I was thrilled this last week. In our short, six week writing class, we're progressing better than I ever expected. All of you know, writing is a series of small tasks, all of which must be addressed precisely in order to have a publishable manuscript.
That's how we started, from the basics, the first being 'exactly what are we specifically writing about? What goal are we shooting at.'
In these first five sessions, all seven students have come up with a concise objective for their novel. Call it a premise, a goal, whatever. But they took a snap shot of what they wanted to do and set out after it.
Naturally, we spent time on the part most writers detest, the nuts and bolts of the entire machine. We discussed pictorial nouns, strong verbs, clear antecedents, important adjectives, and scarce adverbs.
With this group, it clicked quickly.
And when we hit scenes and the transitions, they ate it up like a Thanksgiving dinner. Written work they brought in and read in class was creative, professional, and a delight.
One constant I've striven with them, and with all classes, is that they are by themselves when it comes to writing the novel, rewriting, and then the horrible marketing process that follows.
We have one week left. I hope in that time, we'll have questions answered, and they'll have information they need to find those agents and editors who can help them further their careers.
I always enjoy this little sessions. They not only freshen my experience, remind me of various techniques, but also give me the immeasurable satisfaction of knowing that perhaps some of my little contributions have aided a hopeful author reach his goal, publication.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Super Bowl
I suppose like me, you’re tired of listening to all the second-guessing and Monday morning quarterbacking over the Super Bowl last week.
While I enjoy pro football, I’m not into the fantasy end of it. Truth is, I have absolutely no idea how it works, and the longer I don’t know, the better off I figure I am, nor do I buy any of the team memorabilia.
While a Cowboy and Texan fan, I’ve been impressed the last few years about the Colts.
Did you notice how many oddsmakers and prognosticators picked them to win the Super Bowl. I could be wrong, but other than the fanatical Saints’ fans, no one picked them.
In all the two-week build up to the game, everyone had an opinion, an observation, a comment, or some sort of reflection.
I don’t recollect any of the writers picking N’Awlins. The comments ran from ‘Sorry, Saints, the Colts have too much,’ to ‘Why the Colts will win and the Saints lose.’
Whether you read the local papers, online comments, magazines, or listened to the radio, all were predicting the Colts. The night before the game, I ran into a friend at the store and he asked me who I picked. Like everyone except New Orleans’ fanatics, I said the Colts.
I remember one writer stating that even if a team jumped on Peyton Manning the first couple quarters, that he was bright enough to figure them out by the fourth quarter. That, announced the scribe, was the explanation for so many fourth quarter comebacks to win games.
While I enjoy the game, I’m certain no expert, but I thought about the old boy’s comment. If that were the case, why didn’t some defensive guru come up with a difference defense in the fourth quarter.
Now teams might be doing it. You couldn’t prove it by me one way or another. When I look at a defense, I see eleven guys trying to smash down eleven others to get to the ball. If there is a scheme there, I don’t see it.
I remember when football was ‘the biggest with the mostest the fastest.’
Imagine my surprise when a Saint player in the post game hoopla commented that the coach had not only put in a first have defensive scheme, but a third quarter one and a fourth quarter one.
Did it help?
Well, the Saints won, but there seemed to me to be enough ‘ifs’ to warrant a player muttering a short prayer of thanks for some plays.
What ‘if’, N’awlins had not recovered the onside kick beginning the second half; what ‘if’ the Colts
had not tried three successive running plays after they had stopped the Saints at the goal line;
what ‘if’ the Saint CB had been half-a-step slower and missed the interception?
The Colts were moving then, and maybe the psychological damage a touchdown would wreak among the Saints would have been enough for Manning to score again.
Of course, it’s like a horse race. You never know who might pull off an upset.
If they replayed the game next week, it could very easily go the other way.
The Saints are good; the Colts are good. Which is the better team? Is Manning the best quarterback, or is it Drew Brees? I don’t know, but I’d hate to have to live off the difference between them.
Some old codger friends of mine were discussing that question. One fairly perceptive gent said, “Put it this way. If you were in a tie game, which of the two quarterback would you most dread facing?”
I suppose the answer to that question provides about the clearest distinction between the two.
While I enjoy pro football, I’m not into the fantasy end of it. Truth is, I have absolutely no idea how it works, and the longer I don’t know, the better off I figure I am, nor do I buy any of the team memorabilia.
While a Cowboy and Texan fan, I’ve been impressed the last few years about the Colts.
Did you notice how many oddsmakers and prognosticators picked them to win the Super Bowl. I could be wrong, but other than the fanatical Saints’ fans, no one picked them.
In all the two-week build up to the game, everyone had an opinion, an observation, a comment, or some sort of reflection.
I don’t recollect any of the writers picking N’Awlins. The comments ran from ‘Sorry, Saints, the Colts have too much,’ to ‘Why the Colts will win and the Saints lose.’
Whether you read the local papers, online comments, magazines, or listened to the radio, all were predicting the Colts. The night before the game, I ran into a friend at the store and he asked me who I picked. Like everyone except New Orleans’ fanatics, I said the Colts.
I remember one writer stating that even if a team jumped on Peyton Manning the first couple quarters, that he was bright enough to figure them out by the fourth quarter. That, announced the scribe, was the explanation for so many fourth quarter comebacks to win games.
While I enjoy the game, I’m certain no expert, but I thought about the old boy’s comment. If that were the case, why didn’t some defensive guru come up with a difference defense in the fourth quarter.
Now teams might be doing it. You couldn’t prove it by me one way or another. When I look at a defense, I see eleven guys trying to smash down eleven others to get to the ball. If there is a scheme there, I don’t see it.
I remember when football was ‘the biggest with the mostest the fastest.’
Imagine my surprise when a Saint player in the post game hoopla commented that the coach had not only put in a first have defensive scheme, but a third quarter one and a fourth quarter one.
Did it help?
Well, the Saints won, but there seemed to me to be enough ‘ifs’ to warrant a player muttering a short prayer of thanks for some plays.
What ‘if’, N’awlins had not recovered the onside kick beginning the second half; what ‘if’ the Colts
had not tried three successive running plays after they had stopped the Saints at the goal line;
what ‘if’ the Saint CB had been half-a-step slower and missed the interception?
The Colts were moving then, and maybe the psychological damage a touchdown would wreak among the Saints would have been enough for Manning to score again.
Of course, it’s like a horse race. You never know who might pull off an upset.
If they replayed the game next week, it could very easily go the other way.
The Saints are good; the Colts are good. Which is the better team? Is Manning the best quarterback, or is it Drew Brees? I don’t know, but I’d hate to have to live off the difference between them.
Some old codger friends of mine were discussing that question. One fairly perceptive gent said, “Put it this way. If you were in a tie game, which of the two quarterback would you most dread facing?”
I suppose the answer to that question provides about the clearest distinction between the two.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
You Can Have the Cold Weather
You Can Have the Cold Weather
I don’t know about you folks, but I don’t care all that much for the cold weather we’ve been having. Don’t worry, I’m not going to get into this warming climate business. I’m so dadgummed tired of listening to first one liar claim it’s getting hot enough to loosen the bristles on a wild hog and then another swearing it’s getting colder than a witch’s kiss. Folks are either ignorant or lying.
Why, even the weather scientists lied about warming conditions. Their explanation was that they suspected it was coming, but they wanted the world ‘powers-that-be’ to do something about what they thought was going to happen. (hey, I’m just as confused as you by their logic)
All that being said, I just don’t care for cold weather. I had my fill when I lived up in the Texas Panhandle where the only thing between me and the North Pole was a barbed wire fence, and it was falling apart with rust.
Now, in our little town, the only paved roads were the state highways coming in and going out and those around the town square. Half a block beyond the square, the dirt roads commenced, and from October to March, all we had was mud and ruts.
In the late forties, we moved to Fort Worth, which to me was a semi-tropical paradise. In fact, the weather was so balmy-opposed to that in the Panhandle- my Dad bought a 1948 Kaiser without a heater. Big mistake. Big, big mistake. Not the Kaiser, the heater.
Now, you had to know Dad. The fine old guy was like all who came up through the depression. He was going to save where he could, and in that paradise in which we had found ourselves, where the weather was balmy, who needed a heater?
Let me stray a tad here. Going with him to buy a new car was what turned me off about car buying. He’d haggle and quibble and wrangle about every single item on the vehicle. I can remember more than once going to sleep on the couch in the salesman’s office while he and Dad negotiated. And often with Dad, the negotiations became heated.
Now, Mama Conwell lived up in the Panhandle. After Papa died, she paid us a visit one year. We’d spent Thanksgiving up there, and she came back for a two or three week visit.
All of a sudden one morning, she wanted to go back home.
My Dad was a good son. A lot better than I believe I was. Mom once told me that when Papa Conwell was in the hospital in Pampa some forty miles east of Wheeler just after Mom and Dad married, that Dad drove the forty miles every day after work to see after Papa. Back then, that was a one hour or longer drive one way.(provided nothing went wrong with his old Model A)
But back to Mama Conwell and the unheated Kaiser.
As I said, Mama spent some time with us, and then she wanted to go home. That Friday afternoon when Dad came in from work, we took off. Mom and my brother stayed home for the ‘semi-tropical’ weather that day was right at freezing.
And the Panhandle, some three hundred miles north, was so cold—well, let me tell you how cold it was. When I was in the third, fourth, and fifth grades, we got our milk from my uncle’s cow there in Wheeler. I milked that bovine, and I saw it so cold one winter that one time, believe or not, the milk came out as icicles. It’s the truth. I wouldn’t lie to you.
And that’s how cold it was driving up there in that 1948 Kaiser without a heater. I lay in the back seat under two blankets; Dad and Mama sat in the front, topcoats wrapped about them.
Dad refused to admit he was cold, and when Mama jumped him for not having a car heater, he vociferously defended himself. But guess what, the next month he bought a brand spanking new 1951 Chevrolet coupe, with a heater.
Talk about heaven on earth. That’s when I fell in love with General Motors cars and been with them ever since.
Now, I know there’s a bunch of folks who enjoy cold weather. All I can say is ‘live it up. You’re a hardier soul than I.”
rconwell@gt.rr.com
www.kentconwell.blogspot.com
I don’t know about you folks, but I don’t care all that much for the cold weather we’ve been having. Don’t worry, I’m not going to get into this warming climate business. I’m so dadgummed tired of listening to first one liar claim it’s getting hot enough to loosen the bristles on a wild hog and then another swearing it’s getting colder than a witch’s kiss. Folks are either ignorant or lying.
Why, even the weather scientists lied about warming conditions. Their explanation was that they suspected it was coming, but they wanted the world ‘powers-that-be’ to do something about what they thought was going to happen. (hey, I’m just as confused as you by their logic)
All that being said, I just don’t care for cold weather. I had my fill when I lived up in the Texas Panhandle where the only thing between me and the North Pole was a barbed wire fence, and it was falling apart with rust.
Now, in our little town, the only paved roads were the state highways coming in and going out and those around the town square. Half a block beyond the square, the dirt roads commenced, and from October to March, all we had was mud and ruts.
In the late forties, we moved to Fort Worth, which to me was a semi-tropical paradise. In fact, the weather was so balmy-opposed to that in the Panhandle- my Dad bought a 1948 Kaiser without a heater. Big mistake. Big, big mistake. Not the Kaiser, the heater.
Now, you had to know Dad. The fine old guy was like all who came up through the depression. He was going to save where he could, and in that paradise in which we had found ourselves, where the weather was balmy, who needed a heater?
Let me stray a tad here. Going with him to buy a new car was what turned me off about car buying. He’d haggle and quibble and wrangle about every single item on the vehicle. I can remember more than once going to sleep on the couch in the salesman’s office while he and Dad negotiated. And often with Dad, the negotiations became heated.
Now, Mama Conwell lived up in the Panhandle. After Papa died, she paid us a visit one year. We’d spent Thanksgiving up there, and she came back for a two or three week visit.
All of a sudden one morning, she wanted to go back home.
My Dad was a good son. A lot better than I believe I was. Mom once told me that when Papa Conwell was in the hospital in Pampa some forty miles east of Wheeler just after Mom and Dad married, that Dad drove the forty miles every day after work to see after Papa. Back then, that was a one hour or longer drive one way.(provided nothing went wrong with his old Model A)
But back to Mama Conwell and the unheated Kaiser.
As I said, Mama spent some time with us, and then she wanted to go home. That Friday afternoon when Dad came in from work, we took off. Mom and my brother stayed home for the ‘semi-tropical’ weather that day was right at freezing.
And the Panhandle, some three hundred miles north, was so cold—well, let me tell you how cold it was. When I was in the third, fourth, and fifth grades, we got our milk from my uncle’s cow there in Wheeler. I milked that bovine, and I saw it so cold one winter that one time, believe or not, the milk came out as icicles. It’s the truth. I wouldn’t lie to you.
And that’s how cold it was driving up there in that 1948 Kaiser without a heater. I lay in the back seat under two blankets; Dad and Mama sat in the front, topcoats wrapped about them.
Dad refused to admit he was cold, and when Mama jumped him for not having a car heater, he vociferously defended himself. But guess what, the next month he bought a brand spanking new 1951 Chevrolet coupe, with a heater.
Talk about heaven on earth. That’s when I fell in love with General Motors cars and been with them ever since.
Now, I know there’s a bunch of folks who enjoy cold weather. All I can say is ‘live it up. You’re a hardier soul than I.”
rconwell@gt.rr.com
www.kentconwell.blogspot.com
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Pet Peeves
And What’s Your Pet Peeve?
Man is a puzzling creature. Just about the time you think you’ve got him figured out, he pulls a stunt completely out of character. Either that, or you don’t know the guy as well as you thought.
What prompted this not too perceptive observation was when a friend of mine went ballistic at the driver in front of him for refusing to turn right on a red light. My acquaintance blistered the driver with a string of well-crafted profanities. At the end of his tirade, he growled, “There’s nothing that ticks me off like a dummy sitting at a light like that.”
I grinned to myself. I couldn’t pass any kind of judgment on my friend or his pet peeve. I’ve got pet peeves too, but sitting behind a car waiting to turn right isn’t one that would set me off like it did him. Still, like everyone, there are some things that just rub me the wrong way.
Case in point!
Some supermarkets have sample cookies or pastries in the bakery. You’ve seen them, usually in a clear container that gives the impression of sterility, which is a joke. If anything, the container probably holds in more germs than it keeps out.
The other day I was waiting in the bakery to pick up some donuts when this guy, who looked like he’d had a few cookies too many anyway, sidled up to the counter, reached for a sample cookie, picked it up, studied it, put it back, and picked up another one.
No telling how many times those cookies had been studied. I promise you, there ain’t no way I’d touch one of those free offerings-there or anywhere. You don’t know whose hands have been on them. To quote a well-known chef, ‘when you see food beautifully arranged on a platter, you know someone’s fingers have been all over it.”
And speaking of supermarkets, is there anyone besides me who dislikes grocery clerks who bundle the receipt with the change? Hand me the money separately so I can put it in my pocket, and then give me the receipt or place it in the bag.
Now, I know that’s petty, but isn’t that what peeves are, petty?
Another peeve is all of this political correctness nonsense that so permeates every aspect of our
life. Members of opposing parties, whether they be Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, Independent, Idiots, or Klingnons try to eviscerate their opponents on every possible occasion.
You remember a few weeks back when Senate Speaker Harry Reid caught a lot of flack for a remark he made about the president. His remark, "light-skinned" African-American with no Negro dialect, unless he wanted to have one."
I wish someone would tell me what’s wrong with that, the word, Negro?
I can think of a lot worse things to say, and I’m sure everyone else can also. It couldn’t be ‘dialect’ because there are thousands of different dialects in the U.S.
Don’t misunderstand. I have little respect for Senator Reid. He doesn’t deserve to be a senator in this great country, and I hope he’s voted out, but let’s be fair.
President Obama is fair-skinned, and he is African American (this multiple nationality nonsense is another peeve, but let’s get on with the subject), and he does not converse in the dialect employed by many of his race. Big deal. As I said, there are dialects all over the country.
Whether he can speak the dialect or not, I have no idea. And I don’t care. But someone tell me why such a remark is racist. Is it now racist simply to talk about other races? Am I being racist if I say a Yankee from Maine has a certain dialect?
If the majority of the public honestly believe it is, then such an indictment sends chills through my bones. Whatever happened to the idea of freedom of speech, of saying what you believe? And I dare anyone, even the most diehard of liberals to show me what was racist, truly racist in Reid’s remark.
That being said, I hope the guy is voted out-not because of the remark, but because he is too pig-headed to listen to his constituents. And don’t call that racist unless you’re a hog.
Man is a puzzling creature. Just about the time you think you’ve got him figured out, he pulls a stunt completely out of character. Either that, or you don’t know the guy as well as you thought.
What prompted this not too perceptive observation was when a friend of mine went ballistic at the driver in front of him for refusing to turn right on a red light. My acquaintance blistered the driver with a string of well-crafted profanities. At the end of his tirade, he growled, “There’s nothing that ticks me off like a dummy sitting at a light like that.”
I grinned to myself. I couldn’t pass any kind of judgment on my friend or his pet peeve. I’ve got pet peeves too, but sitting behind a car waiting to turn right isn’t one that would set me off like it did him. Still, like everyone, there are some things that just rub me the wrong way.
Case in point!
Some supermarkets have sample cookies or pastries in the bakery. You’ve seen them, usually in a clear container that gives the impression of sterility, which is a joke. If anything, the container probably holds in more germs than it keeps out.
The other day I was waiting in the bakery to pick up some donuts when this guy, who looked like he’d had a few cookies too many anyway, sidled up to the counter, reached for a sample cookie, picked it up, studied it, put it back, and picked up another one.
No telling how many times those cookies had been studied. I promise you, there ain’t no way I’d touch one of those free offerings-there or anywhere. You don’t know whose hands have been on them. To quote a well-known chef, ‘when you see food beautifully arranged on a platter, you know someone’s fingers have been all over it.”
And speaking of supermarkets, is there anyone besides me who dislikes grocery clerks who bundle the receipt with the change? Hand me the money separately so I can put it in my pocket, and then give me the receipt or place it in the bag.
Now, I know that’s petty, but isn’t that what peeves are, petty?
Another peeve is all of this political correctness nonsense that so permeates every aspect of our
life. Members of opposing parties, whether they be Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, Independent, Idiots, or Klingnons try to eviscerate their opponents on every possible occasion.
You remember a few weeks back when Senate Speaker Harry Reid caught a lot of flack for a remark he made about the president. His remark, "light-skinned" African-American with no Negro dialect, unless he wanted to have one."
I wish someone would tell me what’s wrong with that, the word, Negro?
I can think of a lot worse things to say, and I’m sure everyone else can also. It couldn’t be ‘dialect’ because there are thousands of different dialects in the U.S.
Don’t misunderstand. I have little respect for Senator Reid. He doesn’t deserve to be a senator in this great country, and I hope he’s voted out, but let’s be fair.
President Obama is fair-skinned, and he is African American (this multiple nationality nonsense is another peeve, but let’s get on with the subject), and he does not converse in the dialect employed by many of his race. Big deal. As I said, there are dialects all over the country.
Whether he can speak the dialect or not, I have no idea. And I don’t care. But someone tell me why such a remark is racist. Is it now racist simply to talk about other races? Am I being racist if I say a Yankee from Maine has a certain dialect?
If the majority of the public honestly believe it is, then such an indictment sends chills through my bones. Whatever happened to the idea of freedom of speech, of saying what you believe? And I dare anyone, even the most diehard of liberals to show me what was racist, truly racist in Reid’s remark.
That being said, I hope the guy is voted out-not because of the remark, but because he is too pig-headed to listen to his constituents. And don’t call that racist unless you’re a hog.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Twenty First Century Greed
Twenty First Century Greed
When I was a kid up in the Texas Panhandle, Dad made about $1200.00 a year. That’s about $15,000.00 today. After the war, his salary jumped up to about $1,800.00, which would be about $20,000.00 today. Not a whole lot back then, but we were okay; didn’t starve; go without; or face any handicap because of income. Didn’t have much, but nobody else did. That was when ten bucks would buy half-a-dozen bags of groceries—paper bags, not plastic.
It’s hard for me to really absorb just how much income and expenses have soared over the last sixty-five years. Seems like every time I turn around, prices are increasing—and, the contradiction of all contradictions, we’re in a recession.
Don’t misunderstand, I’m not feeling sorry for myself for there are a large number of folks who really have it tough. I got an education, kept my nose clean (for the most part), and persevered, staying with education for forty-one years, but as many, I worry about increasing prices while living on a fixed income.
A friend of mine made a similar remark one noon when a bunch of us old codgers were sitting around straightening out the world’s problems, and one of our group suggested he sell his blood.
We all laughed.
But the ever-present specter of increasing prices still faces all of us. I know of folks who sell blood, some because it is extra income for them.
What brought all of this about was an increase in my home and car insurance, almost ten percent in the last two months.
Now, don’t misunderstand. My agent has always bent over backward to help me. I’ve been with him around thirty years or so, and it’s reassuring to know I have someone to whom I can turn.
Naturally, if you have a claim against you, rates go up.
And I did have a claim. And I was at fault for I hit a car from behind in stop and go traffic. To me it was a tap. That was it. The car had that ubiquitous fiberglass bumper. I scraped about four inches off the shiny veneer—in the shape of a lightning bolt-no cracks, no splits-a scrape. Take some sandpaper and sand off the veneer on your bumper. That’s what it looked like.
My bumper—well, not a scratch.
It was the kind of bump that if I’d received, I would have waved my hand in the mirror as if to say, no problem. Hey, what are bumpers for?
Well, I found out absorbing bumps is not their only function in today’s world of greed. They’re a means for some to pick up not just a few, but a great deal of extra bucks.
We should have called the police, but the lady insisted the damage was negligible, and she was fine. In fact, she told me she wasn’t the kind to run to the doctor and claim injury. I never stopped to wonder just why she felt so compelled to tell me that. Now I know.
Yep. By the time I got home thirty minutes later after picking up my grandsons, the insurance company was calling.
That’s one of the reasons my insurance went up.
Did you know it costs $1,900.00 to splash a dab of varnish or whatever they put on a bumper? Or that a visit to a chiropractor costs four thousand dollars?
When I talked to the claims adjuster about the incident, I couldn’t believe the amount they were giving the claimant. Cynical me, I figured the driver had a auto body friend jack up the price, but I was wrong. The insurance company adjuster was the one who determined how much to pay for the bumper.
Then a flash of understanding opened my eyes, an epiphany you might say. The adjuster was not spending company money. He was spending mine. He gave the claimant an outrageous retribution for the damage so they wouldn’t sue, then jacked up my rates. No skin off his nose.
Like one of my cynical cohorts always says ‘welcome to the real world, dummy.”
Well, that’s all I’ve got to say about it.
You know, I was hoping if I got all this off my chest, I’d feel better about it. I did get it off my chest, but for some reason, I don’t feel any better.
Know what I mean?
rconwell@gt.rr.com
www.kentconwell.blogspot.com
When I was a kid up in the Texas Panhandle, Dad made about $1200.00 a year. That’s about $15,000.00 today. After the war, his salary jumped up to about $1,800.00, which would be about $20,000.00 today. Not a whole lot back then, but we were okay; didn’t starve; go without; or face any handicap because of income. Didn’t have much, but nobody else did. That was when ten bucks would buy half-a-dozen bags of groceries—paper bags, not plastic.
It’s hard for me to really absorb just how much income and expenses have soared over the last sixty-five years. Seems like every time I turn around, prices are increasing—and, the contradiction of all contradictions, we’re in a recession.
Don’t misunderstand, I’m not feeling sorry for myself for there are a large number of folks who really have it tough. I got an education, kept my nose clean (for the most part), and persevered, staying with education for forty-one years, but as many, I worry about increasing prices while living on a fixed income.
A friend of mine made a similar remark one noon when a bunch of us old codgers were sitting around straightening out the world’s problems, and one of our group suggested he sell his blood.
We all laughed.
But the ever-present specter of increasing prices still faces all of us. I know of folks who sell blood, some because it is extra income for them.
What brought all of this about was an increase in my home and car insurance, almost ten percent in the last two months.
Now, don’t misunderstand. My agent has always bent over backward to help me. I’ve been with him around thirty years or so, and it’s reassuring to know I have someone to whom I can turn.
Naturally, if you have a claim against you, rates go up.
And I did have a claim. And I was at fault for I hit a car from behind in stop and go traffic. To me it was a tap. That was it. The car had that ubiquitous fiberglass bumper. I scraped about four inches off the shiny veneer—in the shape of a lightning bolt-no cracks, no splits-a scrape. Take some sandpaper and sand off the veneer on your bumper. That’s what it looked like.
My bumper—well, not a scratch.
It was the kind of bump that if I’d received, I would have waved my hand in the mirror as if to say, no problem. Hey, what are bumpers for?
Well, I found out absorbing bumps is not their only function in today’s world of greed. They’re a means for some to pick up not just a few, but a great deal of extra bucks.
We should have called the police, but the lady insisted the damage was negligible, and she was fine. In fact, she told me she wasn’t the kind to run to the doctor and claim injury. I never stopped to wonder just why she felt so compelled to tell me that. Now I know.
Yep. By the time I got home thirty minutes later after picking up my grandsons, the insurance company was calling.
That’s one of the reasons my insurance went up.
Did you know it costs $1,900.00 to splash a dab of varnish or whatever they put on a bumper? Or that a visit to a chiropractor costs four thousand dollars?
When I talked to the claims adjuster about the incident, I couldn’t believe the amount they were giving the claimant. Cynical me, I figured the driver had a auto body friend jack up the price, but I was wrong. The insurance company adjuster was the one who determined how much to pay for the bumper.
Then a flash of understanding opened my eyes, an epiphany you might say. The adjuster was not spending company money. He was spending mine. He gave the claimant an outrageous retribution for the damage so they wouldn’t sue, then jacked up my rates. No skin off his nose.
Like one of my cynical cohorts always says ‘welcome to the real world, dummy.”
Well, that’s all I’ve got to say about it.
You know, I was hoping if I got all this off my chest, I’d feel better about it. I did get it off my chest, but for some reason, I don’t feel any better.
Know what I mean?
rconwell@gt.rr.com
www.kentconwell.blogspot.com
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
writing the novel
Move Over, John Grisham
A few months back, I had the fortune to work with eight folks who were interested in learning to write a novel. Twice a year, I have the opportunity, and I always look forward to it.
In fact, one gentleman from four or five years back just finished a screenplay that was selected in the top ten percent of all the screenplays submitted to the Austin Film Festival. I’m anxious to find out what happened after he pitched it to various producers at the conference.
The truth is, all of us probably at one time or another have dreamed of writing a novel or a screenplay. It isn’t that hard to do. Believe me, if I can pull it off, anyone can. I suppose the requisite, the one real requisite is that you’ve got to be a reader. And oh, yeah, it doesn’t hurt to be stubborn.
Don’t misunderstand, non-readers can write. Go out and read some of the graduate dissertations. Most of them will put you to sleep in three pages.
And stubborn? Well, let’s say ‘persevering to the point of mule-headedness’.
A few years back, a friend of mine was putting together a writing program for Lamar Continuing Education and asked if I’d be interested in a class.
I wasn’t too crazy about it at first because it would take time away from my own writing, but I decided to give it a shot. The move turned out to be a good one for the class gave me a chance to talk writing, a dialogue that most writers have all too infrequently with other writers.
Like all teaching, the teacher usually learns more than the students for although I’d had several westerns and mysteries published, I’d fallen into a rut. The class afforded me the opportunity to utilize some of that which I’d put aside and forgotten.
One fact I stress to all who are interested in writing is that it is much simpler to do than one might imagine.
Seems like the hardest part of the whole writing business for most folks is that first step.
When I said it was simple, I meant simple.
Now, a word of advice here. You can use pencil and paper, or a typewriter, but in the long run, the easiest way to go is with a word processing program, a computer.
But, regardless, the first step is to sit down and put that first word on paper. Don’t worry about spelling or grammar or anything, just get your ideas down so you can read over them.
There are really only four steps to writing a novel—any book for that matter.
1. Premise
2. Beginning
3. End
4. Middle
The premise is a one or two sentence statement revealing your character’s goals and the major problems facing him.
The beginning is where you put him on the path to that goal.
Now, you probably have an idea of how you want it to end. If you can’t decide whether you want a happy or dark ending, write them both—a few lines, that’s all.
And then, go back and make an outline of events leading from the beginning to the end.
Naturally, there’s more involved. Much of it you’ll figure out by experience.
Lamar Continuing Education offers a series of non-credit writing courses both online and on campus such as article writing; teen writing; how to write fiction; novel writing, and several others. Information is on ‘The Write Site’ at Lamar Continuing Education. Instructors are experienced writers such as D.J. Resnick, Jessica Ferguson, Carol A. Thomas, Jessica Burkhart, and yours truly.
Yes, I shamelessly admit that I teach a short six-week, twelve-hour, course titled ‘Writing the Novel.’ It is always satisfying to watch students progress from one level to the next in their writing.
By the end of the six-week period, most students have written the beginning, the end, and outlined the middle of the book.
My next class begins Tuesday, January 26 at the Beaumont Library, six to eight p.m. If you’re interested, you can contact Rhonda at 880-2233
rconwell@gt.rr.com
http://www.kentconwell.blogspot.com/
A few months back, I had the fortune to work with eight folks who were interested in learning to write a novel. Twice a year, I have the opportunity, and I always look forward to it.
In fact, one gentleman from four or five years back just finished a screenplay that was selected in the top ten percent of all the screenplays submitted to the Austin Film Festival. I’m anxious to find out what happened after he pitched it to various producers at the conference.
The truth is, all of us probably at one time or another have dreamed of writing a novel or a screenplay. It isn’t that hard to do. Believe me, if I can pull it off, anyone can. I suppose the requisite, the one real requisite is that you’ve got to be a reader. And oh, yeah, it doesn’t hurt to be stubborn.
Don’t misunderstand, non-readers can write. Go out and read some of the graduate dissertations. Most of them will put you to sleep in three pages.
And stubborn? Well, let’s say ‘persevering to the point of mule-headedness’.
A few years back, a friend of mine was putting together a writing program for Lamar Continuing Education and asked if I’d be interested in a class.
I wasn’t too crazy about it at first because it would take time away from my own writing, but I decided to give it a shot. The move turned out to be a good one for the class gave me a chance to talk writing, a dialogue that most writers have all too infrequently with other writers.
Like all teaching, the teacher usually learns more than the students for although I’d had several westerns and mysteries published, I’d fallen into a rut. The class afforded me the opportunity to utilize some of that which I’d put aside and forgotten.
One fact I stress to all who are interested in writing is that it is much simpler to do than one might imagine.
Seems like the hardest part of the whole writing business for most folks is that first step.
When I said it was simple, I meant simple.
Now, a word of advice here. You can use pencil and paper, or a typewriter, but in the long run, the easiest way to go is with a word processing program, a computer.
But, regardless, the first step is to sit down and put that first word on paper. Don’t worry about spelling or grammar or anything, just get your ideas down so you can read over them.
There are really only four steps to writing a novel—any book for that matter.
1. Premise
2. Beginning
3. End
4. Middle
The premise is a one or two sentence statement revealing your character’s goals and the major problems facing him.
The beginning is where you put him on the path to that goal.
Now, you probably have an idea of how you want it to end. If you can’t decide whether you want a happy or dark ending, write them both—a few lines, that’s all.
And then, go back and make an outline of events leading from the beginning to the end.
Naturally, there’s more involved. Much of it you’ll figure out by experience.
Lamar Continuing Education offers a series of non-credit writing courses both online and on campus such as article writing; teen writing; how to write fiction; novel writing, and several others. Information is on ‘The Write Site’ at Lamar Continuing Education. Instructors are experienced writers such as D.J. Resnick, Jessica Ferguson, Carol A. Thomas, Jessica Burkhart, and yours truly.
Yes, I shamelessly admit that I teach a short six-week, twelve-hour, course titled ‘Writing the Novel.’ It is always satisfying to watch students progress from one level to the next in their writing.
By the end of the six-week period, most students have written the beginning, the end, and outlined the middle of the book.
My next class begins Tuesday, January 26 at the Beaumont Library, six to eight p.m. If you’re interested, you can contact Rhonda at 880-2233
rconwell@gt.rr.com
http://www.kentconwell.blogspot.com/
Friday, January 1, 2010
lbj, met ben nelson
LBJ, Meet Ben Nelson
Those of us long in the tooth remember Lyndon Johnson, the Texan who succeeded John Kennedy. Well, LBJ would be right at home in the wheeling and dealing in Washington these days. So much money has been spent, we can’t comprehend it.
The stimulus bill is a done deal. Almost a trillion dollars. You know how much that is? If you started the day Jesus was born and spent a million bucks a day, you still would not have spent a trillion dollars.
Now while the world is constantly changing, it seems about the only thing that remains the same is politics and politicians, ninety-nine percent of which give the other one percent a bad name.
Politicians are still cutting deals behind closed doors, buying off each other, and doling out copious amounts of largesse at the taxpayers’ expense.
And this largesse has never been more obvious than in the Senate’s Health bill.
You’re all aware of Nebraskagate, and if you aren’t, then you’re probably a typical voter.
But anyway, Demo Senator Ben Nelson sold out his vote if the government would pay Nebraska’s Medicaid of $100 million over ten years; Blue Cross Blue Shield and Mutual of Omaha of that state would be exempt from annual fees on insurers; and a physician-owed hospital would get referrals from doctors who own it.
Who pays for all that? The other forty-nine states.
Those who see nothing wrong with this, I’d appreciate it if you’d send me your name and I’ll let you pay my share.
The guy who wrote the senate bill, Max Baucus believes insurance commissioners are taking kickbacks, yet he included no reform for these companies’ regulation. In fact, he put an entire town in his state on Medicare whether citizens were qualified or not. That was his payoff.
In addition, the Los Angeles Times reported that 166 aides from the nine congressional leadership offices and five committees involved in shaping healthcare overhaul legislation, along with 13 former lawmakers, are registered to represent at least 338 healthcare clients.
And don’t go getting all that excited about pre-existing health conditions being covered. Do you actually believe you could call up an insurance company and say “hey, my house just burned. I need insurance,” and they would greet you with open arms?
According to People’s Daily, those ‘pre-existing’ clients will go into a high risk pools with sky high insurance rates.
Neither the House nor Senate bill cover everyone as the liberals first proclaimed, but both bills plan on cutting hundreds of billions of dollars in future payment to doctors, hospitals, and other health providers who care for Medicare patients according to The Associated Press.
Cutting pay results in one obvious fact, lower quality medical care.
However slick and devious LBJ might have been, he could take lessons from those sleazy excuses for humans who are jamming this through for their own benefit.
According to the People Daily, Aetna Health Insurance sent Senator Joe Lieberman over $100,000.00 to go to bat for their company when creating the health bill. And he went to bat for them. He killed the public option, which took away a lower government price, forcing people to buy from Aetna and other insurance companies. That might not be so scary, but he gave all the insurance companies anti-trust exemptions.
To boil it all down, and I wish we could boil it away, the Senate bill contains 47 amendments that will benefit the health care industry, and higher taxes for taxpayers with poorer medical care.
I read a horror book about a gypsy putting curses on people. One curse was turning their skin to that of a reptile, one quite deserving for those like Lieberman and Nelson, Mary Landrieu of Louisiana, and the other fifty-seven so-called ‘public servants’ in the Senate who sold out the American people for what they could gain.
Those of us long in the tooth remember Lyndon Johnson, the Texan who succeeded John Kennedy. Well, LBJ would be right at home in the wheeling and dealing in Washington these days. So much money has been spent, we can’t comprehend it.
The stimulus bill is a done deal. Almost a trillion dollars. You know how much that is? If you started the day Jesus was born and spent a million bucks a day, you still would not have spent a trillion dollars.
Now while the world is constantly changing, it seems about the only thing that remains the same is politics and politicians, ninety-nine percent of which give the other one percent a bad name.
Politicians are still cutting deals behind closed doors, buying off each other, and doling out copious amounts of largesse at the taxpayers’ expense.
And this largesse has never been more obvious than in the Senate’s Health bill.
You’re all aware of Nebraskagate, and if you aren’t, then you’re probably a typical voter.
But anyway, Demo Senator Ben Nelson sold out his vote if the government would pay Nebraska’s Medicaid of $100 million over ten years; Blue Cross Blue Shield and Mutual of Omaha of that state would be exempt from annual fees on insurers; and a physician-owed hospital would get referrals from doctors who own it.
Who pays for all that? The other forty-nine states.
Those who see nothing wrong with this, I’d appreciate it if you’d send me your name and I’ll let you pay my share.
The guy who wrote the senate bill, Max Baucus believes insurance commissioners are taking kickbacks, yet he included no reform for these companies’ regulation. In fact, he put an entire town in his state on Medicare whether citizens were qualified or not. That was his payoff.
In addition, the Los Angeles Times reported that 166 aides from the nine congressional leadership offices and five committees involved in shaping healthcare overhaul legislation, along with 13 former lawmakers, are registered to represent at least 338 healthcare clients.
And don’t go getting all that excited about pre-existing health conditions being covered. Do you actually believe you could call up an insurance company and say “hey, my house just burned. I need insurance,” and they would greet you with open arms?
According to People’s Daily, those ‘pre-existing’ clients will go into a high risk pools with sky high insurance rates.
Neither the House nor Senate bill cover everyone as the liberals first proclaimed, but both bills plan on cutting hundreds of billions of dollars in future payment to doctors, hospitals, and other health providers who care for Medicare patients according to The Associated Press.
Cutting pay results in one obvious fact, lower quality medical care.
However slick and devious LBJ might have been, he could take lessons from those sleazy excuses for humans who are jamming this through for their own benefit.
According to the People Daily, Aetna Health Insurance sent Senator Joe Lieberman over $100,000.00 to go to bat for their company when creating the health bill. And he went to bat for them. He killed the public option, which took away a lower government price, forcing people to buy from Aetna and other insurance companies. That might not be so scary, but he gave all the insurance companies anti-trust exemptions.
To boil it all down, and I wish we could boil it away, the Senate bill contains 47 amendments that will benefit the health care industry, and higher taxes for taxpayers with poorer medical care.
I read a horror book about a gypsy putting curses on people. One curse was turning their skin to that of a reptile, one quite deserving for those like Lieberman and Nelson, Mary Landrieu of Louisiana, and the other fifty-seven so-called ‘public servants’ in the Senate who sold out the American people for what they could gain.
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