Nebraska Notes - #5 Leaving

The eight days of lectures, writing assignments, evaluations, and readings of poetry, prose and a blue harmonica concert one rainy evening have filled my jellied brain to overflowing. It’s time to put it all to work back home in my garage office refuge, my silent place to fill pages or, at least to appear to fill pages while my dogs nap until they decide it is time for me to pay attention to them. Isn’t that why us humans exist—to pet, feed and walk these creatures we anthropomorphize?

My journey home started Saturday morning with the van which picked me up four minutes early despite the fact that it first whizzed by me while I sat at the entrance to the dorm building. I was engrossed in one of the memoir books I acquired during my stay.

The fifty some miles of space between Lincoln and Omaha (from which my plane will fly me back to Memphis), is split by the ribbon Interstate 80. It’s a lush space this morning as the sun ray’s beat down upon the verdant rolling fields of corn and soybeans.

It’s an ideal time to travel here because the spring storms bring unrepentant rains that pelt the seeded black dirt fields and tornado producing storms rip through the homes and hearts of this state’s inhabitants. Then the winter winds rip across these plains through the grayness of winter dumping snow and sleet upon the plowed under fields littered with harvest remains. This short time, the time in between these extremes, is the green time, the Willa Cather time, the time to be in Nebraska. The horizon is a sharp blue, dotted with puffy and whiskered clouds that spread across the miles of farm land. The sun is cool in the morning and in the evening, but can be piercing hot at its height in the day. It is not a heat that makes you closet yourself indoors. Rather, it is a dry heat, cooled by shade tree that beckons you to be there with it, outside to become part of its being. It is magnificent and as I travel through this space this morning at this time of year, I feel the attachment its people have to Nebraska and its passion for outdoor college baseball and football, both played in expansive open air stadiums.

I arrive at the airport, check my bag with a chatty airline customer service representative and navigate safely through the TSA security center in time to get in line for a desperately needed dark roast coffee to awaken my brain cells that were numbed by a restless night’s sleep. I’m lucky, I say to myself. The line is short. Ahead of me is only one man—in his 60’s most likely, baggy khaki shorts, wrinkled ochre polo shirt and white sensible Velcro-closing walking shoes and socks. He asks for the largest cup possible. He frowns and complains to the cashier about the size of the cup she offers, but smiles and gives her a jolly “I’ll take it” when she promises that he is welcome to all the free refills he can drink. Satisfied with her promise, he dumps a pile of nickels, dimes and pennies from a stained and worn athletic sock which he has placed on the counter. Stooped, looking intently over his glasses, he determinedly counts out the $1.93 “Let see here, 10, 20, 30….and 1, 2, 3. There you are young lady,” he says to the woman as he pushes the coins across the counter. He then scoops up the remaining coins, returning them to his sock, which he carries away along with his paper coffee cup.



I quickly give the woman who has apologized for this man’s behavior with her eyes two one dollar bills for my sacred paper coffee cup. I, the more traditional traveler, use my wallet, and not my sock to hold my money. I wonder what this man would do in a NYC deli. His waiter would have a memorable story to take to her acting class that evening.

Nebraska Notes #4 Homework

My manuscript consultation today with a NY agent went well. She liked my my writing (clear, easy to follow and visual) and the story (women's lit, adventure, action based). My first chapter needs rewriting -- more story through action and dialogue just like the rest of the work. I agreed. the great news is she wants to read it again and will consider it for her list. I'm thrilled!

It's a small agency in New York, woman owned, who are well respected This agent has only four years in the agent business so she has the energy and commitment to work with a debut author (someone she can develop through multiple books) -- women's commercial and literary fiction is one of her areas of specialty.

I'm exhausted from listening and learning and have homework tonight. Harley Jane Kozak (http://www.harleyjanekozak.com/home.html) is fabulous as a commerical writing teacher. we'll be reading out loud tomorrow. that should be very interesting. My 10 classmates are great, one man in particular -- is a Costa Rican mathematician and physicist loiving in Atlanta who writes poetry in Spanish and wants to move into writing fiction in English. He even looks the role!!

Learning a bunch about format and structure. It'll should my writing so much easier.
More later in the week.

Nebraska Notes #3 - A refreshing first day

With 12 other writers of various ages, genre interests and skills, I spent the first day of a two day workshop with a New York City based publicist and agent totally absorbed in their real world lessons. It was refreshing and delightful to learn that my years of doing business have prepared me for writing engaging query letters and elevator speeches. An old dog like myself (and many of the other participants I'm pleased to say) can modify old tricks to work in new environments!

The leisurely pace of the sessions leave plenty of time for reflection and talk. I woke early, bursted in the crisp morning air, and quietly sipped coffee while scanning the local newspaper.

It was fun. It was exciting talking about my work and listening to what others are doing, along with their struggles and successes. It's amazing how many writer's don't know how to write a short business letter. And, most importantly, it was hopeful, as the agent requested privately after the the session for me to send her the first three chapters of my book as soon as possible. Lesson learned: Speaking up pays off!

My suitemate tonight is a delightful woman, Kathy, from Omaha. Over steaks and libations we shared our life stories and enjoyed a walk in the breezy evening air. Between her stories of husband, career and two kids and my "retirement" turmoil in Memphis, we laughed are way through the evening. Conclusion: Women should rule the world!

Nebraska Notes #2 First Impressions

It's warm, but dry and breezy out here in the prairie plains. I sit in my dorm room looking out the window watching young men play soccer on lush green fields--the Vine Street Fields--as the setting sun casts long shadows. I am literally back in school which appears much improved since I last time I had a dorm room from fall of 1965 through spring 1967. It's a shared suite, not a shared room. It's carpeted with a living room, full kitchen, four bedrooms, two bathrooms and two wash stands. I'll have two other suite mates by Sunday night. It's the poor man's version of the Embassy Suites--tidy, clean with pleasant front desk folks, but rooms are sans the TV, radio, hangers, hair dryer, kitchen dishes and cute bath and shower samples. A monk would consider it quite acceptable and so do I as I wanted to be somewhere with few distractions. (You all who know me can get up off the floor after fainting!)

To get to this cornhusker place of learning (University of Nebraska), I flew into Omaha then took a transport van to Lincoln. There's 50 miles of rolling hills and farms between the two cities. The van driver, a retired high school teacher from this area, explained that although they did not get the floods like Iowa did this last week, they did get a raft of tornadoes, some of which came right down interstate route 80 (the road we were on). That helped me remember why I left the mid-west.

The van arrived too late for me to catch dinner at the commissary (I'm on a dirt cheap meal plan) so I donned my sneaks and walked the six blocks to down town for something to eat. It's amazing how many bars can fit in a couple of city blocks. Guess the no alcohol on campus rule has something to do with it. My choice was a bar that served a thousand kinds of beer and quite passable pizza. My white "Northern" with onion and sausage was thin crusted and crisp, but not burnt. The sausage did resemble "small bite" dog food pellets, but was fennel seasoned just the way I like it. Two slices and my summer cocktail of vodka and tonic soothed my growling tummy.

It's time to settle in for the night. I've got my iPod and iMotion station, Internet NPR set up for morning, and my Timex stop watch for an alarm clock. Just need to plug in my cell phone to get it charged up and turn off the lap top. AHHHHH, nothing like bare bones living!

Nebraska Notes - Preparation

This week I'm preparing for my first writer's conference: The Nebraska Summer Writer's Conference. It starts with two days of panels and lectures on the publishing business and then morphs into five days of the writing workshop "Dostoevsky It Ain't". Sometime during the week I also get an agent consultation on my book.

I've got home work to finish before I fly out Friday. The agent consultation required me to send the first five pages and a two page synopsis. Being a person of many words, I used 10 point type and narrow margins, but I got it done and sent it off several weeks ago. For the writing workshop, I was told to select a favorite book from my "genre", reread it and write a chapter by chapter summary. I have no idea what my genre is yet, except to say I like writing about women, relationships and their associated adventures. (A murder writer I'm not--at least not yet). I chose The Hours by Michael Cunningham. The stories of three women from three eras (1920's, 1950's, and 1990's) are interwoven through books and relationships using language that leaves me breathless every time I read this short book. I could never bring myself to watch the film as it would be impossible to capture the warp of his words. The workshop instructor also wants me to bring five pages of "something" I'm working on (copies for everyone in the class as well). I was going to bring something from my new effort, but may fall back on On the Hook. Can't decide.

I'm intimidated that other writers will critique my work next week. Never in my life have I dealt well with negative evaluations as I always wanted to please the authorities and be perfect (remnants from a controlling father just don't let go easily). Luckily, the class will have only five or six other students. These peers will be younger than my daughter, no doubt--everyone seems to be younger now days (sigh). But age doesn't stop feelings of incompetency and pure fright from living in my brain. If I didn't know better, I think I'm that gangly seven-year-old kid from Alabama about to start first grade up north in 1953. I'm all dressed up in my new school togs, but ready to throw-up if anybody laughs at me because I talk funny. My worst fear is that these writers and would be writers dismiss my work as the drivel of a wrinkling retired business careerist who, in their opinion, should leave writing to young, brilliant English majors. Holly Myers saved me in first grade when she took my hand during a tough game of "Hill Dill". Who will save me next week?

I remain hopeful that I will survive this seven day reality show. Feedback on On the Hook from my second round readers has been positive, so maybe there is a writing future for me.