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Posts Tagged ‘people’

A couple of years ago USA Today ran one of those Top Ten lists that they love so much. It was the Top Ten Most Beloved People in America. I didn’t make the list. But a couple months later they ran the Top Ten Most Hated People in America (I didn’t make that list either), and it doesn’t take special insight to predict the same people were on both lists. Six of them, as I recall now. 

That’s when I came to certain realizations about the opinions of people who know me through my work but I don’t know them. Anyone in that position is both loved and hated for the wrong reasons and there’s nothing much you can do about it. Even Tom Hanks has his detractors and I met a guy lately who thinks Dick Cheney has a nice personality. 

This came to mind because the famous mystery novelist Sue Grafton once threatened to kill me. I don’t think she was serious — I didn’t start locking my doors or anything — but she definitely wasn’t kidding. This is a woman who spends a lot of time thinking about how it would feel to knock someone off. She tends to do it by creating thinly veiled fictional characters out of people she doesn’t care for and then whacking them. 

But the bottom line here is that Sue is a gracious, perfectly nice woman and she doesn’t like me. She’s not the only one. I can name several nice folks that I like who don’t like me a bit. And I wonder about that.

I understand the many wonderful people in the world who think my writing stinks. Lord knows, I don’t judge folks by whether they can stand my books or not. A writer would be a total dingbat if he, or she, turned against people simply for not connecting with the writing (although loving my work does help make a good first impression). I’m not that lost in vapid-land. 

And you don’t turn 35 living in a tent and washing dishes in an Italian restaurant if you care deeply about public opinion, so I’m not going to turn into the cloy king, but I’d like to come up with a stance to take on the issue of being hated by nice people. Anyone with ideas is welcome to throw them out there.

Announcements: 1) Those of you interested in writing or me or my writing can go to an interview at Roses and Thorns and learn everything you want to know about my attitude toward writing novels and then some. http://roseandthornreviews.blogspot.com/2008/04/tim-sandlin-author-interview-by.html

2) The Jackson Hole Writers Conference comes around June 25 to 28 — four days of inspiration and fun. Three writing critiques, seven New York Times best selling authors, seven agents and editors, workshops, and dancing cowboys and cowgirls — if you’ve never been to a writers conference, this is the one for you. If you have been, it’s the one for you also. You can hang around people who are interested in the same things you are interested in (how often does that happen outside the internet?) and, between sessions, wander through the Teton Mountains. Check it out right here.

3) I’m writing a scene in GroVont IV where Lydia goes to the Lompoc Minimum Security Federal Prison in Lompoc, California, to visit Hank. I would love to meet anyone who has served time in Lompoc, or visited a loved one in Lompoc, or knows of anyone who has ever been in Lompoc or any other minimum security federal pen. Surely, with 5,000-whatever of you out there, one of my fans has been in prison. Let me know. You too can make the Acknowledgments page.

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A couple years ago Randolph Proust, his lovely wife Chelsey, and their children Lester and Brittania camped at Lava Creek Campground in Yellowstone National Park. One hot afternoon, after lunch, a young cinnamon-colored black bear wandered into the campground and commenced to pop open various bear-proof trash receptacles. Randolph decided he would get a cute photo by smearing Sioux Bear honey across Lester’s lips and chin.

“Think cuddly thoughts,” Lester’s mother said before sending the boy off to bond with nature’s wonder.

The next day, when interviewed by the Jackson Hole News and Guide at the Lake Hotel Hospital, Mr. Proust said, “I didn’t dream the Park Service would allow bears to roam freely if they weren’t tame. My kids were raised on Berenstein Bears, Brother Bear, Bear in the Big Blue House. We came to Yellowstone to watch Yogi and Boo Boo steal picnic baskets.”

Randolph’s daughter clutched a Teddy Bear to her chest and cooed, “Winnie the Pooh bit off Lester’s nose.”

I thought of this story the other day when I ran into Roger Ramsey at Hard Drive Café where we was skimming back and forth across the internet, searching for happy-go-lucky dairy products.

“I know I’ve heard of Mr. Cheddar Curd.” Roger’s teeth gnashed in determination. “I just can’t find him. Look at this. There’s a Japanese anime starring the Tofu Twins. I can use that.”

I ordered a half-caff, extra dry, soy vanilla cappuccino and came back to Roger and his computer. “Why are you Googling anthropomorphic cheese?” I asked.

“Because Maurey rented Finding Nemo for Scarlet and now she refuses to eat fish?”

“Maurey or Scarlet?”

“Scarlet. Maurey never would touch my trout.”

Maurey is Roger’s wife. Scarlet Gilia is their six-year-old daughter. Roger calls her Scarlet and Maurey calls her Gilia. Maurey is an ovo-lacto vegetarian and Roger is a hunting guide. It’s a marriage made on the second ring of hell.

“Maurey did it on purpose. All those cute little fish and crustaceans love their families and friends, and the evil humans want nothing more than to slaughter them. What does she think fish eat if not each other?”

“My theory is Disney characters live on fruit juice and Dove bars.”

“Maurey’s got Scarlet so she won’t eat any food that sings and dances. It began with the stupid pig in Charlotte’s Web. Then Benny the Bull from ‘Dora the Explorer.’ She hasn’t touched lamb since the damn thing followed to Mary to school one day, and don’t even get me started on Bambi.”

This was interesting. I sat beside Roger and watched him fly from cartoon site to site. There were hundreds of them. “So Scarlet won’t eat anything other than vegetables?”

“I nipped that in the bud. Went to the library and checked out a video called “Veggie-Tales.” It’s a bunch of Christian cucumbers and tomatoes and the like, teaching each other values. Scarlet sleeps with an artichoke heart now. She’s been cutting out little velvet skirts and blouses for her carrots.”

“How about apples and oranges?”

“I downloaded a Fruit of the Loom commercial. She’s got nowhere left to turn except macaroni and cheese, and as soon as I find Mr. Cheddar Curd, I can put a stop to that.”

I tried to see the logic in Roger’s logic, but it zipped right over my head. “Why are you trying to starve your daughter to death?”

“I’m not trying to starve Scarlet. I’m showing her those idiot kids’ shows have given everything a personality. I’ll drive her back to Happy Meal burgers, like a normal child. Look at this site.”

Roger stopped on the Boohbah Home Page. Boohbahs appear to be colorful amoebas with deep, creative emotions capable of expressing joy and sadness. “Better not show her that one,” Roger said. “Lord knows what she might swear off.”

He switched to Thomas the Tank Engine, which is a show about selfish, jealous, bitter trains who treat each other like human beings. “It’s not just animals,” Roger said. “There’s a new show on Disney about talking screwdrivers. It’s ripped off a PBS show where a front end loader cries when it doesn’t get its way.”

“Bob the Builder.”

“This baloney didn’t exist when I was a kid. You never saw the Three Stooges worrying about a cream pie’s self-esteem.”

“It’s been going on forever,” I said. “John Ruskin called it the Pathetic Fallacy.”

“Somebody got rich selling pet rocks. I wouldn’t call that pathetic.”

“Back then pathetic didn’t mean politics or sports or anything it’s used for now. It meant empathetic. Ruskin had a peeve against angry clouds or majestic mountains. He said no matter how much it rains, the clouds are never angry. A cloud is nothing but a cloud. The river is not an old man. Tumbleweeds don’t tumble because they are laid back.”

“What’s that got to do with forcing a rare rib eye down Scarlet’s throat. I won’t have a daughter so arrogant as to remove herself from the food chain.”

“Ruskin’s was a worthless complaint. Writers couldn’t write without the Pathetic Fallacy. Humans couldn’t be human. Ancient Greeks thought the sun, the moon, the oceans, even the earth itself were all gods who behaved like dysfunctional families. Even us modern types created God in man’s image.”

“Not the other way around?”

“Everything is personal to humans. That’s what sets us apart from the monkeys.”

Roger yelled, “Eureka!”

“You understand my philosophical treatise?”

“Chuck E. Cheese! She’ll never eat macaroni and cheese again.”

“Isn’t Chuck E. a mouse?”

Roger leaned toward his computer and peered at Chuck. “Oh, yeah. Can’t let her find this one. She already goes hysterical at the sight of D-Con.”

“What if your plan doesn’t work?” I asked Roger. “What if you’re creating an anorexic? Girls today have enough neuroses without thinking their lunch is getting in touch with its inner pasta.”

“I see the light,” Roger said.

“You’ve discovered a way to use your brain?”

“I’ll write a diet book. It’ll make millions of dollars.”

“Are these the same millions you made off of self-cleaning barbecue sauce?”

“Nobody ever lost a dime selling weight loss schemes. I’ll call it the Yellowstone Diet. We’ll turn South Beach into a Trivial Pursuit answer.”

“Or Jeopardy question.”

“Every woman in America will clamor for my DVDs and CD ROMS.”

I finished my cappuccino and dug a finger into the bottom foam. “So, what are you selling exactly?”

“Tapes and movies of happy food groups. Living lunch. Whenever a woman puts anything whatsoever in her mouth, we’ll convince her she’s murdering Tinkerbell.”

“Or whoever.”

Roger grinned. “Whomever.”

P.S. Someone finally explained to me that 🙂 is code for openness to a sexual adventure. I’m going to have to rethink my relationship with a whole bunch of you readers out there.

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