As of Friday, I’m still jobbed! Yay – I like my job and my co-workers, even when they call at 2:45 on a Friday with a problem that really needs a solution before Monday. I can get behind the mission and the need. Unfortunately, we’ll be going over this again next year. This is only a one-year reprieve. Even though I just got my job back not six months ago, I’m once again considering jumping ship, but out of state. There are some opportunities that would let me work 50/50 AK and ‘elsewhere’. Last time I looked, this was incredibly lucrative too. However, I’m not super chuffed about it. Anyhow. That’s where I’m at, saving until next year’s layoff.
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My Tombstone: He died doing what he loved, waiting for Kvothe to get to the point.
As I’m sure you’ve guessed by the title of this post, I’m reading (listening actually) to The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. Before I press on here, I want to make it perfectly clear that this is a disorganized bit of observation by a reader and also a struggling writer. I do not make any claims that I am better at the craft than Mr. Rothfuss. The story isn’t bad, nor is the writing, I just find myself a bit annoyed.
It may be that you loved or are in love with the book. Excellent. I’m glad you connected with this. I’m afraid I’m struggling. Even though some of his language and descriptions are lovely and make me wish my tongue contained a quarter as much silver, I am now on chapter 51 and asking myself, “When the bloody hell is Kvothe going to get to the point here?” Again, the setting is wonderful as are the excellent descriptions. It’s case-study in description in prose for someone attempting to produce a commercially viable work of speculative fiction. Again, though, I say, is this book going anywhere? This alone is a pretty annoying, but what’s more annoying is that a single, very popular and well regarded book can contain so many of the things people tell authors not to do.
I spend a lot of time trying to improve my craft. I do want to get published some day and can’t get there without improvement. It’s also true that I’m incredibly hard on myself and sometimes just find it easier to say, well, that didn’t work, did it? Nobody can tell you your work is a pile of thoroughly unsalvageable garbage quite like you can. However, in listening to this book I’m finding myself faced with virtually every piece of advice I’ve heard being completely ignored. Some of these tidbits of advice, such as the use of dialog tags and adverbs, I’ve come to regard as absolute nonsense advice. I feel that reviewers point to these as problems, but really it’s just the smoke. The real fire is elsewhere in the writing. I also once got advice to the effect of ‘watch out for passive description’ in a short story that used it once. The Name of the Wind use it in near equal measures to more active descriptions.
I’m not really sure what the point of all this is, except to say that I’m struggling as a writer right now. I’ve hit a moment where I’ve convinced myself the work is absolute trash. The only solution for me is to understand how to improve. Then, when I go to examine other writers’ work, I’m presented with this sort of thing – A never ending story, with lovely descriptions that manages to break every damn rule of thumb for good practice I’ve been acquainted with. It brings to mind the question, are there any actual guidelines to follow? Is there really a way to get better or am I just stuck trying different things until I find my voice? Anyhow, I’ve got no answers or even conjecture on the matter. I’m just annoyed.
Also, I’ve been working on the Name of the Wind for days, listening while I drive, cook and even for two days while I worked on one of those metal earth models. There is no end in sight and I really don’t know if I have it in me to finish.
Another goodbye as we close out 2016
Pictured Left to Right Dave S. Koster, Emily Plotnik, Arliss Banta, and Kathleen Comerate, sometime in the spring of 1979, Forest Lake, MN.
To say that I’m growing weary of posting goodbyes this year would be an understatement. This time, I’m afraid I haven’t got a witty story, I’m just really sad. Today, we lost my grandmother, Arliss. It was one of those inevitable things the family has been dreading for a couple of years of deteriorating health. Her time finally came this morning.
As with many non-Alaskan native transplants, my extended family is far away. Hell, much of my immediate family is far away and some of them are even in the same state. You simply can’t get to where my youngest brother lives without taking a plane or possibly extended dog-sled trip. It means that routine visits to grandparents, cousins, uncles, aunts that so many others around the country take for granted, and even dread over the holidays, aren’t always possible. When the trips to visit family do happen, each one ends up being a memorable event and a time of celebration – good times, good conversation and connections that are far more infrequent and generally more appreciated by folks like us. Without question, my fondest, most cherished, childhood memories are those of visiting my grandparents in Minnesota. I loved waking up there, the smell of the coffee pot on in that old farm house is what I think of when I’ve woken up on a particularly fine day. That smell meant spending the morning visiting with my grandparents at the kitchen table before heading off on some adventure which sometimes just involved mowing the lawn and goofing off with the uncles.
The sheer distance an Alaskan immigrant is from family is never so apparent as when a family member grows ill or passes. You can’t get there in time to say goodbye. In my case, I wasn’t able to visit as often as I really should have. Getting a family of five halfway across the continent is generally more expensive than an family of 5 can afford. I did get the chance to visit the summer before last and I’m glad I did. I should have visited more. Perhaps once a year even, but the distance and expense is real and while it’s not true in this case, it can be, believe it or not, dangerous.
Three years ago, my mother in law passed. I was on a business trip in Fairbanks, a 45 minute flight from Anchorage, which is about an hour from home. I got the call in the middle of a presentation for which I explicitly told my wife not to call me in the middle of unless her mom was dying. Well, she was. Fortunately, I had (and still have) excellent co-workers and they had me on the next flight to Anchorage. Unfortunately, the weather turned, as it sometimes does, so I made it to Anchorage, but was advised against the 3-hour drive to Seward due to dangerous road conditions. We opted to be safe and stayed until morning. The call came at just after 6am. We didn’t make it. I am still kicking myself for not just putting on my Alaskan hat and getting our ass down the road. I mean, come on, I drive to work in worse conditions right? Well, maybe not in this case, it was the remnants of a typhoon crashing up against the Chugach range. Instead, we found ourselves there in time for the funeral.
I only relate this story because my mom had intended to get down there this weekend in the hopes of a last visit. She didn’t make it. She got the call today, her birthday, 4000 miles and 3 time zones away. Now, she’ll be making it for the funeral. Watching my wife lose her mother and being just short of getting there in time brings into focus just how difficult this is and how hard it can be when you live in a place so completely disconnected from your roots and family.
Anyhow. The point of all of this is that I’m going to miss my grandmother and I hate the fact that my family and I weren’t a bit closer. Alaska is great, but there are sacrifices.
