Father’s Day 2020

This Father’s Day has been tainted by the Coronavirus Pandemic … just not in the way you might think. So far, everyone in the immediate family is fine with wearing masks, social distancing, and staying close to home. The snag I experienced happened when I added “Father’s Day card” to the shopping list and didn’t go myself to make the selection for my son. Last year I sent him an “almost” Father’s Day card, so I thought I could trust my better half to make the purchase. Normally he’s good at card shopping, thoughtful and creative.

With Covid-19 in the daily news all our shopping trips have been be-masked with a quickened pace. No more pawing through tomatoes and bananas, no comparison shopping for pasta sauces. It’s been grab-and-go for the most part. Unfortunately, this practice resulted in a Father’s Day card that seemed to be more suited for my son to give to my husband than vice versa. I was left with a conundrum: How can I fix this? I can’t waste an otherwise perfectly good card.

Time to be a writer.

The gist of the card was the Titanic going down with a lone voice balloon saying, “Give me more duct tape. I think I can fix this.” Or words to that affect. At the bottom of the card was, “If only Dad had been there….” Or words to that affect. Inside the card was a reference to the Dad who could fix anything, especially when given an adequate supply of duct tape. Or words to that affect.

Two problems: first, “If Dad had been there” didn’t fit the family dynamics on this occasion; second, I have a wonderful son, don’t get me wrong, he is quite accomplished in his own way, but he’s not a Mr. Fixit type. He’s still young and I have hope, but this card didn’t seem the right fit at all.

Days passed and inspiration failed to visit me with a solution. Then it happened, and I had to give myself the metaphorical head slap while moaning a pathetic, “Doh!” It took that long to remember that my son, while in high school, did indeed go through a phase of constructing wallets made from duct tape. I even went out of my way to purchase different colors of duct tape when I found them. Finally, I used that bit of family history as a plot device in the book I’m working on. How could I forget something so important!

Apparently, it was far too easy for me to misplace the duct tape episode, AND the fact he saw the Titanic movie, like, FOUR times. I’m blaming it all on pandemic brain fog.

As a writer I made one tiny little edit, I masked out “Dad” and wrote in my son’s first name, and presto, it was good to go. His first Father’s Day card was saved. My husband’s card-buying reputation was intact. Sadly, however, my reputation has suffered.

Note: “I still struggle with using effect and affect. If I didn’t use ‘affect’ correctly here, I’m sorry. I’m going to blame that on my psychology degree,” she said, while sitting at her computer with a flat affect on her face.

On the Hunt for the Right Words

Writing during a pandemic has been difficult for me. I get these cheery emails with writing prompts and seldom open them. Why? Because I don’t want to be uplifted, sidetracked—no, more distractions are not welcome at this point. I have a self-imposed deadline coming up. I must have an ending for my novel. The going has been tough enough as it is. So, sorry guys, I know you all mean well.

I do have something for my ending blocked out. It’s a fine workable ending with the potential to neatly tie up all the loose ends from plot and subplots. But I’m sorry to say my characters aren’t talking to me yet, not giving me the dialog I need.

Plus, everything is taking too much time. For instance, it took two weeks of subconscious stewing over the name of a new festival to come up with an answer that makes sense, that works on more than one level. I spent much of that time walking and thinking and waiting for inspiration. Of course, I’ll have to patch up the text when I do the next full edit, but I needed something solid to begin with.

This second Bishop Hill mystery contains quite a few stories: legends, second-hand accounts, and outright lies. I needed to find a way to draw them all together and I’m hoping the name of the festival that I came up with will do the trick.

The business with using Bishop Hill stories isn’t new. I had some in the first book. I’ve expanded on the theme for the second. My stories could never hold a candle to those of The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix Harrow. (I listened to the audio book.) I must rely on my own interpretations of life in a small town—with a few fictionalized nudges of course. One must remember that conflict makes things interesting. One person thinking to themselves is fine; drag in the differing POV of another person and the dramatic happens. That’s why I’m going to call my gathering of historians, artists, and vendors the Bishop Hill Treasure Hunter’s Invitational … for now at least.

I Must Apologize

I have apologies to make to several people because I have been selfish with my time. I made commitments to help others and couldn’t follow through in a timely manner. I am truly sorry. I had to carve out some space to put me first. Sounds really awful and offending to put it out there like this, but I’ve had so much trouble crafting an ending to the next Bishop Hill mystery that I had to resort to the extreme.

Isolating and focusing on my problems has paid off. I have gotten past the arson scene at the old house. The escape from a park filled with tourists. Figured out how to have a car chase through Henry county backroads. Dealt harshly with my bad guy. Now, I’m ready for the “Final Image” as outlined in Save the Cat Writes a Novel by Jessica Brody.

I was introduced to Save the Cat by Quad Cities Writers Meet Up and their fearless leader, Sandra, when the group worked its way through the whole book last year. I was surprised and pleased when my first novel, Clouds Over Bishop Hill, came out in good shape when compared to the 15 steps. I certainly wasn’t trying. In fact, I was pretty nervous about it all. I’d written my fight scene in the barn thinking it was the end of the book and then discovered that no it wasn’t, too many loose ends needed to be tied up. But I liked that scene. I couldn’t axe it. So, I wrote what I felt like was another ending. I liked that one too. I kept both. It got published and I held my breath (metaphor alert). It confused some readers, but not others. Then I read Save the Cat and found out that it was okay to do such things.

That was the first Bishop Hill book, for the second one I thought I’d be more traditional. Still, writing is hard. Writing can be even harder if you’re a pantser, as in a write-by-the-seat-of-one’s-pants type, like I am.

I created a huge diagram of the 15 steps for my wall. Have I filled it in? No. I use the book as a loose guide, a reference, and for inspiration. I still have to take my time to work things out with ideas that please me.

So, I am now encouraged enough with my “final scene” notes to emerge from my writerly time-hoarding isolation and attempt to get caught up with my other projects and commitments.

The Girl Who Takes an Eye for an Eye

David Lagercrantz, who’s taken up Stieg Larson’s Millennium Series, is doing an admirable job. The familiar characters are back. There are interesting new ones. Lisbeth is in good fighting form. One does not get lost in the action. Now, finding my way around Stockholm did get a little dicey as soon as Lagercrantz got away from Gamla Stan. I’m sure it’s manageable if you want to take time away from the story to sort it all out. I did make some side trips with the famous jazz musician, Django. Same with hyperacusis. And mirror image twins. All are interesting facts to sort out and build into a story line.

However, what I really want to know is how did that nice Swedish family with the woodsy home at the edge of the forest, who rescued a main character from the freezing cold, ran him a hot bath, gave him dry clothes, could end up feeding him JANSSON’S TEMPTATION? [Page 320, hardback, near the bottom of the page.]

Surely someone had been to or knew about Bishop Hill, Illinois, USA and the Bishop Hill colony. Who was that person?

That’s a bigger mystery than the evil twin. And probably a good story in its own right.

Dick Stahl, The Forever Poet Laureate

Alma Gaul wrote a touching remembrance for former QC poet laureate DICK STAHL. I knew him through Writer's Studio. He'd come in with three poems and ask us to vote for two. He listened to our comments and was grateful for the feedback. I bought copy #91 of "Bluffing" and visited a few of the sites of his poems. I made it to Dick and Helen's 50th anniversary party held at the Figge. He was kind enough to read aloud the poem I'd written for that occasion. That was so like him. Thanks to Alma's article I now know why.


To Helen and Dick

Two parts of a whole

A pair of individuals

On a journey

Finding a path that follows

The winding Mississippi

Past rocks and sand bars

Minor obstructions

Who climb high to vistas

So near the sky

They can feel

The clouds pass nearby

To Dick and Helen

Two parts of a whole

Joined together 50 years ago

They catch a golden sunrise

Over a river Bluff

Made perfect

By their own design

Library Book Clubs

Writers must be readers. One hears that quite often.

Writers must “read” like a “writer.” Yes, that is true. There is a difference

Writers must read in their genre, but not exclusively. Also, true.

Reading widely exposes one to different styles, old and new; ideas for punctuation and verb tense; builds vocabulary; and showcases methods for presenting dialog. Most of all, it provides a point of reference for how one is progressing in the writerly craft. Writing at its heart is a craft that improves with practice. What inspires your writing, that slice of life, is uniquely yours.

Book Clubs are great ways to satisfy all these goals. Library book clubs provide resources without a huge personal investment in money and permanent shelf space, should that be a problem, for all those books in your private collection.

My participation in multiple book clubs offered by the Davenport Public Library exposes me to titles and authors I wouldn’t pick for myself. They expanded my world as a reader and a writer. I always learn something new.

When the West End Book Club was in danger of being disbanded, I was loath to let it go. Fortunately, I was not alone. Several avid readers joined me in keeping it going. We scoured the Davenport library’s list of book club kits so we could continue to meet monthly, read new-to-us books without incurring any expense for us or the library. All we needed was a room to come together to talk and share our excitement about books.

As I said, we West Enders are a bunch of avid readers and after a year or so it became difficult to find new titles to fill our needs. What to do? Well, as it so happened, we needed to branch out.

When I walk through the Rock Island Public Library's first floor there’s no way to miss the boxes and boxes of book club kits. I inquired about checking them out and my first response was no because the library systems separated by the Mississippi went their respective ways a few years ago. Quite disappointing, but not terribly unexpected.

A RIPL librarian suggested that I try Bettendorf’s public library. I did and found a treasure trove of book club kits lined up and waiting to be checked out and delivered to any branch of the DPL system. “DIBS” stands for “Discussions in Boxes” and the choosing should be fun and super convenient for us West Enders. Great News!

In the meantime, I heard from RIPL’s Amy Sisul that there is a way for me as a DPL patron to check out up to ten books at a time. Ten books make up your average book club kit. More Great News!

The West End Book Club should be set up nicely for years to come.

The moral of this story is: Whether you are starting a book club, trying to save one like me, or just looking to join, remember the resources are many at our public libraries.

Owls and Iron Pen, part 3

I wrote in my January 17th blog post about MWC’s 24-hour Iron Pen contest and how I’d won a first place, and a nice medal, for my non-fiction entry in 2010. I said, “It was a nice little tale about winter walking in Bishop Hill.”

Well, Alma Gaul’s recent Quad-City Times articles about owls reminded me how a great horned owl was very important to that story. According to the non-fiction judge my entry’s life-and-death theme between the owl and a rabbit set it apart from all the other entries.

The following is an excerpt from “Danger in the Snow”:

     “But what brought me to a standstill was the cold winter morning I discovered the signature of death in the snow. As I walked near my front field, I casually followed a set of rabbit tracks that meandered through it.  I’d already walked well past by the time it dawned on me that something was awry. The oddness tugged at me, made me stop, go back, and look again. Rabbit tracks shouldn’t end suddenly. A closer inspection revealed the scraping claw marks of talons and the indentations of wing tips as something large came down and grabbed that rabbit right off its feet.

     I imagined it was an owl, probably a Great Horned Owl. When you spot them up in a tree your first thought is, “Why is that cat sitting up there?” They are big and they use the largest old trees for their nests. That year they had chosen a tree close to my field. I had the chance to watch well into the spring as the parents raised two owlets.

     Thinking about those babies growing from fuzz to feathers made me reconsider what I saw in the snow, the dichotomy of the drama: death for a rabbit, life for an owl. I’m standing there in the cold, the one who’d never broken a bone, staring at what remained. The last sign of the rabbit that wasn’t so lucky.”

Reprinted from Winter Worlds: Three Stories

Copyright © 2017 by Mary R. Davidsaver