Tons of novel edits this weekend, no doubt a byproduct of the long, lazy summer reaching its end. Mornings are cooler, the air drier, and my patience, longer. Amen, my brothers and sisters. Fall knocks for thee.

On average, clearing about 15-20 pages a week. Some weeks net 15 brand new pages — like last weekend — while others involve heavy revisions of existing tracts. The watershed mark is page 250-260. Clear of that point, it’s about fine tuning existing material. But I am not there yet.

The last 2-5 pages will be completely rewritten, and it may take weeks to get that very last mile right. Which is reasonable, since beating the first 30 pages into submission made for one month of sheer madness. And the anniversary of that fest is two years ago this October. Enough writing already. Finish the book!

Since the students return on the 8th, I decided another three day weekend was in order. Jump time for more novel edits.

One thing I’ve always liked about writing is my influence over whether or not it happens. Of course, I have very little sway over what froths up to the screen, whether a passage works, or the aesthetics of my style. That — like stories — ultimately comes from someplace else. But the go/no go decision is mine, and that is worth a lot when the bombs of fate land at the doorstep.

Back in school, the first English class of the year usually opened with a “kids, what did you do this summer, please pretend you care about school now” assignment. While I rarely did anything interesting during break, and it’s been a lot of years since secondary school, with fall looming I feel like scratching out one for me.

Only there’s a small twist. My topic is what I learned this summer.

Ahem. This summer, I learned the following:
1) Take off as many days as possible.
2) Avoid road trips that involve Pennsylvania, and the Comfort Inn in Columbus, Ohio.
4) If a road trip means more than eight hours at the wheel, fly. For the love of God, fly!
5) GPS = good. We named ours Chloe. She might have saved the marriage.
6) Set a reasonable limit on summer time projects. Five proved a bit too ambitious.

Granted the above is a list, rather than a paragraph styled theme. But then I mentioned a twist.

On other fronts, I did the unthinkable last night. Swapped unpublished short stories with a writer. A thing I swore never to do, unless I joined a writing group, which would be shortly after drinking lunch from a gin bottle.

Anyway, the value of this exchange is what it revealed. For whatever reason, or twist of the universe, our styles are very similar. Not that my style is spectacular or unique, but I consider it mine, just as much as this writer considers his take on language the product of many years of writing and reading.

But damn if it wasn’t creepy at points. Reading a line, then thinking, exactly how I would have put that down. It’s almost like meeting a guy in a bar, cracking a few jokes, and discovering both of you are sleeping with the same girl. Either duke it out, or recognize that maybe there’s a reason two paths crossed.

I have my idea, anyway.

With moderately placed hopes, I saw this film hoping for something between average and good. Instead, I got disaster.

Historically, I like Michael Mann’s direction style, and in particular his most recent projects, including Collateral and Ali. I also count myself as a fan of the original television show, Miami Vice, which he directed. Considered it very much ahead of its time, while being a reflection of the Eighties cocaine and glossy neon and pastel era.

But this was…ahem…my exact words when the closing credits started, “What a fucking piece of crap.” I said this loud enough that The Wife scolded me because people stared at us. Hell, it was an R-movie. I’m not responsible for the twelve delinquents that told their parents they were seeing Barnyard. And besides, no one disagreed.

What works about this movie:
1) Concept. Revisiting the glory days of a great show with a new cast and crew was an idea with good intentions. Maybe in someone else’s hands, it could have been SWAT. I wanted to believe it might work.
2) It does end.

What needs improvement:
1) Cast. Colin Farrell - not a good fit for his character. Jamie Foxx, too talented for a project so weak.
2) Budget. Less money on hookers for Colin, more on cameras. 135 million dollars for something shot on a digital video camera that failed to keep up with the transition from well lit to poorly lit environments? Uh-huh, don’t think so, homey. Many scenes the picture was grainy. Not a little, either. I’m talking visible colored blobs of static, dancing around on X.
3) Story. Might have worked as a sixty minute television show. Had no business being stretched to 110 minutes.
4) Soundtrack. I would have preferred no music to these arrangements. Again, what works as background noise for a trailer, doesn’t hold up for a whole film.

Verdict: A disappointment. Change the channel when it comes to cable.

Cleared the halfway mark on the Team Eagle Eye edits. Since the last 75 pages need only a few days of work — mostly towards the very end of the story — a mid to late September finish is possible. I’ll avoid a hard and fast prediction, however. Suffice to say, I want to finish before the leaves turn amber.

Two weeks on bottom-up edits, then the manuscript heads off to a reader group for feedback and corrections. These three have proved that they can work very quickly on this and other projects, so I believe they will return it with alacrity.

No plans to work on the novel ever again beyond Halloween. From that point it’s agent shopping and new stories. The next main project may or may not turn into another novel. I’ll just let it run its course without worrying about what I want. Plus there’s a possible collaboration, but I must reach out to someone properly about that one. Between the two, I’ll keep sharpening the chops.

Back to work now…

After 15 years of staying one move ahead of my high school alumni foundation, somehow they found my actual home address. Which is incredibly annoying, since all my mail goes to a private mail box, a habit less about privacy and more about convenience; the outfit can accept any sort of package from any commercial shipper plus first class mail. This service spares me many trips to UPS on weekends — well worth the yearly fee.

Now, if the school mailed the private mail box address, I would understand. The address is out there for anyone who looks. But littering up my stoop with pleas to adjust my directory profile is an act of war.

I did what any sane person would do with the postcard. In clear letters, I wrote DECEASED. RETURN TO SENDER, blacked out my address, and put it in the nearest drop box.

The back of a heat wave that morphed the Tri-State area into a free-for-all sauna over the last three days breaks at 8pm. And I am counting the seconds. I’d crack its spine with a sledgehammer myself, were this maneuver possible.

Over the last several years, mild summers and the remnants of youth lulled me to believe that I might commute without proper air conditioning. The car A/C worked for the first 4 seasons, then went on strike last year. Really, not much of a problem, because temperate days were so rare. Surely good weather lasts forever. And so I balked at paying for a repair job. Chalk up another error of not listening to the Wife.

Welcome to Planet Pain.

Today is the best of the hot snap; it only felt like 103 degrees. Which brings me to the only trait I share with the late Hunter S. Thompson: neither of us can express ourselves in oppressive climates.