The reason for the anticipated trip is two-fold. Saint and I have also co-authored a full-length Tag novel, titled ‘Following Seas’.
The novel is almost complete.
Almost. The old man has been
holding up the works but I try not to crab about it. At his age I suppose I should be grateful that
he can still muster up the strength to toddle from recliner to computer
desk.
We wrote the original manuscript three years ago with
several other authors who were participating in an online game of Writers’
Tag. The site folded but Saint and I stayed
in contact. Our posts had proven we had some
synergy. Since each author on the site retained
ownership of his or her own contributions, Saint and I deleted the posts
written by the others and then read what remained. To our delight, what remained had the makings
of a terrific novel.
We decided to rework the plot to make it truly ‘ours’. At night – after our families had gone to bed
– Saint and I wrote. Sometimes we’d talk
on the phone when Saint needed to complain about something such as my overuse
of commas, ellipses…or italics. He’d gripe and I’d defend. He’d grumble some more and I’d concede. He’d crow in victory…and I’d get irritated. It’s part and parcel of the experience of
writing with Saint.
Eventually the manuscript began to resemble a completed
novel. My nerves, in the meanwhile, began
to resemble a frayed rope. One thing
about Saint? The man is never
wrong. Ever. It’s useless to offer even the mildest
criticism of anything he’s written because before the end of the conversation
I’ve somehow turned into that lowest-of-the-low: a “girl”.
Don’t get me wrong.
Saint’s not ‘macho’ nor is he a misogynist – but he IS a survivor. When backed into a corner he comes out
swinging. And if he lacks an original or
worthy argument, he falls back on his old stand-by: the argument that I “don’t
get it” because I’m a “girl”. I have to
admire his use of that accusation because – to his way of thinking – there’s little
to be said against that argument. And
because he knows I get cranked when he says that, he uses it every chance he
gets. If it wasn’t for the fact that I
have great respect for senior citizens in their dotage, he and I would have engaged
in more than the occasional tussle.
But now we’re almost finished with this undertaking. If we can polish Following Seas to a point
where we’re ready to sit down together and give it a word-by-word edit, I’ll fly
down to Tennessee and we’ll do exactly that:
Finish the book, design and create a cover and synopsis, write the
dedications and acknowledgements…and be done with the project. That’s the main purpose for the trip.
The other reason I hope to go to Tennessee is quite
simple. I’m curious. Incredibly so!
I’ve written parts and pieces of several novels with this man who is –
in essence – a stranger. I want to see
and know the ‘real’ Saint. The guy who
is a husband and the father of eight, a musician, artist, veteran, teacher,
sailor, writer… and more – or so he claims!
I want to find out if he’s really an irascible old goat… or just a
grumpy old fart. I want to know if he’s
as smart as he sounds… or if he’s just good at sounding smart.
I mean, think about it!
The only details I know about this author are those he’s allowed me to
know. A few photos and a voice on the
other end of the phone line are the extent of my knowledge. In reality, he might not be an irascible old
goat! He might be a young woman with a
deep voice (a smoker perhaps?) who has been sending me photos of her
grandfather. He could be a vagrant. A politician.
An oral hygienist. The
possibilities are endless. Heck, he
might even be a Republican!
The fact of the matter is that I want to know. As a woman
who always picks up strays on the side of the road, it was natural that Saint would
become one of my closest friends. I want
to see him with my own eyes.
I suppose it’s only fair that Saint sees the real ‘me’ too.
I just hope he’ll be able to come up with a suitable defense strategy when he finds
out I’m not a ‘girl’.
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