Porter Rockwell

June 9, 1878

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IMG_20150609_160415_400Hey Kids,

Riding home, I had the thought to stop by the Salt Lake City Cemetery and see my old buddy Porter Rockwell. I’m in a spot where the storyline of my work in progress about him is not working for me, something is wrong. A visit with my main character seemed a good idea; see what he thought about it.

It had been a little while, at least the other side of the winter, since I last stopped. I never know what I’ll find there. I’ve seen empty bottles from someone sharing a six-pack, coins, and a guitar pick. There’s a picture on the internet of someone leaving a .45 caliber cartridge at least once. Often, there’s flowers and the grass in that spot is worn out. Obviously, I’m not the only one who visits.

I should’ve already known this, but when I looked at the headstone, it was 137 years to the day that he passed. June 9, 1878. I try not to be spooky but it seemed an odd coincidence.

IMG_20150609_160437_391137 years after I die, I doubt anyone will be visiting my grave.

And that’s where the reality of what I’m doing hit.

He’s not just a character in my book, Porter Rockwell represents something to a lot of people. Even after 137 years.

It’s not just his rebellious spirit. It’s not just his bad assedness. It’s not just his loyalty. And it’s not just his Wild West Marshalling stories. It’s all of it put together. And that is what’s not setting right with me. In my story, I’m not maintaining the whole man. Even in fiction, he’s larger than life.

I think in my first book I got it right. But somewhere in the “artistic license” of the sophomore project, I strayed from what he means to me, and strayed from his 137 year-old legacy. I strayed from the reason people share a beer with him, share their music, bring him flowers, and leave him bullets. I missed the mark the straight-shooting, dead-eyed, gun slinger had set.

In the spirit of the man, I need to redo it, stretch higher, and dig deeper. This work is not just for and about me, it’s about Porter and for the people who, like me, still find inspiration and strength from a man that has long since moved on.

Thanks Porter. You’re still amazing.

 

Day 106

 

The Wild Westerners

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Hey kids,

History of the West doesn’t exaggerate in the description of how tough guys were.

Doc Holiday.kit-carsons-horseback-duel

Wyatt Earp.

Kit Carson.

Bill Hitchcock.

Buffalo Bill.

They and many others were the real deal.

I know there are stories stretched and stories made up. But the whole of the thing is that you had to be tough to make it then. And even more so to be thought “Tough” back then.

As a writer of a famed western bad-ass, and reading stories of many of these tough guys of the past, I often wonder how I would stack up against those times.

Don’t say anything. I’d like to live with my delusions.

**Picture borrowed from True West Magazine**

Day 28

Surrounding History

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broadwayHey kids,

Last Sunday we went to the movies, one that I had not been to in some time, Broadway Cinema, downtown Salt Lake City. State Street and Broadway to be more precise. It’s a unique theatre, so much different from the ones built nowadays. Tucked away between buildings, it’s barely noticeable and within the company I escorted, only I knew of it. For me, it holds some nostalgia and some history.

It is where I watched the Return of the Jedi on its original opening run in the early 80’s. I’m not sure what winds your clock, but that’s some history in my neighborhood.

But the site played host to at least one more nugget of historical events that shrouds them all. At least in my book. State Street and Broadway, a time ago, represented the address of the Colorado Stables. Owned by Mr. Porter Rockwell. It is in these stables that Rockwell met the end of his trail, dying on a cot in the back office.IMG_20150304_213936_017-1

I wonder as I look at the surrounds, how many people know that? How many people who would care to know that, know it?

I wonder how many historical ghosts I pass daily unaware.

Is it important to remember the past? I vote yes.

 

Day 9

My Little World

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f3e3c16cfaecf46ddfd1669f96f001b6Hey kids.

I’ve been working on my latest book and I’ve kind have been working on it for a long time now. Specifically, I’m working on this certain chapter; I’m guessing a couple of weeks at this point; at least on this edit. But it’s OK.

I don’t have an editor and even if I did, I have to be happy with the writing as I finish it or why else do it. There is a line of trying to be too perfect, but I’m far from that point. I’m just trying to get it right.

I read about other writers who can crank out books seemingly in their sleep. That’s great for them. I’m not them. I have to work at a different pace. I Edit. Then I edit again. And then edit a few more thousand times. It’s funny to me how little of the original text survives and yet the story remains and appears to have never been edited ever before (that can go two different ways. I speak of the good way, of sounding natural and flowing.)

During this pass through the chapter, a key chapter in my opinion, I have had ideas that need to now be incorporated into earlier chapters and I have had ideas that will reshape the ending of the book. It’s all in a state of flux and I’m creating more and more work to get it all finished. But again, it’s OK. It’s what I signed up to do.

Signed up with me, that is. No one is making me do anything. I’m doing this on my own. For me. To share one day, yes; but it’s mine right now. If I were to stop working on it, few if any would care more than a passing moment. If it isn’t good, no one will stone me. If It never sells, no economy will collapse. It doesn’t matter but to my little world.

And if spending countless hours of my free time, trying to make my little world as good as I can possibly make it, isn’t worth it. Then what is?

The Work in Progress- April 26, 2014

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Writing-desk

So I thought I would take Saturdays and use them as updates to where I am in the writing/publishing process. I know boring stuff, but I get asked every once in a while so why not.

I am still struggling along in the edits of the second book  the OPR series currently titled Cursing Black’s Gold. I just can’t seem to get it just right. I’m very pleased with the ending, but the middle part needs some work. After attending a writer’s conference, I did get some insights in what was stalling my progress. I refocused and things seem to be moving now just a bit. By next week I hope to have more progress and maybe an estimate on the publish date.

Ain’t Dead Yet continues to sell at a slow but steady pace in the kindle store. The most common thing I do hear from those who talk to me about the book is “When is the next one out?” (see above). It’s a nice thing to hear.

Under the category of “Pay more attention to your reports”, I learn upon reading a few of those reports that Twice the Christmas during the December special, was down loaded in Great Britain, Denmark, and Italy. I think that’s rather cool.

I can’t wait to get started on the finishing touches of this year’s Christmas story. I won’t talk much of it right now, but it is waiting for me as soon as Porter II is done. I’ll shed more light on the story once I get back to work on it. The working title is The Biggest Little Christmas in the World. Some out there might recognize the origin of that tag line. And yup, it has to do with there.

OK. That’s it for now. Stay tuned for more riveting writing news next week.

mmj

 

A New Year, Same Ol’ Me

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tumblr_my14iv7Xng1s5qhggo1_500

This morning felt just like the last one and I didn’t take on any grand resolutions to begin on this “magical date.” but that doesn’t mean that I’m not excited about this new year.

I woke up early (confession- I fell asleep way before midnight last night), and after helping Annette get off to work (way bummer), I finished the second edit of a chapter of my work in progress, and hit the gym.

Now I know that there are many people who join the gym in January. But I joined in December. I know, Big Diff! But I joined because I needed to and a new gym opened and I took advantage of the cheap sign-up.

Anyway, I made an awesome Ham and Cheese Omelet and am now settling down for another writing session. If I could make a resolution to copy this day everyday, I would. But I digress.

A new year does not a new me make. I have to be realistic. My goals have to have meaning. They have to be consistent with what I have done, who I am, and what’s realistic.

So for the record, here are some of my goals for this next year, or so:

Finish the second Porter Rockwell Novel “Cursing Black’s Gold”. Release in Kindle and Print this spring.
Finish 2014 Christmas story (working title “The Biggest Little Christmas in the World”) to be released by November 1 in Kindle and Print.
Begin Third Porter Rockwell Novel (working title “The Devil’s Due”).
Evaluate editing of “Inmachuk Confabulations”, determine if it is right for publishing.
Maintain my work out schedule to be ready and able to climb Mt. Nebo this late summer.
Plan one major motorcycle tour this summer.
Fish a lot.

I have some wishes concerning being able to see my kids, and some personal relationship needs; but those are not really right for this forum. And they dependent on others. I’ll stick to those things in my control.

Wow. What a boring post. I’ll avoid such nonsense in the future. But of that, I can’t be resolute either.

A Unique Spurtle to Stir the Porridge.

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While doing a little research on, of all things, the history of oatmeal for the next Porter Rockwell novel, I stumbled upon this Scottish poem. It’s fun to read, so I leave it for you to enjoy as well:

Our gudeman came hame at e’en,
And hame came he,
And there he saw a shining sword
Where nae sword should be:
What’s this now, gudewife,
And what’s this I see ?
O how came this sword here
Without the leave o’ me ?
A sword! quo’ she,—aye, a sword! quo’ he.
Shame fa’ yere cuckold face,
And waur may ye see,
It’s but a porridge spurtle
My mither sent to me.
A spurtle! quo’ he,—aye, a spurtle ! quo’ she.
Far hae I ridden, love,
And meikle hae I seen,
But silver hiked spurtles
Saw I never nane.

(This is one verse of a song collected by David Herd in 1776.)