Mrs. Smith and I don’t often get back to our former stomping grounds in Iowa’s capital city, but we’ll be there Saturday, June 8. It’s a multi-purpose trip, including a “Meet the Author” event the nice folks at Beaverdale Books so generously arranged on rather short notice.
If you’ve read some previous posts (like this one), you already know that both my fictional detective, Edward “Red” Shaw, and I are from Des Moines. Some of the action in North of Grand even takes place in Beaverdale at a taproom/bike shop I made up out of thin air.
Really looking forward to this trip. Join us at 1 p.m. Saturday, June 8, at Beaverdale Books if you’re in the area: 2629 Beaver Avenue.
Sometimes the mind wanders and a guy starts to wonder about things like, say, how a search engine finds images that have a lot in common. You never know when something like that might come in handy in a plot or even just in real life.
Unable to focus on anything else for a few minutes, I grabbed my phone and tried it with my own face, the one that shows up on my new About me page.
What to expect?
I remember a woman on an airplane once asked me if I was Richard Dreyfuss. Me?
Then just the other day, I’m told, my sweet granddaughter saw a picture of Brahma, the Hindu god of gods, depicted in a children’s book sporting a white beard. Papa!
Needless to say, I had high expectations for my little experiment. I tapped the phone.
In the blink of an eye I was scrolling through the “similar images,” which turned out to be a diverse collection of men and women – some of them bald, some clean-shaven, dark hair, white hair, curly and straight.
Update 4/28/2019: I came across a tweet that linked to a blog post about “writer’s-block shaming.” I read far enough to answer the question it asks at the end about if the post made me think. Yes, it did. The following still works for me.
This is like asking me how I deal with the Great Pumpkin, the imaginary character that Charles M. Schulz created. I don’t accept it as a real thing.
That doesn’t mean there aren’t times when it is difficult to sit down and write. Sometimes doing something else is just a choice, a matter of procrastination or distraction.
An absence of discipline.
If I somehow found myself going weeks or months or longer without writing anything, I wouldn’t consider myself a victim of some imaginary blockage. I would quit calling myself a writer.