That’s a shot of our backyard patio nestled in the trees, where I’m writing this post. (We also have what we call our “urban patio,” on the east side of the house, which gets a lot more sun, so we have options depending on the weather.) Early June can often go either way in Oregon’s Willamette Valley, but today it’s gorgeous and sunny. The grass is lush and green. The roses are in bloom. I’m coming to the end of another book and feeling good about it. Not much to report, otherwise, and I’m trying to stay focused on the book, so I’m making it a quick post this month.
My daughter turns eighteen in a few days. I have to say I have mixed feelings about this. On one hand, I’m so proud of the young woman she’s become, a great student, thoughtful, conscientious, and living a well-balanced life, already admitted to the university of her choice and about to embark on the next chapter of her life. On the other hand, it means I’m definitely getting older. It seems only yesterday that I was bringing her home from the hospital, wondering if I had it in me to be the kind of father she deserved, my life changed forever the moment I looked down into her eyes for the first time. Congrats, kiddo! Now you get to vote in the next election. It’s only for the local school board, but still, use your power wisely.
Writing productivity is up. I think I’m finally starting to unwind some of the fairly entrenched habits I had that might have served me well when I was a part-time writer with a day job but actually get in my way now that I work at this full-time. Coming to the end of another book, but no news other than that. It’s something of a running joke around the house. Other people talk about their days, and when it’s my turn, since I seldom talk about works-in-progress, usually all I can say is, “Well, I wrote 10 pages.” What an exciting life I lead.
A Bit of Whimsy: Sunset in Newport, Oregon
That’s a shot at sunset from the balcony of our hotel in Nye Beach, in Newport, one of our favorite places on the Oregon coast. Heidi and I, along with Rosie, our intrepid Irish Setter, made a quick two-night jaunt to the coast in mid-April. It hit nearly 80 degrees Fahrenheit that first evening, almost unheard of on the Oregon coast, though it was fifty-five and foggy by the time we left, more the norm. There is a reason they sell a lot of sweatshirts on the Oregon coast. Even longtime natives seem to have a hard time remembering, despite repeated experience, that it can be in the mid-nineties in the valley and be forty degrees colder once you get over the coastal range. I actually love this, it makes escaping an oppressive heat wave no more than an hour’s drive away, but people who step out of their cars in shorts and tank tops are usually too busy shivering to appreciate it themselves.
Scott Recommends
Another Man’s Moccasins by Craig Johnson. I continue to be impressed with the breadth of Johnson’s skills. There is a granular detail to his writing that really brings these tales of Sheriff Walt Longmire, and the fictional Absaroka County in Wyoming where he resides, to vivid life, and from the very first page I feel like I’m in the hands of an author with a strong voice and in full control of his craft. This one starts with discovering the body of a young Vietnamese woman alongside the interstate, a woman who just may have a connection to Longmire’s service during the Vietnam war. Just superb.
“J.K. Rowling” by Natalie Wynn. I know I’m venturing into controversial territory, but once again, I came to Wynn’s YouTube video (part of her ContraPoints series) a little late in the game. This time it was because I was deliberately seeking out intelligent dialog on a difficult subject and found multiple people recommending Wynn’s video. What difficult subject are we talking about? Why, Rowling’s comments (both on Twitter and on her blog) that many regard as transphobic. My own views are irrelevant except to say that I think we need a lot more listening and empathy these days, and I mean real listening and empathy, the kind that comes without judgement, agenda, or with the barely concealed impatience of someone just waiting for their turn to speak. I was happy to listen to Wynn deconstruct Rowling’s essay in a thoughtful, entertaining manner, and you just may be too:
Airlie Winery. Almost two years ago, on one our trips to Newport, Heidi and I stopped at Airlie Winery, a cozy vineyard in the coastal range that feels much more remote than it really is, just a few miles from Highway 99 off Maxfield Creek Road. There were two Irish Setters roaming the property at the time, big beautiful dogs, and I said, “You know, if we do get another dog, I think I might like one of those.” Well, Heidi ran with this, of course, and there we were two years later returning to the winery (finally open again after closing during the pandemic) to enjoy some wine, cheese, and crackers while Rosie, our own Irish Setter, was able to occasionally roam and visit with other dogs, including the owner Mary’s setters. We heartily recommend Airlie to anyone in the area. The first shot below is of Rosie running among the vines. The second is from the creek below the main building, where we sat for a bit and enjoyed a pleasant afternoon.
I’m happy to say both Heidi and I are fully vaccinated (Moderna for us), as are both my parents and my in-laws. Hopefully the kids will be allowed to get vaccinated in the near future, though my daughter turns 18 in about five weeks (yikes, how did that happen?), so she’ll be eligible soon enough. If you have an opportunity to get vaccinated, I’d encourage you to do so. While dangers still lurk (people letting their guard down too early, new COVID-19 variants on the loose), I’m feeling a metaphorical shot in the arm of optimism for the world at large. It might also be the weather, since I’m typing this on a warm spring day, with my wife’s tulips beginning to bloom out front, and our long wet winter has resulted in everything being lush and green.
I’m halfway through a new Karen Pantelli book and feeling good about it. The last book, the big one that I had to put aside for a while, still gnaws at me, and I’m sure I’ll be returning to it soon enough, but I still need just a bit more distance from it. It’s not like anything else I’ve written. Writing that book had me thinking more about my writing process as a whole, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing, even if it’s never fun, and even a bit depressing, to work so long on something and feel (even temporarily) that it might have been wasted work. If you want to keep getting better as an artist, there’s a real danger in getting too comfortable with your methods, and if you’re not failing regularly then you’re probably not growing. Writers who get too dogmatic about a particular way of doing things run the risk of calcifying their creative abilities, I think. Heck, this is true about just about anything really. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve started questioning myself anytime I’ve started sounding a bit too rigid in my thinking.
I mentioned last month that I was seeing hints of spring. As usual in Oregon’s Willamette Valley, where we often get one last whiplash from winter before it leaves for good, we had the worst ice storm two weeks ago this area has suffered in 40 years. It wreaked havoc on the city’s trees and resulted in widespread power outages for days on end. While we were one of the lucky few who never lost power (well, for fifteen minutes, which hardly counts), there were thousands without basic electricity for over a week. And yet today, as I type this, the sun is out, daffodils and crocuses are blooming, and even though I see plenty of downed tree across the street from my office window, spring is well on its way. Of course, we’ll see, right? After the the last twelve months, who knows.
And those twelve months have been a heck of a ride: a global pandemic (and the economic shocks that accompanied it), the end of Trump’s toxic presidency, devastating forest fires raging less than thirty miles from my house, and finally a wicked ice storm. My own family has been very fortunate, however, and for the most part, I’ve just continued plugging away. I did have to temporarily set aside a long book a couple weeks ago, which was very painful, but the longer I’ve been at this the more I’ve come to trust my own process. (I pretty quickly switched to another book). I also think it’s important to take some creative risks, both with your choice of material and your processes, and this book was certainly a big one. It can’t be a risk if you don’t occasionally fall flat on your face. My gut tells me I just need some perspective on it, but we’ll see.
Not much other news at the moment. Since I’m not using Instagram for much these days, I decided to occasionally post daily practice drawings over there for the fun of it, and for extra motivation to keep practicing. You can find them over at http://www.instagram.com/scottwilliamcarter
A Bit of Whimsy: Joy Unleashed
Heidi and I took Rosie to the largest and most wild park in the city and found a big empty field for her to run. We’re still practicing her recall with our now nine-month-old Irish Setter, and she’s generally pretty good about it, but we do have to be careful. Seeing her unadulterated joy as she gallops around off-leash is pure heaven.
Scott Recommends
A Promised Land by Barack Obama. Like many people, I saw Barack Obama’s keynote address at John Kerry’s Democratic National Convention in 2004 and was captivated by his oratorical skill and his life story. Was he just a flash in the pan that could give a good speech, though? The more I learned about him early on, even before he won his Senate race—in his interviews, in his books, etc—the more I became convinced that his public speaking ability wasn’t even his greatest strength. His evidence-based intellect, his cool-under-pressure temperament, and his optimistic orientation toward life (an optimism grounded in political acumen, which his opponents would often underestimate at their own peril), he had many attributes, I thought, that could possibly make him a successful President someday, if the stars aligned. Well, of course the stars did align, and his first post-Presidential book (the first of two volumes) is a great chronology of his rise to power, a balanced historical perspective of his first few years in office, and a wonderfully written memoir by its own merits. As someone who generally follows the news fairly closely, much of the actual information wasn’t new to me, but it was still a great pleasure to read.
Better Angels: Why Violence Has Declined by Stephen Pinker. I listened to Pinker’s exhaustive but very convincing case on why the world is more safe, more peaceful and more civilized for more people than at any other time in history as an audio book, which made it take a long time to finish, but it was well worth it. I love books that challenge conventional wisdom, and do so with such deft. Progress does not come in a straight line, and to say we live in a much better world overall than our ancestors does not diminish the challenges of today. I also love writers unafraid to take on any particular group’s sacred cows so long as they adhere to the credo of allowing your conclusions to be guided by evidence and not the other way around. If you’re feeling down about the state of the world, this book is a great antidote.
The Ezra Klein Show (podcast): The Senate is Making a Mockery of Itself. I’m not a big podcast listener. I don’t subscribe to any of them, really, but I sometimes end up listening to a few now and then because of a topic or discussion I want to learn more about. Klein’s discussion with Adam Jentleson, the author Kill Switch: The Rise of the Modern Senate and the Crippling of American Democracy, is as good as any about why getting rid of the 60-vote threshold in the Senate (the so-called filibuster rule) might just be the most important change that needs to be made if the United States wants to prevent gridlock from grinding our country to a halt. Just about every argument in favor of keeping this arcane procedural gimmick—a fluke which is not in the Constitution, and only came about as a mistake — is a myth. Definitely worth an hour of your time.
