know I will have to do so some day, but I’m not ready now. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to deal with it. For now, this is all I know to do:

Happy Birthday, Charlotte… RIP

Spelling Confessions... Entry 1

2007-04-12T08:10:00.000-05:00

Spelling has always been an easy subject for me. At this stage of my life, I still spell better than 99% of the population but I'm no longer confident of my ability on a day to day basis. Therefore, I am seldom far from a dictionary. Using this blog, I'm going to publicly atone for my failures by posting the words I have to look up. So.... Entry 1:

intrigue - (I wanted to spell it intregue) - to arouse the interest, desire, or curiousity of. Note: I know it has other meanings, but this is how I was using it.

Book Review: The Children of Men

2007-04-11T22:13:00.001-05:00

The Children of Men by P.D. James - I had no knowledge of this book until I was sucked in by the photo of Clive Owen on the cover. The photo is from a new movie by the same name.

I was very interested in the premise of the story... England in 2021, coping with the decline of society and man. There have been no children born since 1995 because males have become sterile. The plight of the elderly and infirm is at a critical point, pushed toward "voluntary" group suicide by the ruling Warden of England. The aging population loses interest in sex and fills its emotionaly barren existence with elaborate christening rituals for kittens and slides away from Christian ways into a revival of paganism. The Warden's cousin, Theo Faron, an Oxford professor, well-to-do, divorced and emotionally constrained, lives an increasingly isolated and bleak existence until he meets a group of dissidents. The small group plots against the Warden's control of the country and a govermental policy of enslavement of immigrants and abandonment of criminals on an island of horror. When they are threatened with exposure, Faron helps them to escape and ultimately falls for one of the group members. In finding love, he also finds a reason to care about life.

While I believe this book was well-written, it moved very slowly and I struggled to stay with it. I tend to invest myself in a story and I am not easily discouraged by a slow pace. In the end, I was very disappointed in this book and I don't recommend it.