I have been eyeing this mug that has been on a book publisher's display all weekend and this morning there finally was someone there I could ask about it. They weren't selling it, too bad, but I bet I can find one online. It's so me.
One of the sessions I went to yesterday was on writing across racial lines and one suggestion was to find a "sensitivity" reader to help make sure I'm not being condescending or offensive in my portrayal of the islanders in The Seaview. I sat with a pair of women at coffee this morning while awaiting LMC and, as happens at these things, we asked each other what we wrote. One of the women is black but it was the other one who gave me a tip that I'm thrilled about. When I joked that I couldn't realistically accost women in Walmart asking if they wanted to be my friend and read my book because that would earn me a quick ride downtown in a car with no handles in the back seat, she suggested that I watch Death in Paradise which is on PBS and also on my Netflix watch list. She said that it's about a British detective on a Caribbean island so it might give me some clues about how to write the interactions between the races. Brilliant! I put the show on my Netflix list a while back to look at the scenery but haven't gotten to it and it turns out that it just might teach me things too. Who knew?
Today we had box lunches and authors among the throng (presenters, staff, and attendees) had tables in the other half of the room selling their books. I couldn't resist buying the three cozy mysteries written by the woman who gave me such a glowing critique. Then I bought the children's book by one of the women who gave the "racial lines" presentation, the second book in a series of detective stories set in Door County, and a book about the business of writing. I felt like today my brain--and personality--finally woke up.
While I waited for my takeout supper (more pumpkin ravioli--it's so good) I walked outside to get some air. Across the street is Madison Area Tech College with this lovely arch in front. Around the corner is the capitol building. I'd planned to walk over after it got dark but the host in the restaurant said that upper State St. gets a little seedy at night so it probably wasn't a good idea. Darn. I thought a picture with it lit at night would be nice but settled for this one.6 April--Tropical Obsession.
Every one of them watched
the same sunset. Every one alone. Nola and Sharon stood on patios less than one
hundred yards apart, each woman holding a drink and staring at the fiery ball
sinking behind the small low island smeared on the horizon, each one listening
intently for a car to stop on the gravel out front. Maria sat on the top step
of her small front porch watching the sunset colors tint the windows of the
houses across the street, the soft sound of Emilia singing in the living room
behind her covering the noise from the main road down the block. Bunny sat with
his back against a tree in the front yard of his ramshackle house behind the
big supermarket slapping at the occasional mosquito brave or foolish enough to
fly through the cloud of herb smoke, listening to Bob Marley wail, and nodding
his head at Brother Bob's words. Diego held down the end bar stool at the beach
bar of the windsurf place on Lac Cai. He had been there all day, getting
quieter and quieter as the day passed. He jerked upright as the setting sun
slid into the gap between the thatched roof over his head and the line of
stunted trees and tall cactus across the parking lot. The slanting rays pinned
him like a spotlight making him look at himself reflected in the door of the
cooler behind the bar. He drained his beer, slid a hundred guilder note under the
empty bottle, picked up his nearly empty cigarette pack and lighter, and
swiveled off the stool to walk to his rental truck. Jack sat in the mouth of
the cave he had spent the day in. He had been sure that morning that he was in
the perfect spot to catch Manning pulling a fast one salting the submerged
wreck just off shore, but he had been wrong. He stood, stretched, and watched
the bottom of the sun's disc touch the horizon. As it did there was a rustling
behind him and suddenly a huge stream of bats flew out of the cave, swirling
like smoke around him. Santiago sat on the deck of the Santa Marta, a cigarette
in one hand and a Polar beer in the other. The rest of the Venezuelans who came
over with produce to sell were either on the dock or the stinkpot diesel
trawler Abierto his boat was rafted to. They were all laughing and
calling out to the women walking down the waterfront to the restaurants further
into town. Santiago was quiet and watchful. Manning stood among the raucous
tourists celebrating sunset in the bar cantilevered out over the ocean at Sand
Dollar resort, his eyes darting like lasers. He made it a habit to cruise the
resort bars once a week to keep a lookout for his next pigeon and he thought he
had found a live one to replace Jack Swallow who was getting all too suspicious
and would have to be cut loose. This one was fat, pink, and balding wearing a
sickly yellow aloha shirt printed with mutant flowers and worn unbuttoned
enough to display the gold doubloon necklace that told Manning that the wearer
imagined himself a pirate. He downed the rest of his beer and got ready to move
in.
Okay. That's the last calendar prompt writing of Tropical Obsession. It's nowhere near the whole story but it's all I'm putting here. I realized yesterday that it's April and April is Poetry Month. So when I get home I'll have to unlimber my pencil, dust off my notebook and knuckle down to crank out some free verse. I also realized that since I started posting pieces of TO I have gotten out of the habit of writing daily. That has to change.
I woke up at 5:30 this morning and couldn't go back to sleep. Ugh. I splashed a little caffeinated coffee in my cup first then topped it with decaf to help me stay alert through the day. I also did 25 minutes on the treadmill after lunch when there was an hour and a half when I didn't attend a session. This has been a good weekend. I got to spend time with a writing friend and maybe make some new ones, and I get to have lunch with an old friend tomorrow. Good times.
--Barbara
1 comment:
What a great trip this has been. Something good happening every day. Remember when you had a passing thought to cancel?? So glad you didn't. Made new friends and even get to catch up with an old one. Good times all around.
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