WWII, Pearl Harbor, and Sacrifice

It’s tough not to reflect on December 7^th, 1941, and what it meant to the United States. 

Currently, my work in progress is about a thirteen-year-old boy and his life during the London Blitz.  I won’t go into detail, but writing the book has required a heftier-than-usual research load, which I absolutely love.  This time in history completely captivates me.

The late Thirties and early Forties must have been a strange time to live in.  This morning, I’ve been thumbing through my AMERICAN HERITAGE PICTURE HISTORY OF WORLD WAR II.  If there is a common theme across the borders and oceans, I think it would be sacrifice. 

As an American, December 7^th, 1941 meant a call for greater sacrifice.  The nation, possibly for the last time, set aside political, class, racial, and religious differences to band together and meet the call of duty.  Certainly, that is a romantic view of what happened, but for the most part, it is also an accurate view.

Still, it would take a few more years for the USA to get involved in Europe.  By 1941, England was on its own.  They had already weathered the Blitz but danger still surrounded them.  Europe was Hitler’s to do with what he pleased and he had begun to look east.  To Russia.

I think of my grandfathers during days like December 7^th.  One, Edward Floyd Lemox, landed on Normandy, only to be shelled by a mortar and spend the majority of his war in a London hospital.  The other, however, had a distinctly different experience. 

Lt. Lyman Cleveland Duncan was a B-17 pilot in the 463^rd Bomb Group, 775 Bomb Squadron.  He flew over fifty missions out of Foggia, Italy and received among his many medals, the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Purple Heart.  That's him in the picture, top row, furthest to the right.

His war, like may others, was a long, harrowing experience, filled with nightmare stories such as the time his navigator lost his head from a direct hit to the nose of their airplane by flak from a German 88 anti-aircraft gun. 

Sacrifice.  That is what they all shared in those days. 

So today, if you’ve got a spare moment, perhaps you can reflect on what those brave men, women, and children sacrificed so that the better parts of our humanity were not outcome by the worst.

A Day Hemingway

(Source)

The shower after dawn lasts until just after six until the clouds give way to the rising sun.  Left behind from the rain is a coolness to the morning air, welcome before the heat of the day sets in.

Most mornings, even in the early hours, foot traffic is heavy by the water.  People setting up umbrellas and chairs, picking the finest spots.  Today, though, because of the rain, the beach is nearly empty. 

Glassed water stretches into the blue-gray horizon.  No waves lap the shore.  The water merely breathes, inhaling and exhaling against the wet sand. 

I’ve been reading A MOVEABLE FEAST by Earnest Hemingway.  It’s a great insight into the artistic culture of Paris in the mid-twenties.  Everyone interested in the connection between prose and place should read this book, if not only for Hemingway’s anecdote about a trip to the statues of the Louvre to ensure F. Scott Fitzgerald that his member was of sufficient size. 

Who knew the museum was good for sexual psychology?

            Somehow, reading Hemingway draws me into his world.  I think of THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA and wonder about his life in Key West.  Memories of my visit to his house strain for clarity.

            In effect, I become this sort of Hemingway fanboy.

            What can I say?  I love the classics.

            This unhealthy infatuation of the famous author’s real adventures inspires one of my own.  Granted, I’m no Santiago.  And I don’t have a boat, so really a poor man’s adventure at most.  I do, however, have one of those twenty dollar rafts that sort of look like a boat and come with paddles.  It will do.

With an old beat-up rod and several diced raw shrimp for bait, I set out into the tranquil gulf.  After about thirty minutes of paddling, I’m a good fifty or so yards past the second sandbar.  Far enough that people look like ants on the shore.  Far enough to be in trouble if my dingy of a raft springs a leak.

Within minutes I’ve got a hook over the side.  Bait fish are thick, feeding off animals hiding in the sargassum.  The water, a crystal clear emerald, is perfectly visible twenty feet down.  My first visitors are two tarpon, each as long as my makeshift fishing vessel.  I cast my line at them, not contemplating the disaster of actually hooking one.  Luckily, they are more interested in the skip jack swarming.  The tarpon take after the smaller fish, jumping and leaping from the water in their hunt.

Half an hour later, I’m approached by a green turtle.  It’s cautious at first, perhaps even worried, moving slow and deliberately.  Curious eyes study me and quickly decide I’m no threat.  I toss a few bits of shrimp in the water and as soon as I turn my head, there is a splash and the bait has disappeared.  I’m not sure if the turtle ate it or if it was one of the remora that was tagging along on its shell. 

Soon my line spins out of the spool and the rod bends toward the water.  The reel is old and half-broken, and takes me longer than it should to pull in my catch – a small jack flapping wildly at the top of the water.  I unhook the poor animal and set him free. As soon as I do, I see my third visitor. 

The dark, almost slithering body is worrisome enough, but what gives me alarm is the square shape of the block snout and the long tail.  It’s deep, but large.  Probably a ten foot shark.  The earlier presence and behavior of the turtle now suggests that it might be a tiger.

As it swims into the darker water, I decide my little raft, with its collection of bait shrimp juice spilling into the water, could also be described as a chum bucket.  I paddle my way back to shore.

After a stern scolding on the intelligence of ocean exploration in a child’s raft, my wife and I spend the evening walking the streets of Ruskin Place Art Colony at Seaside.  It is a small square that looks stolen from Paris, France. 

Little boutiques art galleries and clothing stores line up, one after another, like Red Bird Gallery or the aptly named An Apartment in Paris art gallery. 

I think of Hemingway’s time in Paris where he rubbed elbows with artists and talked about writing with authors at street side cafes, and wonder what that experience did for his writing.

            He would have liked it here, too.

Bookstore Spotlight: SUNDOG BOOKS

I'm on Vacation Hiatus, so while I'm away, enjoy this Holiday Themed REPOST!  (Lazy, I know.)  Happy 4th of July Everyone!





Although you’ve probably never seen it in person, Seaside might still look familiar to you.   The crown jewel of historic Highway 30-A, its white cottages and crescent marketplace were cast as the make-believe perfect town in Jim Carrey’s The Truman Show. 

And with good reason.  A spinach and feta croissant from Modica Market in the morning, a cocktail and an amberjack sandwich for dinner at Bud & Alley’s, with a day on the whitest beach you’ve ever seen for in between.  The setting embodies perfection.

Behind the amphitheater, just beyond the scents of freshly-grilled seafood from the street vendors, and tucked neatly in the crescent of the market, is a white, two-story cottage.  Above, there is a record store on the second floor – the old fashioned kind that gives the middle finger to all things digital - and below, perfect for finding that beach read, is Sundog Books.   

Like many independent bookstores, this one has its own personality. Something you might expect from a place with a name like Sundog.  Rustic wooden floors, antique hutches and beat up tables topheavy with books fill the room. Do-it-your-way indie spirit is everywhere.  The expected fare of the latest commercial offerings are scattered about, though just as proudly displayed are published novels, fishing guides, and cookbooks from local authors.  Somehow, with the music upstairs, the always-open front door, and the sea breeze that flows through the building, the ambiance is almost like that a surf shop, but with books instead of boards.

Outside is a porch, not unlike one you might find on any nearby cottage, except that this one is reserved for author signings – the world’s first Author Signing Porch!  (Don't quote me on that little stat.)  The chalkboard beside the front door lists all the upcoming events in pastel colors. 

Easily, Sundog Books is one of the unique and distinctive things about Seaside, and the quaint little store really adds to the experience of visiting the area.  Especially for readers.  So, know any awesome bookstores you like to hit when you’re on vacation? 

Beach Reading

It’s ninety-two degrees, but with the steady, southerly breeze coming in off the Gulf of Mexico, the air feels cooler.  Lucky that, because there’s not a cloud in the sky, and the only reprieve from the sun's heavy light is given by an island of shade under my umbrella.  My feet are hidden, buried up to my ankles in sugar-white sand that reflects the sun like a mirror.  Underneath the top layer, the sand is surprisingly cold and soothing to the touch.  It moves in and out of my toes and I wonder in what peculiar places it might later turn up - shoes, wallets, car seats? 

A line of sargassum has washed up from high tide forming a sort of makeshift sea wall.  Most might find it a nuisance, but I'm glad to see it.  The golden tangle of leaves and hollow seeds look healthy, a hopeful sign of renewal considering last year’s Deep Water Horizon disaster. 

Crystal-clear waters glimmer in the sunshine.  So many cliches come to mind to describe the view of the ocean, all of them true.  Blanket of diamonds.  Stars in the night.  Shattered glass.  Called the Emerald Coast for good reason, the water's bright green color drifts into deep blues before meeting sky.  A flash of foamy spray disturbs the surface beyond the first sandbar where a school of fish is feeding off the sargassum shrimp.  After a moment, the gulf is once again calm, and the hit-and-run raid on the crustaceans ends. 

At the shoreline, tiny waves lap at the sand like a pet would the hand of its master.  I listen to the gentle sound from under my umbrella, content in my reclining chair that’s covered by an embarrassingly colorful beach towel.  Beside me is a cooler stocked with canned light beer - the kind with fake lime taste added.  For whatever reason, this brew actually tastes good when consumed near a body of water.  Something to do with the salty air, I guess.

Seagrove Beach, Florida is a well-kept secret, but it has been familiar to me for years and my family and I come as often as possible.  Normally, the beaches remain rather bare, but being Memorial Day Weekend, it’s crowded enough to invite people watching.  Though instead of leering at random people walking by, I’m doing what has become as commonplace on a beach as building sand castles: reading a book.  The Book Thief, to be specific.  For a while, I’ve been dying to read it and so far, it’s poetry. 

Hours pass.  Zusak’s prose has me thoroughly enthralled, though I'm concerned a book narrated by Death is subject matter too heavy for beach reading – an activity usually reserved for airy, light books. Luckily, the whimsy in The Book Thief’s storytelling encourages me on. 

Families come and go.  The breeze shifts and the water currents change.  Waves pick up and then die down again.  Hundreds of beach walkers wander by.  All of this occurring in my peripheral, hardly noticed, my attention glued to the book.

The heat of the day begins to fade as does the afternoon sun.  My last beer is empty and I notice I’m where I started this morning – alone on the beach.  It's time to go.  I fold my umbrella, my chair, and pack up my cooler with empty cans.  My towel hangs from my shoulder, draped like a toga, and after reading the last line of a chapter I deem worthy to be a good stopping point, my book closes and I make my way to the boardwalk.

Tomorrow’s forecast?  Ninety-two degrees, with a steady, southerly breeze coming off the Gulf of Mexico.

Book Expo America 2011

The big thing in publishing right now is, without a doubt, Book Expo America.  A sort of a literary Hajj, editors, agents, booksellers, and authors alike all make their yearly journey to the Mecca of the industry, New York City, to see what’s new and what’s coming up in the near future.

Being the second day into the event, I thought I might catch you up on everything groovy that’s happening on the convention floor if, like me, you were unable to make the show this year.

Over at Dystel & Goderich Literary Management, my agent John Rudolph gives his impressions on what he’s seen this year.  It seems energy and excitement are up from the last couple of years, though free galleys are down. 

At GalleyCat, they’ve put together a showcase of the huge banners hanging from the rafters.  Would it be BEA without an Oprah tribute?  All hail the queen.

Literary agent Janet Reid gives us an impression of what it’s like scurrying about the floor, trying to avoid the cheap seats during that kinetic first day.  Stay tuned, because she promises more for the coming days.

And if your interested in the presentations given at BEA, check out BookExpoCast.  There, you’ll find a full audio presentation of the Children’s Book Buzz (Emceed by Julian Moore!) and a full video presentation of the Editor Buzz Panel.   

Lastly, Publishers Weekly is staying on top of all the latest news and stories at the event as it unfolds.  See their most recent article here.

Lessons from the Hot & Hot

Today I’m having Shrimp and Grits for lunch.  Sometimes, being from Alabama can be a frustrating existence, with its corrupt, Third World government and underfunded, Third World education, but this is not one of those days.  Not when I’ve got a pile of fresh-caught gulf shrimp from Sexton’s Seafood Market sitting on a bed of McEwen & Sons organic white grits smothered in an acidic, creamy recipe written by Chef Chris Hastings of a local top restaurant, The Hot & Hot Fish Club.  Great name, isn’t it?  That man knows his groceries. 

For whatever reason, Birmingham, Alabama ranks with Paris, France for restaurants per capita, and many of ours are, quite simply, amazing (Hot & Hot, Highlands Bar & Grill, Little Savannah). In fact, many of these chefs have released wonderful cookbooks including Southern Table, Bottega, and Hastings’ effort, The Hot & Hot Fish Club Cookbook, which brilliantly divides the book in to seasonally available offerings to encourage the reader to purchase local, fresh, in-season ingredients. 

The funny thing is, Chef Hastings once fired me.  And deservedly so.  I worked as a bartender for him while trying to finish up college, but even when there, I wasn’t always there.  Distractions and stresses of dreaming up and preparing for the next steps of my life blinded me to where I was standing.  With the real world closing in and only holding a fairly useless degree in communications and film productions – in Alabama, for god’s sake – I was blowing in the wind. 

Now look, I wasn’t the best mixologist, but I wasn’t the worst either.  Though, I think I did once, during the blur of finals week, serve room-temperature white wine to a customer. Routinely, we wound up in the local hipster rag, praised with accolades of having one of the best martinis in town.  Infused vodkas, fresh squeezed fruits – we used only the finest ingredients.  My problem was, there were better and far more professional men and women out there, gagging for the job.  Sadly, I saw the position as only a temporary stepping stone to something else, and not as chance to enrich my life experience.  Since I had no intention of bartending for a career in a restaurant where the wait staff was, and still are, career professionals making a fine living for themselves, I got the axe.

Nearly twelve years later, I wish I could go back in time and kick my own ass for not taking advantage of such a rich learning environment.  As it turns out, I love to cook.  But in college, I couldn’t see the big picture.  When you can’t see the big picture, you can’t appreciate where you are.  Things get missed.  Though I still never had aspirations of working in the restaurant business after college, I regret the opportunities missed from learning from one of the best places I’ve ever eaten in all my world travels. 

I think about my experience at the Hot & Hot whenever I catch myself looking forward to the future.  I’m not saying it isn’t okay to dream – of course it is.  But my failure at that restaurant was a product of focusing on the future at the expense of the present.  In the publishing industry, it’s prevalent.  Fueled by dreams of publication, would-be authors often shoot off unedited manuscripts not ready for the light of day.  Agents and editors are buried in these submissions.  Instead, I learned to take my time.  Take a breath.  In whatever I do, I try to be there and give my all to the moment.  You never know when you just might need what that moment can teach you.

Like lunchtime, for instance.

Bookstore Bucket List

Salon.com compiled a list for “The World's Most Inspiring Bookstores,” and put together a slideshow (linked here) showcasing their fourteen choices.  They are in no particular order or rank, but some of the more interesting finds, I thought, included an ancient cathedral in the Netherlands now converted into a bookstore, a nineteenth century theater in Argentina, and an entire book town within the city of Tokyo - one hundred and fifty stores, not including mega-stores, and the major publishing houses all crammed into one district of a few streets. Unsurprisingly making the list is a personal favorite of mine, and holding position at the top of my own bucket list, Shakespeare & Co., Paris, France.

Here are Salon’s top fourteen, but definitely swing by their site and experience the slideshow.

1.         Daunt Books – London, England.

2.         John King Books – Detroit, Michigan

3.         Selexy Dominicanen – Maastricht, Netherlands

4.         Borges & Cortazar – Buenos Aires, Argentina

5.         Montague Bookmill – Sawmill River, Massachusetts

6.         Lello Bookshop – Porto, Portugal

7.         Jimbocho Book Town – Tokyo, Japan

8.         Shakespeare & Co. – Paris, France

9.         Argosy Books – Manhattan, New York

10.       Eslite – Taipei, Taiwan

11.       Powell’s Books – Portland, Oregon

12.       Azbakia Book Market – Cairo, Egypt

13.       Medival walled book village – Uruena, Spain   

14.       City Lights Bookstore – San Francisco, California

Did they miss your favorite?  Let us know!

A Note on Alabama

Since INK ROCK explores the narrative in connection to the world, I think it would be remiss for me not to say a few words about the tragedy that continues to unfold in my state. 

Two weeks ago on Wednesday, April 27, 2011, I awoke at dawn to the sound of an F1 tornado passing over my house.  Hours later, seeing only very minimal damage to our home (some siding torn away) and hearing of some more serious damage nearby, we watched the news and heard the meteorologist warning that the worst was yet to come. 

And then it happened.

That afternoon, an outbreak of F4 and F5 mile-long tornadoes traveled across Alabama, some of them at sixty miles per hour.  Nearly two hundred and forty lives were lost.  Entire towns removed from the map.  Entire towns.  In my yard, debris rained down, including a receipt from a store seventy miles away.  Thankfully, the south side of Birmingham – where I live – was spared.  But others were not.

There will be stories told of that day for a long time.  While on a chainsaw crew my friends and I heard one of them.  We had joined up with a random small town church group from Empire Church of God in Argo, Alabama – one of the overlooked areas - and visited a man to clear trees from his property.  He had terminal cancer and was six months overdue for a grave.  Before he passed on, he wanted to do something for his wife; give her a special place to remember the happy times in their life and so in his yard he built her a fine gazebo.  Sadly, it all was taken away by a tornado only days after completion.  Though his wife no longer has his gift to remember him by, I suspect she will always recall what a good man her husband was after witnessing sixty or so members of his church swarm to his side to assist him in clearing the devestation.

Alabama will be recovering from this event for a long time.  Supplies, able bodies, and money are needed desperately.  I encourage you to participate if you can.  Or donate.  Visit Help Write Now, or text “Tornadoes” to 50555 to donate ten dollars to the United Way of Alabama.  During a book signing, author Lindsey Leavitt had Barnes & Noble create a code (#10486058) that if given at checkout will donate ten percent of sales to victims.  Every little bit helps.

Of Premises and Intents

Now that I’ve marked the opening of this blog with the debut of the What’s Wrong With America Cookie, I thought a proper introduction was in order.

There are a lot of authors out there writing about writing and giving insight into publication, and a lot of these authors are doing it quite well.  To some extent, you’ll see similar subject matter covered here.  Let’s face it; the World of Publication is so confounded, it practically exists in some clandestine, shadow universe separated from reality and the common sense of ordinary business.  Most of us gather what we know from a culmination of insiders voicing their experiences.  So conversations about industry insight help, though I still think most of us would only scratch our heads if pressed to take a position on an issue such as the future of ebooks.

INK ROCK’s focus, however, will be on the physical places and their connection to authors and works.  Our planet; our ink.  Authors are spatial observers and, whether intentionally or not, affected and inspired by the cities, landscapes and surroundings that fuel their ideas and stories.  INK ROCK will seek to piece together a new literary atlas by asking some of today’s authors the modern equivalent of questions like, “How did the Lower East side affect Ginsberg and Burroughs,” and “How did Hemingway’s three year stay in Paris inspire his writing?”   

And, of course, when I'm not exploring the literary physical world, INK ROCK will strive to bring you the latest in industry news and issues with topical discussion. 

With all that said, Welcome! 

First Post...The Triple Double!!!

Okay, don't get too worked up.  It's only the first post.  And, really, you don't even know me yet, so there's hardly any justification for the three exclamation points in the post title.  Or so you would think.

Here's the thing, fine reader.  Today is a day for celebration.  It is the new dawn of a changed, new world!  Because I'm blogging, you ask?  No.  Certainly not.  Because this is the first post?  Nope, and it's not a post on literature or other publishing points of interest, either.  Because the National Biscuit Company, now known to you as Nabisco,  has confirmed to NBC News the existence of the NEXT OREO???

Whoa.  Did that just happen?

Look, I know.  It's a lot to take in.  Sure, a regular Oreo is great, yet we all know a part of us wanted more.  Needed more.  Nabisco responded.  In fact, you probably thought the world couldn't handle any more of the chocolaty, creamy goodness that was introduced as the Double Stuff Oreo.  But you were wrong.

Now comes the Triple Double Oreo.  The Big Mac of chocolate cookies, it follows the same structural discipline:  Cookie, filling, cookie, filling, and cookie.  Then they kick it up a notch.  Just when you think you've got it all figured out, you discover one of the cream layers is actually...chocolate!! 

I know.  I just blew your world.  So celebrate the day, people.  Things just got real in the cookie biz.  http://bites.today.com/_news/2011/05/10/6618156-new-oreo-confirmed-and-its-bigger-than-ever

Also, I'm blogging.  About culture, travel, and author stuff.  So that's cool, right?