It's official. On May 8, 2014, I'll be leading another writing class. (Location: our Indiana Conference office complex, 9 a.m. -3 p.m.)
Cost: A bargain basement price which includes a Panera Bread catered lunch.
Who: Anyone who enjoys writing, has a writing project in tow, or anyone who has nothing better to do.
As a preview, here are just a few of the nuggets participants will receive.
Luxurious Presentation Room
This fully-operational board room comes standard with carpeting and painted walls and is loaded with lots of extras including drop-lighted ceiling, portable desks, and padded chairs free of chewing gum.
Spacious Bathrooms
A mere fifty yards down the corridor from the Presentation Room, these restrooms are fully loaded with paper towels and toilet paper (I'm talking plush). Don't sit down unless you have to . . . otherwise, you'll never want to leave. Each restroom is fully operational and is "echo-free". Designated "male" and "female" rooms are also a plus, meaning you won't have to mingle in some cut-rate "unisex" option.
Free Index Cards
Each participant will receive a free index card courtesy of the presenter. Although this is a highly-secretive procedure, each participant can be assured of receiving one. Complementary.
Helpful Writing Tips
This presentation comes fully-loaded, and will answer your most important and pressing writing questions such as:
* What happens if I fall asleep while writing and electrocute myself via salivating on the keyboard?
* What are the most effective ways to write underwater?
* What if my spouse continues to interrupt me while I am writing? Is this grounds for divorce? And if so, can you recommend a decent lawyer?
* What happens after I've written a 500-page novel? Should I burn it?
* In order to project the most "writerly" image, what breed of dog would you recommend I have stuffed and mounted in my office?
* What steps should I take if, by becoming so engrossed in my work, I soil myself?
* How much can I expect to earn from selling my essay entitled, "Everyday Art: How to Weave Dust Balls, Dryer Lint, and Month-Old Celery Into Priceless Works"?
* Can I get my money back if you stink?
I do hope to see YOU at the writing workshop. Sign up soon at www.inumc.org.
Shedding the TV in 2013 has been a remarkable experience. What with the time I've saved by not watching news programs in the mornings, or sitcoms at night, I've managed to write a large corpus of material. In fact, I stopped counting mid-year.
Sure, there are some TV shows I've missed (Pawn Stars, Big Bang Theory) and I've watched even fewer hours of sports (think little NCAA basketball and not one Pacer game), but overall I'd have to say that the TV has become something of an artifact in our house. Even my wife, son and daughter have eschewed the boob tube . . . and none of us seem to miss it. But then, we all work long hours, too.
Most of my mornings and evenings have been spent at the keyboard. And I know that I wrote more in 2013 than I've written (and published) in any other year of my life. In fact, I can look back from this high December perch and wonder: "How, in fact, did I write over a quarter of a million words in one year?"
Answer: One hour at a time. And often, one minute at a time.
A few other gifts that my lack of TV offered this year were:
Single, longest writing session: fifteen hours (I rented a hotel room for this extravaganza, turned off my cell phone, boiled a pot of coffee, opened a package of protein bars and peeled two bananas . . . and typed non-stop until my back and wrists gave out). I wrote nearly 20,000 words of finished prose at this one sitting.
Longest manuscript produced: a nearly 100,000 word whopper that I began writing on January 1, 2013, and completed December 1.
Most essays produced: all told, over 125 in 2013, with most of these published.
Most conversations with editors and publishers: Some of my conversations this year--and several face-to-face--were hours in duration. And I am grateful for these new friendships!
Average number of writing hours per week: Around 40. Most of this time was early morning (pre-sunrise) and/or late at night (post-sunset). I spent a lot of time writing in the dark. Somehow, only a small percentage of my writing deals with depressing themes. But depression may have more to do with TV than writing in the dark. Most mornings I awoke eager to get at the next writing project.
I'm not sure what all of this will mean for my TV in 2014, but I have a feeling that I'll be watching even less. In fact, there may come a day when I won't need the tube at all. I'll be able to wean myself cold turkey and just write.
The next time Becky and I talk (which could be weeks from now) I'll have to see how she feels about donating the TV to Goodwill. She probably wouldn't mind at all.
True to form, I am posting a guest blog today written by Mark Wilcoxson--his Thanksgiving story created from the six random items consisting of a magic lamp, a toilet brush, a tailpipe, hemmorhoids, dad's mustache trimmings and leftover turkey grease. Tread lightly readers, this is a story for "Real Men" . . . and the full version can be found on Mark's Facebook page.
Call Me Ish-Male: A Thanksgiving Holiday Tale in the Man Genre
John rolled out of bed frustrated that his this-is-my-magic-lamp pl...oy hadn’t worked, again.
John had a lot on his mind that morning after Thanksgiving. There was pecan pie in the fridge to be eaten and while John liked warm pecan pie now as much as he liked warm apple pie as a teenager, there was nothing better than the coagulation of pecan juices that takes place over night in a dark, or is it dark, refrigerator.
November means Thanksgiving of course, but recently the implementation of MoVember, that time of year when men grow mustaches for charity, had inspired John to grow a wispy blonde ‘stache that convinced him he could have been Larry Bird if his debilitating hemorrhoids hadn’t prevented him from sitting down on the bench during that sectional matchup with storied Milan and thus being dismissed from the basketball team on the spot for defying a direct order from Coach Watdahale.
Personal hygiene wasn’t something that John, as a male, normally worried too much about, but today he was taking his baby, a 1976 AMC Gremlin he called Patti, to Midas for a new exhaust pipe. An exhaust pipe; John stashed that away in the folds of his brain where he also never washed for tomorrow morning’s ploy.
(For more, visit Facebook)
Reviews
Call me Ish-Male is to man-lore what Gail Sheehy is to estrogen. Wilcoxson's toilet brush imagery puts one in the frame of mind to eat a twenty-ounce steak and is celebration for getting a 20-point inspection at Midas.
~Bob Cobb (the "Maistro")
I was languishing as a male until I read Wilcoxson's masterpiece, and then I went from Dead-Beat Dad to Clint Eastwood in one fell swoop. I couldn't put this one down, and I wasn't even holding it.
~Ray McKidney (former hand model)
There are men, and then there are MEN. Wilcoxson and his protagonist, John, take us on the adventure of a lifetime. From the deep end of the bench, to the bathroom sink, to a greasy auto shop floor . . . this tale will stir your loins and make you want to sue somebody.
~Art Vandalay (circuit court judge)
Reading Wilcoxson's "Call Me Ish-Male" so close to Thanksgiving made me want to puke, which is a killer funny word. Killer, Jerry! It also made the thought of my demise more tolerable, which is something I will review with my mentor.
~Kenny Banya (comic)
Not long ago I had reason to experience a flush of gratitude when I noted a gentleman in a hospital corridor who had lost an arm. Seeing him there, fresh from his surgery but eager to be discharged, left me with an overwhelming sense of grace. "There but for the grace of God go I," I said to myself.
In particular, I was thinking about the keyboard, and how difficult it would be to write without the use of arms and fingers. There can even be thanksgiving over the keyboard, I thought. This only makes sense to me. After all, a great many years of my life have been poured through the keys (my time and my talent, I hope).
I also consider how far I've come or, I should say, how much technology has changed the act of writing during my lifetime.
Years ago, I learned how to type on a manual Underwood--a machine created in the Pleistocene era that had to be pounded into submission in order to make a mark on the page. Later, after IBM invented the Selectric, a new era dawned and the modus operendi was powered by electricity, deft to the touch.
My first PC--a Radio Shack Tandy 1000 with dual floppy drives (the berries!) and green monochrome monitor landed me in good stead for some years. I printed from an interchangeable set of daisy wheels and shied away from the dot-matrix printers that, while offering speed, sacrificed the appearance of manual type.
This was followed by, in rather quick succession: a full-fledged Compaq PC with media software, a Compaq PC with 3 1/2 floppy and hard drive (which I still use), and two Dell laptops, the youngest of which is my primary writing tool and is a whopping eight years young.
Between the Compaq and the latter Dell I've written at least thirty published books, no less than a thousand essays/stories, probably another thousand poems, and untold letters, emails, and blogs. Well-worn, thread-bare, punished would be the operative words here for these two machines.
Still, I'm grateful for the keyboard, and still feel an elation at the stroke of a key or the appearance of a carefully-crafted sentence. No doubt that the printing press followed by the PC would be two of the greatest inventions ever concocted by those who never sleep.
One of these days I'll earn enough from a sale of an essay or a book to warrant purchasing a new PC. Or perhaps one of these beasts will simply expire gracefully. But until then, I'll continue to write, to give my royalties away, to have a reason for working into the sunrise.
I can only hope I keep my fingers through the dark nights. Somebody needs to write these blogs.
Speaking of Writing . . . my calendar will soon be filled with so many speaking engagements, appearances, book-signings, and readings that I won't have time to write . . . which is what writing is about. My December is rather flush now, but folks may see me at some of the few remaining bookstores, at some local open-mic nights, or at the Glick Museum for the author's fair late in the month. (I'll be the lonely guy in the corner that no one is talking to.)
And peeking into 2014 (a mere seven weeks away gang!) I'll be offering some other writing workshops. I enjoy assisting folks with their projects and helping others to make the connections.
At a Rotary meeting yesterday, where I spoke about being a writer (what could be more boring?), someone asked, "Have you ever suffered from writer's block?"
My answer was, "I don't think I have."
Oddly enough, I can't think of any time in my life when, if sitting down to write, I have come away empty-handed. I have, however, suffered from other types of blockages such as:
Hamburger Helper Block
This symptom occurs, usually, after I have cooked HH seven consecutive days for the family meal. There is usually a revolt, with someone in the family suggesting I order Chinese take-out. Anything! But for the love of Mike no more Hamburger Helper!
Hard Cheese Block
This occurs if I have eaten too much cheddar. Enough said.
Andy Griffith Block
Not usually a factor, but sometimes my wife tries to hide my AG Show DVD's so I can't watch Earnest T. Bass. She points out that I have seen each show at least twenty-five times and tries to block me from having romantic conversation kickstarted as a string of Barney Fife quotes. (But listen, have you ever tried to woo a woman into bed by quoting Barney Fife? It's quite the challenge! Favorite romantic quote: "From your head down to your feet, there is nothing half so sweet, as Nita, Nita, beautiful Juanite.")
Floodwater Block
Occurs each spring when the creek rises at our house.
But enough of this . . . back to that blank page.
~Todd
In the coming weeks I will be a guest blogger for several sites, and I'm appreciative for the invitations. But as I write for other blogs, I had a thought: Would anyone want to be a guest blogger here?
How about it fans? Anyone have a book to review? A funny anecdote to share? A point of writing advice you'd like to offer? Or even some of your own writing that you'd like others to know about?
Keep in mind that over 4 1/2 people read this blog daily, so your exposure here would be life-changing. If your blog is published, you will no longer have the ability to roam around in public without a disguise. People will recognize you in the bathroom at Harry & Izzy's. You won't be able to chew a decent mouthful of ravioli without being interrupted by some chain-smoker wanting an autograph.
Still . . . if there are people out there who want to roll the dice, please submit a guest blog for consideration to:
teoutcalt@aol.com
Blogs may also be submitted via snail mail to:
The Blogger Formerly Known as "Big Tater"
575 Northfield Dr.
Brownsburg, IN 46112
I do invite you to be my guest. And keep in mind that photos are also welcome.
Now and again I type my name into Google search, and last week there were over 36,000 sites that popped up. I have no idea how Google works, heck I don't even know what it is (like, who owns it or is Google better than the Dewey decimal system at the local library . . . ) but evidently whoever this Google guy is, he can locate just about anything that's floating on the clouds of the internet.
Among the weirder and surprising references I found for "me" were these:
* A site equating "Todd Outcalt" with the word Omnilexica @omnilexica.com. Evidently, I'm part of the definition of this word, whatever it means.
* A writer who quoted me in the most recent issue of Cosmopolitan magazine in regard to marital advice. Heck, my wife won't even listen to me, why should young women listen to my sexual advice? And what do I know about sex, anyway? Well, I know some things, like how to calendar it twice a year and save three and a half minutes for it, but other than that . . . .
* A church that calls themselves the "Bath" church that evidently is using He Said, She Said as part of their adult education curriculum. Boy, I'll bet that place is lively.
* A literary magazine that recently published one of my short stories entitled "Tango" which contains a cover painting of an eviscerated corpse. Evidently my fiction makes readers puke.
* A Portland, Oregon radio station that picked up one of the recent essays I wrote about leadership. The radio station must have reprinted this essay, but made it look enticing by reprinting it in full-color.
* Text from a radio interview I did last year where the host asked for my advice about sex and marriage. Again, I was just making stuff up, trying to sound authoritative on the air, and I guess the interviewer thought I was a real Casanova who could actually give advice to those young couples who still have energy for sexual activity. I didn't get into specifics in this interview, but was just expressing a conceptual idea of sex, stuff that my mother told me about years ago but I've never had the guts to try. My best advice for men at this stage of my life would be: "Make sure you're healthy enough for sexual activity, and call a doctor if you have an erection lasting longer than six hours." (Or, if you don't call your doctor, at least brag about it.)
* A website called DocStock, in which I learned that I had a total of 11 "views" of my book Candles in the Dark. I have no idea what this is or what it means.
* A recommendation by the United Church of Canada for my book, The Best Things in Life Are Free. Evidently the Canadian church likes this book.
* A reader's choice poll for a recent fiction issue (in which one of my stories appeared) and for which I received 0% of the vote.
* A listing for the Polish edition of my book, The Healing Touch, on a Polish website.
* My name listed as the presiding pastor in an obituary (not my own obit, but another person presumed to be deceased).
* A church website containing the bio of a pastor who indicates my book, The Healing Touch, was one of the ten most impactful books in her life. (Go figure. And no . . . she is not a relative!)
* An out-of-print magazine that had published several of my stories back in the late 1990s.
* A Religion News Magazine that had recently reprinted/recommended an essay I wrote about ordination. (But really, what do I know about ordination, other than that they are quite beautiful flowers, and I especially enjoy the white ones?)
* A feature story about 4 women who dated 365 men over the course of one year--and one of them quotes me (again) on the importance of "intimacy" and "communication". I don't know why these professional daters were looking to me for guidance, but I had to look up the word "intimacy" in the dictionary so I could spell it correctly. Intimacy? Heck, I've never been intimate with anyone, you can ask my wife. We don't even talk about dinner, and the last time we discussed anything of an intimate nature we stopped immediately and went back to reading the newspaper.
...........
Anyway, you get the picture. Quite frankly, the deeper I went into Google, the scarier things were looking, and I didn't want to learn too much about myself. I still want to remain a mystery to myself so that, when I look at myself in the mirror, I can say without fear of contradiction: "I have no idea who you are . . . and why are you looking at me like that?"
