Bending Heinlein’s Rules

You submitted your story to a market and the editor rejected it. Should you edit the story before submitting it elsewhere? Some say yes and others say no. Let’s examine both schools of thought to see what’s best for you.

Last week I blogged about whether to write many stories fast, or take the time to perfect fewer stories. That prompted a Facebook discussion with a fellow author who makes quick edits to every rejected story before submitting to other markets. He said he sees flaws to fix each time.

At a critique group meeting this week, another fellow author asked, “After how many rejections should you consider editing a story?” I said, “I’ve heard of stories getting upwards of 70 rejections before getting accepted, so ask me again after you hit 70 rejections.” Here’s a fun list of well-known books that many editors rejected before acceptance occurred. Robert M. Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance took the prize at 121 rejections.

Another fellow critique group member said she has edited stories after rejections, but only to fit the rules of a particular anthology she’s aiming for.

My glib response at the critique group meeting stemmed from my understanding of the Rules for Writing Fiction, developed by author Robert A. Heinlein.

Of interest, Heinlein and I graduated from the same institution, a few years apart. Both of us ended up writing fiction. There, any similarities end, I’m sorry to say. I still aspire to attain a fraction of his writing skill.

I’ve blogged about Heinlein’s Rules before, but I’ll list them again here:

  1. You must write.
  2. You must finish what you write.
  3. You must refrain from rewriting, except to editorial order.
  4. You must put the work on the market.
  5. You must keep the work on the market until it is sold.

I interpret Rules 2, 3, and 4 to mean you finish a story to some level of satisfaction, submit it to a market, and upon rejection, immediately submit it to another market (without editing), and repeat. If an editor says she’ll accept it with some rewrites you find acceptable, then and only then do you edit the story.

Others interpret RAH’s Rules differently. Robert C. Worstell says Heinlein’s Rule 3 discusses rewriting, which is different from (and more extensive than) editing. In other words, he believes minor editing doesn’t violate Heinlein’s Rules at all.

Let’s summarize the thinking behind both schools of thought:

  • The Always-Edit School. Don’t keep throwing a bad story at different markets; you’re wasting your time. What if your story is just a few edits away from being great? It doesn’t take that much time to re-read a story and correct the errors you see before sending it out again. As your writing matures, you’re improving your older stories with each edit session.
  • The Never-Edit School. Have some pride and faith in your stories. Time spent re-editing old stories is time not spent on your current Work in Progress (WIP). All that editing is slowing you down. What if your edits are making the story worse?

Which school of thought should you join? I offer the following questions to answer as you make your choice:

  1. Can you spare the time to re-read that story and edit it?
  2. Have you received rejection letters with suggestions for improvements (admittedly rare these days) and do those suggestions make sense?
  3. Are you sending the story to an anthology, and will it require editing to meet the antho’s submission guidelines?
  4. Has the story received more than X rejections, (where X can be 20, 30, or any value you choose) and you’re running out of pro and semi-pro markets to submit to?

The more of these questions get a ‘yes’ answer, the more you should consider re-reading and editing the story before you send it out again.

I don’t take this bending of RAH’s Rules lightly. After all, he’s Heinlein, and I’m just—

Poseidon’s Scribe

July 1, 2018Permalink

Write More or Write Better?

Choose one: you could write the most novels ever by a single author, none of them great; or you can write only one, but it’s the best novel ever. Most of us would choose to write one standout novel.

It’s not a realistic choice, though, in guiding how you should write. A novel doesn’t get to become a classic until after its publication, and often not until after the author is dead. In other words, at the time you’re writing it, you don’t know whether your novel will stand the test of time.

But we do face the real problem of deciding whether to spend our limited time being prolific (writing a lot), or polishing a small number of stories.

We need to manage what I call our 1/E Ratio. The ‘1’ is the time we spend writing first drafts, and the ‘E’ is the time we spend editing those drafts.

At one extreme, 1/E could be very small. In this case, you might spend twenty years polishing a novel, editing and re-editing draft after draft. Your final product might be very good and might become a classic, but you couldn’t repeat your success too many times.

Or your 1/E could be very large, nearly infinite. You could spend all your time writing first drafts and never editing them. Just self-publish them immediately. You’d be very prolific, limited only by the number of story ideas you have and your available time.

Writers at both extremes seem to have solid rationale:

  • For Writer One, a small 1/E ratio is best. She seeks top quality with small quantity. After all, editors always say they want your best work. Writer One finds her story improving with each draft, greatly increasing its chances of entertaining more readers. Few people remember the most prolific authors, she says, but everyone can name some great ones.
  • Writer Two keeps his 1/E ratio large and goes for maximum output. He claims he’s honing his craft with every novel, and believes it’s still possible that one of his many books will strike the right chord with readers. In fact, by writing so many books, Writer Two thinks he’s maximizing his chances of being successful.

Remember, 1/E is a ratio, and there’s a wide spectrum between near-zero and near-infinity. You don’t have to choose one of those extremes.

In my analysis so far, I’m ignoring some factors that come into play when selecting how to spend your writing time. Some authors write for their own enjoyment, and aren’t aiming for high quality prose. Others don’t generate enough story ideas to write more than a few books, so their time is best spent editing the few stories they can write.

Your situation will be specific to you and will be constrained by your talents, your preferences, your end goals, etc. I have some general advice to offer, though:

  1. If you’ve been polishing and editing the same novel for over a decade and it’s never quite good enough, try dialing your 1/E ratio a little higher on the scale. Declare that novel done, send it out, and start writing another.
  2. If you’ve written a fair number of stories that just aren’t selling, try nudging the pointer toward a slightly smaller 1/E value. Spend more time editing each of your stories before sending them out.

Helping you adjust your 1/E ratio for optimum performance is all part of the free service provided by your writing mechanic—

Poseidon’s Scribe

June 24, 2018Permalink

Trademark Cock-up

You may not think much about trademark law, but people who own trademarks think a lot about the words you write and the images you post. Allow me to introduce the following recent cases as evidence:

In the first case, following an outcry on social media, Nike apologized and cancelled a planned fashion collection that would have featured the logo.

In the second case, the blogger wrote a respectful (and hilarious) letter to the restaurant chain. Olive Garden decided to take no further legal action and sent Mr. Malone a $50 gift card.

The third case (now termed Cockygate) has created pandemonium in the romance novel industry and is all over social media. After obtaining her trademark, Ms. Hopkins sent cease-and-desist letters to numerous other romance authors who’d used the word ‘cocky’ in their romance novel titles. Initially, Amazon removed those authors’ works from its site, but has since restored them, pending legal resolution. One romance author and retired lawyer filed an appeal with the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, challenging the issuance of the trademark. Another author has published an anthology called Cocktales, where all the proceeds will go to authors impacted by Hopkins’ actions, and to the Romance Writers of America advocacy fund.

The fourth case is pending and the USPTO may not grant the “Dragon Slayer” trademark, but the ‘cocky’ case probably inspired that application.

I’m most concerned about the last two cases, since they involve fiction writing. I understand the value of trademarks, and the need to protect them. I assume there is a stringent process the USPTO uses to process applications and grant trademarks, and that it followed the process in the ‘cocky’ case.

It strikes me as odd that one can trademark a single word, even a valid dictionary word, as opposed to one the author made up. If USPTO policies allow that, perhaps it’s time to question those policies.

Further, if an author can obtain a trademark on the use of the word ‘cocky’ in a book title, that may well lead to an open floodgate of similar trademark applications, such as ‘dragon slayer.’

Moreover, as author Steve Brachmann points out in this excellent post, in this age of social media, a strong-handed attempt to enforce your trademark can backfire.

Writers no longer live in separate, isolated bubbles; they communicate freely. If one author receives a cease-and-desist letter, chances are everyone in that author’s circle will soon know. In the ‘cocky’ case, the predominant opinion across social media is running against Ms. Hopkins. We’ll have to wait and see if she prevails in the courts, where law matters more than popular sentiment.

Perhaps it’s time I applied for a trademark on my pseudonym—

Poseidon’s Scribe

June 17, 2018Permalink

Author Suicides

Writers, it’s difficult, but we have to talk about this. The recent celebrity suicides of Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade have raised awareness of the general suicide problem. However, writers may be particularly at risk.

A study released in March 2017 by the UK’s Office for National Statistics reported a higher risk of suicide “among those working in artistic, literary and media occupations.” [My emphasis added.]

It didn’t take long for me to compile my own partial list of fiction authors who have committed suicide (in order of birth date):

  • Virginia Woolf – (1882-1941, age 59)
  • L.M. Montgomery – (1884-1942, age 67)
  • Ryunosuke Akutagawa – (1892-1927, age 35)
  • Yasunari Kawabata – (1899-1972, age 72)
  • Ernest Hemingway – (1899-1961, age 61)
  • Sándor Márai – (1900-1989, age 88)
  • Karin Boye – (1900 – 1941, age 40)
  • Arthur Koestler – (1905-1983, age 77)
  • Klaus Mann – (1906-1949, age 42)
  • Osamu Dazai (1909-1948, age 38)
  • Primo Levi – (1919-1987, age 67)
  • Walter M. Miller Jr.– (1923-1996, age 72)
  • Yukio Mishima – (1925-1970, age 45)
  • Sylvia Plath – (1932-1963, age 30)
  • Jerzy Kosinski – (1933-1991, age 57)
  • Richard Brautigan (1935-1984, age 49)
  • Hunter S. Thompson – (1937-2005, age 67)
  • John Kennedy Toole – (1937-1969, age 31)
  • Thomas Disch – (1940-2008, age 68)
  • David Foster Wallace – (1962-2008, age 46)
  • Ned Vizzini – (1981-2013, age 32)

For three of these (Kawabata, Mann, and Levi), the suicide explanation remains in doubt. I feel compelled to point out that three other authors on this list (Boye, Miller, and Disch) wrote Science Fiction, my chosen genre.

In reading articles about these authors, it’s significant how many articles mention the word “depression.”

Following any suicide, we naturally seek a reason, an explanation, an answer to “why?” Some authors left notes attempting to rationalize their choice, but often these only leave us with more questions.

It’s probably unfair to generalize about such a personal choice, an option chosen based on necessarily specific reasons. Still, it’s natural to wonder if there are aspects of writing fiction that increase suicide risk. Here are my (unscientific and unsupported) speculations on that:

  • Writing is solitary. Writers tend to be less social and have fewer contacts with friends who might talk them out of suicide.
  • Writers explore their inner feelings, and those of their characters. Such deep introspection can lead to depression and suicide.
  • Writers think more about death and suffering than most people do. All fiction involves conflict, and writers must put their characters through pain, and, in some cases, death.
  • Feedback can depress writers. Authors offer their cherished work to the entre world, and hope for a positive reaction. If the public ignores their stories or reviewers lambast them, authors often take it personally.

If you’re a writer (or anyone) contemplating suicide, please, please, please call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), or go to their website.

Perhaps you know a writer (or, again, anyone) who may be at risk of suicide. There’s a Twitter hashtag devoted to this: #BeThe1To. Here are the 5 Action Steps you can take to help your friend:

  1. Ask your friend in a caring way if they feel suicidal;
  2. Do what you can to keep your friend safe;
  3. Listen without judgement and be there for your friend;
  4. Connect your friend to a network of resources and helpful people; and
  5. Follow up with your friend, even after treatment.

Let’s have a world without suicides. That’s the dream of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

June 10, 2018Permalink

A Writing Fool and his Money

After eleven entries about my cruise to Alaska, I’m returning this blog to topics dealing with the writing scene. Authors often debate the pros and cons of retaining a literary agent. You can add one item to the con list—your agent’s bookkeeper might be embezzling your earnings.

According to a New York Post report, the bookkeeper for a top literary agency has admitted to a charge of wire fraud. The agency alleges the bookkeeper stole at least $3.4M, leaving the company on the verge of bankruptcy. Forensic auditors are combing the agency’s books back to 2001, so that figure could go much higher.

Donadio & Olson is a prestigious company based in New York, boasting an impressive list of clients, including Chuck Palahnuik and McKay Jenkins, and the estates of Mario Puzo, Studs Terkel, and Peter Matthiessen.

How could such a thing happen? Writer and editor Kristine Kathryn Rusch has a theory, and I suspect she’s right, though I respectfully disagree with some of her remedies.

Ms. Rusch’s blogpost paints a picture of authors who loved to write, and didn’t really care to mess with figures having dollar signs, so they outsourced that job to a literary agent. When some of those authors died, their heirs didn’t want to know details either, and outsourced the financial and contractual stuff to the agent. Workers within the agency, likewise, may not have relished the numerical, pecuniary part of their job, so they contracted that to a bookkeeper.

Then nobody checked up. The authors and heirs trusted the agent; the agent trusted the bookkeeper. Millions of dollars passed through this bookkeeper’s hands, and nobody asked him if he was putting every dollar into the right account. Temptation may have overcome honesty, and years passed.

Then somebody checked up. One author, represented by D&O, asked about a $200,000 advance payment the author expected to receive from a publisher. When the bookkeeper kept putting the author off, the author persisted, then asked several people at D&O. The house of cards began to collapse.

I don’t know if this is what really happened, but it is believable, given the attitudes some authors have about money. If this scenario is true, what lessons should writers draw from this misfortune?

Ms. Rusch’s advice is clear: (1) sever your relationship with your agent and never hire one, and (2) learn the financial and contractual end of the writing business and do it yourself.

While acknowledging her greater knowledge in this area, I believe Ms. Rusch’s recommendations go too far. They strike me as disparaging an entire group of professionals for the actions of a few.

I’d summarize my suggestions as follows: (1) hire an agent if you believe you must, and (2) learn enough of the financial and contracting biz to ask hard questions. More simply: trust, but verify.

If you’re the type of starry-eyed writer who wishes only to frolic in the forest of words, leaving those dreary accounting matters to your (oh, so friendly) agent, be warned: there are wolves in those woods. These wolves smile nicely and talk sweetly, but prey on your intentional ignorance of money.

Remember how the D&O bookkeeper scam got discovered? Out of all their clients, just one persistent author cared enough to check up, to ask the hard questions. That author may have trusted, but went on to verify.

Don’t be the writing fool who’s soon parted from his, or her, money. That’s the advice about agents, and money, from—

Poseidon’s Scribe

June 3, 2018Permalink

Voyage to Alaska—Day 11

Thanks, Steadfast Reader, for hanging with me until the final day. I’ve been providing daily commentary about my recent cruise to Alaska, from the perspective of a fiction writer, a perspective that sometimes strays beyond complete accuracy. For the past ten days, you’ve been following the madcap escapades of me; my wife, Jean; and friends Mike and Brenda Knyght.

Voyage of the Hellandam

I awoke early on Day 11 while Jean still slept in our room at the Crimson Canopy Inn near Seattle-Tacoma Airport. With an hour to kill before the agreed-on time to meet for breakfast, I went out for a walk.

Then a strange thing happened.

A construction site consumed both the back of the hotel and a section of its parking lot. Evidently, the hotel would be adding more rooms. Workers had not shown up yet and their equipment sat idle. At the edge of the site, I saw an odd object almost entirely buried in recently excavated dirt. Without reaching past any marked borders, I pulled it out of the ground and dealt with it the best I could. I discussed it with my companions over breakfast, and realized I could have handled things differently.

“What did you find?” Brenda asked me.

“A briefcase. It had the initials D.B.C. engraved on it.”

“D.B.C?” Mike asked. “Was this briefcase old or new?”

“Pretty old-fashioned and beat-up,” I said.

“Did you open it?” he asked.

“No. It wasn’t mine.”

“What did you do with it?” Jean asked.

“I turned it in to the hotel receptionist. It might belong to a guest.”

D.B. Cooper, in an FBI composite sketch

“Does the name D.B. Cooper mean anything to you?” Mike asked.

“Hmm. Wasn’t he the guy who hijacked a plane in the 1970s?”

“Yeah. He parachuted out somewhere in this area, with a briefcase full of hundreds of thousands of dollars. They never found him or his briefcase.”

“Oh.”

“You had it in your hands, man,” Mike said. “You could have been the one to crack the biggest unsolved hijacking case in history. But you left that to the hotel receptionist.”

“Oops.”

I guess we’ll hear the announcement in the news soon. Or maybe the receptionist decided to pocket the cash. Or maybe the briefcase was empty, or didn’t belong to Cooper after all. Who knows?

We made our flight, which took off a few minutes late. At the other end, we retrieved our luggage at the carousel. Jean and I said goodbye to our friends and used a shuttle service to get home.

So ended my astounding voyage to Alaska. We saw only a fraction of that vast state with its fantastic vistas, majestic mountains, and prodigious glaciers. We rode a superb and luxurious cruise ship manned by an excellent and professional crew. Thank you, Steadfast Reader, for coming aboard. Check back at this website as this blog returns to its normal weekly format, featuring interesting posts by—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 27, 2018Permalink

Voyage to Alaska—Day 10

Welcome back, Steadfast Reader, to the continuing saga of my strange and awesome trip to Alaska. Be warned: I’m a fiction writer, and it’s my job to lie. I made this voyage with my wife, Jean, and long-time friends Brenda and Mike Knyght.

The author, helpfully pointing out Vancouver, BC ahead

At 6:36, the venerable MS Hellandam had steamed her way to 49°19’N, 123°15’W, where she  churned through the waves on course 088°, speed 17.9 knots. Outside, 20-knot, 55°F winds blew from the southeast, and I could just see the city of Vancouver ahead.

Final approach to Vancouver, BC

The ship moored at Canada Place wharf by 7:20 am, having journeyed 1,964 nautical miles since she had left that spot.

At 8:30 am, we departed the ship that had sustained and pampered us for a week. Only seven days previously, she had seemed a mystery for us to explore, with her many decks and corridors, plush carpets, colorful bulkheads, and stylish furnishings. Now she was familiar to us; we knew how to find her theater, her Main Stage, her Crow’s Nest, her Exploration Lounge, her shops, and all her wonderful dining places. We’d each had our own brief love affair with the ship, knowing it had to end, but intense nonetheless. Now we walked her pleasant passageways for the final time, said our silent farewells, and made our way across the metal gangway.

It surprised me that our processing through Customs into Canada went very quickly. We’d previously made reservations on a RapidBus shuttle to Seattle, and we walked, rolling and toting our luggage, to the bus pickup area. The RapidBus was a huge coach bus, but only eight passengers boarded, including our quartet, so everyone had plenty of room. Our bus departed on time.

Then a strange thing happened.

The bus stopped in downtown Vancouver to pick up a couple of passengers. The wind kicked up and blew a scrap of paper against the bus window where I sat. It lingered there, plastered flat by the wind, and I idly glanced at it. Creases and torn edges marred this oddly sized, tan scrap. In black ink, it depicted a sort of map that resembled the Vancouver area, its land and waterways, though not the city itself. An arrow pointed to a single spot on the map, and beside the arrow, crude lettering stated, “Slumach’s mine. Mountains of gold here. – Shotwell.”

I whipped out my cell phone to take a picture, but a gust grabbed the page and sent it soaring on the breeze. I watched with dismay as it fluttered away down the block. How I wish I’d gotten a better glimpse of that arrow! I’ve since discovered that Slumach’s mine has remained a mystery for over a century. Easy come, easy go, I guess. Someone else will surely find that map.

At 12:30, our bus stopped at the border so we could pass through U.S. Customs. While we waited in line, empires rose and fell, glaciers advanced and receded, continents drifted and collided, and new species evolved while others went extinct. Finally, the customs agents welcomed us back into our country and we boarded our bus again.

Seattle, through a bus window, including the mirror effect, with the Space Needle in the distance

The ride to Seattle went smoothly and we reached its outskirts by 3:30. This was a bright, clear day with few clouds, endless blue skies, and temperatures just shy of 70°F. By 4:30, we’d reached Seattle-Tacoma Airport. We rode a hotel shuttle to the Crimson Canopy Inn on International Boulevard. After settling in our rooms, we walked to the nearby Ginger Palace, a small restaurant with Pan-Asian cuisine. I delighted in consuming their scrumptious Mongolian Beef.

By now, the four of us suffered from a sudden culture change, a life shift, an abrupt transition across contrasting milieus. We’d left Cruise World and re-entered Real World. Here are the characteristics of each:

                 Cruise World                     Real World
600 people are dedicated to making you happy Nobody cares
Everything is “free” No free lunch, or anything else
A cheerful Room Steward makes your bed each day Make your own bed, and clean your room
Wake up in a different place every day Same room, same building, same town
Time is suspended; no clocks or calendars Clocks and calendars run your life
No internet (unless you pay extra) Constant linkage to email, social media, and the web
The floor gently rocks The floor seems to gently rock until you regain your ‘land legs’

I can’t spend my whole life there, regrettably, but Cruise World will be fondly missed by—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 26, 2018Permalink

Voyage to Alaska—Day 9

As a rule, fiction writers pay more attention to reader interest and entertainment than they do to accuracy. Readers of this blog may suspect I’ve stretched the truth in my entries about my recent cruise to Alaska. Okay, I’ve changed a few names and exaggerated some events. Guilty as charged.

To bring you up to date, I was visiting Alaska along with my wife, Jean, and hardy traveling companions Mike and Brenda Knyght. Day 8 had concluded with our departure from Ketchikan aboard the good ship Hellandam. When I awoke on Day 9, at 7:12 am, we’d steamed southeast to 52°29’N, 129°57’W, farther west than on the northbound route.

For the first time in our voyage, I noted an apparent wind from the stern at 10 knots, as if Alaska were pushing us south. This resulted from a ship’s speed of 15.3 knots on a course of 144°, combined with strong winds of 26 knots from the northwest. Outside temperature was 48°F. I saw no land from my verandah on the starboard side, just moderate waves. We’d traversed 1,618 NM since leaving Vancouver, and this day promised to be an uneventful transit south along the inside passage off Canada’s west coast.

The novel I read during the cruise

Regular readers will recall, from Day 4, that I’d agreed to read a novel during the cruise. At 9:00 am, I participated in a fun discussion as part of the ship’s O’s Reading Room (associated with the Oprah Book Club). Seven of us had read the book An American Marriage by Tayari Jones. The Cruise Director led a lively and engaging conversation, which gave me new insights. You can read my review on Goodreads.

Our voyaging foursome ate lunch on the Lido Deck’s fine buffet. At 3:00 pm, I attended a “Meet the Captain” session in the ship’s spacious, two-level Main Theater. About 100 people in the audience peppered Captain Christopher Grayne with questions, some more intelligent than others. I asked him to tell us about his strangest experiences at sea, and he said he’d seen a UFO, but it turned out to be a weather balloon (don’t they all?). On a separate occasion, he had witnessed St. Elmo’s fire, which must have been fascinating.

Then a strange thing happened.

I returned to my cabin to view the passing scenery from my verandah. We cruised through moderately choppy seas with only occasional whitecaps. With no warning, and with lightning speed, a giant snakehead emerged from the waves, saw me, and struck. For an instant, all I saw were long, dripping fangs, a dark gullet, and a whipping forked tongue. I jerked backwards and the serpent clamped down on the varnished wooden rail and the Plexiglas panel beneath it, and ripped them both away. By then I’d escaped back into my cabin through the glass doors inboard of the verandah. I will never forget the glare from the two unfeeling, reptilian eyes before the colossal sea snake vanished from view.

There had been no time for picture taking, and I wasn’t about to go back out there with no railing. In a rather panicked voice, I used the room’s phone to report the encounter to Guest Services. Within a half hour, workers arrived to repair the verandah railing. They said nothing to me, but as they talked to each other, I picked up the word ‘Tizheruk’ several times. Apparently, these monstrous snakes, said to roam Alaskan and Canadian wasters, are not myths. Fair warning—don’t lean over your verandah railing when your ship is transiting this passage. They really should mention Tizheruks on the cruise line’s website.

Though shaken by that event, I ate a nice dinner at the Lido Deck buffet with my three traveling companions. After I told them about my near disaster, Mike asked if I’d fallen asleep while watching a movie, perhaps ‘Anaconda’ or ‘The Jungle Book.’ I replied that it really happened. He assured me that, had the snake eaten me, he would have fought to get that spot declared a hissstorical site. Very thoughtful, Mike is.

A towel-origami elephant for our last night on board

While Jean and I had been at dinner, our inventive room steward had left another fun creation on our bed, this time an elephant.

Later, the four of us passed the time in the Exploration Lounge, playing the ‘For Sale’ card game. A quiet area, this lounge contained comfortable chairs, games, large windows, and a well-equipped library. The ‘For Sale’ game, which Mike and Brenda brought with them, was just the thing to calm the troubled nerves of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 25, 2018Permalink

Voyage to Alaska—Day 8

I now resume the exciting, and largely factual, adventures of an intrepid foursome on their cruise to Alaska. I’ve changed many names to protect guilty and innocent alike. I traveled with my wife, Jean, and another couple, Brenda and Mike Knyght.

Day 8 dawned with MS Hellandam underway. At 6:56 am, we steamed on course 122° at a speed of 21.5 knots, crossing latitude 55°30’N. During the night, we’d weaved among various islands on our route to Ketchikan. Outside, no rain fell from the overcast sky, and winds blew 46°F air from the west at 8 knots. Since leaving Vancouver, we’d traveled 1,413 nautical miles.

I see I’ve neglected to give you my impressions of the Hellandam’s crew. The senior officers were mostly Dutch or English, but the ones with whom we interacted were from many other countries. Our server in the dining room—Rafid—was from Indonesia, and was unfailingly polite and prompt, and a bit of a jokester. Our room steward—Awang—always called us by name and took meticulous care of our room. Without exception, every one of the 604-person crew we met was gracious, helpful, friendly, and professional.

Ketchikan, a welcoming town

While waiting for breakfast to open in the Main Dining Room, Jean and I relaxed in the comfortable chairs of the Exploration Lounge. Gazing out the window, she spotted a whale. I said it was just a floating log…until it spouted. She kindly refrained from telling everyone this story, including the nice couple from Canada with whom we ate breakfast. Over a meal of Dungeness Crab Benedict, I watched the ship pull into the town of Ketchikan.

The four of us ate a quick and early lunch, since our shore excursion was to start just before noon. We disembarked and entered Ketchikan. If you’ve detected a pattern from previous blog entries, this town also lay at the base of giant mountains and contained a main street catering to tourists, crowded with gift shops, jewelry shops, a Christmas gift store, and seafood restaurants.

Ketchikan prides itself on being the rainiest city in the country, but we neither felt nor saw a single drop all day. That was odd, considering it had rained a little in every other port we visited.

Outside the Tlingit Beaver Clan Lodge

We boarded a bus driven by Mattie, who also served as our tour guide to introduce us to the native Tlingit village in nearby Saxman. There we learned more about the Tlingit natives, their customs, language, and entertainment. If you go there, be aware that Wasahee’atee means ‘How are you?’ and Kla’ek-wahsah means ‘I am fine.’ Finally, Gunalcheesh means ‘thank you.’

A Tlingit Totem Pole

We saw many totem poles, and Tlingit guides welcomed us into the Beaver Clan Lodge where we enjoyed their dances and songs. We toured their totem pole carving workshop where natives explained the construction and meaning of these markers.

Then a strange thing happened.

The Nature Trail, where you never know what you’ll see

Our Tlingit guides led us on a “nature walk” along a path through a short stretch of woods. Cedar and pine predominated here, and we walked on uneven and rocky ground. A wave of unease and fear swept over me at one point, as if someone were watching me, but not one of the others on our tour. I gazed in the direction from where the eeriness emanated. In the shadow of a tree, just thirty yards away, stood a giant, hairy animal, a man-shaped thing. It towered some twelve feet high, and its hair blended with the browns and blacks of wood and earth.

The Sasquatch and I stared at each other for an eternal instant. I reached for my cellphone to take the photo of a lifetime, but the creature vanished. I asked if others in my group had seen anything unusual in that direction, but nobody had. At least, nobody admitted it. I’d had so many experiences on this cruise that I couldn’t explain or prove, and now I must add a Big Foot sighting to that list.

Which lumberjack team can saw faster?

Our bus driver and tour guide then drove us back to Ketchikan where we watched the Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show. Four talented lumberjacks demonstrated great skill, strength, and humor in entertaining the crowd while showing common lumberjack roles and tasks.

How do they do that with hand towels?

We returned to the ship, and it pulled away from the wharf at 6:00 pm to begin its return trip to Vancouver. The four of us ate a formal dinner in the Main Dining Room (mine was Kingfish), and we once again played the ‘For Sale’ card game in the quiet library called the Explorer’s Lounge.

Yet another towel origami creation awaited us on our cabin bed, courtesy of our multi-talented room steward. Although this day completed the port-touring opportunities on the cruise, I suspected further adventures awaited—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 24, 2018Permalink

Voyage to Alaska—Day 7

Are you still hanging with me, Steadfast Reader? I’m continuing the amazing and often true saga of my recent cruise to Alaska. I made the trip along with my wife, Jean, and long-time friends, Mike and Brenda Knyght (not their real names). In my previous post, our ship, the MS Hellandam (not its real name either), had just departed Skagway.

I awoke on Day 7 to find the ship in Glacier Bay. At 6:40 am, our location was 58°29’N, 136°03’W, on course 342° at 17.0 knots. Outside the temperature was 43°F with Northerly winds at 8 knots. We had traveled 1,014 nautical miles since departing Vancouver.

The morning fog seemed to be lifting over the calm seas, revealing occasional glimpses of forested land. I looked forward to my imagined version of Glacier Bay, with titanic ice walls dwarfing our ship.

Soon a curtain of fog closed in again. At 8:00 am, we passed Gloomy Knob (what a name!) Over the ship’s PA, they said to look for mountain goats at the Knob, but I saw none.

Calm waters, wispy fog in Glacier Bay

Later, the seas smoothed to a mirror finish, marred by floating chunks of ice. At first, I saw chair-sized chunks, then piano-sized masses, and finally house-sized bergs.

Yours truly, the only one not gawking at Johns Hopkins Glacier

At 9:30, we beheld the magnificent Johns Hopkins Glacier, visible in an inlet cruise ships must not enter. At 10:15 am, we passed the Lamplugh Glacier. Our ship motored slowly and turned so all passengers could get views. Still, fog lingered on this overcast day, with occasional drizzle, dampening some of the effect.

Glacier receding back into the inlet it carved

If you go to Glacier Bay, don’t go there saddled with my expectations. The glaciers have been receding since 1750, like a giant hand being pulled back, leaving rocky rubble and watery inlets where the icy fingers had been. You might spot some wildlife, though. Mike claimed he saw otters; and someone aboard sighted a humpback whale fluke.

At 11:45 am, we dressed up, strode to the Pinnacle Grill, and consumed a delightful Mother’s Day brunch of Lobster Eggs Benedict in an elegant atmosphere. It helped assuage the fact that neither Jean nor Brenda could connect with their children on this holiday, due to lack of cell phone reception.

Then a strange thing happened.

Jean and I went back to our cabin to watch glaciers from our verandah. On one of the larger bergs, I pointed out an otter to her. She said she couldn’t see it. I focused my monocular on the animal and let her look, but she said the berg had nothing on it. Gazing at it again, I saw this otter’s head looked human. Not just human, but—fantastically—it changed before my eyes. For a few seconds, its head resembled that of my late Mother; then it took the form of my father-in-law, dead for nearly two decades; finally, it morphed to look like my mother-in-law, who passed last year. The creature then slipped into the water and vanished.

Only I saw the Kooshdakhaa on this berg

Only then, too late, did I think to grab my camera. I was so astonished, so overcome by intense feelings of grief and remembrance; I couldn’t speak to Jean about those bizarre facial changes.

An explanation, of sorts, came later. At 2:15 pm, Jean and I attended a lecture on Tlingit native culture given by a Huna Cultural Interpreter named Kevin. After the lecture, I privately asked him about Tlingit legends involving otters. He must have sensed something in my query and asked if I’d seen an odd-looking otter. I nodded. He said, “My people tell a legend of the Kooshdakhaa, a half-human, half-otter. Did you see, in this animal’s face, someone you lost?” I nodded again. He said, “The Kooshdakhaa is a shape-shifter, appearing at times of departing. It reflects back feelings of grief, but may also absorb these feelings itself.” I thanked Kevin. I’ll have to admit, I felt better after that.

Afternoon sun cutting through clouds in Glacier Bay

The ship increased speed and headed south, leaving Glacier Bay, bound for Ketchikan. We passed ghostly islands, half-obscured by layers of wispy fog. Jean and I watched the movie musical “The Greatest Showman” in our cabin, then our foursome ate surf and turf in the Main Dining Room. Finally, we played the card game ‘For Sale’ in the Exploration Lounge, which had become a routine for us.

The walrus on our bed

Back in our cabin, we found another example of hand-towel origami—a walrus, I think. With the ship steaming among the many elongated north-south islands between us and Ketchikan, we turned in, while thoughts of shape-shifting half-otters filled the mind of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 23, 2018Permalink