Author Archives: The Night Writer

A novel date

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by the Night Writer

I went through my archives looking for the post below in order to re-run it as we count down the last few days before Ben and the Mall Diva’s wedding this Saturday, May 23. Once I found it I copied it and then checked the date when it originally ran. It was strangely familiar.

May 23….2007.

Novella

“Finishing a book is just like you took a child out in the yard and shot it.”— Truman Capote

I don’t have the experience, yet, of being an author finishing a book so I don’t know if Capote’s words are apt. It seems to me the writing-publishing experience is more like being a parent and having a child leave the nest. As the parent of a soon to be 19-year-old still in the nest but beginning to make her own way I marvel at how what I’ve “created” has taken on a life of her own; how the countless hours spent shaping and imagining and agonizing over just the right word has inspired dialogue with subtleties, nuances and complexities I never realized were possible, and how a true character has emerged fully-formed and bursting to go forth.

For years this book was mainly blank pages; pages that consumed my life and were never far from my thoughts no matter what else I happened to be doing. Day by day those pages were filled, and while there are things I’d like to go back and rewrite there’s no guarantee that the story would be even better than it is now; even so I wrestle with the temptation/obsession to continue to tweak and polish.

Will anyone else understand the humor of page 112, or appreciate how difficult it was to write Chapter 19? Certainly not at the level I do, but that knowledge is for my own book, the one written on my heart. Now, though, it is time to see this through; to be proud to see all the time, work and love realized in a tangible package; to admire not just the cover but the spine; to breathe deep the aroma of the fresh pages and the glue that holds them together.

It is good.

Night Hens: the non-blushing bride

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A special Night Hens breakfast: the last outing before the Mall Diva is married. The Hens are at Keys in downtown St. Paul with special guest, the Rooster!

MD: (recounting her last visit to the chiropractor) Dr. Gina went on maternity leave on Tuesday and had her baby Wednesday morning at 4 a.m. Now there’s Dr. Gilmore, a young, good looking chiropractor with an earring. Casii only gets to see him once because she only goes once a month now.

NW: What does Casii need a chiropractor for? She’s such a well adjusted girl.

RM: Not like our daughters.

MD: I’m so excited to go on vacation. Jackie’s driving me crazy.

NW: Is that the only reason?

MD: No.

MD: *Takes a call from Benny, answers:* “8 days.” (Brief logistical discussion ensues).

RM: Is he going to start moving stuff into our house today?

MD: Yes.

RM: When he moves a load in, you move a load into storage.

(TV news has something about a person getting a face transplant).

RM: What? . . .Somebody had a face transplant? Who had an extra face?

NW: Obama, he had two of them.

MD: But he’s using them.

RM: When I went and visited the tulips today, another one that I planted this spring is coming up.

NW: Do you talk to the tulips when you visit?

RM: Only the ones I planted. I also go out in the morning and spray the thistles and the grasses with Roundup and discourage them greatly.

MD: So last night at Anna’s house, they finished playing poker, and Anna grabbed the paper and started doing the crossword! So of course, I’m getting all the answers, and Anna’s like, ‘How do you know all this?’ and I said, ‘I told you, we do this all the time, I know all the ‘rules’ of the crossword’.

*waitress comes*

WA: Wow look at this, you bring her *referring to RM* along, and you get clean plates!

RM: Yeah, I just eat whatever they don’t.

TL: *to NW*: Your keyboard is reeeaaally nice. *strokes keys*

NW: Really? It’s mean to me. I think it’s got an attitude.

TL: *happily stroking soft niiiiice keys…*

MD: Lindsay got our bridesmaid dresses yesterday! They weren’t supposed to come until June! She’s also bringing a crinoline…

RM: Dad’s crinoline? You said ‘your crinoline’, and you were looking at Dad…

MD: I said ‘a crinoline’.

NW: Me and crinoline don’t agree.

MD: It would make your kilt look foofier, though.

NW: I don’t need my kilt any foofier. Get me some taffeta, though…

RM: SO, since three of us had dreams about going to Italy, I should talk to my brother David, because they were talking about going to Italy. Did anyone else dream of a specific place? I dreamed of Naples, maybe we’re supposed to go there.

NW: Maybe you dreamed we were just supposed to go to Café di Napoli.

RM: No, yuck. I’ve been there.

NW: I just wanted to consider the possibility of the least expensive interpretation.

TL: If we did that after we went to Spain, would we still get to Barcelona?

RM: Probably not, but I really want to go…

NW: It’s beautiful, up by the coast…

MD: Lots of beaches… Nude beaches?

RM: We’ll stay away from those.

TL: Aww… I mean *clears throat* good!

RM: o.O.O.O.o.

*Leaving Keys, RM buys MD a small pin that says “Blushing Bride.”*

MD: I don’t blush that much, I don’t have that great a circulation. Benny blushes a lot, though.

RM: What do you say that makes him blush?

MD: I don’t really say anything. I just notice every now and then that he’s blushing.

RM: Why isn’t there a blushing groom pin?

TL: It shouldn’t be a blushing groom, it should be a … never mind.

RM: I don’t know what you’re thinking, but stop it.

NW: I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you’re grounded.

Kissing the butterflies in my stomach

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by the Night Writer

This song very nearly could have been the song for the Father/Daughter Dance at the Mall Diva’s wedding. It’s got the heart right and a lot that could have been lifted from our lives, and a lot of the things that I feel…but I’ve found something just a little bit better. I’ll keep that secret for now, though.

Delving back through the memories and posts about my daughter brings me to a seminal essay very much in keeping with the “Butterfly Kisses” song, entitled Dad to the Bone. That post reveals a bit of my thinking, but if you want to know more about the Mall Diva’s thinking you should read her account of our travels in Italy, On Holiday, or her enlightening responses to a meme, entitled If I Ain’t Hip, Ain’t Nobody Hip or perhaps her first meme ever.

Similarly, I’ve gleaned a couple of snippets of Diva talk, such as her response to a question in another meme:

Q: Seriously, what do you consider the world’s most pressing issue now?

Well, since there are so many, I’ll pick one that doesn’t depress me too much:

So many people don’t know how to dress themselves.
…okay *sniff*, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry…

Then there’s this little bit of dialog:

My teenage daughter, Faith, loves the Expedia jingle and singing the nasal-sounding phrase at the end of their commercials. A while back we were watching something on television when an Expedia ad came on and she belted out “DOT-COMMMM” in unison with the tv. I looked over at her and said, “Your life is just filled with simple, inexpensive pleasures, isn’t it?”

To which she replied, “You wish.”

Boy, don’t I ever.

What’s going on

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by the Night Writer

Wednesday night the Mall Diva and Princess Flicker-Feather achieved a milestone in their performing career — their first “booked” gig where they were actually requested to perform. Not only that, but they had to have enough material to do two sets; since they only have two “cover” songs in their pop repertoire they had to practice extensively on their original compositions to put a show together.

And it was a very good show, bolstered by a friendly audience, and they even worked a little patter into the act as they introduced each song. It looked easy and natural for them, no doubt because they’ve been lifelong friends and singing partners almost since they could talk. The show was hampered by some poor sound-mixing in the first set but things were worked out in time for a powerful and varied second set. They even got tipped by a woman in the audience! When it was over and we got back home and unloaded the equipment the two of them hugged in the kitchen in celebration of their achievement and … perhaps … in the unspoken acknowledgement of what may yet come.

As I said, it was a significant evening: their first real show and the coffeeshop even printed flyers with their names and faces to promote the gig. They worked very hard to prepare. Certainly the hope and the expectation is that there will be more performances, bigger audiences, even some money. Life changes, though, sometimes very dramatically. Faith, aka “Mall Diva”, gets married in two weeks and marriage is very time-consuming (and worth it). One makes time for the things that are important, but working, family, starting a new life in a new church as not only the husband and young-pastor-in-training but the wife get to “intern” in their new roles and responsibilities …well, it can be hectic. Perhaps even more hectic than trying to simultaneously plan a wedding and rehearse for a show, but I guess we’ll find out. Wednesday’s performance could be the first in a series of many that will take Faith and Casii to new adventures and exposure, or it could be the culmination of a creative and loving partnership. I don’t pretend to be able to predict what will happen or even to know what’s going on in their heads; all I know is I just wanted to freeze the moment in my mind as they hugged.

Then again, that happens to me often lately as we count down the days to the wedding. I think about the wedding a lot, sometimes deliberately and sometimes because it can’t be helped. It usually makes me a bit misty to think of it, so my deliberate thoughts are in the hopes that I can get myself all dried up by the time the actual event rolls around. There are so many memories and so much to think about. It so happens that in the four-plus years I’ve had this blog my eldest daughter has appeared here dozens and dozens of times, sometimes as the subject, sometimes in passing, sometimes as the author (a partial listing of her posts here).

I don’t know if my strategy for remaining dry-eyed will work out, but you’re welcome to share in the process with me. Over the next couple of weeks leading up to the big day I plan to group various collections of old posts about Faith here; feel free to laugh and cry along.

To begin with, we might as well look at a reminisce of her birth and a subsequent Father’s Day essay. Next, let’s introduce the cast of characters that have become a big part of this blog — some of whom have become a very big part of the wedding — with a couple of short posts that generated tremendous amounts of comments, all set off by a rather benign affront to the Diva’s honor (as if I would suffer any other kind): Opening a Can and Order in the Court.

More to come in future days if I can bear up.

The Fairness Doctrine applied to bloggers

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by the Night Writer

David Foster at Chicago Boyz noted this disturbing news:

Obama has nominated Cass Sunstein, who he knows from the University of Chicago, to be “regulatory czar.” Apparently, Sunstein has proposed that web sites be required to link to opposing opinions. He has argued that the Internet is anti-democratic because users can choose to view only those opinions that they want to see, and has gone so far as to say:

A system of limitless individual choices, with respect to communications, is not necessarily in the interest of citizenship and self-government,” he wrote. “Democratic efforts to reduce the resulting problems ought not be rejected in freedom’s name.

The forced-linking proposal makes about as much sense as requiring that when you buy a political book at a bookstore, the store must also require you to buy books of contrary views. (And anyhow, how to you force the person to read the book or follow the link? Will there be a test? Penalties for failing to pass? Withdrawal of book-buying or web-browsing “privileges?”) Sunstein’s proposal is almost certainly unconstitutional–moreover, it is philosophically primitive. There are not one or two dissenting views from any opinion: there are thousands of them, incorporating widely differing conceptual frameworks. Who, in Sunstein’s world, would decide which views, as expressed by which authors, would be required to be linked? Probably either a government agency or a “service” run by a politically-well-connected corporation. A better way to suppress innovative thought would be difficult to imagine.

Fortunately, Sunsteim has backed away from this position and admitted its constitutional hurdles. This may or may not make you feel better, as Foster also says that Sunstein is also being considered as a candidate for the Supreme Court seat being vacated by Justice Souter.

HT: Stones Cry Out

Nature can be so cruel…

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by the Minfidel

…especialy when she’s being ironic.

Eco-sailors rescued by oil tanker

An expedition team which set sail from Plymouth on a 5,000-mile carbon emission-free trip to Greenland have been rescued by an oil tanker.

Raoul Surcouf, Richard Spink and skipper Ben Stoddart sent a mayday because they feared for their safety amid winds of 68mph (109km/h).

All three are reportedly exhausted but safe on board the Overseas Yellowstone.
…
The team, which left Mount Batten Marina in Plymouth on 19 April in a boat named the Fleur, aimed to rely on sail, solar and man power on a 580-mile (933km/h) journey to and from the highest point of the Greenland ice cap.

Perhaps Alanis Morissette will hear about these guys and be inspired to write a song that really is ironic.

Breaking News

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by the Night Writer

It’s the time of the year for interesting rumors to fly as fast and furious as errant footballs. And given that the crashing economy has wrecked a lot of people’s retirement plans, some people may be deciding they need to keep working a little longer. Let’s go live to the Brett Favre news conference at Nye’s Polonnaise in Northeast Minneapolis for the latest update:

Music Video Code by Video Code Zone.

Music Video Code by Video Code Zone.

And back again

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by the Night Writer

When I was younger the weddings I went to far outnumbered the funerals. That ratio is changing, it seems, to something like 50-50, but I’m hoping to get through this summer and fall with with a blaze of those more youthful days and something like a 3-to-1 wedding ratio. Sometime well into the future the ratio will skew inexorably to the more somber tones. This year, however, is off to a bright start as the funeral I attended last Friday was more like a party.

As I wrote in my last post, my grandmother Lizey passed away just short of being 102 years old. I returned to the family hometown for the service and to the same funeral home where I’ve attended four other family funerals. I knew this wasn’t going to be the typical affair, however, when my brother called my cell from the visitation while I was still on the highway heading south, an hour and a half away. He was there with aunts, uncles and cousins and it sounded like there was a party going on in the background.

When I got there Grandma was laid out in peace, the only one it seemed like who wasn’t laughing, hugging, telling stories. This has always been a loud branch of the family, and all the stories were familiar ones and I think she would have liked seeing everyone together again and hearing the same old tales…the kind of tales that make you start to laugh as soon as the first few words are out of the teller’s mouth and you anticipate what’s to come. In one corner my oldest uncle was holding forth and in another corner his oldest son was doing the same, perhaps even more expressively, the circle unbroken. Three of her four surviving children were there, almost all of the grandchildren, a handful of the great-grandchildren, and once I caught a glimpse of the great-great-grandchild whose mother had been about the same age the last time I had seen her. I was told that Grandma’s remaining sons had decided that the last $100 of her estate was going to my own daughter, who marries later this month.

The funeral was the next day and the six grandsons were the pall-bearers. It had been a long while since the six of us — all of us within five years of age of each other — had been together but the elbowing, nudging and mild-horseplay seemed to pick up without missing a beat. The funeral director brought the six of us — Robbie, Roger, me, my brother, Kevin and Kent (who we call Fred) — together to run through the drill with us. After a few minutes she smiled and said, “We usually like to have the pall-bearers sit together in a group, but in your case I think we’ll split you up.” I told her that if she really wanted to get our attention she’d have to threaten to “beat the pee-waddin” out of us, and Grandma would understand. She allowed how she’d keep that in reserve.

The service was a sweet celebration. The wife of one of the great-grandkids sang two beautiful songs and the pastor from her life-long church, First Baptist, spoke of her great contributions the history and fellowship of the church and the rich heritage passed on into the lives of the family as he had witnessed over the previous 24 hours. Through the course of his brief talk he mentioned “First Baptist” about eight times. Later I told Aunt Sis that, given Grandma’s age, I wasn’t sure if the pastor had been referring to the church or to Lizey.

After the service the short procession moved out from the funeral home behind the hearse, heading through the drizzle for the Hodge-Enloe cemetery out on old highway UU. In the country, cemeteries are usually named after the families that founded them or the farms where they are located (often one and the same). Here’s something else about the country: when a funeral procession passes by, everyone on either side of the road pulls over. In the city, even with a police escort, people crowd you, even cut through the line.

Even in the mist and drizzle that day the hills were a beautiful green as we made it out on the old road, gravel the last mile or so, and there was a fresh smell to the air. It’s an old land, and an old cemetery, originally founded in 1889. I knew people with the same last names as those on the stones we walked past, carrying the casket, but I didn’t know any of those…except that I did, if that makes sense to you.

When the short prayer and final reading were finished we turned and walked back across the rough, wet grass to our cars. There was rain, and there was gloom and there was the new bright green on the old hills behind, around and in front of us, and the smell of spring and renewal.