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My mind is sort of blank.  I can’t really think of anything to write.  Sure I could write some flash fiction but that would seem like forcing it. Actually, I am writing simply because I said I would.

Elizabeth and Simone start a new school tomorrow.  That’s something.  They had an ice cream social tonight as a way to sort of get into the swing of things.  Elizabeth was so sweet when she met a super shy fellow fourth grader.  Elizabeth is the new girl and she was comforting the other. I know they will be great friends.

And Simone just started taking over first grade.  Already established as the leader who is unafraid to discover the aquarium, ask what’s in it, find out it’s hermit crabs, and move on to the next thing when most of the kids are still back on discovering the hermit crabs.

Oh, and we ran into my Butler creative writing professor, Dan Barden, for the second time in three days. Not only does he enjoy sausage fest, but he also has a son in fifth grade at Elizabeth’s and Simone’s new school.  It’s going to be a good year.

To be a writer, you must be a masochist. And a sadist.
Want to see if you have the guts to be a writer?
Do this:
Think of something sad.
Now think about why it is sad.
Dig into it. Stick your finger in there and move it around.
What else is sad about it? Why is it beautiful? Why is it so sad and so beautiful that it hurts?
Now, what would make it even more beautiful and more sad?
As you think of these things, write down your thoughts.
Now read what you wrote.
What is painfully emotional about what you wrote? Write that down.
Is it raw? Yeah? Make it more raw.
Now let it sit for a bit. Go away from it. If you think of more details that make it sadder or more beautiful or gut wrenchingly emotional, don’t forget those details. Jot them down and work them into your original thoughts.
Now go back and stitch all your thoughts together using prose with a rhythm that really captures the rawness and the emotion.
Here’s the important part. Write something that will make someone feel raw and exposed and vulnerable and sad. Make somebody cry. Make somebody know that they are alive. Because they hurt. Hurt yourself.
Repeat the above a few times. Do it until you have begun to feel like a writer. If you haven’t killed yourself yet, you might have a knack for writing.

If you could write the script for your final moments it might look something like this. You’re 97. You’ve lived a long and happy life surrounded by good friends and family who love you completely. Your organs begin to shut down in a way that you barely notice. You live your final weeks in comfort with all the medical care needed to make you not notice any pain or discomfort. In your own apartment in your own easy chair with your pictures and nicknacks. When the end finally comes, your closest local family members gather. One reads a letter to you from the one who could not be there. Your last breath comes naturally, painlessly as you hear the gentle voice reading those loving words.
Wealth has many definitions. Gil’s example is the one I choose to hold. Congratulations, Pop, on a life well lived.

Gil’s dad worked for Mobile.  An honest living at an honest company.  This story was my favorite and Gil choked up every time he told it.  I think it was a vignette that illuminates how he lived his life.

Paraphrased from my memory of how Gil told it:

Once while my father was a salesman at Mobile, he was invited to dinner at one of his managers’ house.  He was honored to be invited to have dinner with one of the fine men that ran Mobile in those days.

He arrived at the house and a man took his car to park it.He walked through the fine gardens and well trimmed hedges up the stone steps to the front door.  He was greeted by the butler who showed him to his seat.

When dinner was served, it was placed not the table where only my father and his boss sat.  The meal was exquisite and delicious.  The home was beautiful and extravegant.

My father remarked to his manager at how fortunate he was to live in such abundant surroundings, with such a fine home and wonderful food and service.

The manager responded – and my father said he would always remember this – he responded that he would gladly give it all away; all his wealth and all his goods; if only he would have someone with whom to share his meals and his home and his life.

I’ll always remember that.  I believe he was right in many ways.  It’s fine to have money, but without family, it really doesn’t mean much.  This man would have given it all away for a chance to have family.

Godspeed, Pop.  Heaven just became a bit more honest and a bit more just and a whole hell of a lot more interesting.  Tell Nanny and Uncle Jack we said hi.

If you have been to a meeting lately, you have experience this – you look around the room and aside from the person currently talking, nearly everyone has their eyes down, on their screen.  Whether it’s a blackberry (crackberry), laptop, iPhone, or one of them Galaxy phones the kids are using these days, it is inescapable. Nobody is paying attention at meetings anymore.  They are doing something on their electronics.

They are doing what most call multitasking.

FACILITATOR: “What do you think, Bill?”

BILL: “Huh? Uh, could you repeat the question? I was multitasking.”

ME: “No you weren’t multitasking.  You were monotasking.  Had you been multitasking, you would have heard the question.”

There is a soon-to-be-futile attempt at work to slow or reverse this trend.  Electronics down, eyes up, goes the mantra.  Admirable.  I was an offender.  Not really present at meetings.  I’m trying to get better.  To be present at meetings.

Instead of banning electronics at meetings, though, I would offer that we should discourage or ban stupid use of electronics at meetings.

Here are 3 times when you use electronics at meetings.  Which two could you do without?

1.  You are bored

You do it all the time.  You’re in a meeting.  Someone is going on and on about something.  Maybe it doesn’t even have anything to do with your project/role/life in general.  Your phone buzzes.  A text.  A tweet.  A Facebook notification.  Next thing you know, you’re elbow deep in a debate about the finer points of the use of the word they’re/their/there on someone’s status.  A few days ago, while the facilitator was announcing a crackdown on laptops in meetings.  I, of course, closed my laptop and looked up.  I saw someone not paying attention with her nose in her laptop.  I could see her screen.  She was sending a happy birthday email.  Nuff said.

2.  You have so many meetings, you must work during meetings or you’d never get anything done

This is my favorite excuse.  I don’t mean that sarcastically.  It’s the one I’ve used for 2 years running.  I used to be one of the laptop nazis.  Laptops closed at my meetings.  Pay attention.  Be present.  And then my current project happened.  Meetings on top of meetings.  Back to back to back.  I noticed everyone else using their laptops during meetings (multitasking).  So, why not?  I began to do the same.  And I began to get more done.  Many of the meetings needed my input or attention for only a portion of the time anyway.  This one is sneaky.  If this is a common reason people give for laptopping during meetings in your organization, then you do not have a laptop problem, you have a meeting problem.  To be fair, there are many non-time critical emails I’m answering, but if I am in meetings for 6 hours out of an 8 hour work day, then the only way emails are getting answered or checklists completed or documents written is if I monotask during meet ins or work 12 hours a day.  

3.  There is an activity going on, real time, that needs your attention.  Or… you are a critical resource that may be needed at any given time.

Maybe this is two separate ones, but the concept is the same.  Let’s say I have some testing going on in the lab.  If they hit a snag, they may need my help.  Every minute spent waiting for me to finish the weekly TPS report review is a minute they are not getting testing done.  If I can monitor progress on my laptop during the meeting, we may be able to avoid losing those precious minutes.  A similar situation is if someone has a question during the meeting and I know Joe Blow has the answer.  What’s wrong with me IMing Joe and getting an answer so we can move forward.  X number of people in the meeting can now move forward right now when otherwise we would have to wait for the meeting to end, for me to go find Joe, for me to get the answer, then for us to find a time when X number of people could get together again.

Bottom line on all of these (well, except number 1) is that technology has enabled increased productivity.  We should not throw the laptop baby out with the bathwater.  At the same time, we should practice being present at meetings.  As much as we make fun at meetings, it is true that each one is an opportunity to build a relationship. Or resolve a conflict.  Or make a friend.  They say communication is only about 7% the words we say/write.  The rest is tone and body language/facial expressions.  If you have your nose buried in a laptop, you may miss 93% of what someone was trying to communicate.

Break from fiction to write a word or two about current events. Who knows where it’s headed but it seems to me that massive shifts are underway in the makeup of global power and alliances. Russia is working hard to re-establish its independent status as a superpower or at least a regional power that answers to only Russian interests. Caliph Ibrahim (or as I call him, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi – his mama called him Abu, his daddy called him Abu, I’m going to call him Abu)… where was I? Oh yeah, Abu is doing his best to re-create a 15th century pan-Muslim empire. The Ottomans would be jealous.
What does it all mean?
Like I said, who knows? But my guess is that we may not need to worry about major terrorist attacks in the U.S. for a while because the jihadists will be focused on each other. That could mean, though, that we might need to worry about smaller scale terror as some faction or other tries to draw the west into the conflict because they are losing.
Of course Russian strength and influence could end up being a good thing. The Russians have no use for jihadists and would probably tend to supporter states over jihadists. Of course, Russia could also have an interest in supporting terror as a way to draw the west into a quagmire, this taking the focus off their empire building efforts.
I had my first and only political science course as a senior at Rose-Hulman in 1991. Remember 1991? Major geopolitical shifts involving Russia and the Middle East. It was fun to have that class at that time. Maybe I should take my second political science course during what I believe will be the second major geopolitical shift of my lifetime involving Russia and the Middle East.

This might start to get a little boring for some of you.  I’m copying below a bit of a rewrite from the beginning, with a little bit of the next scene.  Here’s the thought:

– Bill was too much of an asshole.  No way could you root for a guy who left a fellow for dead after framing him just so he could steel his money – and eventually his gal.

– I didn’t know where this was set.  Old west?  Deep south?  Modern day?  So I decided on pre-depression Kansas.  Probably Morton, Stevens, Stanton, or Grant County – southwest Kansas.

So, now Bill is a little more someone to root for, albeit flawed.  Thanks for indulging the restart – you can’t write a good story if you don’t start writing a good story…

++++++++++++

Me and Rose was getting along fine in southwest Kansas in those days. We’d had a few good harvests in a row – this was the mid-20’s before the dustbowl.  The boy was finally starting to warm up to me a bit. And it never occurred to Rose that I was the reason Efraim hadn’t come back from prison that day. Or that I was the reason he was in the joint in the first place – I’d set him up so good that even Efraim thought he’d killed that girl. Hell, I almost began to believe it myself. No, Rose never gave it a thought. But I did. Every god forsaken minute of every day and every night. I hadn’t intended to take it this far. I would set him up. Wait for him to get out.  Kill him. Take his money. Run. And that would be that.  The whole mess over with. But I couldn’t just walk away. When he asked me to give his love to Rose with his dying breath I realized that no matter what Efraim had done, Rose and the boy didn’t deserve to be alone, left with nothing.  I decided to take that money to Rose.  And then that would be that.  But that wasn’t that.  Because I went and fell in love with Rose and with another kind of life.  A life where there weren’t no running or killing.  Just growing food and tending livestock.  And raising a boy and loving and woman and being loved. And it was all working out just fine.  Until that one spring.  If I didn’t do something about that federal Marshal who showed up, I’d lose this life I’d built. And worse, I’d lose Rose.

I could smell the fried chicken the minute I turned the corner onto our property.  Rose’s fried chicken and biscuits was known across the county. I was so hungry after a day of following a horse and plow, I would’ve eaten a burnt squirrel.  I stepped into the cabin and kicked off my boots – Rose would pitch a fit every time I tracked dirt in.

I sat down heavy at the table, “where’s Kurt?”

“I sent him out to mend the coop,” she said tersely.

“But ain’t supper about ready?”

“Supper’ll wait. You and me need to talk,”  I did not like the sound of that.  I loved Rose dearly but her and my ‘talks’ normally meant I’d done something wrong.  And if the boy couldn’t hear it, then it likely involved something stupid I’d done drinking or some flirting in town that crossed the line and got back to her somehow.

I thought I’d nip this one in the bud. “Now, darling, I’ve not been getting as drunk as I used to and you know me and Jenny are just friends and last Saturday ain’t what it…”

“Shush, Bill.  Just hush up and let me talk.  This ain’t got nothing to do with whiskey or Jenny; though later I want to hear what you was about to say about Jenny.”

Damn.  She knew me.

“Anyway, there was a man here today.  A lawman.  He was asking about your where-abouts.”

I interrupted, “you mean one of the Dobson boys?  They know I turn the dirt in springtime.”

“No. Not a sheriff’s deputy.  Some kind of federal lawman.”

I was stunned.  I must have sat there quiet for what seemed like 2 hours though I expect it was just a few minutes.

“What’d he tell you?” Finally had control of my tongue.  “Why was he looking for me?”

“Didn’t say.  Wouldn’t say.  Said he’d get a room in town and come back tomorrow.  Told me to ask you if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you wait for him.  Said he’d be here right early.”

“Now, you know I can’t be waiting around.  We’ve had some good years, but if I don’t get that wheat in the ground by end April, we’re going be in trouble.”

“Bill,” she almost whispered.  “I think you oughta hear what he has to say.  He sounded mighty serious.”

“Then he can come find me.”

I stood up, kicked my chair back and headed for the door.  Rose grabbed my arm as I was putting my boots on.

“Bill!  Where are you going?  What does that lawman want?”

“How should I know, Rose?  Since Efraim’s been gone, I ain’t done nothing but take are of you and the boy!  Aside from a nip now and then and a friendly game of cards.”

She looked sad all of a sudden, “since Efraim’s been gone?  What about before?”

Tears streaked down her face. My throat got real dry.

“Rose. I told ya. I had some dealing go wrong with my business before I came back. But I paid all those debts.”  She looked down to the floor.  I hung my hat back up.  “Know what? I bet this is some kinda paperwork foul up. I bet he’s a revenuer come to clear up some mistake.”

She wiped a tear from her face. “Can you just talk to him and straighten it out?”

She was so pretty and so fragile in the fading evening light. The flickering fire bounced off her blond hair.

“Of course, darling. Of course.”  I hated to see her hurt.  “I’ll straighten everything out in the morning.”

I leaned down and kissed her. Her lips so soft and warm. I reached down and ran my fingers along the hem of her dress while I kissed her neck.  Her soft moans meant I was headed in the right direction.

With a bang, the door swung open and Kurt came stomping in. “Hey Ma, that fox shore enough is back. Woah, hey! Sorry. Didn’t know Bill was back.” The teenager shielded his eyes playfully with a dirty hand.

I stepped back and Rose straightened her dress.

“Don’t matter. We’ll kill that fox tomorrow. Get yer supper,” said Rose

I kept my gaze on Rose and looked down to her pretty legs, “yeah. Eat up and go on to bed. Me and your ma have some business to finish up.”

“Bill!” Rose hit me with her dish towel.

“Oh, darling. He is 15. He’ll learn all about the birds and bees soon enough. If he don’t already know more than you and me. Kids anymore ain’t so much kids.”

“Never mind,” said Kurt. “I’ll take my supper upstairs.”

He grabbed some chicken and biscuits and went up the stairs, still looking away.

“Kurt. No, you come back. I’ll fix you some…”

“Aw, let him go. Now we can pick up what we was doing.”

Her body was soft and inviting that night. After we’d finished, she lay in my arms stroking my stomach until I fell asleep. As I drifted off I thought about how lucky I was to have such a strong and loving family.

Next morning, I was up before the rooster.  I climbed up on the ridge overlooking the road in from town.  I wasn’t sure what I aimed to do but I’d brought my deer rifle with me.  I looked through the scope toward town and waited.  Waited to see that lawman before he could see me.

I could smell the fried chicken the minute I turned the corner onto our property. Rose’s fried chicken and biscuits was known across the county. I was so hungry after a day of following a horse and plow, I would’ve eaten a burnt crow. I stepped into the cabin and kicked off my boots – Rose would pitch a fit every time I tracked mud in.
I sat down heavy at the table, “where’s Kurt?”
“I sent him out to mend the coop,” she said tersely.
“But ain’t supper about ready?”
“Supper’ll wait. You and me need to talk,” I did not like the sound of that. I loved Rose dearly but her and my ‘talks’ normally meant I’d done something wrong. And if the boy couldn’t hear it, then it likely involved something stupid I’d done drinking or some flirting I’d done in town that crossed the line and got back to her somehow.
I thought I’d nip this one in the bud. “Now, darling, I’ve not been getting as drunk as I used to and you know me and Lerlene’s just friends and last Saturday ain’t what it…”
“Shush, Bill. Just hush up and let me talk. This ain’t got nothing to do with whiskey or Lerlene; though later I want to hear what you was about to say.”
Damn. She knew me.
“There was a man here today. A lawman. He was asking about your where-abouts.”
I interrupted, “you mean one of Sheriff Dobson’s boys? They know I turn the dirt in springtime.”
“No. Not a Sheriff. Some kind of Federal lawman.”
Silence. I must have sat there quiet for what seemed like 2 hours though I expect it was just a few minutes.
“What’d he tell you? Why was he looking for me?”
“Didn’t say. Wouldn’t say. Said he’d get a room in town and come back tomorrow. Asked me to ask you if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you wait for him. Said he’d be here right early.”
“Now, you know I can’t be waiting around. We’ve had some good years, but if I don’t get these crops in by end April, we’re going be in trouble.”
“Bill,” she was quiet now. “I think you oughta hear what he has to say. He sounded mighty serious.”
“Then he can come find me.”
I stood up, kicked my chair back and headed for the door. Rose grabbed my arm as I was putting my boots on.
“Bill! Where are you going? What does that lawman want?”
“How should I know, Rose? Since Eugene’s been gone, I ain’t done nothing but put food on the table and keep Kurt outa trouble!”
A sadness was suddenly on her face, “since Eugene’s been gone?”
Tears began to streak down her face. My throat got real dry.
“Rose. I told ya. I had some dealing with my business that went wrong. But I paid all those debts. Know what? I bet this is some kinda paperwork foul up. I bet he’s a revenuer come to clear up some mistake.”
She wiped a tear from her face. “Can you just talk to him and straighten it out?”
She was so pretty and so fragile in the fading evening light. The flickering fire highlighted her soft blond hair.
“Of course, darling. Of course. I’ll straighten everything out in the morning.”
I leaned down and kissed her. Her lips so soft and warm. I reached down and started to lift her dress while I kissed her neck.
The door swung open and Kurt came walking in. “Hey Ma, that fox shore enough is back. Woah, hey! Sorry, Bill. Didn’t know you was back.”
I stepped back and Rose straightened her dress.
“Don’t matter. We’ll kill that fox tomorrow. Get yer supper.”
I kept my gaze on Rose and looked down to her pretty legs, “yeah. Eat up and go on to bed. Me and your ma have some business to finish up.”
“Bill!” Rose hit me with her dish towel.
“Oh, darling. He is 15. He’ll learn all about the birds and bees soon enough. If he don’t already know more than you and me. Kids anymore ain’t so much kids.”
“Never mind,” Kurt had enough. “I’ll take my supper upstairs.”
He grabbed some chicken and biscuits and went up the stairs without looking at me or Rose.
“Kurt. No, you come back…”
“Aw, let him go. Now we can pick up what we was doing.”
Her body was soft and inviting that night. After I’d finished, she lay in my arms stroking my stomach until I fell asleep. As I drifted off I thought about how lucky I was to have such a strong and loving family.

Needs a little work but I like this idea. Tell me what you think (and if you recognize the not-so-subtle inspiration).
——-
Me and Rose was getting along fine in those days. We’d had a few years in a row of good crops. Her boy was finally starting to warm up to me a bit. And it never occurred to Rose that I was the reason Jessup hadn’t come back from prison that day. Or that I was the one that framed him in the first place – so thoroughly had I frames him in fact that even ol’ Jessup thought he’d killed that girl. Hell, I almost began to believe it myself. No, Rose never gave it a thought. But I did. Every god forsaken minute of every day and every night. I hadn’t intended to take it this far. I’d frame him. Kill him. Take his money. Run. That was it. But I got greedy. And when he asked me to give his love to Rose with his dying breath I hatched a new plan. I’d give my love to Rose. Whether she wanted it or not. Only it didn’t work out that way cuz I messed up and I went and fell in love with her and she with me. That summer, though, if I didn’t kill that federal Marshall, I’d lose this life I’d built. And worse, I’d lose Rose.

Dave once said that the only thing he knows to do in times of sorrow and stress is to pick up his pen and start writing. I don’t have a pen right now.
And my thumbs can’t move fast and accurate like I’d like them to.
Welcome to the penultimate day before the start.