Thanks to my copy editor, I have learned that I am fond of using a dangling modifying phrase. I did not know this. In fact, I will admit that I have no idea what constitutes a dangling modifying phrase. I was never good at diagramming sentences. There's a myth out there that writers are master grammarians, but I think the truth is that most of us stumbled upon this career because we like to read, do not play well with others, and quietly wondered what it would be like to live the writing life.
Most writers don't love editors. I do. Back since Beth Hagman at Competitor Magazine told me to tell stories in the most linear fashion possible ("the horse pulls the cart over the trail by the fastest route"), the notion of editors crafting a story has been in my head. Through Jason Kaufman, Geoff Shandler, Gillian Blake, and Brent Howard, these wonderful people have made me better. And don't get me started on how much I love copy editors. This gushing deserves an explanation.
The journey from Orange County to Mammoth is an empty speedway at 6 a.m. I made it up here in five hours despite a short freeway shutdown and a stop for Starbuck's in Adelanto. The family condo is a great place for solitude and writing but I'm in a restless mood so I've spent most of the past two days running, hiking, and finding a spot in town to sit alone in the shade and read. Distant Brewing worked just fine.
[Royalty] is something I think about more than you can imagine…. I have spent enough time with peripheral historical figures to know when Victoria lived and died, that George VI smoked too much, and the wonderful historical trivia that the reign of Elizabeth II coincided with a British subject becoming the first man to set foot atop Mount Everest — and that an intrepid reporter named James Morris — later Jan, after a midlife sex-change — was the first individual to race off the mountain and flash the news back to London in time for the coronation.
I was walking into Lowe's the other day. A father and his two young sons were walking out. He was probably mid-forties. The kids were maybe eight and ten…. One of the little boys said nothing at all. For the purpose of our story, he might as well not have been there, other than the fact that his presence broadened the impact of the event which had just taken place. "Why did you call that woman Karen," the older child asked his dad. "Was her name Karen?"
If I were in the Netherlands right now, as I thought I might be this weekend, I would be driving my rental car back to Brussels from a venue known as Megaland in the Netherlands. It's right next to Aachen, the first portal into Germany for the US Army in 1945. My ears would be ringing from a Bruce Springsteen show almost four hours in length. The euphoria would linger.
