StanleyWheeler

I spent part of last week at a professional training conference. It was good stuff. I met some people from around the state, and passed on a few of my self-promotional cards. A couple folks seemed genuinely interested in my books. I'm pleased with the recent sales of Smoke, but the sales are not nearly what they should be (if I judge based upon how fun it was to write the book).

I did find time alone in my hotel room after the daily sessions to re-engage in writing Justice Resurgent, the sequel to my first novel Justice in Season. I also did some more research on a particular stagecoach robbery that will figure prominently (a fictionalized version of the event) in the story. This week, I've enjoyed writing that part of the story. The focus has temporarily shifted away from the men and women striving for law and order to highlight the activities of the villains. The book is just over half-way complete. I expect a lot of action in the remaining chapters.

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Mowing the vast expanse of grass (or the great swath of emerald sward--I'm pretty sure that I learned the word "sward" from reading Burroughs) chez-moi constitutes a weekly summer ritual. It's a big job. It beats going to the dentist, but not by much--except for the opportunity it gives me to listen to great literature. Last year, over the course of a few weeks, I enjoyed completing the audio version of Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities.

I've recently been listening to The Classic Tales podcasts. A couple weeks ago I learned that Louisa May Alcott wrote some short stories that she called stories of "blood and thunder" (if I remember the sobriquet correctly) before writing her famous novels and children's stories. One of these horror stories was "The Mummy's Curse." Although predictable, it wasn't bad. Most recently, upon seeing the title to a particular podcast, I immediately got an idea about how to resolve, or not resolve, actually, an issue that I've anticipated in the sequel to Finding Jack--The Orb; the sequel will be Finding Jack--Book Two--The Rod.

I had to look up a word today. That's not a bad thing. It's just a word that I should've known. I came across it in Louis L'Amour's The Mountain Valley War. That's ironic because I once told my son that he needed to read some science fiction or something besides of Louis L'Amour westerns in order to improve his vocabulary. I'm sure vocabulary is just one of the many things that that author could teach me.

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Saturday was also a deferred maintenance reconciliation day. That's reconciliation by way of penance and blood sacrifice. I had been hearing my brakes moan like a wounded walrus in heat for some months. When the noise first started, I thought that it was coming from the car or truck next to me at the stop. Eventually I noticed a pattern: I was hearing the same sounds, more and more frequently, and no other cars were nearby. Of course, I had to spend another month thinking that I needed to do something about it; I kept forgetting; and with the motorcycle friendly weather, I was often spared the sound of those moaning reminders that diligence delayed isn't diligence at all.

The highlight of the repair job, besides the oppressive heat and the fact that I was already fatigued from the grueling three hour mow experience in said heat, wasn't the smearing of my hemoglobin across the brake assembly--a necessary, but involuntary act aimed at appeasing the automotive deities--which I did while uttering the requisite litany--but the fact that my wife came out to assist me with the task. It could be that she yearns to see me engaged in something more manly than riding the lawnmower or tapping at a keyboard; or it could be that she's a nice person and wanted to give me help if I needed it.

She may have been surprised by the blood sacrifice. Not that she hasn't seen it before in various iterations. She just didn't understand that it was a requirement every. single. time. The old brake pads having died valiantly in duty, I consigned them to the automotive parts and accessories Valhalla, and installed the new recruits in their place.

***

Finally, a secretary at the office is reading Smoke. I bug her frequently about her reading progress. When she gave me an update this week, a line from that chapter came to mind: "Chivalry is not dead...and it didn't get any sleep either." I don't often remember specific lines that I've written, but that one stuck in my head based on the circumstances to which it applied.

I didn't get to a review of The Broken Gun. Maybe I'll do a double review of The Broken Gun, and The Mountain Valley War sometime soon.

PS (Why do I write "PS?" It's not like I'm doing a letter here--but this did come after I had finished the rest of the post, thus making it a post post scriptum) - While reviewing this for posting yesterday, my old wrestling coach and friend called to say hi and to express some other nice sentiments. What a perfect end to a busy day. It pays unexpected emotional dividends to have associated with nice people.