Awfully kind of them.
•
Bone Hollow Review, Chronogram, April 2015
I Wrote a Novel. It's Published. You Can Buy It.
In late October 2009 I started looking around my house for a book on writing that I knew I had someplace. Sure, there was Bird by Bird, of course, and here was Stephen King's On Writing, and then, yes, here we are, Brenda Ueland's If You Want to Write.
Oh, and that Writing Down the Bones one. And that's probably it. I mean, except for Coaching the Artist Within. And How to Write and Sell Your First Novel. Then the supplemental info: John Gardner's The Art of Fiction, Joseph Campbell, Strunk and White, various journalism and marketing writing texts. That ripoff Elmore Leonard book I thought was a book but was really 10 cartoons.
I ended up with a stack of about a dozen. I took that as a sign that I was ready.
There's a website—you know it—that encourages people to write a novel in November, and I planned to succeed this time. Somehow, I guess because I surrendered to what I knew I had to do, I did it. Every (or most) mornings, wrapped in a blanket at 5:30 in a dark living room, the house asleep, the skunks wandering home past my window, I'd type. Pound it out. Don't look back. Jot down the spelling and first name of the antagonist. Write forward. Butt in chair. Those books all said the same thing.
It's likely that the difference this time, compared to the other two times I'd tried to write a novel, was that I had trained for and run three marathons before I sat down to write this one. My body and mind now understand the sustained nature of effort required to whittle an unimaginably large task down, atom by atom, step by step, word by word, bird by— whatever. Something clicked. (Keys, yes. Keys.)
Weekends, I was granted hours to go to the local coffee shop and spend solid afternoons there, headphones in, old timey country music blocking the hiss of espresso, intent expression signaling my unusual-for-me focus to my neighbors and friends. Words words words out. My only writer's block was the block I put against doubt and pause and sloth and backwards-looking and judgment. It was a month-long push.
By the end of November 2009, in keeping with NaNoWriMo, I had reached 50,000 words—and a rough story that stopped abruptly with nothing resolved. So I buckled down and spent the next ten months putting the final 40,000 words together.
Then I edited. And edited. Then I asked people to read it, starting with a literate novel-reading writing librarian who's kind enough to live with me. And then a friendly police officer to advise on technical matters. A former literary agent. A publisher of textbooks. An honors English teacher. Other writers. Wise people. Good people.
I saved their responses. I bundled them up in stacks. I ran another marathon. Wrote some podcast scripts. Worked a day job. Traveled. Journaled. Attempted wit on social media. Opposed bad developments in town. Passed the stack each morning on my way down to get dressed.
And would occasionally lose myself in thinking about my characters, who did things I didn't control. I asked a friend once in the city, while attending a memorial for an artist friend who hadn't finished, why one character did some things that my readers found objectionable, but which I cheered. Not having met her, he suggested something in her past. It clicked. It went in.
Then I got to the part where I kind of looked around and said this is done. And it was done, it tailed off, I knew there'd be more effort but this was good. I did what you do, which is you think and say this is saleable. You really think this is readable, but the books and everything else say you're supposed to jump that little hedge one side of which is art and the other side of which is commerce and it's such a short hedge and it's hardly any jump at all. So, it was readable. By commercial people.
One of my readers, as mentioned, is a publisher of textbooks. When I began pitching the book to agents he casually said "let me know if you want me to publish it." And I said something like "wow, thanks, good to know, Plan B," etc.
This next part is a complex emotion that's its own post, but it's a melange of impatience, ego, sound judgment, experience, self-confidence (not ego—the real stuff, the stuff that comes so hard and takes so long and maybe has something to do with decades of holding down high-functioning jobs and running marathons and raising kids and proving oneself to oneself until one's forced to think maaaayyyybe one is competent) and excitement, and it told me to stop pitching the book after about six weeks of the agent search and just surrender to what had been placed before me, which was a friend offering to help.
More to come. In the meantime, the book's called Bone Hollow and you can buy it here.
•
Oh, and that Writing Down the Bones one. And that's probably it. I mean, except for Coaching the Artist Within. And How to Write and Sell Your First Novel. Then the supplemental info: John Gardner's The Art of Fiction, Joseph Campbell, Strunk and White, various journalism and marketing writing texts. That ripoff Elmore Leonard book I thought was a book but was really 10 cartoons.
I ended up with a stack of about a dozen. I took that as a sign that I was ready.
There's a website—you know it—that encourages people to write a novel in November, and I planned to succeed this time. Somehow, I guess because I surrendered to what I knew I had to do, I did it. Every (or most) mornings, wrapped in a blanket at 5:30 in a dark living room, the house asleep, the skunks wandering home past my window, I'd type. Pound it out. Don't look back. Jot down the spelling and first name of the antagonist. Write forward. Butt in chair. Those books all said the same thing.
It's likely that the difference this time, compared to the other two times I'd tried to write a novel, was that I had trained for and run three marathons before I sat down to write this one. My body and mind now understand the sustained nature of effort required to whittle an unimaginably large task down, atom by atom, step by step, word by word, bird by— whatever. Something clicked. (Keys, yes. Keys.)
Weekends, I was granted hours to go to the local coffee shop and spend solid afternoons there, headphones in, old timey country music blocking the hiss of espresso, intent expression signaling my unusual-for-me focus to my neighbors and friends. Words words words out. My only writer's block was the block I put against doubt and pause and sloth and backwards-looking and judgment. It was a month-long push.
By the end of November 2009, in keeping with NaNoWriMo, I had reached 50,000 words—and a rough story that stopped abruptly with nothing resolved. So I buckled down and spent the next ten months putting the final 40,000 words together.
Then I edited. And edited. Then I asked people to read it, starting with a literate novel-reading writing librarian who's kind enough to live with me. And then a friendly police officer to advise on technical matters. A former literary agent. A publisher of textbooks. An honors English teacher. Other writers. Wise people. Good people.
I saved their responses. I bundled them up in stacks. I ran another marathon. Wrote some podcast scripts. Worked a day job. Traveled. Journaled. Attempted wit on social media. Opposed bad developments in town. Passed the stack each morning on my way down to get dressed.
Then I got to the part where I kind of looked around and said this is done. And it was done, it tailed off, I knew there'd be more effort but this was good. I did what you do, which is you think and say this is saleable. You really think this is readable, but the books and everything else say you're supposed to jump that little hedge one side of which is art and the other side of which is commerce and it's such a short hedge and it's hardly any jump at all. So, it was readable. By commercial people.
One of my readers, as mentioned, is a publisher of textbooks. When I began pitching the book to agents he casually said "let me know if you want me to publish it." And I said something like "wow, thanks, good to know, Plan B," etc.
This next part is a complex emotion that's its own post, but it's a melange of impatience, ego, sound judgment, experience, self-confidence (not ego—the real stuff, the stuff that comes so hard and takes so long and maybe has something to do with decades of holding down high-functioning jobs and running marathons and raising kids and proving oneself to oneself until one's forced to think maaaayyyybe one is competent) and excitement, and it told me to stop pitching the book after about six weeks of the agent search and just surrender to what had been placed before me, which was a friend offering to help.
More to come. In the meantime, the book's called Bone Hollow and you can buy it here.
•
Bone Hollow: A Hudson Heartland Mystery, by Bill Braine
February 2015. More to come.
•
Whew, but
Oh, boy, I am about to bring it down.
I’m conflicted about Thanksgiving. Grateful, of course, for many of the people and things in my life—and trying to be cognizant of the luck that brought them to me.
That'd be the hardest thing for me to understand if I were religious, I think: why me? Religion is most damaging, I suspect, when it provides its adherents with unassailable confidence that their advantages, when they have them, are intentional, and that others’ misfortune is part of a plan that’s out of their control. Similarly, the religious downtrodden are also to believe that their misfortune is visited upon them by design, but that they just need to get through this trial and glory will be theirs. (Those are poles, of course, and I know that religious experience is a spectrum.)
So the religious powerful believe they are meant to be powerful, and they see any sharing of that power as a change to the natural order of things. The loss of that power—or of any part of it—is grounds for war and oppression.
I’m an atheist, and I like to think that the closest I get to a religious belief is “shit happens.” But seriously, who am I kidding? I believe I’m chosen, too. Mentally, I remind myself that it’s luck; that I was born white and male to literate parents with good jobs in a stable society etc etc etc. But you live a life like mine for 45 years—and yes, I’ve done some reasonably hard work in that time to maintain my advantages, but it’s work that was available to me because of my advantages—the mantra of “hey, it’s just luck and a little bit of work” starts to sound like reality.
Over time, “I’m lucky” can be just as insidious as “I’m chosen.”
You start to believe that because you’re lucky, things are supposed to be a certain way for you. You are unsurprised by others’ misfortune, even when you feel terrible about it. “Not lucky,” you sort-of think, and you feel sympathy. You donate to charities that purport to help certain categories of unlucky people. You do things to maintain your luck, like lose weight and get checkups and check out crime stats for potential homes, so it feels a little more earned. Even though, yeah, you have a measure of control over those things because of privilege. Privilege tends to be invisible when you have it. (As the young fish said, “what the fuck is water?”)
Like “I’m chosen,” “I’m lucky” can also provide great cover for those moments of entitlement used to justify rule-breaking, selfishness, unkindness.
People call this conflict I’m feeling “Privilege Guilt,” and seek to explain it away with that, kind of dismissively, like its cousin Liberal White Guilt. I suppose I feel sort of guilty—more for the bad things I’ve done (mostly when much younger) under cover of the unassailable confidence bestowed by “I’m lucky” than just for being lucky and privileged—but it’s more like awareness. I know I’m privileged by my gender, orientation, skin color and economic starting point, and I know it’s unfair, and it’s increasingly hard to swim ignorantly in that stream. But to acknowledge it reads like guilt to those who just don’t see it. Because it challenges them to acknowledge something they don’t want to, and what wells up in them is that same defensive anger that anyone feels at a challenge to their deep-seated worldview. I, a non-religious, privileged person that has done okay thinking “I’m lucky” (and therefore unconsciously feeling unaccountable for others’ misfortune), feel that defensive anger when I feel challenged about my privilege—“you can’t mean ME, of course; I’m well aware of how lucky I am, I’m regretful over past unkindnesses that I got away with because of privilege, and I donate and march over injustice and post correctly on social media. So take your criticism someplace else.”
It’s almost the opposite of guilt, really. It’s justification. It’s like, I have already done my sacrifices to awareness of my privilege, so look elsewhere for sinners. I am not guilty. But I don’t know, maybe it’s just awareness.
Anyway, that brings me to Thanksgiving, and finally to Ferguson and Newburgh and White Plains and New York City, and to Cleveland and video games and to Occupy—all places that matter to me peripherally or centrally—and all places where my kind have been sticking it to others, from casual disrespect through threats and intimidation to theft, systemic armed oppression and murder, for a long time.
As an atheist, Thanksgiving has always felt like “Whew!” as opposed to “thank you.” And for a time it’s felt like a somewhat tempered “whew,” like “whew, but…” And now, this morning, it feels more like anger. Anger that’s equally split between me and The System.
For instance, in addition to my unpopular atheism, I’m also not much of a tv guy. But I’m at my family’s place and there are lots of kids around and we had the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade on this morning. My friend tweeted “Looks like the theme of this parade is ‘EVERYTHING IN THIS COUNTRY IS FINE.’” He’s right, and watching the parade pisses me off. The willful forced grin of complicity. Looking at Facebook and seeing people sharing racist diatribes on stars-and-stripes backgrounds pisses me off. (Nothing you’ve posted, if you’re reading this on FB.) Reading the resentment of others’ suffering and desperation. Reading others' fear of non-whites or non-males encroaching on spaces that people took to be their own, unchallengeable, realms.
So I’m angry, and yeah, maybe a little guilty. Because I’m still lucky! Because I’m home amid a large, loving family, on my way to my aunt and uncle’s house where there are even more of this far-flung tribe, and if someone came over and said “you know this is all stolen” I’d be like “you can’t mean THIS turkey, of course; I’m well aware of how lucky I am, I’m regretful over past unkindnesses that I got away with because of privilege, and I donate and march over injustice and post correctly on social media. So take your criticism someplace else. I have already done my sacrifices to awareness of my privilege, so look elsewhere for sinners. We are not guilty.”
But still: a lot of it IS stolen. Not BY ME, mostly. But I’m in possession of stolen property. I’m angry at myself because I don’t want to give it back. I’m angry at the System because it’s shouting “EVERYTHING IS FINE, YOUR PRIVILEGE IS OKAY. Keep that stuff, don’t you like nice stuff?” I’m angry at people who don’t agree with me that we haven’t earned everything we’ve got.
Kinda tough to formulate a sentimental but self-deprecatingly humorous Thanksgiving post when reflection on the things for which I’m grateful automatically reminds me of the 1:1 opposite-day loss experienced by those from whom those same things have been stolen and are still being stolen. I’m grateful/lucky to be with my family on Thanksgiving: protestors in LA are jailed for Thanksgiving if they can’t come up with $500 bail. I’m grateful/lucky to be with my kids: how many black families have an empty seat at their table? Etc, etc, etc.
So here are some drafts: “If you recently compared mourners, protestors, or rioters to animals, I hope you die under a pile of toaster ovens this Friday.” “I’m considering shopping today as much as possible, out of spite.” “Let’s all enjoy our turkey but” —and can’t think of a closer. Those are NOT Thanksgiving winners.
That’s why, if you’re still reading, you’re reading this. This is my attempt. The fact that I am struggling to express gratitude amidst the bounty and relative security in which I dwell is ludicrous. Yet, there it is. Maybe it’s this: I'm incredibly thankful and cognizant of my luck. But gratitude and cognizance of luck don’t necessarily make me happy.
Here are some people doing good work (among many others, no doubt, including lots of you):
https://www.stlouis-mo.gov/government/departments/aldermen/profiles/antonio-french.cfm
http://www.theatlantic.com/ta-nehisi-coates/
https://twitter.com/spacekatgal
https://twitter.com/adrianchen
https://www.facebook.com/AnneLamott
http://rollingjubilee.org
http://www.woundedwarriorproject.org
Despite the foregoing, I am having, and truly wish you all, a very happy Thanksgiving.
•
The Walking Fool
My pal Mark E. Phillips walked across the USA 1.5 times. He brought a camera and a mic, and now he's making a documentary. (This is an appeal to fund it.)
Why will Mark's cross-country walk be any more interesting than anyone else's? Well, he created and starred in a hilarious NYC public access show in the 90s/00s (Playpants 4eva!), and he contributes to film projects and acts in TV and movies now. He's got a comic's pacing, a journalist's eye and a guru's knowledge about walking. Beyond his own footage and interviews with people who helped him along the way, he's featuring other cross-country walkers (a diverse and slightly weird set)—so it's not just about him, or about the cross-country walk phenomenon, but about bigger issues of meaning, motion, time, and progress. Plus: 'Murica.
There's a strong team dedicated to making The Walking Fool - Documentary happen, which means your backing will actually result in a finished product you can enjoy and in which you'll be able to take pride.
Join me in helping this pic get made, wouldya? You won't regret it.•
Sharing Casino Wealth in Upstate New York
I'm generally opposed to casinos in New York State. Gambling concerns, in general, are inherently predatory and designed to consolidate wealth from many into few hands, which they do very efficiently. They come with associated social ills that tax the communities in regions where they reside. Their benefits to municipalities, existing business, taxpayers, job-seekers and workers are frequently overstated.
However, in New York, they seem to be a reality. There's a land-grab-money-rush-gold-snarfing thing going on in Orange and Sullivan counties that's not going to stop until something is built. And some of the proposals look like they might have fun elements. Who am I to say no? (I mean, I said no, when I voted against the proposal, but it still passed.)
So how do you mitigate the harm that may arise from one of these massive projects being built near economically sensitive cities or in a depressed region? How do you work to ensure that some benefits do accrue?
Some suggestions come to mind, like: Diversify the project so it's not totally gambling-centric. Make use of existing or traditional recreational areas that have some infrastructure to support the new facility. Site it reasonably close to New York City so that it is more likely to draw tourists from out of state instead of preying on locals. Require a high minimum wage for all jobs, good benefits, and similar requirements from subcontractors.
And, close to my heart, insist on New York State procurement. Not just for the construction and materials, and later for the employees, but also for the ongoing provisioning of the bars, hotels, restaurants, spas, recreational facilities, kitchens, gaming centers, cleaning supply closets, and everything else.
I used a popular search engine and my own experience to find some likely suppliers of value-added goods that are either manufactured in or largely sourced from within New York State. (Note that this list doesn't include farm vegetable produce, which is a whole other category that should be locally sourced.) While some of these concerns are boutique or small-scale producers, their products are thus all the more "New York," and a guaranteed volume of business from a casino customer could enable them to diversify their customer base and grow further. There are doubtless hundreds or thousands more.
Bostree Porcelain, Sugarloaf NY
Malfatti Glass, Beacon NY
Newburgh Brewery, Newburgh NY
Black Dirt Distillery, Warwick NY
Ulster Linen, Islip NY
Tuthilltown Spirits, Gardiner NY
Edgwick Farm, Cornwall NY
Stickley Furniture, Manlius NY
Crowley Foods, Lafargeville NY
Chobani Yogurt, New Berlin NY
Liberty Tabletop, Sherrill NY
You know they're going to have bottled water available. New York has decent water.
But take it further. What about tech assets? Server space? What about business services? Website development, marketing, design, legal services, even custom typography? How about energy? How much can be drawn from renewables generated in New York State? (And, off-topic, require some electric car charging stations—maybe a Tesla supercharger.)
All of these could be sourced from within the Empire State north of the Bronx, to circulate some of the revenue back into economies that need it, even those far from the specific casino sites. That's how casinos can truly create jobs, allowing businesses to get established and scale to serve other in- and out-of-state markets, creating a positive cash flow into upstate New York's manufacturing, service, renewable energy, tech, and distribution sectors.
Any evaluation of proposals should give preference to—or require—New York State procurement commitments from these large proposed projects.
•
However, in New York, they seem to be a reality. There's a land-grab-money-rush-gold-snarfing thing going on in Orange and Sullivan counties that's not going to stop until something is built. And some of the proposals look like they might have fun elements. Who am I to say no? (I mean, I said no, when I voted against the proposal, but it still passed.)
So how do you mitigate the harm that may arise from one of these massive projects being built near economically sensitive cities or in a depressed region? How do you work to ensure that some benefits do accrue?
Some suggestions come to mind, like: Diversify the project so it's not totally gambling-centric. Make use of existing or traditional recreational areas that have some infrastructure to support the new facility. Site it reasonably close to New York City so that it is more likely to draw tourists from out of state instead of preying on locals. Require a high minimum wage for all jobs, good benefits, and similar requirements from subcontractors.
And, close to my heart, insist on New York State procurement. Not just for the construction and materials, and later for the employees, but also for the ongoing provisioning of the bars, hotels, restaurants, spas, recreational facilities, kitchens, gaming centers, cleaning supply closets, and everything else.
I used a popular search engine and my own experience to find some likely suppliers of value-added goods that are either manufactured in or largely sourced from within New York State. (Note that this list doesn't include farm vegetable produce, which is a whole other category that should be locally sourced.) While some of these concerns are boutique or small-scale producers, their products are thus all the more "New York," and a guaranteed volume of business from a casino customer could enable them to diversify their customer base and grow further. There are doubtless hundreds or thousands more.
Bostree Porcelain, Sugarloaf NY
Malfatti Glass, Beacon NY
Newburgh Brewery, Newburgh NY
Black Dirt Distillery, Warwick NY
Ulster Linen, Islip NY
Tuthilltown Spirits, Gardiner NY
Edgwick Farm, Cornwall NY
Stickley Furniture, Manlius NY
Crowley Foods, Lafargeville NY
Chobani Yogurt, New Berlin NY
Liberty Tabletop, Sherrill NY
You know they're going to have bottled water available. New York has decent water.
But take it further. What about tech assets? Server space? What about business services? Website development, marketing, design, legal services, even custom typography? How about energy? How much can be drawn from renewables generated in New York State? (And, off-topic, require some electric car charging stations—maybe a Tesla supercharger.)
All of these could be sourced from within the Empire State north of the Bronx, to circulate some of the revenue back into economies that need it, even those far from the specific casino sites. That's how casinos can truly create jobs, allowing businesses to get established and scale to serve other in- and out-of-state markets, creating a positive cash flow into upstate New York's manufacturing, service, renewable energy, tech, and distribution sectors.
Any evaluation of proposals should give preference to—or require—New York State procurement commitments from these large proposed projects.
•
Getting On with James Urbaniak, Episode 19: "New Day, New You"
I've written a third episode of the actor James Urbaniak's podcast, named one of the 20 best comedy podcasts "right now" by Rolling Stone. In this one, which rewards the long-time listener, James announces the final episode of his call-in advice program. Guest starring John DiMaggio, Phil LaMarr and Judith Shelton.
•
•
Getting on with James Urbaniak, Episode 16: "Buyer's Remorse"
I wrote the latest episode of the actor James Urbaniak's podcast, "a monthly radio drama wherein James navigates the darkly comedic recesses of his troubled yet charming mind." Give a listen as an impulsive art purchase provokes second thoughts. A particular auction house is referenced fictitiously.
•
•
Hudson Valley West Holiday Shopping Gift Guide
If you want to give Hudson Valley gifts this season and don't live nearby (or if your recipients don't live here), here are a few candidates.
I met Elizabeth Ryan on a recent country drive, tried some cider, and got to talking. She's got a lot of sense when it comes to apples and land preservation. Hard cider is good, and easy, and this kit makes it even easier. So buy it for the apple of your eye. (Williams-Sonoma also offers Ms. Ryan's Mead Making Kit, which you can buy for your honey.) (You can also help with Elizabeth's fundraising campaign to preserve Stone Ridge Orchard as a working farm.)
2. A REAL, FRESH NEW YORK PIZZA SHIPPED ANYWHERE IN THE US
Prima Pizza, of Cornwall NY, has been shipping pizzas around the country for years. As they say it: "Your pizza is cooked to perfection and sealed in a special package using a unique process. It is then ready to be shipped via FedEx (or other overnight delivery service) right to your door the next day by either 10:30am or 3:00pm. All you have to do is heat/cook the pie to your preference. Buon Apetito!" I haven't had one of their shipped pizzas, but I've had dozens of their oven-fresh ones, which are true high-quality New York pies. December 26th dinner, anyone?
3. ORANGE COUNTY CHOPPERS MEN'S SLEEVELESS WORK SHIRT
There's no shortage of cool gear available online from the nation's best-known custom chopper designers and fabricators (their new show premiered on CMT last week), but this particular shirt is modeled by patriarch (and secretly nice guy) Paul Senior.
4. WOODCARVING by CLAY BOONE
Custom woodcarving by a true master. This is a consultative purchase with prices in the high three figures (and up, I assume), which will make sense when you look at the pictures of Mr. Boone's work.
5. THREE thingCHARGERS
It's a plug-in charging station for your devices that looks like an outlet and leaves your outlets free for, like, blenders and whatnot. Switchable "power tips" make it work for any device (the tips store in the back), it has two USB ports on the bottom just in case, and there are NO WIRES. Your phone, tablet, etc., stands directly on the thingCHARGER. You can even plug them into each other to charge more than one device on the same outlet -- again, without taking up the outlet! Invented about a mile from where I'm typing this, by some nice people I know. It's launching on indiegogo (having reached 800% of its funding target), and pre-orders will ship in 2014.
6. A MASK from INTO LEATHER
Sugar Loaf, NY, is an artisans community making everything from soap to furniture. If you can't get there, many of the manufacturers, like Paula and Elie Aji of Into Leather, ship their products. If you're into leather but not into masks, you can also get a jacket or a cool bag or a belt or other clothing and accessories. You're into leather, right?
7. THIS COOL BRONZE BIRD FEEDER from BRIDGES OVER TIME ANTIQUES
Bridges Over Time of Newburgh, NY offers its inventory through 1stDibs, which will ask you to create an account to view prices. This piece caught my eye, but there's plenty more where that came from.
8. A PRINT from HUDSON VALLEY GALLERY
Order by phone for prints of original paintings by Hudson Valley artist Paul Gould, like this vibrant view of a local scene.
9. GO ARMY BLACK KNIGHTS IPAD CASE
For the sports fan/patriot/aspiring officer on your list, the West Point Black Knights lend their distinctive team identity to all manner of cool gear, clothing, and more.
10. A US NAVY SHIP CAP from MILITARY GIFTS
Hint: if you're shopping for me from this Port Jervis concern, here's the ship to specify.
11. 2014 CALENDAR from MOHONK IMAGES
Give your family and friends the chance to look at the beauty of the Mohonk Preserve year-round, wherever they are. (The photos are ridiculously gorgeous.)
12. MOISTURIZING LOTION from HUDSON HARMONY
Based in New Windsor, NY, these soaps and lotions are a favorite at area farmer's and craft markets.
13. A PAIR OF MUCKLUCKS from ROCK RIDGE ALPACAS
Furry friends from Chester (home of Neufchatel cheese and the legendary horse Hambletonian) have been shorn to provide your loved ones with these comfy high-top slippers.
14. A POUND OF COSTA RICAN TARRAZU COFFEE from MONKEY JOE
- I looked for regionally produced items you can order online and have shipped.
- I also tried to find a range of item types, from the homey and traditional to the chromium-steel badass.
- Yes, I would like your money to remain in, or enter, the region where I live.
- No, no one asked me to do this.
- I kept my focus on the west side of the Hudson to the Delaware, from the Highlands to the foothills of the Catskills.
- Suggestions? Please comment, keeping in mind ease of ordering/shipping specific items, produced on the west side of the Hudson River in Orange, Ulster, and southern Sullivan counties.
I met Elizabeth Ryan on a recent country drive, tried some cider, and got to talking. She's got a lot of sense when it comes to apples and land preservation. Hard cider is good, and easy, and this kit makes it even easier. So buy it for the apple of your eye. (Williams-Sonoma also offers Ms. Ryan's Mead Making Kit, which you can buy for your honey.) (You can also help with Elizabeth's fundraising campaign to preserve Stone Ridge Orchard as a working farm.)
2. A REAL, FRESH NEW YORK PIZZA SHIPPED ANYWHERE IN THE US
Prima Pizza, of Cornwall NY, has been shipping pizzas around the country for years. As they say it: "Your pizza is cooked to perfection and sealed in a special package using a unique process. It is then ready to be shipped via FedEx (or other overnight delivery service) right to your door the next day by either 10:30am or 3:00pm. All you have to do is heat/cook the pie to your preference. Buon Apetito!" I haven't had one of their shipped pizzas, but I've had dozens of their oven-fresh ones, which are true high-quality New York pies. December 26th dinner, anyone?
3. ORANGE COUNTY CHOPPERS MEN'S SLEEVELESS WORK SHIRT
There's no shortage of cool gear available online from the nation's best-known custom chopper designers and fabricators (their new show premiered on CMT last week), but this particular shirt is modeled by patriarch (and secretly nice guy) Paul Senior.
4. WOODCARVING by CLAY BOONE
Custom woodcarving by a true master. This is a consultative purchase with prices in the high three figures (and up, I assume), which will make sense when you look at the pictures of Mr. Boone's work.
5. THREE thingCHARGERS
It's a plug-in charging station for your devices that looks like an outlet and leaves your outlets free for, like, blenders and whatnot. Switchable "power tips" make it work for any device (the tips store in the back), it has two USB ports on the bottom just in case, and there are NO WIRES. Your phone, tablet, etc., stands directly on the thingCHARGER. You can even plug them into each other to charge more than one device on the same outlet -- again, without taking up the outlet! Invented about a mile from where I'm typing this, by some nice people I know. It's launching on indiegogo (having reached 800% of its funding target), and pre-orders will ship in 2014.
6. A MASK from INTO LEATHER
Sugar Loaf, NY, is an artisans community making everything from soap to furniture. If you can't get there, many of the manufacturers, like Paula and Elie Aji of Into Leather, ship their products. If you're into leather but not into masks, you can also get a jacket or a cool bag or a belt or other clothing and accessories. You're into leather, right?
7. THIS COOL BRONZE BIRD FEEDER from BRIDGES OVER TIME ANTIQUES
Bridges Over Time of Newburgh, NY offers its inventory through 1stDibs, which will ask you to create an account to view prices. This piece caught my eye, but there's plenty more where that came from.
8. A PRINT from HUDSON VALLEY GALLERY
Order by phone for prints of original paintings by Hudson Valley artist Paul Gould, like this vibrant view of a local scene.
9. GO ARMY BLACK KNIGHTS IPAD CASE
For the sports fan/patriot/aspiring officer on your list, the West Point Black Knights lend their distinctive team identity to all manner of cool gear, clothing, and more.
10. A US NAVY SHIP CAP from MILITARY GIFTS
Hint: if you're shopping for me from this Port Jervis concern, here's the ship to specify.
11. 2014 CALENDAR from MOHONK IMAGES
Give your family and friends the chance to look at the beauty of the Mohonk Preserve year-round, wherever they are. (The photos are ridiculously gorgeous.)
12. MOISTURIZING LOTION from HUDSON HARMONY
Based in New Windsor, NY, these soaps and lotions are a favorite at area farmer's and craft markets.
13. A PAIR OF MUCKLUCKS from ROCK RIDGE ALPACAS
Furry friends from Chester (home of Neufchatel cheese and the legendary horse Hambletonian) have been shorn to provide your loved ones with these comfy high-top slippers.
14. A POUND OF COSTA RICAN TARRAZU COFFEE from MONKEY JOE
"One of the world's greatest coffees - light, clean flavor, wonderful fragrance. Silky, full bodied with rich acidity. Well-balanced with a lingering aftertaste." Rain Forest Alliance certified, and roasted in Kingston, NY.
15. SEEDS from the HUDSON VALLEY SEED LIBRARY
"Ken Greene started the Seed Library in 2004 while working as a Librarian at the Gardiner Public Library. Having developed a strong interest in preserving heirloom seed varieties, he decided to add them to the library catalog so that patrons could 'check them out,' grow them in their home gardens, and then 'return' saved seed at the end of the season." They've since branched out in their Accord HQ, offering apparel and artwork in addition to seeds.
16. BALANCING BAMBOO WINE BOTTLE HOLDER from STYLO FURNITURE & DESIGN
Your mother-in-law likes a nice bottle of wine, doesn't she? This holder, hand-made in Cornwall-on-Hudson by Randy Hornman, makes a great conversation piece and offers a beautiful way to display your favorite vintage. Keeps the cork wet, too, if your MIL's not cracking it open right away.
17. PINT GLASSES from NEWBURGH BREWING COMPANY
When I started this list, the guys at Newburgh Brewing didn't have an online store to share their great logo designs with the wider beer-loving world. Their beer and ale is served for miles around (as well as in their incredible taproom) and now you can get the right glass to enjoy it at home -- or make another brew feel better about itself.
15. SEEDS from the HUDSON VALLEY SEED LIBRARY
"Ken Greene started the Seed Library in 2004 while working as a Librarian at the Gardiner Public Library. Having developed a strong interest in preserving heirloom seed varieties, he decided to add them to the library catalog so that patrons could 'check them out,' grow them in their home gardens, and then 'return' saved seed at the end of the season." They've since branched out in their Accord HQ, offering apparel and artwork in addition to seeds.
16. BALANCING BAMBOO WINE BOTTLE HOLDER from STYLO FURNITURE & DESIGN
Your mother-in-law likes a nice bottle of wine, doesn't she? This holder, hand-made in Cornwall-on-Hudson by Randy Hornman, makes a great conversation piece and offers a beautiful way to display your favorite vintage. Keeps the cork wet, too, if your MIL's not cracking it open right away.
17. PINT GLASSES from NEWBURGH BREWING COMPANY
When I started this list, the guys at Newburgh Brewing didn't have an online store to share their great logo designs with the wider beer-loving world. Their beer and ale is served for miles around (as well as in their incredible taproom) and now you can get the right glass to enjoy it at home -- or make another brew feel better about itself.
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The Most Valuable Skill
Outcomes are easy to visualize. Process, less so.
When my parents moved into the house I mostly grew up in (I was two), my mother apparently said "first thing we do is change this kitchen around," which they did 20 years later.
Readers of this blog will remember that in 2007 I wrote an AWFUL LOT about fixing the drainage around our foundation, which we did in 2013.
I know how the launch party for my first novel goes. You are invited.
Yesterday men came and ground our road up into pebbles, then laid the pebbles back down and shaved and graded them and rolled them flat in preparation for laying down new blacktop. (This was to replace the dug-up roadway where the sewer and drainage lines had been installed back in January and February.)
(Yeah, we had the drainage project done in January and February. When it started, it was going to be a ten-day job—because outcomes are easy to visualize—and the ten-day forecast was for temperatures in the 40s. It wasn't a ten-day job. Temperatures were not in the 40s.)
One night a few years ago, around New Year's Day, a logical, disciplined woman who lives with me and I went out for a date and took a notebook and drew a timeline of our lives. Things like college dates, anniversaries, milestone birthdays, retirement &c. (There was an asterisk at the bottom indicating that all future events were speculative and conditional.) Since then each year we've collaborated on a big brown sheet of craft paper capturing all the stuff we want to pay attention to that year. Outcomes, mostly.
But what I love is what happens on that paper throughout the year. It gets rolled up and put on top of the washing machine in the alcove in the front room (we call it the parlor, because fancy). It gets unrolled, usually by me, okay, during stressful moments, just to make sure we're on track. We amend it. Check things off. X out stuff we don't care about anymore, or that we've written off as eggnog-driven delusions. Sometimes we write in interim steps toward a goal. We see the year unscroll. Process.
The thing I'm trying to show myself, when I pause, is that even the goals are process. Late tonight, feeling an urge, I sat down to write something and faced the usual wall of dull facts staring at me about blogging: it's not important; it's not advancing your career; it's not your best work; it's not your novel; your big revelations were captured in English in the early 1800s and by the ancient Greeks before that and by you in 2008; &c.
But, outcomes. The first thing we do is change this kitchen around. Someday I'm going to get that water problem fixed. Gonna publish that book. You can't do an outcome. You can only plug away. That's where I think I meant to be going with this. An easy message that had to be approached obliquely, worried at, whittled down to, before it could be reached: Plugging away is the most valuable skill. I've highlighted it for the kids. Outcomes don't even matter, really, when you plug away.
Said all this before, of course. Nothing new here. Except, in a day or two, someone's going to repave my road. And after, I'll unroll the big sheet of craft paper labeled 2013 and I'll check off "repave." I'll tweak a scene in that manuscript. I'll look back at the sheet and see that "insulation" is next and I'll look at the life timeline and I'll see we're right where we hoped we'd be: alive. Doing things. Plugging away.
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When my parents moved into the house I mostly grew up in (I was two), my mother apparently said "first thing we do is change this kitchen around," which they did 20 years later.
Readers of this blog will remember that in 2007 I wrote an AWFUL LOT about fixing the drainage around our foundation, which we did in 2013.
I know how the launch party for my first novel goes. You are invited.
Yesterday men came and ground our road up into pebbles, then laid the pebbles back down and shaved and graded them and rolled them flat in preparation for laying down new blacktop. (This was to replace the dug-up roadway where the sewer and drainage lines had been installed back in January and February.)
(Yeah, we had the drainage project done in January and February. When it started, it was going to be a ten-day job—because outcomes are easy to visualize—and the ten-day forecast was for temperatures in the 40s. It wasn't a ten-day job. Temperatures were not in the 40s.)
One night a few years ago, around New Year's Day, a logical, disciplined woman who lives with me and I went out for a date and took a notebook and drew a timeline of our lives. Things like college dates, anniversaries, milestone birthdays, retirement &c. (There was an asterisk at the bottom indicating that all future events were speculative and conditional.) Since then each year we've collaborated on a big brown sheet of craft paper capturing all the stuff we want to pay attention to that year. Outcomes, mostly.
But what I love is what happens on that paper throughout the year. It gets rolled up and put on top of the washing machine in the alcove in the front room (we call it the parlor, because fancy). It gets unrolled, usually by me, okay, during stressful moments, just to make sure we're on track. We amend it. Check things off. X out stuff we don't care about anymore, or that we've written off as eggnog-driven delusions. Sometimes we write in interim steps toward a goal. We see the year unscroll. Process.
The thing I'm trying to show myself, when I pause, is that even the goals are process. Late tonight, feeling an urge, I sat down to write something and faced the usual wall of dull facts staring at me about blogging: it's not important; it's not advancing your career; it's not your best work; it's not your novel; your big revelations were captured in English in the early 1800s and by the ancient Greeks before that and by you in 2008; &c.
But, outcomes. The first thing we do is change this kitchen around. Someday I'm going to get that water problem fixed. Gonna publish that book. You can't do an outcome. You can only plug away. That's where I think I meant to be going with this. An easy message that had to be approached obliquely, worried at, whittled down to, before it could be reached: Plugging away is the most valuable skill. I've highlighted it for the kids. Outcomes don't even matter, really, when you plug away.
Said all this before, of course. Nothing new here. Except, in a day or two, someone's going to repave my road. And after, I'll unroll the big sheet of craft paper labeled 2013 and I'll check off "repave." I'll tweak a scene in that manuscript. I'll look back at the sheet and see that "insulation" is next and I'll look at the life timeline and I'll see we're right where we hoped we'd be: alive. Doing things. Plugging away.
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Skip to the Link at the Bottom of this Post, as You Would Go to the Bottom of an Onion to Eat It
Sometimes I drive around the region where I live and talk with farmers. I've never had a bad conversation with a farmer. One Texan rancher I interviewed for a magazine article eighteen years ago was a racist and mentioned it, but otherwise no. Farmers tend to be really interesting.
So when one offered me a bag of onions last weekend because I pleased him via Twitter, I threw a couple of digital devices into the back of the car as bait for the kids, then begged a supportive and onion-friendly woman who lives with me to go driving. Our path led south, into the Black Dirt region. Once we piled out of the car near Pine Island, NY, onion farmer Chris Pawelski informed me that I was standing on the largest patch of U.S. muck outside of the Everglades.
Good ol' muck.
The Black Dirt region was formerly known as the Drowned Lands. Chris's family has been farming onions in that muck—the incredibly rich soil of the Walkill River floodplain, deposited over eons when what's now the Walkill was the Hudson's route to the sea—for four generations. He's good at it. The bag he gave us has yielded one tasty soup so far. The remaining 49.5 pounds will take us deep into next year.
Back to the muck real quick: Chris told me that some of the topsoil in the Black Dirt is 18 feet deep. (That's a lot.)
He also told me a few other things. In fact, what happened when I met Chris was that he engaged me in fascinating conversation about onion farming, about the region, about its soil, about the way political realities impact the people who farm it, about the history of his house and family, about the time he tried to sell a bag of onions on eBay for $150,000, and about this one time when some guys came prowling around looking to steal scrap metal. Although we only visited for a half hour, he covered a lot—and he didn't seem to talk fast. He even asked questions and got our story.
There's something about the way Chris talks. He's an incredibly engaging storyteller. Clearly (he's going to read this but I'll say anyway) he's honed a lot of his stories over time. He commutes to Washington and Albany only somewhat less than he commutes out to his Black Dirt fields. When he enters the corridors of power, he demands (and attracts) audience with his representatives, and works with them to help farmers. His messages are tight.
Now we come down to the flavorful bulb of this entry. Chris has written a memoir focused on his pro-farms public policy work. He's the first to admit it's a little raw right now. Cracking it open, you might find it a little rough-flavored, and strong, like an onion freshly pulled from the soil. However, he's found an editor who has promised to julienne it—maybe sauté it in a little butter, put it on low and stir for 40 minutes (or a few weeks) to get it caramelized perfectly.
But a good chef don't work for free.
...Which brings me to the very root: a request. What do I ask? I ask that you help unlock the rich dark flavors of Chris Pawelski's "Muckville" memoir with a donation to his Kickstarter campaign, which will finance a professional edit.
Chris's Kickstarter.
If you need more convincing, dice an onion (you have one) and throw it in a pan with some butter over a medium-low heat. Wait two minutes. Inhale.
•
So when one offered me a bag of onions last weekend because I pleased him via Twitter, I threw a couple of digital devices into the back of the car as bait for the kids, then begged a supportive and onion-friendly woman who lives with me to go driving. Our path led south, into the Black Dirt region. Once we piled out of the car near Pine Island, NY, onion farmer Chris Pawelski informed me that I was standing on the largest patch of U.S. muck outside of the Everglades.
Good ol' muck.
The Black Dirt region was formerly known as the Drowned Lands. Chris's family has been farming onions in that muck—the incredibly rich soil of the Walkill River floodplain, deposited over eons when what's now the Walkill was the Hudson's route to the sea—for four generations. He's good at it. The bag he gave us has yielded one tasty soup so far. The remaining 49.5 pounds will take us deep into next year.
Back to the muck real quick: Chris told me that some of the topsoil in the Black Dirt is 18 feet deep. (That's a lot.)
He also told me a few other things. In fact, what happened when I met Chris was that he engaged me in fascinating conversation about onion farming, about the region, about its soil, about the way political realities impact the people who farm it, about the history of his house and family, about the time he tried to sell a bag of onions on eBay for $150,000, and about this one time when some guys came prowling around looking to steal scrap metal. Although we only visited for a half hour, he covered a lot—and he didn't seem to talk fast. He even asked questions and got our story.
There's something about the way Chris talks. He's an incredibly engaging storyteller. Clearly (he's going to read this but I'll say anyway) he's honed a lot of his stories over time. He commutes to Washington and Albany only somewhat less than he commutes out to his Black Dirt fields. When he enters the corridors of power, he demands (and attracts) audience with his representatives, and works with them to help farmers. His messages are tight.
Now we come down to the flavorful bulb of this entry. Chris has written a memoir focused on his pro-farms public policy work. He's the first to admit it's a little raw right now. Cracking it open, you might find it a little rough-flavored, and strong, like an onion freshly pulled from the soil. However, he's found an editor who has promised to julienne it—maybe sauté it in a little butter, put it on low and stir for 40 minutes (or a few weeks) to get it caramelized perfectly.
But a good chef don't work for free.
...Which brings me to the very root: a request. What do I ask? I ask that you help unlock the rich dark flavors of Chris Pawelski's "Muckville" memoir with a donation to his Kickstarter campaign, which will finance a professional edit.
Chris's Kickstarter.
If you need more convincing, dice an onion (you have one) and throw it in a pan with some butter over a medium-low heat. Wait two minutes. Inhale.
•
Schmoptions!
Neglected to post on Day Two, but that's okay. Because Day Three was a humdinger; sailed on the Hudson River Sloop Clearwater from Cold Spring to Poughkeepsie. Saw the Half Moon. It was cold.
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Options: Open
My friends used to compete in something they called the Triathlon of Bullshit, which I believe to have been darts, bowling and billiards in the same evening. There may have also been a drinking component.
I thought of it because I am amused at the way November has transformed into Achievement! Month! in the last few years—this gray collapse of the year made warm with effort and creativity and hair growth. November athleticism, for the more literary/social mediaesque classes, could conceivably include writing a novel while posting on one's blog and growing a mustache. Of what is that a triathlon? It is surely a triathlon of something.
This post is just to ensure that my foot's in November's door; that I haven't missed my chance to Achieve! Daily! Blog posts!
The facial hair will take care of itself; I'm growing a beard. I'm doing another "final" polish on my 2009 NaNoWriMo effort. For this triathlon, of whatever it may be, count me in.
There may be a drinking component.
•
I thought of it because I am amused at the way November has transformed into Achievement! Month! in the last few years—this gray collapse of the year made warm with effort and creativity and hair growth. November athleticism, for the more literary/social mediaesque classes, could conceivably include writing a novel while posting on one's blog and growing a mustache. Of what is that a triathlon? It is surely a triathlon of something.
This post is just to ensure that my foot's in November's door; that I haven't missed my chance to Achieve! Daily! Blog posts!
The facial hair will take care of itself; I'm growing a beard. I'm doing another "final" polish on my 2009 NaNoWriMo effort. For this triathlon, of whatever it may be, count me in.
There may be a drinking component.
•
Getting on with James Urbaniak: The Dead Thing on the Shoulder
I wrote the latest episode of James Urbaniak's fictional podcast, Getting on with James Urbaniak, titled "The Dead Thing on the Shoulder." Did you read Exurbitude during its heyday? You'll like this.
Getting On is terrific, and you ought to listen to every episode. Go.
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Getting On is terrific, and you ought to listen to every episode. Go.
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Facebook Glitch Accidentally Replaces Profile Pictures with Dollar Values
...is a hoax.
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The Common, Faithful Katydid
A friend came to visit this summer and we walked around outside after dinner to merge with the wall of sound that is the Hudson Valley on an August night. Results here.
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Close: NaBlurBloPa
Well. That approximate month of blog entries was the end of me not posting things to Exurbitude. Which is not to say that I've started writing here again -- just that I've stopped not writing here.
That said, I think "Exurbitude," as a concept, is over, given that it's been nearly ten years since we moved from New York, and more than five since I stopped working there. So the title only works on one level now; a journal of life in an exurb. Which, come on, without the dramatic motion of tearing oneself away from the city, is sort of, you know, like Newheart. Funny show, don't get me wrong. Less than instructive, though. One level? Too few by half.
THAT said, tonight I bought jeans that taper all the way down, which, as I understand it, is less a convention of farming and more one of the alleys and barrooms of the metropolis. So maybe my heart, or my ankles, or my pantsal region, still resides in Hell's Kitchen or Forest Hills or the Upper East Side, or wherever pants like that still count. (Possibly only here, from where I write -- a northern suburb of Baltimore. I haven't seen anyone else in these jeans today, though. I'll check tomorrow when we swing through Pennsylvania Dutch country, past the Shoe House, or at the Christkindlmarkt on our way home.)
I'm working on another experimental writing project, but am glad to've broken the seal on this blog. What have you been up to? Comments welcome.
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That said, I think "Exurbitude," as a concept, is over, given that it's been nearly ten years since we moved from New York, and more than five since I stopped working there. So the title only works on one level now; a journal of life in an exurb. Which, come on, without the dramatic motion of tearing oneself away from the city, is sort of, you know, like Newheart. Funny show, don't get me wrong. Less than instructive, though. One level? Too few by half.
THAT said, tonight I bought jeans that taper all the way down, which, as I understand it, is less a convention of farming and more one of the alleys and barrooms of the metropolis. So maybe my heart, or my ankles, or my pantsal region, still resides in Hell's Kitchen or Forest Hills or the Upper East Side, or wherever pants like that still count. (Possibly only here, from where I write -- a northern suburb of Baltimore. I haven't seen anyone else in these jeans today, though. I'll check tomorrow when we swing through Pennsylvania Dutch country, past the Shoe House, or at the Christkindlmarkt on our way home.)
I'm working on another experimental writing project, but am glad to've broken the seal on this blog. What have you been up to? Comments welcome.
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All I Wanna Do
Is listen to "Calamity Song" all the way through one time on my stupid cheap iPod dock in my own house, is that too much to ask (yes).
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Is Weight Watchers a Cult?
No.
(I get that search a lot. Just thought I'd save everyone some time.)
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(I get that search a lot. Just thought I'd save everyone some time.)
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Guess what I watched
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