Techniques of the Selling Writer, Chapter I - Finished

<The new stuff follows the "*****" found below...>

This book has been suggested to me by my uncle, the world famous, Carlos Dunning.

It came yesterday via Abebooks.com for the reasonable price of $7, postage included.  It's used but looks to be in good shape.

As I've mentioned to Carlos, I've been having my doubts about this writing thing.  It is starting to look like a lot of work and I did retire for a reason.  Is golf work?  Well, on occasion, it does seem that way.  As an intellectual exercise, getting better at something is always welcome and thus I cannot complain too much.  I will plug away for awhile and see if I come to a conclusion.  Maybe I'll dive into it or let it go and look for the next subject to come along.  And new stuff always does.  One of my guides to life is that "There are a million little worlds out there."

I read chapter one of the book.  Dwight Swain tells me that writing is all about emotion!  Besides a few other things, you need emotion and more emotion.  The world has too many engineers and schools dealing in facts and without emotion, we are all doomed...  Dwight and I may differ a bit on this world view, but for the moment I'll accept his point of view and see where it leads me.

I've been pondering this call to emotion for a number of hours.  I read the chapter last night.  I seem to have slept reasonably well; I can't cite the chapter for a lot of personal upheaval yet.

If I am truthful, I probably have to admit to more emotion than I am willing to recognize.  I can see that the great issues of the first world are mostly emotional blather without a lot of serious effects one way or the other.  The politicians and activists seem to appeal to emotion only.  Would the world be better if it were run by engineers?

My father imparted words over the years about how he had scant respect for engineers.  He tested a lot of them and found them lacking.  I think in intelligence he said, but I could be wrong.  As I wandered through the technical job space in my career, I worked with a lot of engineers and engineering types.  Most of the managers I had had engineering backgrounds.  I found engineers to be easy to work for, pleasant folk, and a "proper" outlook on things that needed to get done.

If I were to sum up what I did for a living and what, it turned out, I was good at, was solving problems.  Programmers and engineers were gifted in those areas.  And the bottom line in that work area is that the solution had to be right.  You couldn't be close or near, it had to be correct or you were going to do it again.

If we take journalists, who are in the news for having lost their jobs recently, and climate scientists, who also are lecturing us on a daily basis about the evils of modern life, they have no downside or penalties for being wrong.  They just go on to the next story or peer reviewed paper and the only thing that counts is quantity.   And as long as they stir the emotions of us little people, it's all good.


Hmm, I see I'm about to write that book.  Each of the above items is leading me to another topic...  I do have a couple of things to do this morning and time is lacking for the moment.  I need a nut for my boring head and the toilet handle needs some adjustment...  Did Hemingway have these problems?

Ok, let's call this part one and I'll return to this soon...


*****, Part, the New...

It's the next day.  I've managed to fix the toilet, get my boring head draw bar all sorted out, and had lunch at Costco, and gotten in 18 holes with Rich II.  A busy day, but getting home too late to get in a nap before the dinner festivities begin.

I wrote a bunch and then decided that it didn't belong here.  Editing of this post caused it to be withdrawn from the blog.   I've removed the offending material, saved it for the future, and I'll end this here. 

But, good news for my loyal readers, I've got the next post designed and I'll work on it until the driving range dries out enough to go practice.

Disaster

It was a usual Friday.  We played fairly early for a cool winter morning.  The course was almost empty and we managed to play unhindered until late in the back nine.

Then it was time to clean the shoes at the compressed air station and we made our usual plans to meet at Costco for lunch.  Costco serves inexpensive food.  It's also called Cafe $1.64, which will get you a large hot dog and soda.  It's just over the freeway and for some of us, on the way home.

One of the popular add-ons with the limited menu, is a frozen yogurt.  It's only vanilla flavored these days.  A few years ago, you could get chocolate or swirl as variations.  But now it's only vanilla. 

Over the last year there have been problems with the frozen yogurt machine.  Sometimes it didn't work at all, sometimes the product came out achingly slowly, frustrating seller and buyer alike, and sometimes the yogurt came out a strange yellower color with a different taste.  Rich II and myself have had a number of discussions on this "yellow version."  Was it due to a different mix and did we like the flavor? 

I tended to decline the purchase if the color was off.  Rich II took it in stride and would not hesitate much to order one.

Now we move on to the present.  The machine has been replaced.  Product spews out of the machine, and it's been working for the last week without fail.

But.

Someone said that when you see "but" in a sentence, you can throw all of the previous words away, the truth follows the "but."

But, what this new machine is really good at is whipping air into the mix.  The air product ratio creates a yogurt that has the density of an inexpensive foam pillow.  Also the product is not very stiff.  Perhaps the cooling level  has not been properly adjusted or calibrated.  What one is now served is a cool, soft, airy mixture.  Oh, the flavor is there and it's much better tasting than the off yellow version we'd had on occasion.  But it is not solid enough for me to create a Pepsi float, which I like to form while I'm working on my hot dog.

So the "dis" is quite apt for this "aster."  My retired life, running so smoothly along, has taken this lurch towards a very deep ditch. 

Of course there is always 7-11 and a Slurpee to appease the need for cold and sweet -- every 7th one is free!

A Lesson

A young man approaches the practice green quietly. His weight shifts from foot to foot as he awaits recognition.

The master's eye brow lifts a fraction.

“Excuse me, master, but how does one putt well?” he asks.

The Master continues to pitch soft lob shots to a sloped green.

“Do you seek enlightenment or a bandage?” said the master.

“I'm not sure, I want to be known as a good putter. My golf buddies make fun of me. They claim I can't putt,” said the young man.

“So you seek some enlightenment. But fear your friends?”

“Err,” said the man. He may have blushed.

“Fortunately the path to good putting is short and narrow. There is only direction and speed. That is all. Was there anything else?” said Jack.

“That's it?”

“Yes.”

“But how do I know what speed is correct?”

“Do you have eyes? Can you see slope? Slope is Gravity. Gravity is earth. Can you see the grass? Grass is part of earth. When you walk do you not feel the ground? That is earth too.”

“Is it just earth?”

“No, you must understand all the basic elements. We have fire, earth, wind, and water. They are all part of what lays before you.”

“ I don't understand master.”

“Of course. What the youth is blind to, is the understood book of the master.”

“What is this fire, master?”

“It is part of earth and of air. You might call it heat. It makes the greens hard and aprons receptive. In the Summer the balls go further and in Winter the ball drops too softly from the sky.”

“And wind master?”

“Ah, that must be somewhat known to even you?”

“Well, I add and subtract clubs based on how the wind is blowing.”

“But we are discussion putting today...”

“I've never thought about wind on the putting green.”

“It is not a major item, but on a fast green...”

“I get it, it has to be factored in, even if small.”

The master came close to winking.

“And how does a master deal with water?”

“We do not deal with anything, we seek to understand and adjust. It must be clear that a dry green must roll differently than a wet one?”

“Yes, the wet is slower.”

“Usually slower. A little wet and the ball can run very well. And also a fully dry green is truly rare. Even here the humidity is close to 50%. Think of Las Vegas where it is 7%. Which leads us back to earth, as which grass that will grow is dependent on moisture and heat.

And when we play in the winter with 100% humidity and rainy days, then the greens will truly be slower.

Tell me young man, do all greens on the course have the same speed?”

“No. The 5^th green is fast and so is 12 and 13.”

“That is correct. Do you feel the difference when you walk on those greens?”

“I've never noticed.”

The master sighs. “Will you remember on your next round?”

“I, I, I'll write it down.”

“You are correct those greens are faster. Why is that?”

“Well, they are elevated and, oh, they have a lot of sun exposure.”

“Yes. We return again to earth and fire. And they have no trees around them, which would block the sun and block the wind. The wind will speed up the greens by drying it faster than others.”

“Is that all?”

“No, but you are ready to decide on speed based on all these elements.”

“So it is kind of a guess, I guess.”

“No. A Calculation. You know the practice greens. The course is not too different. You walk on the green to putt. You feel the firmness under your feet. You see the trees and feel the wind on your face. You know the fire – as what are you wearing? Are your feet cold? Did you walk up a rise to get to the green? You must add these up. Become one with the green. Then there is your fear”

“My fear?”

“Yes, all golfers have it. You are afraid of what your friends will say. You are afraid of too strong a putt. The fear of three putting. Your chip was probably short too. Is this common for you?”

“Yes, I'm only at the back of the green if I blade the ball.”

“Fear can cause the bladed ball – fear to complete the swing. Fear of taking too much club.”

“So I must be fearless.”

The master chuckles, “Well, try to be. It will be a good start.”

“Then how do I know the line?”

“The things that govern speed also govern line. We look to gravity and water and grass. Gravity is most important, then grass and then water. Again, use your feet. Feel the slope. Close your eyes if you have to.”

“I wish to walk the greens again with open eyes. Is that all?”

“No. You have to generate putter head speed. Arms or hands or shoulders. No good player uses their hips! I have seen you from afar and you should not worry about speed for the current time. And you have to roll the ball on your line...“

“Is there a way to hit your lines, master?”

“There are many ways and you must find yours. It builds from the grip. The hands need to work together and along the grip path. What part of your hands are you aware of as you putt?”

“I don't now, I never noticed.”

“Yes – a new chance for self-realization. First your feet and now your hands. You will have a busy afternoon.”

“Master, what are you aware of when you putt?”

“It may not help you, but you might find it to be enlightening. I put with my thumbs. They sit flat on the grip and I simply move them both along the line of the putt. The grip drives the shaft and then onto the head and the ball. It is quite simple. But the thumbs have to trust each other and work well together.

Enough of this talk. Take these lessons and go forth. Train your eyes and hands and feet. And erase you fears – they will not help you with golf.”

“How can I thank you master?”

“By being diligent. Now, be off, I must become one with my wedge.”

This Writing Stuff

I was not enthralled with the Wayne story.  I was hoping for more humor.  But it seems even as an author I don't have complete control over what happens.  Who knew?  Actually, I've heard that and I'm starting to believe it.

There is a problem with this writing stuff.  It feels like I'm getting ready for a speech or something.  It tends to intrude and even last night I spent some time from 4:30 to 5:30 thinking of stories, and we are not talking PM here.  It feels more like work than play and hey, I retired for a reason!  But, the challenge is there and I think I've got a couple more stories to tell.  I think it will get easier.

I've got the pieces of the next story and interestingly current events are coloring it.  I'll have to see how it plays out.

Wayne Part Two

Part II

“Back in 2016 was when I first met Wayne Arrow. He played with our usual group on Monday mornings. This was not a competitive foursome. Everyone kept their own score if they bothered. Wayne kept his and because of the kind of guy he was, he would keep 4 days' scores on a single card. Most of us just tossed the old ones away unless you were some kind of data nut.”

“Wayne was considerate of things. He wouldn't waste the score card if he could use it again.”

“He would walk the course with his three wheeled push cart and replace not only his divots, but if he found the turf that hadn't been replaced he'd walk back until he found the damaged spot and lovingly replace the divot.”

“He volunteered at the local animal shelter. He was a considerate guy.”

“He was a former technical guy for one of the radiation labs around the valley. He was about 10 years older than I was.”

“But Wayne was troubled. It was not all kittens and ribbons. The friendly shell that wrapped him was not very thick.”

“ He had a fast swing, but his game was erratic.”

“If things got too bad, he'd pick up his ball and leave the hole unfinished. If things got really bad clubs were known to leave his hand and not towards the bag. Yes, Wayne was a thrower.”

“Oh no!” said Billy.

“Yes, a thrower... But that's not why we are talking about Wayne.”

“So Wayne was a lot like you. He shot in the low 90s, but his swing promised more. He was missing the ball just a little and with his swing speed, that took him all over the course. And I must include the dark areas where no one wants to go in that. No pond was exempt. All trees had provided stymies at times.”

“If the greens keepers took too long to mow a fairway while Wayne waited, he'd just pick up and walk the hole. Of course he didn't want to hurt the guy, but he wasn't patient enough to wait the extra minute.”

“We would see Wayne from Spring until winter and then he would take a couple of months off. Was it the weather and a needed rest or was he struggling? We'll never know.”

“Would breaking 90 just once really make you happy, Billy? I don't think so. And I'll tell you why. We have to go back to Wayne's penultimate round. As I mentioned he shot in the middle to low 90s. Sometimes his ball striking would be good and sometimes he'd putt well. Some days the irons were godlike.”

“But one day it all came together. The drives were solid and the irons too. The putter was hot and he found that it was a good day for chipping. To sum it all up, Wayne went out and shot 76.”

“Now Billy, this would delight you and it delighted Wayne too. His playing partners watching it all come together were more reserved. They were expecting Wayne to crater at any moment. But he pulled it off and had a scorecard that would be the envy of most golfers. Wayne went home happy. Happier than he had probably ever been as a golfer.”

“But what's next if something like that happens? When all the putts you should make drop and some of the longer ones too? When the driver and the irons match those on YouTube instructional videos and you can't go wrong.”

“Wayne was as much human as the next guy and probably more so. He probably basked in the glow of it all and looked forward to a new life as a golfer who could hit the greens more than not and make the putts and to whom a sand shot was an easy exercise of precise technique.”

“But golf is a rocky shored sea and all human endeavors have huge error bars. Of course the next round didn't go well with Wayne. His drives didn't soar, the irons looked rusty, and the putts were, at best, nervous jabs with unhappy results. In a short phrase, Wayne was back to normal.”

“Now Billy, you need to know that Wayne never recovered from this. He tossed clubs, he took on the stern grimace that we were used to seeing. Holes weren't finished and a quiet broken man trailed through the parking lot. He loaded his clubs in the car and drove off. We never saw him again.”

“It would have been better if he'd taken that 76, assumed it was the as good as it was going to get and retired. Retirement is stretching the term for a recreational golfer, but a new activity was long called for. Golf might have been Wayne's best game, but his demeanor was not up to the peaks and valley of the sport. Maybe shuffleboard or clarinet would have been better choices.”

“Billy, golf is a process. There is no goal or end game there. Enjoy every round for whatever it might show you of physics or human endurance or the will of the indifferent gods or the company of like minded men, as my father used to call it. Don't look for your life's meaning there. Just enjoy the process.”

I wound down my talk and Billy had that far away look in his eyes. Was he thinking of Wayne or a hot dog across the street?

“But, suppose I take a slightly stronger grip? Do you think that will be useful?” asked Billy.

“Step over to the range. I've got a couple of balls. Let's see what that looks like. Maybe latter we work on your soft pitches,” I replied.

And that's the story of Wayne. A lot of this really happened and Wayne did indeed shoot lights out one day. And he did regress back to his old scores. But so far he has hung in there. He is really a likable guy with a sense of humor. I hope he keeps playing.

Wayne Arrow, Part 1

The Story of Wayne Arrow, Part 1

It is 30 years after Trump the First had revamped all of America. The East Bay area had grown like a cat with too much tuna. Houses and condos covered hills where the cattle used to roam.

There were no more dead end streets, everything was connected. The self driving cars had sort of taken off and the freeways that split the Dublin, Pleasanton, and Livermore towns had not needed to grow past their 5 lanes in every direction. The traffic noise was still there. The electric car revolution was still 20 years off for the 20^th year. The death of Tesla in 2020 had cooled everyone's interest in them. Of course the state government was using the telemetry of the cars to apply road taxes to the e-cars. Even if they didn't pay gas taxes they were going to pay something.

A midst all of this modernity lay a small jewel in the form of a golf course.

Of course most golf in these days was played in Asia or on line. The property values were such that no one was willing to pass on those kind of riches.

But the city of Livermore found that they had to. As all the land areas got paved over and the run off to the arroyos allowed for no rain to soak in, the spring floods would fill the arroyos and then climb the banks like a toddler with a gleam in his eye would climb a crib. And that's where the golf course came in. It was a couple hundred acres of land that had been flooding forever. Before the natives lived in the area and certainly ever since.

The early missionaries who farmed the valleys never touched the one where the course lay.

It had been a golf course since the 1960s. The tract had been reworked a number of times as the land use around the course changed. Holes dropped, rerouted, the "links" course added, it just went on and on.

There was always a long time player who, still in his 90s, would play every day. The current one, a Jack Smythe, mid 90s, no hair but a bad beard, no longer played but could always be found on the practice chipping area. He would occasionally watch the groups coming off the 18^th green and greet the many players he knew.

Like a lot of old guys he liked to talk and had stories going back over the decades. He had retired in 2010 and played the course three times a week since then. It was a lot of rounds and shoes and balls and tees.

One day recently, while Jack was watching at the 18^th a young man named Billy Bristol came through. He was playing with his usual foursome.

The 18^th is a par 5 with a double dogleg. The second shots would show up between a couple of bunkers about 100 yards out.

Jack watched Billy's approach shot and it landed satisfactorily in the middle of the green.

Billy and his pals showed up and proceeded to putt out.

Billy lined his up and spent some time walking around his lie. This is not something that Billy usually did – Billy was a “just hit it, then hit it again” type putter. Jack's eyebrow, all snowy white and a bit droopy, rose a smidgen at this unusual behavior.

Like most putts from 12 feet this one didn't go in. Billy addressed the heavens and cried out his unhappiness.

“Hmm,” thought Jack.

Billy scraped the ball into the hole and waited for the rest of his group to finish. Hands were shaken and promises of future games announced and then they wandered off the green and moved toward the bridge and parking lot.

Billy waved to Jack and Jack waved him over.

“It must have been an important putt?” asked Jack.

“Yes, it was a chance to break 90. I was so close and then pulled that putt. If I could only break 90 once, I'd be a happy golfer,” Billy replied.

“Hmm, not so fast there, young man,” said Jack. “Have I ever told you the story of Wayne Arrow?”

Billy looked at his watch. Some of there stories can be pretty long and while they could also be interesting, it's not something you want to leap at every time.

To be continued.... 

--------------

A note to the reader...  Yes, I'm going to try some fiction.  I've been going through some of the P.G. Wodehouse with a pencil and I'll see if I can whip up something similar.  No promises mind you.  As one wag put it, being an author is grand, it's just the writing that's such a pain.

Vince Flynn / Mitch Rapp Conclusion

It has been a couple of rainy days and I managed to finish the Vince Flynn book, Last Man.

I liked the writing style in that it moved stuff along at a very fast rate.  But there was that absence of details that you'll get in other authors of this genre of book.

I'd point out the Lee Child Reacher books as erring the other way.  There is so much detail that the action is very slow.

Mitch Rapp is a CIA operative and one of the hard guys in the clandestine world.  In this book we don't have a lot character building going on.  Mitch shows up, glares at some folks and shoots a lot of people.  This is a refreshing change from characters who are worried about the morality of the situation rather than getting the job done.

We can contrast this with the Matt Helm stories of 50 years ago.  Matt is the no nonsense agent and for the most part acts like it.  There are some moments when he doesn't take a hard line, but when push comes to shove, the gun or knife is put to its task.

We see the Matt Helm books from Matt's perspective.  The Flynn books are written in third person.  I'm not sure I like that.

One more contrast and then I'll wrap up!  Take the Spenser books; they are from the first person.  More humor than any of the others mentioned above.  And when he has to, Spencer does some shooting.   But those books are interesting to me for the snappy dialog and humor, not the action.

My first impression of the Flynn books is that there is reasonable action , the characters are ok.  The glimpses we have of the CIA and some of the heads of departments are interesting.  People are pretty bright for the most part.  I'll read some more.  As I mentioned I've got one going in audio format in the car.  While I like the framework and the action, there is a bit of warmth or humor missing.

Also, other things are occurring to me as I write this, probably should start over..., the plot is not as complex as you'll find in the Brian Haig books.  I'd recommend those over Flynn.

Always good to look at a new author.  Thanks to Rich II for the suggestion.

Directions II

The problem with thinking about a new direction for the blog is that it's keeping my mind too busy.  I continuously write stuff in my head and that includes when I wake up at 4:30 or something.  Dropping back to sleep is not that easy with this kind of mental disturbance going on.

So, maybe I'll tell the story of the ice cubes that would not melt and I'll see if I add a bit of humor to this deathly serious inquiry...

<First section, set the scene and introduce the characters.>

We had just finished the first round of  the year.  The day had started with a frost delay.  If you don't play under that condition, let me say that the toes start frozen and so do the fingers.  The ground is crunchy under the feet.  You can hear it, but since the toes are frozen, see above, you can't feel it.

The greens keepers like to keep their greens alive and they make us wait until the sun melts all the frost.  Sometimes you have a place to wait where it is warm and sometimes you are huddled on a side walk.

Hand warmers are quite popular.  They came in chemical models which are "use once and throw them away. " You get them in the handy 40 pack for about $15 at Costco, or about $3 per pair at the local course.  If you are up to the math, that's about $120 for the 40 pack...  A nice markup.  Keep one in each pocket and the hands will stay toasty.

But we get to play and the delay is not too long.

Phil is the member, this is an upscale course, and Sonny and I and Fred tag along to keep him company.  It's more fun to golf with friends.

We play and struggle a bit.  The wind is cool and the sun is hot.  The wind seems to make its presence felt as we play, all in all it's cooler than warmer.  I stay bundled up and pray for the toes to come back.  Reminds me of ice hockey days in my youth.  I've not checked recently, but there was a numb spot on a big toe from getting too cold.  It may still be that way.  It never turned black, so how bad could it be?

We finally end the round.  The sun looks low in sky and it feels like three in the afternoon to me. 

We stow our gear in cars and work our way back to the grill attached to the pro shop.  The grill is easily the size of the pro shop; it might be accurate to say the pro shop is attached to the grill...

We get outside seats.  This is not as bad as it seems as they have plastic drapes around the seating area and there are heaters mounted over head.  It's comfortable and since we've out in the 40 degree weather for 4 hours, this is quite comfortable.  Jackets are loosened and hats come off.

One of the perks of membership is that everyone gets a free glass of wine.  Sonny will only drink a small amount and Fred, well, Fred doesn't drink at all!  So the wine flows from Fred and Sonny to Phil and me.  Let's call them "healthy pours."

It's been a good day, out with "like minded men" and the wine is providing a warming glow through those who are partaking. 

<Now for the crux o' the matter!>

Phil likes his toys and he has brought a Yeti tumbler with him.  He likes to drink ginger juice for health reasons.  I think he said that he has gained 3 pounds by doing so.

Sonny notices the cup.  "I have one of those and I've left an icy drink in one in the car and the next morning there is still ice in the cup.  How does that happen?"

I'm tempted at this point to tell the old joke about the world's greatest invention.  It was the thermos bottle.  Provides cold drinks in the summer and hot in the winter!  How does it know?

But I refrain.  I'm trying to talk less these days.  It's not like the world doesn't need me, but I'm putting them on a knowledge diet.

The next question, hot on the heals of Sonny's is why hot drinks get cooler faster?

<Enthalpy of fusion, introduction and explanation...>

The boys look to me.  I'm kind of the go to guy for things that require useless knowledge.

"Well, ker-hum, it's quite simple.  Let's assume that the ambient temperature is 65 degrees.  A cold drink with ice is 32 degrees.  A hot drink, we know from Liebeck v. McDonald's, is about 180 degrees.  Now if we take the absolute value of the difference between the hot and the ambient and the cold and the ambient, it's clear that a cold drink has just a little less energy than ambient and the hot drink is quite hot -- about 40 degrees and about 115."

"It's obvious when we take into account the Stefan-Boltzmann equations, that the hot drink will lose energy much faster than the cold drink will acquire it.  But then you all knew that."  I look around to some looks that suggest they didn't.  I plunge on.

 "The Stefan-Boltzmann law states that objects radiate energy proportional to their absolute temperature to the 4th power.  In other words things shed heat faster than a golf ball heading for a trap."  I see nods of understanding around the table.  This is good.  I suspect that Al Gore doesn't know this.  How do you stay ahead of a 4th order power law?  Not easily, Al, not easily.

"The last piece of the puzzle is that of the enthalopy of fusion in the ice.  As you no doubt remember from junior high school chemistry, you can have a mixture of water and ice and it will be at 32 degrees.  As you add more heat to the mixture the temperature will not rise until the ice has melted.  In other words, it takes effort/energy to change the state of the ice to a liquid."

"Now Yeti cups and their ilk are dewar containers.  They have a vacuum insulation and were first invented by Jimmy Dewar in 1892.  But you guys all knew that.  Like most things they are not perfect and the heat will either move in or out depending and what it's holding.  Albeit slowly, but it will return to the ambient temperature given enough time."

At this point it seems that most have picked up their wines and even those who don't drink seem to be looking longingly at it.  The eyes have glazed at bit and thoughts of the famous Chipolte burger are intruding in the question of the day.   Thoughts have returned to the late game of golf with its successes and failures.  The sun seems to have settled a bit more and the course looks tired viewed through the wind blown plastic.  No one cares about the ice anymore...

The food comes and we eat in near silence.  No one asks anything else.  What conversation we have has danced over to the mundane.  

I reflect upon my vow of more silence for the year and see that while I've passed on some useful knowledge here, it might have been a bit much.  Perhaps I can lighten the conversation.  "How about those Giants!" I say.

I'm reminded that the baseball season has been over three months.  Well, you can't know everything.

Directions...

It's been a while.  Sorry I've not had that much to talk about.  Golf is on going and I'm working on different things.  Some of which I can do and some of which works.

On the whole it's getting better.  Though the weather is getting colder.  That's been making it more a chore than a joy to be out.  There have been a couple of frost delays.  The new shoes are keeping the feet dry, but I'm thinking that insulated golf shoes may have a market.

The weather is going to change of course; rain not cold.  Rumor is that there will 3 to 5 days of rain starting tomorrow.  That seems like a lot and as Yogi Berra used to say, "prediction is hard, especially about the future."

The local course has dried out quite nicely.  I assumed that they were doing it in preparation for the rains or just to give the grass a rest.  It seems that is not the case.  I was talking to one of the guys (I'm very friendly with them, not just because they do a good job and I appreciate that, but they also find a lot of golf balls and some of those filter to me!) and he mentioned that all the guys who keep the sprinkler systems running are taking their annual vacation in Mexico!  So no water until they come back.  My friend has mentioned that the guys don't mess around with vacations.  There is none of that "a day here and a day there."  They take off for a month.  But it won't matter in re the course due to storms.

I've mentioned to Barb that I was not inspired recently to write the posts.  She suggested making it a humor blog. 

That is a lot more difficult that droning through golf techniques, but I have written some humorous stuff in the past and I think I could do it.  But I'm feeling lazy and I'm not sure I want to work that hard.  Retirement can be that way.

Speaking of funny stuff, I ran across a Youtube channel by a guy called This Old Tony.  He makes things out of metal and his videos talk about technique and equipment and how to do things.  Tony has been doing this for a number of years.  He has 50 odd videos in his channel.  The early ones are a bit boring, but at some point he hit his stride and has incorporated a lot of humor and sight gags in his presentations.  He is very funny and even if you don't want to make a fly cutter, they are worth the watch.

He uses his young child, "Dad, I need a Shword Sword!"  and the family kitten to act as foils.  He is quite clever and amusing.  I'm not sure what his background is.  He is very verbal, knows his way around the gear and has passing knowledge about a lot of other stuff.  He was not a professional machinist.  But I think he was pretty good at whatever it was. 

I've been watching a lot of his videos.  I'm nervous that I'll run through them all.

Rich II, fellow golfer, has mentioned a new author, Vince Flynn.  He has a CIA operative as a protagonist, Mitch Rapp.  I'm listening to one in the car and I'm reading another.  I like the style of writing.  There is a lot of action and it's not over done with jargon.  I can't recommend them yet, but I'm pretty happy with what I've read so far.  A lot of books spin up well, but resolution is another factor.   Not as wordy as the Jack Reacher books, less humor than the Brian Haig books.

I'll know more in a couple of days.  Even sooner if the rains come.

That's all for now.  Barb is right, I need a new direction for this blog.  Humor is a thought and I will mull that over.  There are other blogs already written if you click on my profile, there is a list there.

Until next time...