A Writer’s Fool

 

  Although it is not documented in any history books or at the fabulous library in his honor in Springfield, Illinois, I believe that Abraham Lincoln must have been a freelance travel writer.

   The basis of my historical observation comes from a famous Lincoln quotation:  “You may fool all of the people some of the time; you can even fool some of the people all of the time; but you can’t fool all of the people all of the time.”

    This is on my mind as my first story appears in the May/June issue of Arrive, the Amtrak Magazine.  The Detours column of this publication, which is read by business travelers in the northeast United States, highlights things to do when business travelers are not doing business.  

   However, it has been said that 90 percent of our nation’s business takes place on the golf course.  I don’t know about that since I don’t golf, but fortunately for me, the editor at Arrive magazine is one person who does at least a percentage of his time in a typical conference setting.  That’s where I met this editor, at a writer’s conference, and that’s how I ended up with my by-line under the headline Matter of Course, which highlights six unique golf courses in the northeast.

    One might wonder then, how a writer from the Midwest who doesn’t play golf handled such an assignment.

    In my case, our good friend Scott Parish helped me out.  Scotty once produced a television show about golf and, in so doing, traveled to some of the best courses in the world.  He knows all of the lingo, the jokes and the history that is needed to make a story sound rich and authentic.  Scotty and I brainstormed about the courses to include.  He explained the terminology and proof-read my story.

     So a good travel writer needs to know a little about a lot, or have connections to the people who know a lot about a specific topic. More so, a good travel writer can’t be afraid to ask questions, lots and lots of questions, and can’t be afraid of any destination or assignment.

   Click on this link, Arrive, and see if the words Scotty and I put together were enough to fool at least Abraham Lincoln and you, at least this one time.

    That’s the story behind this story.

   

A Ben & Jerry’s Kind of Day

   Some days, the work of a writer has nothing to do with writing at all.  It’s about marketing and accounting and filing and organization or learning new technologies, among other disciplines. 

   Some of those days I don’t mind at all.  It gives my brain a bit of a break from searching in its wrinkled and remote crannies for the best word, the unexpected phrase or the most accurate anecdote.  It’s kind of like eating chocolate cake for dessert every day.  I could live a lifetime on chocolate cake, ooh, or blackberry cobbler like my Grandmother used to make.

    But if you had chocolate cake or blackberry cobbler every day, no matter how much you love it, just occasionally it would be nice to throw in some Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream with hot fudge and caramel sauce.

   Don’t misunderstand me.  It’s not like a day spent doing bookwork and preparing for taxes is like a day spent rolling around in a tub of Ben & Jerry’s.  That’s not the point I’m making at all.

   My point is this:  I’ve got a little radio gig going for the next few weeks that promotes one of my writing projects.  KMBZ Radio (980am) in Kansas City has asked me to do a little five minute bit each Thursday  (7:40 a.m.) for much of the summer about quick getaways from Kansas City that won’t break the bank in paying for gasoline.

   It’s based on my work with Shifra Stein and the book she originated almost 30 years ago called “Day Trips from Kansas City.”  That’s when gasoline prices had sky-rocketed to an unbelievable 80-cents a gallon.

   It’s a lot of fun, remembering how to communicate verbally rather than via strokes on a keyboard.  The toughest part so far has been actually setting my alarm clock, something that causes many freelancers an allergic reaction.

    But otherwise, I sit around in my bathrobe with no make-up and the cat on my lap, and talk about the destinations that I otherwise just write about.  And try to decide what I should have for dessert:  chocolate cake, blackberry cobbler or Ben & Jerry’s.

    Like I said – some of these non-writing days, I don’t mind at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Heaven for Bare Feet

 

   Sometimes when working to find interesting and off the beaten path travel stories, the suggestions presented to us for research causes one to stop and scratch our heads.  My friends Jackie, Lisa and I encountered one of those head-scratching moments last spring when traveling through southern Indiana.  The itinerary included a stop at The Sock Factory.

   If you’re one of those geeky types who like to see how things work, you’ll be in heaven at the For Bare Feet Factory in Helmsburg, Indiana. Hundreds of different kinds of machines doing hundreds of different things all at the same time.

    If you’re one of those sports fanatics who has everything you own, including under garments, etched with colors and imagery of your sports team, you’ll also be in heaven here.

   Or if you’re one of those people who loves a good heart-wrenching story about the love of a parent for her son, the strength of a family and the success of David over Goliath, you’ll never question the presence of heaven again.

   Hopefully, that’s what the editor at American Profile was thinking when he assigned me the story “Knitting Novelty Socks” that appears in the  April 28-May 3 issue of the newspaper insert.

And that’s the story behind this story.

Not Retiring Yet

   It’s funny how stories and experiences run together to help a writer do his/her work.  Living just a few hours north of Branson, Missouri, I’m frequently contacted to do stories about what’s new and exciting in the music and entertainment phenomenon of the Missouri Ozarks.  In a few weeks, I’ll be heading to Branson on assignment for both the Kansas City Star and the Dallas Morning News.

   Last year, it was SkyWest magazine that wanted a story about the 100^th anniversary of the release of The Shepherd of the Hills, the Harold Bell Wright novel that painted such an intriguing picture of the Ozarks that travelers from around the world came to southwest Missouri to experience it for themselves.

   However, when Where to Retire magazine contacted me, they didn’t want a story from Branson, but instead Springfield, Missouri.  About 40 miles north of Branson, Springfield is considered the gateway to the Ozarks and is greatly influenced by the traffic that passes through the city en route to Branson.

   I, too, had been guilty of not giving Springfield enough attention in my travels, so I thoroughly enjoyed a couple of rather cold, but fun-filled days there last January.  When I sat down to write my story about why Springfield is so popular among retirees, I kept thinking about Dad Howitt, the lead character in The Shepherd of the Hills.  Dad Howitt was probably the first person to come to the southern Ozarks for rest, relaxation and rejuvenation in the latter half of his life.

    So that became the lead to my story.  To read the entire story, pick up a copy of the May issue of Where to Retire, or buy a copy on-line at www.wheretoretire.com.  And when you’re finished reading my story, read the one entitled Nirvana in the Northeast by Mary Bergin.  She’s a fellow writer and good friend from Madison, Wisconsin.

   But neither Mary nor I are retiring any time soon.  There are too many great stories yet to write.

Lights, Camera, Action.

  Good travel writing conveys a sense of place, the qualities of a unique destination told through otherwise mundane experiences.

   These fundamentals bounced through my head as my laptop and I sat on the lanai of my beachfront condo on O’ahu’s North Shore, attempting to craft a story.  The palm trees swayed in the warm breeze under perfect blue skies, the expanse of the Pacific Ocean, blah, blah, blah.  I was in paradise.

   Another rule of good travel writing – avoid clichés.

   Fortunately, at least on this particular occasion, not all of the stories I generate during my travels are for travel specific publications.  There’s a small publication group right here in Parkville that does a number of specialized trade publications, including one for restaurant owners and managers. The name is simply Restaurant Start-Up & Growth, and the magazine is often found under the business heading at the magazine section of many bookstores.

    It’s for them I have the opportunity to visit some unusual restaurants during my travels, but instead of highlighting the restaurant as a great stop for travelers, I write about unique construction, management practices and the like.

   Which is why, when I was in Hawaii at the Turtle Bay Resort, I visited with Chef Fred d’Angelo at Ola.  Lots of things made the restaurant a good story, but that production was underway for the movie “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” and a big scene had just been shot at Ola, made the story even more interesting.

   Turtle Bay Resort and Ola are used to such celebrity.  The grounds here are also used as a backdrop for the ABC show “Lost” and Ola hosted the second season DVD release party.

   So go see “Forgetting Sarah Marshall,” but pay particular attention to the restaurant scenes and know that it was the subject of my writing.  But also pay attention to all of the movie shot at Turtle Bay Resort.   It’s a fabulous destination, one that you may want to visit on your own.  Check it out at www.turtlebayresort.com.

  But when you send postcards home, try to avoid the clichés.  It’s the sign of a good travel writer.

I love the Brits

 

    I love the Brits.

  Until my recent visit to the UK, my favorite nationality had been Canadians, due in large part to their inherent sense of humor and universal healthcare.

   It had been some years since I had traveled to Great Britain, and I had forgotten their prominent joie de vivre and their overall congenial manner.  They are simply a cheery people who enjoy nothing more than a good debate over any number of subjects ranging from sports and politics to the quality of a local ale or the appropriateness of a Royal mistress.

   Of course, I had the pleasure of being in the UK when the Brits beat the French in the quarter finals of the Rugby World Cup. Surely, the Duke of Wellington’s defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo now pales in the annals of history to this battle on a pitch in Paris. Nowhere, not even in Boston after the Red Sox broke their 100-year curse to win the 2004 World Series, has pride in a sports team been more fanatical and universal among a citizenry.  Wisconsin cheeseheads should bow their cheddar in deference.

   But no matter how passionate the Brits are with an issue and how varied the opinions of those involved, the exchange remains polite and pleasant, rarely engaging in personal attacks.  The worst I ever heard a Brit call an individual with whom they had taken issue was “a bit of a chump,” and so said with an almost apologetic tone in that pleasant manner of theirs.  My colleague heard a referee called a “wanker” but since we were uncertain exactly what that meant and it was shouted so pleasantly, we assumed the best.

   On the other hand, I knew I was back in the USA when, after passing through customs at O’Hare, I began hearing the F-bomb dropped with startling frequency and a rather sour agent at a besieged airline service counter being addressed in terms that my mother would not approve of.

   I was jostled and shoved and ignored.  No one called me luv.  No one was concerned that I was properly tucked in.  No one offered me tea.  The smell of greasy fast food filled the passenger waiting area where everyone talked too loudly on their cell phones about matters of little importance while CNN discussed the details of the latest congressional sex scandal.

   Oh, it was good to be home.  God Bless America, but if push comes to shove, God Save the Queen.  The Brits will be much more appreciative of the effort.

 

 

Where Others Live Our Dreams

   From almost the beginning of our relationship, Bruce and I have talked about living in a log home someday. Antiques and handcrafted objects are among our passions, which would look great in our dream home by a lake. So, as we work toward that goal, we’ve had the fabulous opportunity to write for Log Home Living.

  The magazine has a wonderful column called Great Places, and over the last couple of years, we’ve been able to highlight Ogden, Utah, Talkeetna, Alaska, and Missouri’s Lake of the Ozarks as among the Great Places to build and live in a log home.

What a combination of our passions! Although I have to admit, there are times I find myself incredibly depressed after being in a great place like Brown County Indiana, where there are more log homes per capita than any other county in the U.S.

Sometimes our dreams of building our log home seem so far away. But 25 years ago, when I sold my first freelance story, the dream of making a full-time living at this and traveling the world writing for newspapers and magazines seemed far away as well.

 So until we can invite you to celebrate an open house in our own log home, perhaps you’ll enjoy reading about some of the places where people do live happily in log homes. Find Log Home Living in most bookstores or on-line at www.loghomeliving.com.

 In the March issue, we featured Lynchburg, Tennessee.

April is Nebraska City, Nebraska.

And May is Brown County Indiana.

We hope you enjoy where our dreams take you.

From Talkeetna to Tucson

   After a fabulous trip to Alaska in 2006, I worked diligently on what I hoped was a perfectly-crafted query to Cooking Light for the magazine’s Enlightened Traveler feature about some surprisingly fabulous restaurants and indigenous foods from the 49^th state.  I didn’t get the assignment (yet) but the query began some good communication with the folks in Birmingham, where Cooking Light is located.

   At the time, the magazine was celebrating its 20^th anniversary and chose to focus on the top 20 healthiest cities in the country as a part of the year-long celebration.  They needed someone to cover Tucson, Arizona.  That was my first assignment with Cooking Light, which ran in the March 2007 issue.

   As often happens, I gathered enough information, photos and other ideas to develop several stories.  While visiting a farmer’s market, a requirement for the CL story, I came across a guy selling Kansas City style barbeque.  His name was Rodney George, a native of Wyandotte County, and just too much of a fun guy not to necessitate a story.

   That’s the story that ran March 23 in The Kansas City Star.   http://www.kansascity.com/270/story/539937.html  This link only stays live for a week.

   But back to Alaska:  Cooking Light is soon going to start an on-line survey of its readers’ favorite vacation destinations, which will be the basis of some future assignments.  So if you want to see what I had originally pitched, if you want to see my by-line again in Cooking Light, keep an eye out for this survey to start at www.cookinglight.com.

   Remember to vote Alaska, not Arizona.  Already been there, done that.

Is It Spring Yet?

In the last three days in Kansas City, it has snowed, sleeted and rained, respectively.  It’s St. Patrick’s Day, but there’s nothing green happening here except for the beer flowing in numerous bars around the city.

However, the calendar tells us that warm weather and spring days are around the corner, and many of us will soon devote considerable time, money and energy to one-upping our neighbors in the lawn care department.

Early on, Bruce and I concede defeat to our neighbor Joan, but none the less will visit the garden department at our local Lowe’s store in an attempt to save face.  But this spring, we’re looking for more than just crab grass control and fertilizer.

The Lowe’s Garden Club Newsletter has a story and photos from the Lambdin/Meyer team about the 10,000 rain gardens initiative in Kansas City, a fairly impressive effort to minimize run-off and flooding in our storm sewers and waterways.  Learn more about it at www.rainkc.com.

So, if you’re shopping at Lowe’s in the coming weeks and months, be it for snow shovels or rain barrels, be sure to pick up a copy of the newsletter.  And silently give credit to the Meyers for at least attempting to encourage others with a green thumb, even if the Meyer thumb remains as drab as today’s weather in KC.

Stepping In It in Wales

  As April 15 and that annual tax deadline draws nearer, and many of us question how seriously God takes the “thou shalt not lie” commandment, I recall the last time I considered not being entirely truthful with the U.S. Government.  It was October and I returning from a writer’s conference in Manchester England, and a few extra days exploring the north of Wales.

   If you know anything about Wales, you know that it’s a beautiful country where more than 10 million sheep reside in a space about the size of Massachusetts.  And where there are sheep, there are also sheep droppings.  It’s nearly impossible to be anywhere in the north of Wales without stepping in it, literally. 

    So on the U.S. customs and immigration form, the question was “have you been on a farm, in pastureland or in contact with any hoofed animals?”

    Hmmm.  As a product of America’s farm culture, I take the spread of Mad Cow disease and similar agriculture threats quite seriously.  But despite my best efforts to scrape and wipe and soak my hiking boots, the evidence of my encounter with sheep was undeniable.  Those boots were wrapped in plastic in my checked bag, and I knew they wouldn’t be walking the fields of my family or anyone else’s farm until they were thoroughly sanitized.

   I also knew if I checked “yes” that I wouldn’t be back at my desk in Kansas City in time to file my story on craft artisans in Wales that appears in the March issue of The Crafts Report.  I actually have two stories in this month’s issue.  Check it out on-line at www.craftsreport.com or pick up a copy at your local Hobby Lobby or bookstore. 

   I’ve written for The Crafts Report since before I quit my “real” job to pursue this wonderful life of freelance writing.  I’ve never missed a deadline for them, or any other market I write for, but I figure fudging to the federal government once in a calendar year just about tests the limits of God’s patience.  I’m quite sure my Mother, and my Uncle Sam, would agree.