Author Archives: Maria Langer

Life is Better on My Terms

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A tweet reminds me of a life I didn’t like very much.

On January 14, 2008, I tweeted:

I’ve gotten very good at making my coffee in the semi-darkness so I don’t wake my parrot.

I don’t know where I was when I tweeted that, but I do remember too many mornings when I tiptoed around our Phoenix condo before dawn so as not to wake my husband’s roommate. As an early riser, every morning at the condo when his roommate was around was an ordeal for me.

You see, when I was in the condo, my parrot Alex was there, too. If I woke Alex up, Alex would start her morning routine, which is very vocal. That, in turn, would wake my husband’s roommate and make him hate me even more than he already did. The result: an even less comfortable situation the rest of the time we were all there together.

So I tip-toed around, making my coffee in the near-dark. And then I sat silently on the corner of the sofa in the dark, drinking my coffee, waiting for my husband or his roommate to wake up so I could make noise, too.

Things are different now. I don’t have to pretend to like something I don’t — namely, living in the cavelike condo my husband selected as a real estate investment — one that immediately went under water and made him a slave to a job he hated. I don’t have to keep the same hours as someone else. I don’t have to live my life a certain way just to make someone else happy.

Seeing this tweet today, copied to my Facebook timeline, really reminded me of how much better off I am finally living life on my own terms.

The Maiden Voyage of the Yellow Kayak

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An afternoon out with some friends and my dog.

I can’t remember exactly when I decided I wanted to try calm water kayaking. It may have been last fall, after losing all that weight, when I realized that I needed some upper body exercise to build muscle tone in my upper arms. It could have been in December, when I realized that a kayak would be an excellent way to explore the Intracoastal Waterway that wound past my mom’s house in Florida. I know it was before I moved my RV to the Sacramento area in late February to begin a frost contract. In fact, I was so sure I wanted a kayak back then that I brought along Penny’s life jacket and a floatation cushion when I headed south from Auburn.

My New Kayak
My new kayak.

But it wasn’t until last Monday when I actually bought a kayak.

It wasn’t anything special. It’s an Equinox 10.4. I think that means it’s 10.4 feet long. It’s yellow molded plastic. It has a comfortable seat — unlike the only other kayak I was ever in, back in my old life — and adjustable foot rests so I can keep my knees bent. There’s a watertight-ish compartment on the back and a smaller one on the front. There’s a cupholder on the seat between my legs. And lots of elastic straps to tie things down. It came with a standard kayak paddle and a 12-page instruction book.

I bought it at Costco.

A few of my friends here in Washington have kayaks. There are plenty of places to use them. In Quincy, there’s a place called Quincy Lakes that has at least 10 lakes carved out of the basalt desert in a coulee formed by ice age floods. This is about 5 miles from where my RV is parked for the beginning of cherry season. A little farther away is Crescent Bar on the Columbia River, which offers a sheltered cove and access to the river. There’s Moses Lake and the Potholes Reservoir to the southeast. And then other lakes, ponds, and rivers all within a 30-60 minute drive.

This isn’t Arizona. This desert has water.

I was looking forward to going kayaking, but the weather simply wasn’t cooperating. It’s been wicked windy since my return, with winds gusting to 40, 50, and even 60 miles per hour, depending on the day. Not the kind of weather I wanted to experiment with my new kayak. The only nice day was Thursday and I had a charter flight that day. I’m not complaining.

Today would be my last chance for a few hours out on the lake for at least a week and a half. I had to go back to Arizona, possibly for the last time, and expected to be gone for at least 10 days. But the forecast called for more of the same.

I was messing around on my computer, trying to design a new kitchen for the home I hope to build this summer, when I got a text from my friend Katie at about 10:30 AM:

Did you get a kayak? If so are you available today to go for a couple of hours to H lake. Tyson wants to go and fish and Cody might go too. (H lake is the smallest of the Quincy lakes.)

Tyson and Cody were her sons. I knew H Lake pretty well. I’d hiked around that area quite a few times. I wanted to go, but it was windy. I replied:

Funny you should ask. I would like to go, but it’s it too windy? I don’t want to be a burden to you with my lack of experience.

She assured me that she was new to kayaking, too. She suggested about 1 PM but said we’d see what the wind was doing before we decided.

I checked the forecast again. Wind gusts up to 28 miles per hour didn’t sound good.

She called around 1 PM. It looked too windy. But she’d keep watching the weather. I shouldn’t put my day on hold for her.

At about 1:30, I realized I was wasting the day. I decided to take a hike down around H Lake to check conditions and maybe get a few photos. There was a chance that there were some wildflowers blooming. I changed into shorts and a tank top, put on my hiking shoes, grabbed my camera, and headed out in the truck with Penny.

H Lake
H Lake. You can see my truck parked in the parking area.

The first lake we reached, Stan Coffin Lake, was rough. Definitely not something I wanted to take a maiden voyage on in a new kayak. I turned down the road toward H Lake and parked in the small parking area. We got out. The lake had some ripples, but also some smooth areas. I took a photo and attempted to send it via text to Katie. But there wasn’t a good enough signal and the message failed. I figured I’d send it later. Penny and I went hiking.

I didn’t get a chance to take many photos. Penny and I had just reached the lake’s outlet on its northwest end when my phone rang. It was Katie. She wanted to know if I could be ready in 15 minutes. I told her I was at the lake and that I could run home and get my kayak. But the signal was bad. All she got was that I was at the lakes before the signal dropped.

Penny and I hurried back to the truck. We were just leaving the area — where the cell signal was good again — when Katie called back. She’d meet me at my trailer and we’d throw my kayak in back of her truck with hers and Tyson’s.

Tyson Fishing
Tyson’s kayak was rigged for fishing.

A while later, we were heading back to the lake in Katie’s Ford truck: Katie, Tyson, me, and Penny. We got down to the lake and parked. Soon all three kayaks were in the water. Tyson’s was rigged with fishing rod holders and two rods. While Katie and I paddled around the lake, he’d cast out his fly rod, pulling in one tiny bluegill after another.

Katie and I did pretty well. There was just enough wind to make us need to put a little extra effort into paddling when we wanted to move against it, but not enough to really make us struggle. We paddled around the edge of the odd-shaped lake, looking at the weeds and fish in the water, admiring the rocks and the desert terrain, and watching the occasional startled duck dart out from the weeds and glide away. We chatted about so many things that were interesting but not important. It was nice to clear my mind.

Penny the Kayaking DogPenny the Kayaking Dog.

Penny sat on the floor of the kayak between my legs. She was wearing her life jacket, which fitted considerably more snugly than the last time she’d worn it back in August. Although she seemed nervous at first, she was soon standing on her hind legs with her front feet on the edge of the kayak, taking in the view. I swear, this dog can get used to anything.

We circled the entire lake once, then just paddled around. Tyson kept pulling in fish and throwing them back. Two men showed up with rubber boats that they inflated and headed out on the lake with their fishing poles. One of them asked Tyson what he was using to catch all those fish. Katie took off to do another lap around the lake. I experimented with paddling the boat up to land, mostly to see if Penny would get out if given the opportunity. She did, but only to try to eat the weeds along the surface by the shore. She hopped back in when I told her to.

The temperature was perfect — in the high 70s — and the sun was bright and warm. The wind kept me from getting hot. I sipped ice cold bottled water. Penny lapped up the water droplets that got into the kayak when I paddled.

I tried some speed paddling and did pretty well. I really felt it in my upper arms and shoulders. I knew I’d be sore the next day and it made me happy.

In all, we were out on the lake for about two hours. I decided that on my next outing, I’d try a larger lake and I’d bring along a picnic lunch and possibly an umbrella for shade while I was eating. I figured I could also use it as a sail if the wind kicked up.

We came back into shore and stacked the kayaks back up in the truck bed with mine on top so it would be easy to remove. Katie drove us home. It was nearly 5 PM.

I considered my first kayaking trip a success. I’m really looking forward to the next one.

On Dreams and Omelets

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An unsettling dream stirs up old feelings.

I dreamed about my husband again last night.

It was the first dream about him in a while. In this dream, he’d managed to get permission to come to the house. I wanted to demand that he leave his girlfriend/mommy behind, but got my request in too late. He pulled up the driveway in his Mercedes with her in the front seat and some guy I didn’t know in the back. When I told him that I would not let him in with her on the property, she tried to argue it but, in the end, drove away with the other man.

In the dream, my husband had his camera with him and immediately began taking photos around the outside of the house. When I reminded him that he was wasting his time and that the pictures could not be used as evidence in court later in the week, he started to talk to me. You know — communicate. The thing we hadn’t been able to do for years. I have no idea what he was saying, but I remember feeling so sad that he was finally talking to me. When it was too late to fix anything. And I felt sorry for him. Again.

And then I woke up, feeling frustrated and sad.

A while later, I was in the kitchen making breakfast. An omelet with bacon and onions.

I remembered all the times either he or I would make omelets for breakfast. We each had our own method and pretty much stuck to them for the 29 years we were together. Both methods made good omelets.

Now I make a smaller omelet, an omelet for one. And oddly, I find myself using his method.

Over the 29 years of our relationship, we spent a lot of time apart. First, it was when I traveled extensively for business, sometimes being away for two or three weeks at a time. Then, it was after we moved to Arizona and he went back to New Jersey, to live in the apartment he kept there for a week at a time every single month. Then it was when I started doing summer work, first at the Grand Canyon and then in Washington State. And then it was when he began living in our Phoenix condo every weekday, week after week.

During all those times apart, there have been other breakfasts made and eaten alone. But for some reason, today’s breakfast was different. Today I really felt the absence of the man I love.

I imagined the conversation we’d be having. Talking about our plans for the day — or lack of plans. One of us making toast. Letting the dog out (or in). Him brewing his Earl Grey tea. Cutting the omelet in half and placing the halves on the two plates he’d warmed in the toaster oven. Using placemats so as not to damage the table with the hot plates. Or maybe, on a nice morning like this, bringing breakfast out to the table on the back patio to enjoy it while the desert comes to life around us.

As I sit here typing this, I wonder whether he’s awake yet. I wonder whether he’ll make an omelet with the woman he’s chosen to replace me. I wonder if she cooks for him or he cooks for her or they share the task, as we always did. I wonder whether they both make omelets the same way. Or maybe she’s some kind of health nut — God knows she left enough vitamins in my house — and only eats egg whites or won’t eat bacon. Maybe they don’t eat omelets together at all.

And I wonder whether he ever thinks of me and the omelets we made together during all those years.

This guy gets it. Do you?

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More fodder from my inbox.

Yesterday, I was very pleased to find the following message in my email inbox (emphasis added):

Maria –

I’m not selling anything…and I’m not asking for anything =) I just wanted to drop a heartfelt “Thanks!” for what you’ve written. I’m a career Navy guy… I retire in a year and a half. I finally started my flight training this past Feb. Now that I’m on shore duty and not at sea, I have the time. Fortunately for me, the GI Bill is covering the cost of my flight training. It really is the realization of a lifelong goal. I *almost* had the opportunity to fly in the Navy, but my 31st birthday fell three weeks prior to receiving my BA. When you couple that with a backlog of Student Aviators pushed back in their training due to Hurricane Ivan, it meant… No age waiver approval for me. The Navy wouldn’t let me fly…

I never gave up though and while I had to put my flight training on the back burner when I was out to sea, it’s finally coming together now. It’s a poor choice for a second career, I know. However, there is just something about flying that draws me in and I can’t see myself doing anything else. I’ve perused the various forums throughout the years and despite all the negativity associated with anything related to pilot jobs… I’m still moving forward. I’m a firm believer that what you achieve in this life is directly proportional to what you put in.

So what’s the point? Thanks for posting up your perspective! Your blog is a goldmine of lessons learned and experience gained. I really enjoy reading it. It’s motivating for an “old guy” like me. Yes, I “get” that I should have started this career 20 years ago but it’s water under the bridge now. In any case, at least I’ll have my retirement pay to supplement the low wages :). Ultimately though, being satisfied with what I do rather than how much I make is what matters most. Thanks again for blogging!

Ryan

Now that’s what I call the right attitude.

Here’s a guy approaching retirement age — not quite sure what that is for career Navy guys, but I assume it’s past 40. He knows what his passion is. He knows that it’s not the best career choice if money is important. But money isn’t important to him and he’s going after his dream job, knowing that his retirement pay will supplement his pilot income. You have to have a lot of respect for someone like that.

I know I do. He’s in nearly the same boat I was in back in early 2000 at age 38. I was also fortunate enough to have another income to fall back upon as I worked my way up. I was chasing down a dream. Profits didn’t matter — at least at first while that second income was there for me. What mattered was rising to the challenge and doing something I really wanted to do — something I loved.

But what really struck me were the two sentences I highlighted in bold above.

I’m a firm believer that what you achieve in this life is directly proportional to what you put in.

This is the truth. There are many ways to go through life. One way is to “skate,” doing just as much as you need to glide forward on a satisfactory path. (I was married to a skater, although he didn’t think he was. But if he would have turned off the TV once in a while and spent that time learning and doing the things he needed to achieve his goals, he’d be in a happier place right now. I think we both would be. But that, too, is water under the bridge.)

The other way to go through life is to work hard and smart and to stay focused on your goals, doing whatever you need to do to achieve them. It’s not easy and it can be exhausting. I know this. I think Ryan does, too. But the rewards of all this work are worth all the effort.

The more you put into life, the more you get back from it.

Ultimately though, being satisfied with what I do rather than how much I make is what matters most.

This is another version of the old adage, “Do what you love.” If there was any one piece of advice I could give a young person, this would be it. Remember, if you’re not happy with what you do every day, you will not have happiness in life. Only by following your dreams and doing what matters most to you can you be really happy.

This is something I learned back in 1990, when I left a job I hated to start a freelance career. The way I see it, I wasted 8 years of my life. But what followed (so far) were 23 great years doing work I loved and achieving my goals. Ryan understands this, too.

Being happy at work is far better than making a lot of money at a job you don’t like.

Do you understand these things? When you do and you’re not afraid to let it guide your life, you’ll be on your way to a rich, fulfilling life, too.

On Heavy-Handed Writing

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When the author’s voice is so loud it distracts you from the story.

One of the things that I think clearly identifies a good author is his voice. Simply said, when I read fiction, I expect to be drawn into the story, with each word, sentence, paragraph, and page feeding my imagination with clear and smooth descriptions of the characters, settings, actions, and dialog.

Seems pretty simple, huh? Unfortunately, not all authors are able to pull this off. Some try so hard to paint scenes or describe action that their heavy-handed writing prevents readers from getting into the story. Instead, the reader hears the author’s voice, often shouting for attention about how clever he is.

The Silent SeaThe best way to illustrate this is with a passage from a “Clive Cussler” book I just finished. Let me present two versions of the opening paragraph and offer a critique before I explain why I put Mr. Cussler’s name in quotes.

A Bad Start

I bought the Kindle edition of this book from Amazon after reading a synopsis written by an acquaintance. The book had the elements I like in a good fiction read: a mystery, action, suspense. And the fact that it was (apparently) written by an author I knew didn’t hurt things either. I was eager to pick up a book that would keep my mind off the other crap going on in my life so I bought it without first reading a sample. I somewhat regret that.

The truth of the matter is, if I’d read the first paragraph of the book before buying it, I probably wouldn’t have bought it.

A golden blur leapt over the small boat’s gunwale just as the bows met the rocky beach. It hit the water with a splash and plowed through the surf, its tail raised like a triumphant pennant. When the retriever reached land, it shook itself so that drops flew like diamond chips in the crisp air, and then it looked back at the skiff. The dog barked at a pair of gulls farther down the beach that took startled flight. Feeling its companions were coming much too slowly, the purebred tore off into a copse of nearby trees, her bark diminishing until it was swallowed by the forest that covered most of the mile-square island just an hour’s row off the mainland.

This is just one example of the heavy-handed writing I found in this book. The author is trying to show off, trying too hard to show what a great writer he is. All he succeeds in doing, however, is calling out his voice to the reader, who has to stumble over his awkward sentences to get the visual the author intends.

Want some specifics? How about these?

  • Using the word bows instead of bow to refer to the front end of a boat. While this is technically okay (either word works), bow is more commonly used. (I honestly thought it was a typo until I looked it up.)
  • Putting a tail on a “blur.”
  • Referring to a dog as “it” and then clearly indicating its gender later with “her.”
  • Identifying the thoughts of a dog.
  • Using five different words to describe the same character: blur, it, retriever, dog, purebred. (Purebred was over the top for me; it’s a snobbish way to refer to a dog.)
  • Overall awkward sentence construction for several sentences. I was especially bothered by all the geographic facts jammed into the last sentence.

I also had a problem with a dog swimming with its tail straight up, but I resolved that by looking at photos of a retriever in water; one in particular seemed to illustrate what the author had written. Still, it bothered me enough to want to look it up. Most dog breeds known for swimming skills use their tail as a rudder in the water.

I started wondering how the author could have presented the same information without his voice shouting out to be heard. As an exercise, I rewrote the paragraph:

A golden blur leapt over the small boat’s gunwale just as the bow met the rocky beach. The retriever hit the water with a splash and plowed through the surf, her tail raised like a triumphant pennant. When she stepped onto the beach she shook herself, sending drops like diamond chips flying through the crisp air. She looked back at her companions in the skiff, then barked at a pair of gulls farther down the beach, startling them into flight. Impatient, she tore off into a small grove of trees nearby, the sound of her barking soon swallowed by the forest that covered most of the mile-square island just an hour’s row off the mainland.

I identified the blur as a retriever right away so she (not it) could logically have a tail. I liked the visual of the diamond chips, but not the construction of that sentence, so I changed it. Copse reminds me of corpse so I used the more common small grove; I also took the adjective nearby out of the middle of the noun phrase and put it at the end. I couldn’t do much with the geography lesson without moving it to another paragraph, so I left it.

I don’t know…is it better? Or just more to my taste?

My point is this: a well-written sentence/paragraph/page/book should not make a reader want to rewrite it to remove distractions.

By or With?

And that brings me to the author, Clive Cussler. The reality is that Mr. Cussler did not write this book. It was written by Jack Du Brul. On the cover (see above), the word with is used instead of by. Mr. Cussler’s name is in huge letters — indeed, as large as the book title’s — and Mr. Du Brul’s name is added in tiny letters, almost as an afterthought.

This, in my opinion, is misleading.

Unfortunately, this is very common. An author writes a few bestsellers, perhaps with a series character. For whatever reason, the author stops writing. But because the author has a huge following, his name has a ton of value to the publisher. The publisher either actively searches for a writer willing to publish additional titles under that author’s name or simply considers proposals by authors to do so. The result: the famous author’s books continue being published, but they’re written by someone else.

Clive Cussler is not the first author to do this. Tom Clancy has done it. So has Robert Ludlum. And I’m sure there are dozens of other bestselling authors who are allowing their names to appear on books written by others.

As if readers can’t tell the difference.

You can argue that a reader can clearly see who the author of a book is by simply looking at the cover. After all, the real author’s name does appear there. But when a “name brand” author’s name appears on a book cover, I expect to get a book that would meet the level of quality of that author. I don’t think Clive Cussler would have written an opening paragraph like the one I quoted here. And I don’t think the book would be full of other examples of loud author voice as this one was. So I don’t think his name should appear on the cover at all.

About this Book

What’s interesting about this book is that although it had plenty of examples of awkward author voice, there were plenty of times when the author’s voice faded into the background and the story just came out. Almost as if there was another author involved — maybe Mr. Cussler after all? — or a very good editor. Or maybe the author just couldn’t keep up his screaming throughout the book.

Overall, the book was readable, even for a picky reader like me. I could overlook the writing problems because of the interesting plot twists. And although the plot itself was outrageously unbelievable at times, I was able to overlook that, too. In the end, it gave me just the kind of distraction that I needed.

If I had to rate it, I’d give it 3 (out of 5) stars. Worth reading, but get it from the library.