Rewriting in Asia

I just got back from spending a few weeks in Asia. I caught up with my co-writer J. Lee Porter and his wife Gigi, in Koh Chang, Thailand. At Elephant Bay, on the southern part of the island, we sat down and reviewed the current draft of CRYPTO CITIZENS face to face. This is our second book in the BITPATS series.

After long discussions, we decided that a few major changes were needed and we set about making them, as well as exploring the island and taking in Muy Thai kickboxing events.

We also went to Cambodia, visiting Koh Kong, where I used to live, and then to Phnom Penh, where I had to say goodbye.

I've just returned to the US and am digging through notes and revisions. We expect to finish the new version this month and send it to our editors. The cover is done (courtesy of Elizabeth Mackey
www.elizabethmackey.com) and we hope to get the book published in the first part of the year. If you are a reviewer looking for an advance copy, email me at FLOATSTREET@gmail.com and I'll put you on the list to get it in an acceptable format.

We are also blocking out a short story based in that part of the world. It will be another expat story... the expatriated, the marginalized are always interesting characters for us.

Listening in

I'm about halfway through the draft of the first of the new stories featuring the world's best Caribbean boat bum, Ron Anejo. While I'm working on those, I wanted to make sure everyone knows that the original story is available in audio as well as ebook and print. Paul Aulridge did a fine job of bringing the story to life and if you prefer listening to reading, give it a try.

And the cover art is by Dagny.

The different faces of fishing

The photo above is one I took in Vietnam. We were there a short time, in 2012 and didn't get much chance to hang out with the fishermen. I regret that.

I'm intrigued by the similarities and differences of rural peoples, and in particular, fishermen, which is curious, because I'm lousy at fishing. Fishing villages and the fishing folk are far more interesting to me than tourist destinations. 

Dagny (who catches far more fish than I) and I spent one of our years in Venezuela, a little more than that, actually, living among the scattered fishing villages along the north coast of the Golfo de Carriaco. We became friends with the fishing families and learned to respect their craft, their lives. 

The picture below is me (at the motor) and T-Bone Fisher out in my penero on the Golfo... on the way back from making a beer run to Cumana. I bought a 40HP Suzuki, much to the disdain of the fishermen who are big Yamaha fans. Although we left long ago, and T-Bone is (I think) dead now, the boat and motor are still there.

On the trip to Colombia that starts next week, I intend to visit a fishing village. I expect it will similar to the ones in Venezuela, but there will be differences. Those differences will be important to Book Two in the series I'm writing with J. Lee Porter, as some of the story will take place there. I'm looking forward to the adventure and brushing up on my fisherman Spanish.

I'm excited about that. 

The Voice

Writers are commonly told that they need to find their own voice, a way to express their unique vision of the world. That's true. Who wants to sound like everyone else? What reader wants to read someone who doesn't show a personal flair?

It's less often mentioned that an author needs to find the right voice for a particular story. Every story puts its own demands on the writer. He or she is faced with selecting the parts that matter and portraying them in an interesting, effective way (with the reader getting to decide if it is interesting; the effective part is the writer's call.) That can be easy, or hard.

When I wrote THE LEGEND OF RON ANEJO (available at Amazon and everywhere else), the voice was simple enough. The story is intended to be mostly humorous and it's based, loosely (playing free with reality) on real events and people who chose to live around, in, or on boats in the Caribbean. Dagny and I were among them on our boat, and what I saw, the people I met intrigued and amused me and I wanted to capture that life. I took the role of a naive narrator relaying the antics of people around him and the world he was swept up into. Never mind that in the more real world, the one most people live in, I was directly involved. Some might say even an instigator. But nothing was ever proven and we were never caught. I mean charged.

For the book, I took a step back and told the story, focusing on the aspects that I found (dare I say it?) exciting and funny.

Jammed into the mangroves in Carriacou for a hurricane

That was relatively easy. As you can see by the photo above, at times we were all rather cheek and jowl. That provided a ready source of story material for sure. (There was, however, a rather mobile hurricane party in the mangroves that didn't make the book... maybe another time.)

The book I'm writing now is quite different. It's a serious attempt to deal with some issues that I wonder about. What they are, specifically, isn't the difficulty. The challenge is finding a way to address "issues" (see, it's an important word, warranting quotes and everything) with screwing up a perfectly good story. It's a balance between a desire to be a good storyteller and a good writer, which aren't necessarily the same thing. Most successful thriller writers are excellent storytellers. Few do much in the way of elegant or interesting writing.

There's a difference.

Finding that balance, the right approach to this story, is what currently is filling my white boards (yes, plural. I have three) with multiple colored notes, admonitions to self, and various bits and pieces of what I consider good writing. The basic story is powerful and bittersweet. This time it takes place in a border town--in Cambodia.

It's a fun struggle and that kind of challenge is one worth taking on.

Getting Ready to Go

So I'll be heading to Ecuador at the end of January, making a three week run to check out a new place. My brother Dan is going for the first part of the trip--he has the idea that Ecuador might be a good place to retire in a couple of years. So he's doing the right thing by getting his butt down there to see if it's anything like he thinks it is. (If it isn't, no harm done.)

You never really know about a place until you have boots on the ground. No amount of research will substitute for being there, getting the feel of a place, smelling the air. No travel guide can do it for you. What you want and need at that precise time in your life is unique. Only you can know if you are going meld with a place. Even a trip or two gives a superficial sense of place. That's why wise folks like Andy Graham over on hobo traveler recommend that you do not even consider buying a place until you've lived in the new place at least a year, preferably more. The way things work in your new home will not be like it was at home, not matter where home was. Even the meaning of property rights is different where there are no (or limited) zoning or noise ordinances. In some places they liked to party--loud. Even in pretty, idyllic locales that in your (or my) opinion should be tranquil and relaxed.

Another problem with research is that it can make you overthink a place. For instance, much of the time the US State Department is trigger happy in issuing travel warnings. If you are traveling to the major cities wearing suits and staying in five star hotels they can apply when hanging around with locals at a guest hour is perfectly safe. All places have safe and unsafe areas and times, and trying to guess what those are from a thousand miles or more away is a sucker's game.

Besides, information changes rapidly. When we went to Koh Kong Cambodia, at least half the places in The Lonely Planet Guide (which is a good guide) were out of date. The turnover is high there and many businesses were gone or had changed completely. The guide was still useful, but getting your expectations set too firmly wasn't going to make for a happy trip.

At any rate, I love exploring, and Dan and I will be ranging from Quito to the coast to see what there is to see,

And in the meantime, I have a novel that takes place in Cambodia in the works. I'm intending to get it out next year... I need a fantastic cover for this one.

Regrouping

Our plan to sell our house and to see a boat we liked very much down in Panama hit a little snag. That being that we don't seem to be selling the house. We had some people take a very serious look at our ancient adobe and decide it wasn't right for them. They looked long and hard. The house has some sort of magic about it that makes a certain kind of person fall in love with it, and it's rather inexpensive as houses go in this day and age, but it also needs some work.

For years now, we've invested heavily in our art making. It's been our priority since, oh since forever. That means using whatever spare money we could generate on art supplies or trying to sell art. So we haven't done much with the house other that remove a few non load bearing walls to create space for Dagny to work. As a result, there is a fair amount of comestic work that needs doing. This is an obstacle for anyone wanting a house they can move into and just unpack. It's also one reason the house is priced below market.

So, we accept that it isn't pristine, and that frustrates immediate sales. And we have little patience for waiting for that perfect buyer to show up on our doorstep. So what do you do?
In our case, we regroup, rethink. Maybe even take a moment to listen to what the universe is telling us. A wise person doesn't push against the universe. It isn't healthy or fun. If the message is that it isn't the moment to go sailing, well okay. What then?

Well, seeing as plan A failed, we move to plan C (plan B is always "jump over the side" but in New Mexico it's not as functional as it was when we formed it during our boating days.). And what is plan C? We fix up the house. If we had money, that would be simple. But in our case, it means taking the house off the market, get a home equity loan of some sort, use part ot pay off the van and the rest to get the work done.

Then we... well, we aren't sure what happens next. The future is a fuzzy place. Maybe we rent it out and join the carnival... Well, probably not a carnival, but its all part of some circus. Anyway, we do something. Something fun and interesting. Maybe we put it back on the market. Hell, we don't even know how long it will take to do the things we need/want to do.

But that's okay. Not knowing is a good thing. After all, it's all just part of an adventure. Like the rest of life--you have to make it up as you go along.

Road Trips

While waiting for the house to sell, I've kept busy with writing and also with road trips. Some old friends from Portland Oregon needed help moving to New Mexico and when I volunteered to help, they flew me up so I could drive one of the UHaul trucks down for them.

Flights of fancy

When you live in Silver City, going to the airport means driving to Tucson or El Paso. It's a tossup, but the weather was getting nice so the day before my flight, Dagny and I went to Tucson, and we camped that night at Colossal Caves. It was great and in the morning, as we sat in our chairs eating breakfast, we got a visit from several cardinals--two males and a female. We'd never seen cardinals in the wild before and they were gorgeous. They knew it too, and they posed in the trees and came within a few feet to give us a good look.

Being able to camp out on February 9th is one of the attractions of the Southwest.

On the road again

Portland has grown a lot since the last time I was there. I was actually going to Gresham, and it felt like Gresham was bigger than the Portland I remembered.

We finished loading and two days later, headed out in a convoy of three trucks and a car. As road trips go, this isn't the ideal strategy, partly because the nature of the vehicles and the weather dictated that we get on major freeways, point our noses south, and just drive to LA, turn left (harder than it sounds) onto I-10 and drive to Lordsburg, NM, where you head back up into the mountains. On the other hand, the roads were predictable, except that I-5 and parts of I-10 were in terrible shape. We were bounced around. I've seen better roads in Cambodia. It was hard to believe that a place that is so dependent on cars doesn't make the roads a priority. Arizona does much better.

But we did it. We and the stuff survived, so we called it a success.

Preparation for getting underway

 Now we are home, but Dagny and I are making a trip to Phoenix early next month. She's been modifying the van, tweaking it to be better suited for our on-the-road lifestyle, and we'll camp at Lake Roosevelt for a couple of nights (coming and going to Phoenix) and see how well it all works and give her ideas for more mods.

We've camped at Lake Roosevelt before and it's a lovely place.

We are evolving toward heading out the door, not waiting for the house to sell in that respect. Already we've gotten rid of stuff, and even at home, we are starting to winnow down our cooking utensils to the things we can fit in the van.

Fitting things into the van and still being able to cook, sleep, work... It's a challenge.

I've pretty much worked out my idea of a minimal office. I'll upgrade my computer before we hit the road, but ditch a lot of the "clever" gadgets that I thought might make things easier and me more productive. As it turns out, I'm better off taking a step backward, getting back to just writing on paper and then using a computer as a typewriter for a second draft. There's a lot involved in that decision, but what it comes down to is that I need to focus on the writing and not the tools. I love working in Scrivener, and I love my Mac Book Pro, but anything else is window dressing that will require maintenance. I'll get a newer Mac Book Pro because they don't have hard disks, and living on the road is hard on mechanical things. When we get a boat, salt water is always an issue. I went through a lot of computers the last time we lived on a boat and the most common failure was the hard drive.

So onward and upward.

Control What You Can

When I get involved in a project, whether its moving, or writing a book, or learning something new, the only part that is hard for me is waiting. Things might be difficult or frustrating, but if they are within my control, persisting, pushing ahead, feels good.

But waiting? Sitting around until someone else makes a decisions, accomplishes a task... not so easy.

Selling the house involves a lot of waiting, and I can't control most of that. And I can't do anything about moving until I know when the house will sell.

But there are things I can do. I can write stories, update this blog, and work on short-term projects that lay the groundwork for the next steps, and make them easier. Those things I can do, and they are important.

Every moment of an adventure doesn't feel adventurous. I just have to remind myself of that.

Maintaining Communications

The other day we called the people in Panama who are selling a boat we are very interested in. Very. We can't make a move until the house sells, and although there are people interested in our house, they have a series of decisions to make and things to do before that can be real, if it is. So although they are very interested in our house, they can't promise anything.

I makes a frustrating, but understandable cycle. And being poised to jump without any idea whatsoever about when we can jump, takes a toll.

So we come up with ideas. If the house were to sell, and the boat was still available, I'd fly to Panama, meet the owners and see the boat. I'd meet with lawyers there to talk about a resident visa (pensionado), which I'm already working on collecting the documents for.

It's a jigsaw puzzle without any border pieces.


For the time being about all we can do is maintain communications, both with the people with the boat, with the people interested in the house. Keep communicating and make preparations.

Unfortunately, that too is part of the adventure, just as surely as logistics are part of an expedition. Not all components of adventure are thrilling. Sometimes the effort is to stay steady as she goes and wait for the horizon to appear.

The boat we are interested in isn't a catamaran, but I'm in the mood for a picture of a boat and I happened to have this one handy.

Starting the Adventure

The first step in starting down a new path isn't necessarily dramatic from the outside, even if it is emotionally significant. And so it is with our new adventure. In this case, the first thing that we needed was money. So we put the house on the market. The realtor, Patrick, came over and we did the paperwork. Not much can happen until it sells, but a lot of things need to be put into motion. We can't control whether the house sells, or how soon, but we can put it on the market. And we did.

The paperwork is done, the commitment made, and we have started talking to people about selling off the power tools, furniture, Dagny's art (contact me if you are interested) and whatever won't fit in the van. It's a great van, but not a tardis, and will have less room than we have in our ultimate boat. But it has to be done.

Onward and upward.

An Unquenchable Lust for Sailing

It was fifteen years ago that we moved off our boat, HDML 1001, aka Float Street. She was a warship and a lovely, but decaying boat home. Before living on her, we lived on a junk, called Gambic, in Hong Kong. We loved boat life, but for a number of reasons that were true enough back then, when we left Float Street behind, we thought we were through with sailing. 

Float Street in Venezuela

Life changes. We (I, in particular) aren't good at routine. When we sink into routines, we feel ourselves ossify. We don't like feeling ossification as it diminishes us. I, in particular, don't thrive well in an existence of routine. I've never tolerated an office-hour life well. I've done it, and found it painful. That doesn't mean I'm good at avoiding routine, just that I suffer considerably from falling into them.

We moved back to Silver City from Cambodia about three years ago with the idea that we had finally settled on a place. We wouldn't move again. We'd travel, but not uproot ourselves. After all, we knew why we'd come back. We knew the place well. We knew both its limits and its benefits to us. And we were right. About the place. Not about settling.

But life changes. Goals change. Four days ago, over breakfast, Dagny looked at me with a somewhat puzzled expression and told me she'd ben thinking about living on a boat. We talked about the change of heart, her motivations and such, but mostly we talked about the possibilities (and difficulties) of living on a boat. During the next three days we tried to find good reasons to write that off as a bad, impractical idea. Well, boats are impractical, and we are pragmatic people. But our lives are not practical things to be managed and desire is a power of its own. As a result, the more we worked to convince ourselves what a bad idea it was, the more excited we became about doing it. We discovered that we had suppressed our love of living on a boat, but that the love for the life, the lust for the feeling of living at anchor (we were seldom in marinas) hadn't been quenched. We found ourselves physically craving it.

Over the next three days following Dagny's epiphany, we formed a strategy and an intention. In the process, the specifics of reaching our goal changed several times but the rather simple, and somewhat open-ended intention of moving from a fixed abode on shore to living full time on a boat sharpened into a workable, or at least an exciting, strategy. First, we are going to sell our house. This morning I'll call a broker or two and have them give us an estimate of what we can get for it as is. We don't intend to fix it up or do much to it. That's for the buyer to do. It's an old adobe, nearly 100 years old, and it has character. That will have to do. We will price it to sell.

We have our white Nissan van that Dagny christened Moby, and fixed up for camping. While we sell the house, she'll finish off Moby's cabinetry. When the house sells we will head off to visit family and friends, and then turn south, driving to Central America, where we will buy a boat, fix it up, move aboard and sell the van.

Simple, right?

Of course, intentions and reality often collide. The veneer of simplicity will crumble as it always does. We can't afford a fancy boat, but we have skills. We also have time, because hunting for the right boat will be part two of the adventure. Once we are on board, a new adventure begins.

This time our moving will be irreversible. For our last moves we had a property manager rent out our house, and it was there, welcoming, when we wanted to return from an adventure. Now we are cutting that tie and moving on to... something else.

So the inexorable change officially begins now. I intend to chronicle the adventures, posting as things happen, as we move from one phase to the next. Like many of the best things in life, the outcome is uncertain; like all good quests, only the intention can be controlled. It should prove interesting.