Five feet high and rising

My absence can be explained this way. I’m deep into editing book two of the Shig Sato Mystery series — finished the first draft, started making corrections, decided some chapters needed to go, others needed to be in different places — and while making the corrections, finding other stuff that needs attention, and even while watching TV or walking to work, thinking about new and different plot lines and details.

Sound familiar?

Writing is rewriting. This is a hard lesson to learn. I came up through the journalism ranks, the “Get it right and get it out” school of daily journalism where rewriting was a luxury only feature writers and editorial writers possessed. One of the hardest things for me to do is turn off the journalism/non-fiction switch and turn on the creative writing/fiction switch. I liken it to driving 55 mph and then slamming on the brakes and putting the car in reverse at 55 mph. (Please don’t try this.)

I am usually pretty good at shutting down the editor part of my brain while writing, so when the time comes to edit and rewrite, it’s as if the editor part is catapulted to freedom, to run amok among the words that are just-about-there-but-not-quite ready. And it likes to play. What I find incomprehensible is the flood of ideas that pass through my mind like a raging flood. It’s scary and thrilling at the same time. And addictive. It’s my favorite part of the writing process.

The rewrite — aka second draft — is about 70 percent compete. After that, another edit and then copies sent to beta readers. Then it’s on to book three.

I am getting closer, and going further.

I promise to be back. Soon.

The Navy and Me

I was in the Navy from 1978 to 1986, the last three years serving in the reserves while I finished my degree. The military was the best university I ever attended.

That’s not to say I don’t love my alma mater, the University of Kansas, or that I did not appreciate the scholarship I received from Wichita State University. They are fine institutions that do marvelous work.

But the day I swore to protect the Constitution and obey orders, go where I was told and do what I was told, began an odyssey that, really, has lasted to this day. I learned how to be a reporter, editor, broadcaster; I learned how to write, to see, to think. I learned how to get along with people – especially in confined spaces for long periods of time. I learned how to say yes, and how to say no, when it counted. I learned what was important, and what was “the small stuff” as in “don’t sweat the small stuff.”

I am the first to say I was one of the luckiest persons who ever enlisted. I was able to get a job I wanted – journalist – and travel the world. I mean, like National Geographic. People of a certain age remember the Saturday Night Live spoof “Port of Call: Bayonne, New Jersey.” There’s a lot of hard truth to that punch line. But not for me. I visited over 30 cities in over 20 countries in Europe and Asia. I was a fleet sailor for four years. I made petty officer. I was able to finish college with the money I saved. I launched a career.

Most of all, I was lucky it was peacetime. It was post-Vietnam, pre-Gulf. The Navy was ramping up a two-aircraft-carrier presence in the Middle East that became part of the defense policy of the 1980s.

But for me, the flag never went up, I was never shot at, and I didn’t see combat. It’s what happened. I was lucky.

Today I salute the veterans who served, and who will serve. When people come up to me and thank me for my service, I say “thank you.” The only thing I did was sign up and serve. For many like me, that was enough.