Blockheads, Writers and Editors

    One of my favorite places to visit in the line of duty was the Charles M. Schulz Library in Santa Rosa, California.  Most people call it the Charlie Brown Museum, and it’s a place that makes you happy. With a life size version of Snoopy’s dog house, a real kite-eating tree and a baseball field, along with the wonderful history of Charles Schulz bringing the Peanuts kids to life, it’s a place that warms your heart.

     Except today, I’m feeling like a blockhead.  I’m having a bout of writer’s block, something that I’ve rarely dealt with.

   I had a story due to the Kansas City Star this morning, and I tinkered with it for the better part of a week, and it just wouldn’t happen.  It’s a nice assignment about changes in the cruise industry and most of the people I interviewed and contacted for information were quite helpful.  So I can’t blame it on them, or the editor, or even my cat, who left me alone during my struggles.

   I did everything you’re supposed to do to combat writer’s block. I left my desk, left my house even.  Went for a walk. Had a nice quiet lunch in a pleasant restaurant nearby.  Read the works of great writers. Cleaned the cat’s litter box.  Drank gallons of Dr. Pepper and ate mountains of M&Ms. This weekend, I watched the CoCo Chanel movie on Lifetime three times. She was a creative individual.

   But nothing helped, and the story was due.  So I clunked along, moving words around, deleting huge paragraphs, staring at the screen until I was blind.

   I asked my husband to read the story and comment.  He always provides such positive feedback, so encouraging.  But even he admitted the story was flat.

   Over the years, I’ve kept track of my income and time devoted to earning it, determining that my hourly wage is at a respectable place somewhere between what they pay at McDonald’s and what a good lawyer bills per hour.  But at the rate I’ve produced this story, I should just give up and find work at a sweat shop in a third world country.

    I hit send a few minutes ago.

   Now I’m waiting to hear back from my editor.  Waiting.  And feeling like a blockhead. 

  Maybe I should have told him my assignment was eaten by the kite-eating tree.

   

Northern Exposures

   Wasilla Alaska has been in the news a bunch this past ten days or so.

   I don’t intend to comment on the leadership of that community or of the 49^th state

 in general, but it’s always fun when otherwise obscure places suddenly make national or international news and you can say “I’ve been there.”

   That’s a part of the fun of travel, experiencing these off the beaten path places.  However, Wasilla is not necessarily off the beaten path, in terms relevant to Alaska.  If anyone has ever been to Anchorage and has then gone on to explore Denali National Park, you’ve been through Wasilla.  It’s one of a handful of towns on the George Parks Highway, a beautiful thoroughfare traveled by most who visit Alaska’s interior. The route of the McKinley Explorer, a train that takes many travelers to Denali, passes through Wasilla.

    We’ve been to Wasilla, and certainly now I wish I had taken more notes and Bruce taken some pictures.  Perhaps we could sell a thing or two now that the world has a bit more interest in the place.  The headquarters for the Iditarod dog sled race is in Wasilla, and that would have been fun to see.

   Otherwise, as we passed through Wasilla, I remember it looking like just about any other town in the Lower 48.  I’m sure there was a McDonald’s, maybe a Lowe’s and certainly a Wal-mart. 

    But our 2006 trip to Alaska allowed us just two weeks to explore, and anyone who has been to the last frontier knows that two weeks just isn’t long enough. 

  Plus, we had an assignment about 50 few miles up the road in the town of Talkeetna. Remember the old television show Northern Exposure?  Talkeetna is supposed to be the inspiration for that show, based on the number of rather “distinct” personalities that make Talkeetna home.

    Again, without commenting on politics in Alaska, the people of Talkeetna actually elected a cat as their mayor.  THAT’s the kind of place Talkeetna is, and it seems the community purrs along very nicely.

   That particular story from our trip to Alaska appeared in December 2006 issue of Log Home Living.  The column is called Great Places, and indeed we found Talkeetna and all of Alaska not just a great place, but a fabulous place – whether or not they elect cats and barracudas for mayor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Plop, plop. Fizz, Fizz.

    A not so unexpected sound in a good travel writer’s office, in addition to the click of keyboard and ka-ching when Quicken accepts a payment, is the sound of Alka-Seltzer bubbling in a glass.  Remember the old commercials – “plop, plop, fizz, fizz.  Oh what a relief it is.”

   Two weeks ago, I shared about the gastro-intestinal demands on a full-time travel writer. At that time, I was just eating Booch Burgers and Guber Burgers in mid-Missouri. But experiencing the food of a community is an incredible experience in some parts of the world, so if you find yourself in Beijing eating at McDonald’s or KFC, shame on you.

   Before I went to Japan, I attempted a crash course in the language.  Two phrases I learned in Japanese were “I don’t want to eat that” and “I think I’m going to be sick.”  A few times, the first phrase came in handy and only once did the second phrase sort of explain itself.

   When I was in Wales last year, something in one of the soups caused this hideous rash around my mouth for about three weeks, resulting in not one but two prescriptions when I got home.  But other than that, Tums and Imodium have taken care of any culinary misadventures I’ve experienced in the line of duty.

   So investing a part of yourself in the food of the places you visit is as important as buying a souvenir T-shirt.  You go to Spain, you better eat paella.  You come to Kansas City, you better eat barbecue.  It’s as simple as that.

   And when you go to Door County Wisconsin, you gotta eat boiled fish.  Doesn’t that sound pleasant?  It’s what you do in Door County – attend a fish boil.  When I first heard about it, I thought it had something to do with what happens to fish when they swim in industrial waste too long.

   Allen Holder, the travel editor at the Kansas City Star, was equally intrigued by an event called a fish boil, and he let me share it with the readers of the Star in the August 31 travel section.

   As it turns out, a fish boil was quite pleasant, and as with any travel experience, made more so by the company I shared it with – members of the Midwest Travel Writers Association on our fall convention last September.  At an adjacent table were three fun women from Kansas City traveling together, who allowed me to quote them in the story.

   Just remember, no matter where your travels take you, don’t be afraid to try the local cuisine and don’t forget to pack the Alka-seltzer.