Archive for the ‘Michael B. Caffrey’ Category
A September 2012 Update
Folks, September is always a difficult month for me, because this is the month my wonderful husband Michael passed away. That I’m dealing with a sinus infection that refuses to go away is not helping.
I’m enjoying the Milwaukee Brewers and their recent run to respectability, as they’re now 66-69, only three games below .500.
Other than that, I’m continuing to work away while dealing with the most difficult month on the schedule . . . for the moment, at least at FB, I have a picture of myself with my late husband Michael up as one of the folks on FB complained that anyone who is unwilling to show his/her face must not be much of a person. Normally I’d shrug this off, but I figured just this once I’d put up my picture with Michael, explain why I normally do not use it, and go on from there . . . clear as mud, right?
More status updates as I get them.
Valentine’s Day 2012 — A Slow, Quiet Day
Today was a slow, quiet day in most respects; I mostly focused on editing. But then I realized that I hadn’t posted a blog subject in several days (bad, bad me), so that’s why you’re seeing a new one even though I have little to say of consequence.
That being said, let’s get to it.
Folks, those of you who have living spouses and/or significant others, I hope you’ve had a wonderful Valentine’s Day.
For the rest of y’all, who are in my position — that is, widows and widowers — do your best to remember how it felt to be fully alive in all senses, and how it felt to love and be loved in return. That’s the best way we have to honor our loved ones, so treasure those memories and do not surrender them even if (when?) you manage to find someone new to love down the road. Because if someone falls in love with you, they have to fall in love with every part of you, not just the parts they like — or the parts that are easiest to love. And as a wise man once told me, “Michael was a very big part of your life. How you could possibly excise him in order to tempt someone else into a relationship is beyond me. So don’t listen to anyone who tells you not to talk about Michael, because that person is, as you say, ‘plain, flat wrong.'” (Three guesses as to who said this, and the first two don’t count.)
Anyway, this is what I said last year, and it still holds true for this year and many years to come:
https://elfyverse.wordpress.com/2011/02/14/valentines-day-for-love-not-conspicuous-consumption/
So remember, folks; V-Day should be all about love, not all about what gifts you give (or get in return).
Enjoy!
Whitney Houston dies at 48
Whitney Houston has died at age 48.
I heard the news tonight on various channels, including MSNBC, CNN, and Fox News, so there is no mistake. Houston is dead, and her beautiful voice and ability to emote while singing has died with her.
From a musical standpoint, there was a great deal to admire about Houston. She had an operatic range, which is rare for singers of popular music (only Mariah Carey among current pop singers has anything close to the range of Houston). She also chose great songs from great songwriters; for example, one of Houston’s best-known songs, “I Will Always Love You,” was originally written and performed by Dolly Parton — herself no slouch as a singer. Yet Houston was able to add something to Parton’s excellent song to the point that if you asked ten people who’d heard each version which one they liked better, seven out of ten would probably say they liked Houston’s version better.
Houston’s death is a great loss for the music community. And even knowing that the Grammy Awards are tomorrow (where music as a whole celebrates music and musicians), and that there will have to be a Houston retrospective, it doesn’t help overmuch because it just doesn’t seem right that someone so vital die at age 48.
As anyone who’s read my blog knows, I resonate strongly to this because my late husband Michael died at age 46, suddenly and without warning. Then my best friend Jeff died last year, suddenly and without warning, after he’d fought off the worst of a terrible bacterial infection and seemed to be on the upswing, at age 47. This is why it really and truly does not seem right to me that someone who still had so much left to give is dead at age 48.
I tend to think a person’s life has to be measured by what he or she did with it; in the case of Houston, I believe she was as successful as she could be, considering the terrible toll drug addiction had exacted from her. She was a gifted performer, a fine singer, and by many accounts was a very kind person whose only real weakness was drugs.
At any rate, Houston’s life is over; she’s done all she could, and now all we have left are the recordings she left behind.
I refuse to say “rest in peace” because the phrase has been so overused that it’s trite. I’d rather say that my heart goes out to Houston’s daughter, Bobbi Kristina, Houston’s ex-husband, Bobby Brown (someone that Houston stayed close to even after she divorced him), her mother Cissy Houston (a gifted singer in her own right), and cousin Dionne Warwick (one of the best singers of the ’60s, ’70s, and early ’80s), along with anyone else who knew Houston or loved her music. May they be comforted by their memories and/or her music; may her spirit find happiness in Eternity. (Amen.)
————
** Note: Whatever else that can be said about my late husband, or my best friend Jeff, know that up until the day of each man’s passing, they learned, changed, grew, and became better people the longer they lived. This is not to say they were saints (saints are boring); they were good men, which is a whole lot tougher thing to be than it seems.
Whitney Houston, according to Rev. Al Sharpton, had beaten most of her demons (this is my best paraphrase from hearing Sharpton on CNN and earlier on MSNBC); CNN has reported that Houston was about to star in her first movie in 15 years. So as far as anyone knows right now, Houston was clean and sober. She was able to act. And she was able to perform again, albeit with a voice that was badly ravaged by drugs — though even had she “stayed clean” throughout her life, the voice tends to break down for many operatic-trained sopranos in their late 40s.
To my mind, Houston’s life was a success. Not because she was such a great singer, but because she kept trying and didn’t give up. In this way — and perhaps only in this way — she was like my husband, or my friend, and that’s the main reason I mourn her passing.
2011: My Year in Review (the Good, the Bad, and the Incredibly Sad)
Everyone’s doing a “2011 Year in Review” column; at some places, like Shiny Book Review, this makes more sense (there, we did a “best of 2011” piece; check it out here). So I thought I’d do one, too, incorporating most of what went on that’s fit to print that made any sort of impact on my life whatsoever.
Note that as Shiny Book Review has already been covered, I’m not going to say much about it here; I enjoyed posting reviews in 2011, and I will continue to do the same in 2012.
As far as fiction writing goes, I estimate that I wrote about 150,000 words on various projects. I completed a new chapter and a half of CHANGING FACES; this will be finished in 2012. I wrote a new chapter and revised five chapters of KEISHA’S VOW, an ELFY prequel set in 1954. I wrote a new chapter and a half and revised six chapters of AN ELFY ABROAD, the direct sequel to ELFY. I did my best to find an agent, but found no takers.
As far as editing goes, I was pleased to edit six different books — one on conventions and careers, four medical books (including one anthology), and one science fiction novel. More editing is planned for the New Year.
Now, let’s get to the month-by-month breakdown of other events.
January 2011:
New Republican Governor Scott Walker takes office, turns down federal railroad funds (following through on his election promise to do so), vows to work with everyone, etc. (Too bad that last was all talk.)
“Joey Maverick: On Westmount Station” published at e-Quill Publishing (with Michael B. Caffrey). This is the first piece of writing in Michael’s universe sold in over five years; I wrote over half of this story, but it continues to go under Michael’s name as an editorial decision by e-Quill’s publisher as it’s a continuing series. (I’m sure Michael wouldn’t have approved, but there’s nothing to be done. My name is on it as the secondary writer and there’s a permanent link to this story on this blog’s sidebar.)
Green Bay Packers blow through post-season, winning the National Football Conference championship. Will represent NFC in the Super Bowl.
January 8: United States Representative Gabrielle Giffords (D-AZ) shot in the head by crazed gunman; she miraculously survives and recovers. Several staff-members and innocent bystanders killed, including U.S. District Judge John Roll. Gunman in police custody.
February 2011:
February 6: Packers win Super Bowl XLV.
February 11: Scott Walker vows to eliminate collective bargaining for all public employee unions (including teachers, nurses, and snowplow drivers, among others) except for fire and police personnel. A firestorm of protest follows; the fourteen Democratic state Senators (“Wisconsin 14”) flee the state in order to deny the Legislature a quorum to keep the Republican-dominated Senate from passing a companion bill to the quickly-passed bill from the Republican-dominated Assembly. The “WI 14” state their reason for doing this as the only way to educate the public as to what this bill will do to the state; more protests ensue.
March 2011:
Gov. Walker and his allies, including Lieutenant Governor Rebecca Kleefisch, Senate Majority Leader Scott Fitzgerald (R-Juneau) and Assembly Speaker Jeff Fitzgerald (R-Horicon, brother of Scott F.), take to the airwaves urging the WI 14 to return to Wisconsin so Senate Bill 10 (eliminating collective bargaining for all public employee unions, even though the teachers, nurses, etc., have all vowed publicly to take paycuts and give back vacation days and pay more for their health and life insurance providing collective bargaining is left in place) can be passed.
March 9: Senate strips all financial provisions out of the bill, allowing it to be passed without a quorum. Only Dale Schultz (R-Richland Center) opposes this bill, saying it goes too far; the Senate passes this motion 18-1.
March 12: WI 14 returns to state to loud acclaim from most; some vow to recall their sitting state Senators from both parties.
April 2011:
Milwaukee Brewers start their season.
Vinny Rottino starts season with New Orleans Zephyrs of the Pacific Coast League (affiliated with the Florida Marlins, prior to the Marlins’ name change).
JoAnne Kloppenburg loses state Supreme Court race to incumbent David Prosser by less than 1/2 of 1% of the vote. Recount commences.
April 21: Recall petitions filed for nine Senators, six Republicans and three Democrats. Elections scheduled for three different days; the first is held in mid-July.
May 2011:
Rottino has a fantastic month for the Zephyrs.
Brewers are still rounding into form.
Looking forward to recall elections.
Receive praise but no sales for three separate pieces of writing.
May 1: Osama bin Laden killed, at long last.
May 23: Recount confirms David Prosser as winner of state Supreme Court seat. JoAnne Kloppenburg decides not to sue; eventually seeks seat on state’s Appellate Court.
June 2011:
Observe my ninth wedding anniversary, the seventh spent alone since Michael’s untimely death in 2004.
Waiting avidly for recall elections.
July 2011:
Ryan Braun, Prince Fielder, and Rickie Weeks elected to represent the Brewers at the All-Star Game. Braun is on the disabled list; does not play. Minor controversy ensues as closer John Axford, having an excellent season, is not named to the All-Star team, nor is Brewers ace Yovani Gallardo.
Observe my late husband’s birthday even though, were he alive, he’d have taken no notice of the event. (Michael counted unBirthdays instead, as there were a whole lot more of them, thus more to celebrate.)
Vinny Rottino makes the AAA All-Star team for the first time since 2008.
July 19: Dave Hansen (D-Green Bay) is easily retained in his recall election.
July 31: Debt-ceiling crisis legislation is signed by President Obama. Speaker of the House John Boehner (R-OH) claims victory. Most people unimpressed; Congress’s approval rating falls to new lows, and the President’s approval rating takes a hit, too.
August 2011:
Observe my birthday, though my best friend Jeff is many states away and my husband is long dead, so I wonder what the point is.
August 9: Two Republican state Senators, Dan Kapanke (La Crosse) and Randy Hopper (Fond du Lac) are ousted in recall elections. Another four Republican state Senators, Alberta Darling (River Hills), Robert Cowles (Green Bay), Sheila Harsdorf (River Falls) and Luther Olsen (Ripon) are retained.
August 16: Both Democratic Senators up for recall, Bob Wirch of Kenosha and Jim Holperin of Conover, are easily retained. Status of nine recalls: Two Rs lost their seats, while four Rs were retained. All three Ds were retained. Wisconsin state Senate stands at 17 Rs and 16 Ds.
September 2011:
Vinny Rottino’s fine AAA season is rewarded by a September call-up from the Florida Marlins. He plays in several games, mostly as a pinch hitter or in the outfield. Gets a few hits.
Occupy Wall Street (soon to be Occupy Everywhere) movement starts.
Tenth anniversary of 9/11/01.
Observed the seventh anniversary of Michael’s last day of life on 9/21/11.
Late September: Jeff falls ill but does not go to the doctor.
September 28: Milwaukee Brewers win first National League Central division title in history, make post-season play for first time since 2008. Hopes are high. John Axford sets single-season saves record with 46 and most saves successfully converted in a row with 42.
October 2011:
October 7: Brewers win first post-season series against Arizona Diamondbacks (3-2).
mid-October: Jeff is taken to the hospital and is quickly transferred to the best specialty hospital in Northern Colorado. Bacterial endocarditis is the diagnosis. I don’t find out about it until he’s been in the hospital seven days (fortunately he told a good friend there how to get a hold of me). He nearly dies on the table due to open-heart surgery, something I don’t find out until nearly two days afterward. He’s unable to talk for nearly two weeks and is mostly unresponsive to stimuli. Death seems near.
October 16: Brewers lose National League Championship series to eventual World Series champs St. Louis Cardinals; I’m more obsessed with Jeff’s condition and say so.
October 20: Moammar Qaddafi, dictator of Libya, killed. This, too, barely registers.
November 2011:
Jeff slowly starts to get better, regaining his powers of speech and mobility. Cannot read well, which vexes him as a longtime, avid reader — and cannot write or create, which vexes him as a writer. He improves so much he’s transferred to a long-term rehabiliation place (I talk with him every night he’s able, which basically is every single night).
However, Jeff only lives for four days after he’s transferred to rehab; in our last conversation on November 11, he tells me he’s exhausted and wondering when he’s going to get better, though he’s mostly upbeat. Inwardly, I cheer that he has enough energy to mildly complain; I look forward to our next phone call, which was to be on November 12 at 7:45 p.m MST.
November 12: At 7 p.m. MST, Jeff has a massive stroke and is taken back to the specialty hospital. I don’t find out about this until November 13; all I know at the time is that Jeff hasn’t answered his phone, and I’m not able to get anyone at the rehab place to find out why.
November 13: Get call from Jeff’s brother, Randy; Jeff is dead. The stroke killed him. His parents were with him when he died.
None of this comforts me at all, as I’d been hoping somehow to get out to him to visit and cheer him up.
His death, which a few weeks ago had seemed imminent, now seems like an extremely bad joke made by an unloving, uncaring Deity; Jeff had worked so hard to regain his speech and mobility, and could reason and think. His personality and most of his memories were intact. He deserved a lot more time, to fully recover, and for him and I to be able to see each other, bare minimum. To say that I find this monstrously unfair is a severe understatement.
November 15: Wrote a poem for Jeff, in memoriam. I hope he’d have enjoyed it (poem is below).
November 21: Jeff would’ve turned 48 today, had he lived. Instead, his memorial service is called in Fort Collins, Colorado, and I’m unable to go due to financial considerations (I will regret this to the end of my life, and probably afterward).
I start to slowly come to terms with the fact that the best friend I’ve ever had, save only my late husband Michael, is dead. (Jeff was my staunchest supporter as a writer and poet who gave well-thought out, helpful criticism.) I find out that Jeff was writing a novel, which he’d never shown me (though he had shown me six in-progress short stories, various pieces of non-fiction, and other writing, all of it excellent), at the time of his passing. Now, none of his writing will ever be completed.
I reflect upon Jeff’s compassion, which was probably his strongest and best quality besides his high intelligence and creativity. I reflect upon the fact that six years ago, I had no idea our friendship would grow to the point that he was my acknowledged best friend . . . who knows where it would’ve gone, had he lived? (Now, I will never know, and that’s a sadness I can’t even begin to express, were I to write from now until the end of time.) I’m grateful for the time I had with him, but I really wish there had been more of it because if anyone deserved more, it was Jeff.
I wonder, again, what the point is, when I can’t even get to see my best friend before he dies, then can’t get to his funeral, either, when I dearly wanted to do both things. (Financial considerations be damned.)
Other stuff:
November 15: Recall petitions to oust Gov. Scott Walker, Lt. Gov. Kleefisch, and Racine’s state Senator Van Wanggaard (all Rs) are filed. I’d been looking forward to this for months, but due to Jeff’s death, it barely registers. Did sign the recall forms and get a few signatures, as Jeff was very strongly in favor of all of these people being recalled (we talked of this on November 11, and he’s the one who brought it up — as I said, his mind was intact and it was sharp); I tell myself that he’d be happy I was doing something I’d looked forward to, and try to be content with that even though I know I’ll never hear his voice again.
Ryan Braun wins NL Most Valuable Player award. Prince Fielder departs in free agency (is currently unsigned).
Vinny Rottino signs a minor league free-agent contract with the New York Mets; he will be invited to Spring Training.
December 2011:
December 13: Play first concert in thirteen years as a member of the University of Wisconsin-Parkside Community Band; I play a lengthy, extended solo in Valerie Coleman’s composition, “Roma.” My sister is in the audience, and says I haven’t lost a thing. (I like to think that both Michael and Jeff were listening, too, from wherever they are in the positive afterlife. I hope they were pleased.)
mid-December: Ryan Braun accused of taking performance-enhancing drugs; he appeals this decision and proclaims his innocence. (For the record, I believe him.)
December 17: North Korean leader Kim Jong-Il dies.
Just before Christmas: Federal government plunges into yet another crisis when House of Representatives initially refuses to extend the payroll tax cut. Speaker Boehner adamantly defends his party, which includes many hard-right Rs self-identifying as “Tea Party” members, but is eventually talked around due to public statements made by Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY), former George W. Bush advisor Karl Rove, and a strongly-worded Wall Street Journal editorial advising him to just give in already. Congress adjourns and goes home for the holidays.
Winter holidays commence; once again, I wonder what the point is. The present I’d bought for my friend Jeff gathers dust as I can’t bear to put it away, nor can I part with it; the musical composition I’m working on to commemorate Jeff’s life and death is, at best, half-finished at 64 bars. I’m told by a couple of poets I respect that my poem for Jeff won’t stand alone, thus has no chance of independent publication — which is why it’s here, so you all can read it and think about it, instead.
Note that this is a very formal way of writing, which is quite different from my usual, free-form style. I wanted to impose some sort of structure on my shock, which is why I came up with this particular poem. And while I believe this is among the most important pieces of writing I’ve ever created, it’s something I profoundly wish I’d not have had to do — much less this soon.
Here goes . . . but before I forget, Happy New Year, everyone.
*********** POETRY SEPARATOR ***********
“A Poem for Jeff Wilson — in Memoriam”
by Barb Caffrey
One who seeks is
one who asks
the questions that
no one else dares.
One who seeks is
one who finds
the answers, which are
unknowable.
One who waits is
one who looks
for love, creeping
in unawares . . . .
One who waits is
one who hopes
for light, which breaks
the dark forever.
One who waits is
one who seeks
out answers, or
merely himself.
——– written November 15, 2011
Music, Remembrance, and Observations
Folks, this is a difficult blog to write, mostly because I’ve been struggling with my grief process over the loss of my good friend, Jeff Wilson, all week long. (Well, really since he died, but this week it hit hard and fast, and just hasn’t really let up for very long.) Couple that with the holidays, and with missing my late husband Michael something fierce, well . . . let’s just say that I haven’t really had an enjoyable few weeks and save steps, shall we? (The sinus infection I’ve been dealing with hasn’t helped, either.)
What keeps me going despite these difficult and frustrating times? My music, that’s what. Music has a profound resonance for me, partly because I’ve spent most of my life studying it, and partly because I think better in music than words. (Strange, but true.)
Next Tuesday, I’ll play the first concert since making a bit of a comeback as a musician out at the University of Wisconsin-Parkside in Kenosha. The UW-Parkside Wind Ensemble and Community Band will perform, both singly and together; as first chair alto saxophone in the Community Band, I will be playing an extended solo in a piece called “Roma.” I’m looking forward to the concert, and I hope those of my friends and family who attend will enjoy it.
That being said, it feels very strange to me to be playing a concert at this time. I’m not one hundred percent right, not physically (even without the sinus infection, my hands continue to give me fits due to my carpal tunnel syndrome), and certainly not emotionally due to the recent loss of my friend Jeff. But that’s not any sort of excuse to keep me from doing whatever I can; I refuse to sit on the sidelines just because I am not in the musical shape I’d rather be in, or the physical shape, either.
The last time I played a concert, it was before I had met my late husband Michael — while Michael heard me practice many times, he never got a chance to hear me play in a concert, something I will always regret. Now, Jeff is also gone; while he was there encouraging me through both rounds of occupational therapy in the last year, which helped me regain enough of my abilities to again be able to play my saxophone (and play reasonably well), he is no longer able to hear me tell him how things are going, much less get a chance to hear a recording of the concert itself. (With his health issues the last five weeks of his life, that would’ve been the only way for him to hear me play unless I’d been able to get out there and play for him in person. Which of course I also wanted to do.)
So the two people who were the most important to me in this life are gone. I can’t do anything about that, other than wish with all my heart and soul that they were still here . . . and that’s not enough. (I’m sorry. I wish it was, but it really isn’t.)
What I’m going to try to do, therefore, is play and hope that wherever they are, they’ll hear it and know I’m doing everything in my power to regain my musical abilities. That meant a lot to them, and I’m sure that wherever they are now, it still does — so for the moment, all I can do is save up my experiences and hope that down the line, I’ll again be able to share with them how I felt about what I was doing in some sort of meaningful way (even if it has to be in the positive afterlife, not here).
Music, ’tis said, is a great healer. All I know is, it helps me to be able to play right now, even though nothing is going to be able to take this pain away because I miss my husband. I miss my good friend. And I wish very much that they were still with me in this life, because I really would’ve liked to see their faces after I finished, triumphantly, playing my solo in “Roma.”
Thoughts Regarding Editing (and Editors)
While continuing to recover from the latest sinus infection (nastier than most), I thought I’d blog about something I know a great deal about: editing, and editors.
See, some writers tend to think that editors “have it in” for them. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but you wouldn’t know it by what little tends to get said about editors — most of it being unflattering in the extreme.
Editors work hard to make sure manuscripts make as much sense as they possibly can before they get turned in. This can mean anything from fixing minor errors to asking questions about important plot points — though some places split the editing job up into three parts (proofreading, copy editing, and “straight editing,” the latter being more about the “macro-edit” of any given piece, while the first two deal with the more mundane particulars), other places don’t. I tend to call all three things “editing” even though if I’m asked merely to proofread, I don’t tend to bring my skills of “macro-editing” (looking at the piece of writing overall as a gestalt, then trying to improve it to the best piece of writing of which I can conceive), while if I’m being asked to copy-edit, it’s more likely that the “macro-edit” has been done by someone else.
But because all three of these things can be called for on one job (this happens quite often with one of the places I regularly edit for), it helps to get the particulars of any given job narrowed down. Do not feel silly if you ask questions, because without being willing to look silly at times, you cannot learn.
All that being said, editors often have last-minute changes from a writer (or, in the case of an anthology, writers) to incorporate. Sometimes, these changes come in after the layout process has started; that can be a particular challenge, one that makes you want to tear your hair out as an editor, but seems to be par for the course in our new, hyped-up digital age. Writers expect editors to just “go with the flow” and mostly, we do — but when we perform heroic actions to get a book to market despite delays on the writing end, it can get old.
So the next time you think about your editor (or editors), try to remember that editing skills are every bit as important as those a writer employs — and that many editors (if not most) are (or were) writers first. Editors have a really good understanding of what makes a writer tick, and we’re completely uninterested in stopping the creative process cold — what questions we ask are meant to spur something from you, the writer, that may not be in your manuscript as it stands but that you, the writer, may have thought was there. In short, editors are there to help you, and most if not all will work with you to improve your manuscript because any editor being employed has the best interests of the manuscript (story, novel, you name it) at heart. Period.
So if you were one of those I referenced above who thought that editors were “out to get you,” please do yourself a favor and think again. Because refusing to work with editors is not only counterproductive, it’s unprofessional, and will mark you out as a neophyte sooner than just about anything else. So do yourself a favor, and work with your editor rather than insisting your manuscript is so wonderful it needs no oversight whatsoever. (Please?)
——-
Edited to add: My late husband Michael was one of the best editors I’ve ever been around. I learned a great deal from him — what to do, what not to do — and it improved my writing immensely because I listened to him and didn’t automatically throw his suggestions out. I knew Michael was more accomplished than I was when I first started showing him my work — this was before we started dating, much less got married, mind — and from the beginning I was impressed by the depth and breadth of his knowledge and expertise.
You see, editing does not need to be a “zero sum game.” You don’t need “scorched earth tactics” to get the point across; you can instead use wit and humor, which is what Michael did with anyone he ever edited for — and it worked amazingly well.
Me, I am much more blunt than Michael ever was. But I try to use some humor as well as pointing out the good points of a manuscript when I edit; this is my ideal. But when time is short, sometimes the good points don’t get discussed — and that’s when writers get frustrated.
I can see any individual writer’s point, for the most part; he or she has worked very hard on a manuscript (whether it’s a story, novelette, novel, etc.) and here comes Ms. Editor to mark it all up in red. Then there are the balloons to the side if you’re using MS Word, and if you don’t see any words of encouragement from Ms. Editor, it can seem extremely disheartening and make writers go, “Now, why did I take up this profession again?”
But you must persevere and listen to your editor. If you have questions regarding an edit, ask your editor — I can’t say this often enough. Most if not all of us are glad to explain what we’re asking for — we may do it in a blunt way if we’re pressed for time, but we will explain it, and we will not be rude. (There’s a big difference between “rude” and “blunt.”)
Remember what my late husband Michael did, if you’re editing and can employ this strategy. It’s not only good manners, but it makes the maximum amount of sense — approaching someone’s manuscript gently, if you have enough time that you can do so, is almost assuredly the best way to go. (But even Michael, if he were pressed for time, would not explain as much or crack as many jokes during the explanation of his edit. Because that’s the nature of the job; you need to first get everything taken care of, then you can frame it a little bit so the writer can understand. But without first taking care of all of the problems, framing is impossible . . . does this make sense?)
Migraine today . . . and Story Ideas
Folks, I suffer from migraines, as my late husband Michael also did . . . and what I’ve found over time is that out of my migraine-induced haze, I often get some really interesting story ideas out of it.
Take ELFY, for example. I had been reading an anthology the night before and someone had been describing the worst of the urban fantasy genre — the mincing Faeries that seemed like human courtiers rather than anything alien or Other, that humans always outwitted these lesser-minded sorts, and so on and so forth — and all of that mixed up in my mind while under the influence of my migraine.
The next day (or maybe evening), I realized I had a character in my head: Bruno the Elfy. He liked to wear black, unlike his compatriots who wore all sorts of wild colors; he didn’t like to rhyme, unlike the rest of the Elfys. And he was stuck in the Human Realm — our Earth — because he’d been told one thing but the truth was something else again. Unraveling what the truth was took me a good year’s worth of work and a whole lot of conversations and editing done by my late husband and co-conspirator, Michael, before we had a completed book.
So even though I really don’t enjoy migraines, I do sometimes receive ideas of worth and value . . . and I look at it like this: make lemonade from whatever lemons you might be handed, if at all possible. (Sometimes it’s not.)
At any rate, am I all alone in this phenomenon? Or has anyone else come up with a good story idea or two on the way back out of a migraine headache?
More on my friend, Jeff Wilson . . . and a bit about the recalls
Folks, these two topics aren’t as far removed as they seem. My best friend’s name was Jeff Wilson; he lived in Fort Collins, Colorado, and as I said earlier today, he died on Sunday morning at the age of 47.
Jeff was a political watcher, just as I am, and was keenly interested in the recall of Governor Scott Walker and also in the recall of my own sitting State Senator, Van Wanggaard (R-Racine). Jeff believed, as I do, that Walker and Wanggaard overreached drastically back in February due to SB10 — that being the budget bill that stripped public employee union members of their rights to collectively bargain. So me continuing to pursue the recalls, even though I really feel terrible about Jeff’s passing, is the right thing to do. It’s what he’d want me to do.
The recalls of both Walker and Wanggaard will start at 12:01 a.m. on Tuesday morning — that is, about two hours from now. Some people are going in their pajamas to get the recall papers; some are going straight from football parties (as the Packers are playing tonight; currently they’re up 31-7 in the third quarter). I won’t be doing that; I’ll be lighting a candle, again, in my good friend’s memory. But tomorrow afternoon, I will be going if at all possible to the recall office and will not only sign to get Walker and Wanggaard out, but will take the training so I can perhaps train others to do the same thing.
As I said before, Jeff was a deeply principled and ethical man. He had a very strong moral compass. He knew what he believed was right and he did that; nothing else need apply, and that was one of his best qualities to my mind (I suppose it matched my stubbornness rather well). That’s why he supported, very strongly, the recall of these two men; he even mentioned it on Friday during our last conversation.
It’s very hard right now to concentrate on anything because I feel so terribly about Jeff’s untimely passing. He was getting better. Everything looked good. I believed I could get out there to see him, and would’ve found a way as I was looking really hard; I also know that Jeff looked forward to my telephone calls, and that my encouragement and support meant a great deal to him — as me talking to him, knowing he was alive and fighting as hard as he could, meant a great deal to me because I knew he’d have done the same thing if I’d have been in his place.
So while I still want to recall Walker and Wanggaard and try to restore some balance to my state (all three branches of government right now are controlled by radical, hard-right Rs), it’s muted even though I’ve been looking forward to this day for months. I hope you can understand why.
While Heaven, or the positive afterlife (“the Good Place (TM)”), whatever you want to call it, has gained an angel, I feel absolutely devastated. Jeff and I were friends for a long time — six years, maybe a bit more — and he was my best friend, the person who understood me the best, and the person I understood the best also. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I would much rather Jeff be here, and be upset at not being home where he wanted to be (a completely understandable reaction, to my mind), and me be able to talk with him directly and him with me, directly, than Heaven gaining him as an angel.
Because when one good person dies, the whole world loses, whether the world knew this person or not. In Jeff’s case, as he was a very, very good person, the world’s loss is nearly incalculable. And my own — well, I have no words to describe it, except to say that I wish with everything I have that this hadn’t happened.
I wanted to be there, to hold his hand, and to be able to give him a hug. I thought him seeing me, seeing my caring and concern, would make a difference. I wasn’t able to get there but was working hard to do so; obviously, I didn’t get that chance.
And while I don’t know if me getting there would’ve made a difference to him, it assuredly would’ve for me — being able to see him and touch him and hold his hand would’ve helped a lot right now.
I’m doing my best to remember the good times and positive memories of the excellent conversations Jeff and I had about all sorts of wide-ranging subjects. That’s the only way to deal with grief, really; you can’t forget, and you can’t “move on,” but you can go on with your memories and never, ever forget the wonderful people who have graced your life.
I’ve had two, now. My wonderful, amazing, extremely intelligent and talented husband, Michael. And my astonishingly smart, gifted, and remarkably talented friend, Jeff. So I’ve been doubly blessed, and I know that, even though I really wish both of them were here on this plane of existence rather than the positive afterlife I’m sure they’re enjoying right now because I miss them both more than words could ever say.
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** Note: As I’ve said before, there’s no question in my mind Michael would want me to pursue the recall efforts also. Michael was deeply principled also, and believed hypocrisy was among the worst sins known to mankind — Van Wanggaard has been guilty of that, in spades — while pitting brother against brother, sister against sister, the way Scott Walker did, is right down there, too. So with my extremely heavy heart, I will do my best to oust these two politicians and send them home to pursue a different course of employment . . . and hope whoever takes their places will be much better public servants than either of these two, or even both of them put together.
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