Funeral Burger

There may be nothing more difficult than writing a funeral sermon for a dear relative. What does one say? What memories from the vast storehouse does one offer? Well, I've finished my course with my cousin, Ginger. And the one and only memory I wanted to share (or could share) was a recent one featuring a hamburger.

Just twelve weeks ago, we ate our final hamburger together at the Moonshine Inn (Illinois, population 2). I made note of the fact that dozens of people had driven for miles, many from many states away, just to get a taste of a Moonshine hamburger. There was excitement in the air, and it was obvious that many people had set aside an entire day just to experience the Moonshine Inn.

Although I was not excited about doing my cousin's funeral, I was excited about my memory of the hamburger and my day with her and I hoped that others would find excitement in their lives--the kind my cousin exhibited every time we were together. Small things matter.

I know I'll never eat a hamburger in quite the same way again. I might even think of Ginger whenever I bite into one.

The Free Methodist Church of Robinson offered our family a great lunch after the burial. It was wonderful. Great food. No complaints. But I would have loved to have had a hamburger. I think there was a story there. And some day I'm going to write it.

Goaaaalllll!!!!

At the beginning of the year I set several goals for myself, including writing four books in 2010. I'm going to achieve the goal of writing four books . . . but unfortunately, I doubt I will have four books accepted for publication. The writing and the publishing of books are two very different things!

As I've aged, I've had to temper my expectations a bit when it comes to print. I can easily write four books a year, year after year. In fact, one year I actually had five books published, and another year, three . . . but the difficulties of carrying this out on a consistent basis have become more pronounced. Still, I do have several book proposals floating around out there, and there are still four months left in 2010. So, it could happen.

Nevertheless, I have to admit that I've missed this goal for 2010. I have failed. I am weak. I have missed the mark once again.

But let this be a lesson to all you boys and girls. I'm not lowering the bar for 2011. I'm upping it. As I look ahead, I'm going to set a goal for five books in 2011. I'll write them. Not doubt about that. But I'm also hoping for five contracts, too.

Put me in, coach. I'm ready to sign.

Laboring Day

I can't recall the last time I actually rested on Labor Day. For most people, it is probably better renamed Laboring Day. So, after an early rise, I worked out in the garage (hard work, this fat burning), completed a few odd jobs around the house, and then set to work writing. I started on a funeral message, shifted to some poems, then to some essays, and back to the funeral message throughout the afternoon.

The cogs must turn.

I also wrote some letters and emails to various editors I know, and submitted a few other pieces online in the hope that, tomorrow morning, I'll be the first one they recognize out of the chute.

All of this writing, coupled with my daughter driving back to Ball State, and my wife leaving late in the afternoon for her evening class (no break on Labor Day for her!) didn't leave much time for slow-restful activity.

However, tonight is different. A fire. A glass. Some late night conversation under the stars. Gives me something to write about.

A Writer's Diet

Many years ago I attended a national writer's workshop and one of the presenters made the comment: "There are too many overweight writers out there! Perhaps we should create a writer's diet."

Well, I've yet to see this book on the shelves, but the presenter did have a point. Writing is, for the most part, a rather sedentary and low-calorie pursuit. It's easy to get planted in a chair or couch and just be there for hours. I'm not sure how many calories the fingers burn, but unless a person is writing while jogging, I'm not sure the art is going to transform my cholesterol levels.

So, let me here share a few secrets I've learned about food and drink . . . especially as I pursue my goal of getting down to 200 pounds by my 50th birthday (in five weeks). And this while lifting several tons a day on a torn rotator cuff, two bad knees, and a kink in the back.

Foods to Enjoy

Vegetables (fresh)

Fruits (fresh)

Nuts

Foods to Avoid

Cakes & pastries (yes, this includes donuts, which I will not be eating for two months)

breads & pastas (complex carbs, WAY too many calories)

Brussels Sprouts (gas)

Drinks to Enjoy

Coffee (lots of it...and coffee is also a diuretic, a drying agent, and believe me, you'll pee your way to a thinner you)

Iced or hot tea (same thing as above, but lesser amount)

Water (lots of it . . . gallons of it)

Drinks to Avoid

Alcoholic beverages (caloric and blunts the writing senses...and you don't want to end up like Earnest Hemingway)

V-8 (have you tasted this junk?)

Secret ingredients

Black licorice (great natural laxative . . . you can lose pounds a day with this stuff)

Protein drinks (instead of meals)

Mark My Words

This past Monday my wife began her evening classes again (to become a principal), and with that also attendant are my editing services while she is writing her many and varied papers. I was forced to read one of those papers again last night and make editorial changes (hopefully for the better). But if she receives a bad grade, don't blame me, Mandingo!

Although this next year is going to be excruciating--evening classes, papers to write, 120 hours of job shadowing, and many, many all-night vigils at the keyboard and no weekend rest--I am looking forward to calling my wife, "Principal Outcalt". It will bring a whole new light to being spanked by the principal.

Until then, I've got term papers to grade. Lots of 'em. I've got rewrites to do. I've got deadlines to meet. And most of these are for Becky. She writes all of her own material, I just try to make it better.

Some day we will look back on these odd and lonely days and laugh. Remember when I had to write five papers in one week? Remember when I read two books in one night? Yeah, I do.

And you can bet there will be some evenings when I will join her in this lunacy. While she's writing all night on the subject of school leadership, I'll be writing about anything that grabs my interests: gophers, perhaps, or trying to answer the question about how they get ink into the tubes inside a ball point pen.

How do they get the ink in there, anyway? Heck, that's at least a 2000 word paper. Better get on that one today.

Detective

As I was checking out of my rare book foray last week, I ended up talking to the proprietor of the bookstore--a pipe-smoking gentleman of some rare breeding and impressive intellect (sort of like me, sans pipe). He noted that I had also purchased an edition of Bernard Malamud's Pictures of Fidelman.

The owner studied me and then said, as he placed the book in the bag, "I had been wondering who might buy this Malumud book. Not many people read Malumud these days."

I said, "Well, this book, I believe completes the corpus for me. I think I now own a copy of every book Malamud wrote."

"He's an important writer," he said, "but most people have never heard of him."

"Odd," I said, "particularly considering he won two Pulitzer prizes and a National Book Award. He was probably one of the best American writers of the twentieth century."

Okay, so I like Malumud. I've got all of his books now. So what?

The loveliest part of these book hunts, of course, are the finds . . . I love the detective work, the sorting through old dusty stacks to find the one gem in the rough. I'm glad Bernie could be a part of it.

And if I smoked a pipe, I'd buy myself a silk jacket and a bow tie.

I Know Nusing!

It finally happened. I couldn't remember a thing.

The editor who was creating the book was interested in an essay I had written some time ago. It had been published in a magazine (ten years ago?). "I'm assuming you still retain the rights to this?" he asked.

"I don't remember,"I said. "But I assume so."

"What were the circumstances around the essay? Why did you write it?"

"I don't remember," I said. "But I assume I wrote it to make some money."

"Can't remember writing it?"

"No," I admitted.

But holy guacamole, I didn't have the heart to tell him that I write upwards of million words a year. How can I remember everything? I didn't have the heart to tell him that, at last check, I also have a wife and two kids . . . but I'll be jiggered if I can remember their names half the time. I also assume my wife and I have done the bedroom tango a few times . . . but I'll have to study up on the particulars to re-learn the various components and how all the parts work (I've got a John Deere manual that should work and I'm going to ask my wife for instructions when I see her in November).

I'm not sure if other writers have these problems with memory. But I know nothing. Don't ask me what I've written. I won't even be able to find it. Just ask me if I can write something new.