Archive for the ‘Michael B. Caffrey’ Category
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?)
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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.
Not Enough Words, Seven Years Later
Folks, as of midnight 9/21/11, it has been exactly seven years since I last saw my husband, Michael B. Caffrey, alive.
I keep wondering what, if anything, I could’ve done to save Michael’s life, but none of us knew that his heart was about to give out. If Michael had known anything of the sort, he would’ve camped himself in the nearest hospital ER even though he hated hospitals; there’s no way he’d have wanted to have his heart completely fail after four heart attacks, the first one having started around 10 a.m. on 9/21/04. He fell into a coma quickly thereafter and never again regained consciousness.
Michael fought hard; the doctors said they’d never seen anyone fight as hard as Michael did to cling to life. There was a pattern to the seizures he was having on the right side of his body; he appeared to be trying to communicate with me, even though he was in a coma. He certainly knew I was there and he was trying very hard to make his body work; he just couldn’t do it, that’s all.
At 8 p.m., about two hours after a fourth heart attack had lowered Michael’s blood pressure to 30/10 with a pulse rate of 4, Michael was pronounced dead. And I had to say goodbye to the man I’ve loved the most in all the world; I did my best to do this, even though it was and remains difficult for me to believe that my beloved husband Michael, an extremely creative, warm, and witty person, was dead.
I’ve told you in this blog post about how my beloved husband died. But I cannot tell you how he lived, except with gusto and grace; I cannot tell you how much he loved me, only how much I loved him.
So, even seven years later, I don’t have the words to express the depth of my feelings for my beloved husband. I wish I did; oh, do I wish I did.
All I can tell you is this: Michael changed my life for the better. I miss him every single hour of every single day. I know I always will. And because of that great love, I will keep trying to help our writing find its audience (his, mine, ours, makes no never-mind now because it all has to go through me); that’s the only way I know to keep even a small part of him alive.
What to do when a Publishing Relationship Ends
Why is it that most writers plan for the beginning of a publishing relationship, but never plan for the end?
I know, I know. The end of any relationship, in or out of publishing, is not what most people prefer to dwell upon because it’s depressing. The end of any relationship means the end of any current possibilities, and that’s sad and extremely difficult for most human beings to contemplate.
That being said, in the current world we live in, we need to plan how to deal with failure graciously. (Not that every end to every publishing relationship means you’ve failed, mind you; just that it’s going to feel like failure, especially when you know you’ve tried everything in your power to make a publishing enterprise work.) We need to learn how to come to terms with setbacks, be they minor or major, and learn to deal with them as graciously as possible.
See, I look at the publishing business as a long-term thing that, in its own way, is a microcosm of life. We’re going to have good days and bad. The good days are usually easy to handle; it’s the tough ones we must learn from as best we can.
What I do when a publishing relationship has ended is to acknowledge it, make some sort of announcement to those who need to know about it, and am otherwise as polite as humanly possible. My thoughts, which are greatly influenced by those of my late husband Michael in this regard, are these: who knows if I’ll be working with this person/these people in the future? So why be obnoxious now when there’s really no need for it?
Yes, we need to acknowledge when we’re upset or frustrated. I’ve never advocated “sitting on” any emotion, as in my experience that tends to fester and make things worse later on. But we don’t need to go out of our way burning bridges this way and that, either . . . in fact, if we can avoid burning bridges, that’s probably the best way to handle things.
All that being said, it’s sad when anything you’ve spent a great deal of time and effort on goes for naught; I’ve had this happen a few times this past year, and the only thing that can be done is this: chalk it up to experience, be as polite as possible, and move on.
This is very hard to do, granted. But if you can do it, others will notice and appreciate the professionalism of your attitude, which may lead you to further and better work in the future.
So, to sum up, here’s the three things you need to do when a publishing relationship of any sort ends:
1) Come to terms with it and write a brief, polite, professional note saying you’re sorry things have come to this pass (whatever it is), and that you’ve appreciated working with whomever. Also, if you can bring yourself to it, wish the person (or people) well in the future as this costs you nothing.
2) Acknowledge it to those who need to know in a brief, polite and professional note. (Keep your feelings about it, as much as possible, to yourself.)
3) Allow yourself to grieve the loss, because it is a loss — give yourself an hour, or even half a day if you must, to be upset over it. Then, do your best to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and move on.
Most importantly, do your best not to bear a grudge. Remember that we’re all human, we’re all fallible, and there’s no need to spread nastiness. You don’t need to put up with bad treatment, mind you; far from it. Just try to rise above it if you can while knowing that it’s possible that someday you might work with this person (or these people) again. And if that opportunity arises, you want to be able to work with whomever without undue rancor if at all possible.
You need to think long-term at a time when your inner self is screaming, “No!” at the top of its lungs. This isn’t easy, but if you can do it, it’ll help you in the long run.**
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** Michael’s name for this was the “better in sorrow than in anger” method. Try it. It works.
Periodic State of the Elfyverse
Folks, it’s been a while, so it’s time for another “state of the Elfyverse” blog.
What’s going on with the Elfyverse right now is that I’m stalled in part 47 of AN ELFY ABROAD (the sequel to ELFY, which still hasn’t found a home). I have figured out an alternate beginning to ELFY which may help me find an agent who’ll understand it and help me find a publisher, but I haven’t yet managed to get it down in a way that makes any more sense than what I already have. (“May” being the operative word, of course.) And I managed to get a few thousand words into the ELFY prequel, KEISHA’S VOW . . . mind you, KEISHA’S is a big-time prequel as it’s set in 1954 and ELFY is present-day. (The dead characters in ELFY are alive and well in KEISHA’S, and it explains in part — or should, once completed — why one of the ELFY characters is such a mucked-up mess.)
Things get a bit more problematic when I start trying to fix an Elfyverse short story “Boys Night In,” as so far I’ve had comments like, “The dialogue makes no sense.” “They get into this way too easily.” “What’s the point of this again?” and so on. (I did get high marks for humor from one test reader. So I’m still doing something right.) So that story is in need of extensive revision, perhaps to the degree Carolyn See recommends in her book MAKING A LITERARY LIFE, complete with the wine, the red pen, and more wine.
The good news is that I’m still hard after it; the bad news is that when I get stalled in a chapter (as I am in part 47 of EA) I just sit there until I figure out whatever’s bothering me. This is a far different process than what I had while Michael was alive, as we were both writing the story then and talking things out with him — always an interested audience, even when I wasn’t writing an Elfyverse story of any kind — made big messes like this one get solved a little faster. Or in this case, a lot faster as I’ve been stuck in the same place for at least three weeks.
Some of my friends who are authors write different things — say, a romance instead of a Western, or a hard SF story instead of a mystery — to break a hard block like this one. I’ve tried that in the past and for whatever reason, unless I have a really good idea in a different genre that takes off, it just doesn’t work for me. Whatever it is in my backbrain has to take its own, sweet time toward resolving itself, and then and only then can I get on with the business of writing.
While I’m doing all that, I continue to edit. And, of course, I comment, I blog when the mood strikes me (or a really big story hits that I know I can’t pass on no matter how blocked I feel at the time), and I just let things play out as they will.
See, the best thing we can do when we’re stalled on a project is to continue to have faith in ourselves. We’ve already written X words (in my case, probably well over 600,000 in the past seven years, and who knows how many before then? Many, many, many.), and we’re going to write more, so why fret it?
Or, as Michael used to tell me, “If you can’t write today, you will write tomorrow. And if you’re too ill to write tomorrow, you’ll write three times as much the next day.” (He knew me very well, and he was always right about such things.)
The upshot is, it’s pointless to fret, even though it’s very human that we do so . . . and sometimes, the best “medicine” with a story is to completely get away from it (perhaps by what my other writer-friends have suggested by writing something completely different, or perhaps a change of scenery or a vacation away from the MSS) so you can come back at it afresh.
I’m doing my best to listen to Michael’s advice, as it was always good, and try to be patient with myself. I’ve got a better shot that way at breaking the block in part 47, and then, once that’s gone, working on part 48 and winding up the first draft of EA, however many more chapters that’s going to be. (I estimate seven. But who really knows?) Once I’ve done that — completely managed to get the whole EA story out of my head and onto the page — then I have a better shot at fixing “Boys Night In” and perhaps writing an alternate opening to ELFY that might increase its chances of finding an agent or publisher who’ll love it and can’t live without it.
Brewers Play Giants; My Thoughts
My late husband Michael was a San Francisco Giants fan.
Of course, this isn’t surprising, considering he was a long-time San Francisco resident. That his father and mother both supported the Giants, as did his brother and sister . . . well, that probably helped a little, though Michael wasn’t the type to join in just for the sake of joining.
Nope. He loved baseball because it was — and is — a game that can be measured. Baseball statistics make sense, to the degree that different eras can be compared and contrasted, as are various players, their situations and their teams.
Michael loved his Giants. Which is why me watching my Milwaukee Brewers team play them is ever so slightly bittersweet.
I keep thinking about how Michael would enjoy this year’s Giants team as much as he would’ve enjoyed last year’s — the 2011 Giants once again have stellar pitching, defense, and play well as a team, all things Michael appreciated as a long-time baseball fan. But, of course, it’s my Brewers playing the Giants — the Brewers, who mostly live and die by the long ball. By the big inning. Who aren’t exactly known for their skills at base-stealing, small ball, or for any of their starting pitchers.
I mean, think about it. Who do you know on the Giants pitching staff that’s a big name? Tim Lincecum. Matt Cain, who’s pitching tonight. Barry Zito, though he’s not done well this year and hasn’t justified the huge amount of money the Giants spent on him a few years ago. Jonathan Sanchez, perhaps the best #5 pitcher in baseball. And previously-unknown Ryan Vogelsong, perhaps the best story in baseball this year as he went from getting his outright release in 2010 to having the best ERA in baseball — 2.02 — in 2011, with a 7-1 record in fifteen starts.
Whereas the Brewers have two pitchers who’ve pitched reasonably well throughout — Shaun Marcum, who’s pitching tonight, and Randy Wolf. Then, we have two wildly inconsistent pitchers who can be either really good or really bad — Zack Greinke and Yovani Gallardo. And, finally, we have Chris Narveson, a guy who is better known for his bat than his pitching, though he’s had a decent year thus far. And let’s not even start about the Brewers defense, as I could go all day about how many ways the infield in particular needs improvement (only Rickie Weeks is relatively solid at second, though he does not have great range; Casey McGehee has had some good moments but mostly isn’t known for his glove; Prince Fielder’s fielding has regressed this season, so he’s once again a well below average first baseman who holds his position due to his fearsome bat; and, of course, Yuniesky Betancourt, who hits better than he fields, but doesn’t exactly hit a ton considering his overall .250 batting average coming into tonight’s game).
I have mixed feelings here, because I see how the Giants are by far the superior team. The Giants have pitching, defense, and overall team chemistry, even if they don’t hit particularly well . . . their pitching makes up for a great deal, which is how they win games. While the Brewers have hitting, hitting, and more hitting, with some good outfield defense (Corey Hart in RF is good, Ryan Braun has really improved in LF but hasn’t been healthy recently, while Nyjer Morgan plays a decent center field and has speed — mind, losing Carlos Gomez due to a broken collarbone hasn’t helped), some good to better pitching amidst massive inconsistency, and more hitting.
So it’s a battle of two different styles of baseball being played out tonight in this Brewers-Giants game (currently, as I write this, the Brewers lead 3-1 in the top of the sixth). Good to excellent hitting versus good to excellent pitching and outstanding defense. A worthy game, one which I’ll enjoy as best I can, wishing all the while that my wonderful husband were still alive to share it with me.
Still. I am here, and I see at least some of what Michael would’ve seen in the Giants, as I’m also a long-time baseball fan who appreciates excellent pitching and defense. I can’t recreate a conversation which didn’t have a chance to happen, though I know what sorts of comments Michael made when he and I watched his Giants play in 2002, 2003 and 2004 . . . I suppose because I’m thinking so much about what he would’ve seen had he been here to observe it, at least a small part of Michael has survived.
And that, at least, is a good thing. As is the enjoyment I get from watching my Brewers and Michael’s Giants.
Barb Caffrey's Blog 