So Much For Day 13

Yesterday was Day 13 of NaNoWriMo. I wrote a scant 750 words which only brought my total up to 15,980 words. I am so shamefully lazy. That so, so pitiful day's output is posted at:

http://www.genechambers.com/day-13.htm

After having written for thirteen consecutive days and usually coming up short in my daily word count, I am wondering if perhaps I should just go ahead and pad my work with what I have always considered superfluous words, all those unnecessary words, words describing the physical appearance of each character, the type of clothing they are wearing, the furnishings of the room in which the action is taking place, the travelogue-type background scenery, the mountain ranges, the ocean beaches, the city streets... and, of course, the weather. Now doing that would certainly up my word count.

The novel would be boring as hell, though.

Probably.

. . .

Every morning I read the entire blog entry of The Writer's Almanac -- Today's entry included the opening paragraph from Moby Dick, in which I counted a total of nine adverbs (there might be more) most of them ending in 'ly.' As most of the people who have read my earlier postings already know, I am a great admirer of good adverbs, especially those ending in 'ly' and I most assuredly feel that those remarkably useful words have been undeservedly given a terribly bad reputation. If Herman Melville can do it, then why can't I?

In the same day's Almanac entry, I read the following observation written by the well-known Journalist P.J. O'Rourke who said,

"The source of the word 'humorist' is one who regards human beings in terms of their humors -- you know, whether they're sanguine or full of yellow bile, or whatever the four classical humors are. You stand back from people and regard them as types. And one finds, especially by the time one reaches one's fifties, that there are a limited number of types of people in the world, and you went to high school with every single one of them. You can visit the Eskimos, you can visit the Bushmen in the Kalahari, you can go to Israel, you can go to Egypt, but everybody you meet is going to be somebody you went to high school with."

That is much more profound than one would think after only a first reading, in my opinion anyway.

. . .

Gotta get to the NaNo stuff now.

More later on today, maybe.

__________

Father's Day, 2010 CE

This is the 100th anniversary of Father's Day and to celebrate it I am going to sit back, relax, and do nearly nothing. I'm going to skip my daily walk. That's my idea of a fine Father's Day celebration.

Mike and JoAnn gave me a Father's Day gift... a set of four rechargeable AA-size batteries and a 15-minute Battery Charger. Now I will not have a good excuse for missing an important shot.

Thanks Mike and JoAnn.


My most recent walk (yesterday) was down Calle Del Valle then left onto Calle de Coronado then down Soldier Trail to East on Fort Lowell Road for about a half-mile and then back along the desert path alongside Fort Lowell Road to Calle de Ricnon to Calle Del Valle and home. About three miles. I took some pictures, mostly intriguing trees and mountain views. Saw no new animals on this trek though.

There was a building with a rustic fence surrounding it. The sign identified the building as the Hermosa Montessori School, but it was fairly well hidden behind the fence and trees and scrub.

Hermosa Montessori School

While walking that walk, I mused upon the recent blog posts contributed by Anthony V. Toscano. That gentleman is a true poet (in my opinion) but he seems to be hung up on his lack of perfection as a writer. He seems unable to grasp the fact that the random reader views his words and absorbs their meanings, but those meanings are shaded by the reader's own background and experiences in life. What might seem mediocre to AVT can be breathtaking beauty to a reader who is necessarily disconnected from the poet's own inner-self and sees meanings not at all apparent to the author of the words.

Or so it seems to me.


I am fascinated by the variety of trees I encounter while walking along the roads and over the trails trodden out through the desert. These trees occasionally present, without words, a quiet tale or a silent poem, soundless insights unclouded by loud and intrusive noises that twist the natural plots, stories (thankfully) not fraught with human errors in interpretation -- reportage without an audible language -- but they can bring to the thoughtful observer a myriad of peaceful pleasures in that plethora of intimate stories.

Such as --

An Unpretentious Silent Declaration

Naked And Unadorned I Stand

Ah, yes . . .

Later that afternoon, as I sat out near the pool listening to Talk Radio and penning some notes regarding the characters in my novel, I sipped a tall frosted glass of icy...

Pepsi-Cola Throwback

"Throwback" is a refreshing and delicious beverage manufactured by the Pepsi-Cola company with sugar as its major sweetener instead of the Johnny-come-lately corn syrup used in the modern iteration. If you have not tried it, I suggest you do so as soon as possible. Throwback is much better.

Much, much better.

I've often been told that, "Life Is What You Make It" and that our attitudes and outlooks can be strengthened, weakened, nullified, or even completely reversed by consciously selected actions.

As in the following:

"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off -- then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can."

--Herman Melville
Moby Dick

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