Category Archives: Red Sox

The conflicts this spring

I spent several hours at Bernie’s HQ this morning doing data entry. There was a couple visiting from Colorado who wanted some swag and they got a fair amount. We had the kind of conversation about Hillary that Bernie probably doesn’t approve of, and we lauded the fact that we finally had a candidate we could vote for instead of against. One thing I find when I encounter women of my age who support Bernie is that the primary motive is positive, that he is saying things we want to hear, that he has a history of consistency and strength in the areas we want, and that he is winning rather nicely of late.

I came home after  doing my work, and found that my kitties had, as usual, wreaked havoc in my apartment and were in the process of creating a motor speedway through my living room. They had snarled a few balls of yarn, knocked some books out of a bookcase, and gotten the cupboard door open that conceals their dry food. Their rambunctiousness is caused by the lengthening day and higher sun. They spend mid-day lolling on their climbing tree in the heat through the windows. They had only been running around for a short while when I got home and that was all to the good.

The Red Sox  are playing so that my evenings are now committed in front of the TV. Tomorrow night, I will go to my writers workshop knowing that I am missing my boys of summer.It is hard to think of summer when the wind blows and still gives a windchill, but seeing the men at Fenway gives me hope of a sirocco wind in a few months time. Then I will undoubtedly complain about the heat and humidity.

The problem with all this activity is that I cannot find the inclination to write. I am reworking the novel I thought I would publish a year ago, and I’m not making much progress. I work in fits and starts, without much to show for it.  I have about 20,000 words down, but am already reworking them because they are not detailed enough to entice the reader. This part of writing is not particularly inspiring for me, in fact, more like a slog, and I find little desire or motivation.

Bernie and the Sox are much more interesting to me right now. But it will happen, when the newness of the baseball season has worn a little thin, and the race for president will be more clear in a few weeks. It is sometimes difficult to convince myself that I’m a writer.

The Red Sox Won!!!!!

Yes, indeed, the Red Sox finally broke a horrendous losing streak, and did it in fine style. The Brock Star (Brock Holt for those not in the know) hit for the cycle! Lots of guys hit who had not been doing so which was very good news. Wade Miey looked pretty darn good too, which is a wonderful sign.

All of this means that I am primed for writing more tomorrow because I’m in a good mood. I’m working on a book I started when Fantastical Trips was resting (like now). I seem to have found a new editor which is good because I may finish the current draft on this one by the end of the week, and it will be off to my beta reader ASAP. He’s a bit tough on me, so there will be rewriting to do when I get it back, but then off to the editor. Its working title is Wandering Ways, but that is open to changes as I get more feedback.

Here’s the current first paragraph:

I thought I would go wandering. My mother always said there had to be more to the world than our little village, and there was rumor of a city if I were to take the high road out. My father died years ago when he and others of the men tried to build a tower of stone, which they hoped to use as a lookout to be able to observe the country around us and warn of any dangers. When all were involved in raising the next course of stones, the tower tilted and crushed them all, twenty-three men between the ages of 22 and 59. Only five men remained alive in the village, four grandfers and Olly Bright, the biggest fool you’re likely to meet. Olly always had pretensions of running us, and when he was the only able-bodied man left, he certainly tried. But the old ladies put such a fright into him that he never did more than take his equipment to all the fields of all the ladies in town and plow them for free, or for an occasional home-cooked meal.

My editor thinks I need a stronger first line. What do you think? The person who comes up with something better that I use will get a copy of the ebook when it comes out. I know, this isn’t really fair, since you have no idea where the story is going, but I’ll give you a hint. She’s under a compulsion of which she is unaware. So please, give me some suggestions, and I’ll let you know in about a month if it’s been picked.

Red Sox Malaise

It is a bit early in the baseball season to be totally down on my favorite baseball team. But it is annoying that our pitching is so erratic that we cannot win for love or money. My favorite pitcher for many years has been Clay Buchholz ( I don’t know if that’s spelled right, he either has two ‘c’s or two ‘h’s and I can never remember which.) and he has shown moments of his brilliant self this year. But he is unreliable right now. The arms that we got to replace those lost in the fire sale of talent last year have been similarly inconsistent, and mostly down. A few moments of pleasure mixed with a bunch of pain.

The big hitters are showing some sign of waking up. They got us 5 runs today, which would normally be enough but the pitching went seriously south, and the opposing team had 13 runs. It is days like this, when I stay to the bitter end, thata I know there are better ways to spend my time.

After all, I have two different books in progress and another one is resting for a rewrite. I have books I want to read and things I want to knit (though I can knit and watch the Red Sox at the same time). I walked the labyrinth at my church today before the service, and there was the funniest service I have ever attended. This left me feeling  enlivened and willing to face anything. Then the Red Sox.

It’s hard to break a 48 year habit. Especially when the other habits I’m trying to tear myself away to do are only of a few years’ duration.  So what is a person to do?

Well, I went to LinkedIn and removed myself from groups I hadn’t looked at in a year. I commented on a few threads that I should have noticed earlier. I watched a short video about self-marketing on Facebook. I played with my cats. I checked out apartments. I did all the other time-wasting things one does whiile waiting for something magical to happen on the baseball diamond. Then I turned off the tv and wrote. Which is what I shoud have been doing anyway. Bah, humbug.

Red Sox and other musings

When I was 3 years old, my father told me the Red Sox were my team. Now I’m sure he said that because of the screams I emitted every morning that there was not  a clean pair of red socks in my sock drawer. He was watching the Yankees play this other team, and he pointed at them for me. I of course didn’t believe him and wandered over to our big clunker of a tv. Since this was long before color tv, the only way to accept they were the Red Sox was to see their name spelled out on a shirt. I finally got the chance and scoffed to my father that they spelled socks wrong, and couldn’t be my team. I’m still a grammar nazi.

Flash forward about thirteen years. My father had died four years earlier and we moved shortly thereafter to Northampton, MA, where my mother was to take up the job of science librarian for Smith College. The summer I was 15, all of my friends were already 16 and could get real jobs. The laws were much more strict in those days, and I spent the summer babysitting. After putting the kids down for their naps, I prepared to watch tv for an hour or so. In those days there were only three channels and they were analog. I had the choice of watching either of two soap operas or the Red Sox. It didn’t take me long to become an addict, and when I tell you the year, those who know your baseball history will understand when I say it was the year of The Impossible Dream. My new found best buddies went to the World Series that year and lost in the 7th game. My heart was not broken yet. My boys had done something marvelous and it was enough.

Now as I make my way through another baseball year where my team on paper looks bonzer, but the application to real life lets all the human foibles appear, I must be strong. I will continue to watch even the most excruciating games, because in any game they may breakout. After all, last weekend they played two very good games and came out satisfactorily ahead. Not so much today. It is hard to stay motivated to write or knit when this state of affairs exists. There is a tremendous bright spot in the reawakening of Mike Napoli. Xander Bogaerts is beginning to hit again, and well. Mooky Betts continues to shine, and Dustin Pedroia is again challenging all comers as the league MVP. I have not given up.

Which gets me to the next point, not baseball related (but watch our for flying metaphors). I have felt in a slump writing wise for the last few weeks, one might almost say the doldrums. Part of the problem is my bad luck in finding another apartment. It appears that four cats scare off even the most open-minded landlords. My four cats are less destructive than any one small dog, perchance a chihuahua. They are not noisy (with the one exception where they knocked over my vacuum cleaner, managing to turn it on). That day was the noisiest and my downstairs neighbor simply thought I was doing a large spring cleaning. Instead my cats went neurotic that day. Not that you could see any difference.

Today I wrote 2,000 words. I don’t know if they’re any good, but the ideas conveyed in them are good, and I’ll worry about getting them into shape at some later date. And the breakthrough may have come with the knowledge I conveyed in my last post, that there is the hope of subsidized housing in the future. Perhaps it is freudian, but I mistyped the word as sunsidized, which may even be better!