Here is the first draft of a new poem I wrote this trip.

Allusions

Allusions . . .
Points of reference to the past
To literature and art, to people and places.
Allusions are essential to create meaning,
Enhancing symbolism, setting a tone or theme,
Some are obtuse, literary dead ends,
Others are ambiguous,
Subject to supposition, requiring
Knowledge or investigation of the source
To feel or understand their purpose.

Women are like good books,
Full of complex allusions,
Requiring a close, and
Sometimes, a second reading.
Yesterday, I saw a stream,
A collage of beautiful women—
The freckle-faced lady with
Long strawberry blonde hair,
The olive-skinned ingénue
Showing legs and cleavage,
The Siren in a halter shirt
With the beautiful bare back,
The slim beauty with the long flowing skirt
That the wind twice teased up to her thong—
In the past, I would have studied them individually,
Now I look only to find points of reference,
To form mental images of comparison,
I read them as I read allusions,
The true meaning behind my noticing them is
Found somewhere else.
I think only of you,
You are the point of reference.

Fort Sumter

I found a parking lot near the Charleston aquarium and walked to the Fort Sumter National Monument. I purchased my fourteen-dollar ticket and strolled through the facility. I was pleasantly surprised to find a quote of Abraham Lincoln clearly stating his racial prejudice. It must be puzzling to recent generations who have incorrectly been taught that prejudice existed only in the South and did not exist in the North. And from Saint Lincoln, of all people! Well, I digress—back to my subject.

I waited for the ferry, The Spirit of Charleston, and chatted with a young, cute, and vibrant female park worker from Tennessee. She had only been working there a month and had not learned much about the fort or the Civil War yet. After I boarded, she waved to me. I returned her wave, thinking I would have liked to have known what brought her here. School? Work? Wanderlust?

I found the straw-hat wearing rangers more conversant and knowledgeable. I asked many questions, and refrained from expressing my opinion on Southern issues as I asked them.
The rangers were sympathetic to the city’s suffering during the war, but not exactly pro-South. But then, how could you even get a job as a National Parks interpreter if you were pro-South?

From the bow of the ferry, I could see the fort—3.2 miles out in the harbor. The Charleston peninsula is bordered by the Ashley River on one side and the Cooper on the other (the Park’s side). I had my writing pad and my binoculars—the only pair I saw—but I had forgotten my camera, so I scribbled everything down I could notice. With my ten-power binoculars, I studied the island fort that I had not seen in nearly twenty years. The island the fort rested on was manmade, from 70,000 tons of granite imported from either New England or England. The fort itself was constructed with 7-10 million bricks made on local plantations.

According to the Ranger, we had about 350 passengers on this one trip. At fourteen dollars a head, I can see how this little ferry trip to this piece of history had become a money cow to the government. Not all the passengers were as excited as I was. I heard more than one passenter say, “Is this really going to take two hours?” It seemed like simple math to me. One half-hour ferry trip there, one hour on the island, and another half-hour back. There would be water and bathrooms, and it was a nice day. The trip seemed like a bargain to me. What’s a couple of hours when you can learn and walk on history? Oddly, the foreigners on board seemed most excited.

The ferry ride alone was worth the trip. It was the first time I had been on seawater since 1990 (another story). We were told to sit. As I had seen passengers at the bow on the incoming ferry, I didn’t. I stood alone at the bow at first, but after a few minutes found myself surrounded with other passengers. The wind increased, and I had to fasten my ball cap to my wrist with its Velcro strap. The wind tore at the pages of my notebook so hard I had to stop writing. I have LONG hair, and soon it was flying out of the ponytail holder and going wild. I must have looked like a madman, which I admit to being on occasion.

As the ferry chugged its way across the bay, I saw several porpoises and flocks of floating and flying gulls. Occasionally a gull would crash dive into the water like a kamikaze pilot. For all that trouble, I hope it got a fish. There was a herd of sailboats anchored around Morris Island, where the soldiers in the earth and log Fort Wagner (subject of the movie Glory) had annihilated the 54th Mass. The flotilla was too far out for me to observe in detail even with my binoculars, but it looked like they had a giant beach party going. Behind us was the new Cooper River Bridge, a cable stay bridge designed to last for a hundred years. The supporting cables are hung from diamond design towers, and from a distance in the sunlight, the bridge looks like its supporting two giant sails. You can see and read about the bridge here: http://www.cooperriverbridge.org/index.asp

We also passed the Edco, an Egyptian cargo ship that is being held prisoner in Charleston Harbor over some legal matters. The government is not allowing any of the more than two-dozen crewmembers to come ashore since they do not have visas. I think they cargo they came in with was salt from Chile. They’ve been there since June, but they may have a long wait. The last time this happened to a ship and crew in Charleston Harbor was in the 90’s. They sat there for about two years. You can read about the Edco’s predicament here: http://www.shiptalk.com/index.asp?ItemID=712&rcid=160&pcid=139&cid=160′

After a wonderful thirty-minute choreographed ride listening to the recorded lecture, we docked at Fort Sumter. I’ll give part two of this soon. Tomorrow morning I’m going on a walking Civil War tour. I’ll let you know about that little walk too.

Yesterday morning I rose at 6 am and drove to Folly Island. I was looking for a place to metal detect, but I found none—the island was much more built up than when I lived here in the 80’s. Incredible. Charleston was one of the richest cities in the New World, and it still has signs of having a rather healthy economy.

Then I went to C.S.A. galleries in North Charleston. A fantastic store—full of artwork and a wide array of Southern clothing, souvenirs, and Confederate items. They agreed to carry my book, Stories of the Confederate South. They are in the process of moving, but if you’re in Charleston you should look them up. I bought a South Carolina flag, a ball cap with the crescent moon and palm tree on it, and a Wales flag bumper sticker. I’ll place the sticker on my Toyota truck next to my Real Men Wear Kilts sticker.

From that store, I moved on to downtown Charleston. I spent twenty minutes searching for a parking place. I finally found a pay lot near the market. Charleston is full of tourists this time of year it seems. I walked up to Calhoun Street and left materials at the Charleston library, then moved on to the Confederate Museum, then to The Old Heritage Shop below in the market area, presenting my book and getting them to take orders. Though I saw a lot of neat stuff—like the baskets woven by the Gullah from palmetto and sweet grass—I settled for a tee shirt that read, SC Standing Alone Against Northern Aggression Since 1861.

After strolling through the market, I drove to another parking lot at Liberty Square so I could take the Fort Sumter tour (the rates are higher than the meters where you can only park for an hour, but they are not New York City parking rates for sure). I’ll write about the Fort Sumter trip next entry.

Tonight, I’m in Charleston, SC. I lived here 1987-88. It’s my favorite city in the whole world. My hotel tonight is a Day’s Inn on Montague in North Charleston. I would have posted last night in Conyers GA, but either the Holiday Inn’s wireless service was not compatible with my iBook, or I just have much to learn about MACmatics and technical issues. I did call the hotel tech service for help, but he was unable to explain why I couldn’t connect. I’m sure it’s something simple I’m missing. Just another case of my ignorance showing. I’ve made a resolution to learn more about MACs and wireless, as it seems I’ll be traveling a good bit this next year.

Back to Charleston: The last time I was here was for the funeral of the Hunley crew. I need to record a blog entry on that event and get some pics up. I’ve missed this city–the smell of the marsh, the ocean, the beach, the palm trees and giant oaks, the plantation houses and museums. Tomorrow, I plan on visiting Folly Island, perhaps looking for some Civil War relics with my metal detector. I also want to see the battery–that part of Charleston is the most beautiful city in the world to me and is the epitome of the South. The houses in that old part of Charleston, are truly (and by design) hurricane resistant. I think Charleston is a tough city. Even weeks of Yankee bombardment couldn’t conquer Charleston during the Civil War. I have a huge framed photo of Charleston in my study. It was a gift from a friend I loved greatly. Sometimes I look at that photo and I crave living in Charleston again. A part of me wants to say, “You don’t have to go back to Louisiana. Just stay here and write.” It’s tempting.

In a few minutes, I’m going to look through the hotel’s phonebook and some tourist books I collected on my way here. Perhaps I’ll find some bookstores to pitch my book, Stories of the Confederate South. I’ll at least resurrect some memories, perhaps some ghosts. I think a writer could do well in Charleston. Certainly, there would be no shortage of writing ideas here. But I don’t think it’s ideas I need. I just need to make myself sit down longer and write more.

It seems interest in Stories of the Confederate South is increasing. I’m on my way to Oklahoma, and it looks like a busy week promoting my new collection of short stories. I’ve got a TV interview Tuesday on KXII in Sherman Texas, an interview on a local radio station in Durant, Oklahoma, then a two-day signing (July 14-15) at Roby’s Hallmark also in Durant. I had such great success when I was there a few years ago with my first novel. I’m confident I will sell a lot of books. By the way, I have an order form I’ve made that meets Booklocker’s standards. It gives the bookstores quick reference information. Make it easy on stores to order your books. If you write me, (rickeyp@bayou.com) I’ll send it to you so you can have a model to promote your own books.

After I return from Oklahoma either late Saturday or Sunday, I have a radio interview in Monroe, Louisiana, then a signing at the Lincoln Parish library in Ruston, Tuesday night, July 18, at 6:30. I’m picking up more business cards and setting up orders and a signing at the Ouchita Parish library on my way out of town this morning.

Sometimes I cringe at the amount of work and shamelessness required to promote one’s work, but I’ve read enough biographies of writers to know that I’m not alone in this. For example, Presently, I’m reading Erica Jong’s The Devil at Large, about Henry Miller. He’s an examplel of how self-promotion can pay off. Anyway, if you have any interest at all in Henry Miller, I’d encourage you to read that book.

I just finished reading the English Patient. I know–I’m late getting to it. At least my “to read” list is one shorter. I enjoyed it tremendously. As a writer, I was most intrigued by how he presented the men who explored, mapped, and were devoured by the desert. I like fiction like this–the book was sensual, engaging, and the researched details fascinating. I think Ondaatie’s acknowledgements is the finest model of how to do that I’ve seen. In short, it was a read that moved me and informed me. That makes for good fiction.

My next nonfiction book has a working title of The Civil War Writer with 100 Story Starters for the Fiction Writer. The idea came about as a result of my research for my collection of short stories, Stories of the Confederate South. You can see the link to the book on this page. The book should be of great benefit to anyone who likes to write historical fiction. The main sections will include: Why the Civil War appeals to readers, some common pitfalls to avoid in writing about the Civil War, how to do research on the Civil War, a glossary, and of course, the stoy ideas themselves. I have been a collector of stories, anecdotes, and facts (some of them VERY unusual, thus lending themselves to writing some unique fiction about them). Hopefully, I will have it completed sometime this summer. One of the true values of fiction is that it speaks to the heart and to human experience. There was so much emotion before, during, and after the War Between the States that I don’t think we’ll ever get it all down. I know I’ve collected so stories I’ll never get to, and perhaps the b ook will help some writers. I do know that they are stories that need to be told, and that they are stories waiting to be written.

I don’t know how many books I’ve edited for new authors. I lost count count some time ago. From my experience as a freelance editor, I have learned some things that will help new writers. If you’re putting together your first book, I believe these points will help you produce a quality book.

1. Don’t send an editor your first draft. He or she will likely send it back. Do your best work, then send it to your editor. Writing a book, a novel, or even essays and short stories requires several drafts. Hemingway said that it’s in the rewriting that most writers break down. I do believe he revised everything he wrote 20-30 times. If Hemingway needed revisions, I’m sure we do too.
2. Read your book out loud. Time it. Most writers have no idea how long it takes. Reading it out loud will give you an idea of how much time is required to edit a book. In addition to reading at “read aloud” speed, an editor must look up spellings, mark your work (either by hand on a printed manuscript or by use of colored tracking), try to remember what he or she has read, make notes, etc. This requires many hours. A writer should remember that before he or she whines about the cost of a good editor. An editor will almost always reread a work, too. My point is that editing is a brutally slow process, and it should be. Too many mistakes are missed if the editor hurries. If you look at an editor’s pay in terms of hours spent, he is not usually working for very much money.
3. Print out your manuscript and read it. There are mistakes you will see only in this way. There’s something about reading a book on a computer screen that causes us to miss them.
4. Study your craft. Learn from your mistakes. Don’t assume you know how to spell. The real value of a dictionary lies not only in definition, but in spelling. English, with the largest vocabulary of any language in the world, has loads of exceptions, variant/preferred spellings, and many subtleties.
5. When the editor returns your work, reread it again, making the corrections the editor suggested. Though you don’t have to follow every suggestion, as it is YOUR work, you should at least consider advice given. Also, expect the editor to have missed something. Alas–we editors are not perfect.
6. Remember, a good editor looks for what is good as well as what is wrong. And if you find a good editor, stick with him. A writer who finds a good editor is fortunate indeed. A writer wants to present a publishing company with his very best work.

Even though I’m an editor, I still rely on readers and editors myself to prepare my own fiction. I’ll have more on this subject later. Hope this helps.

An important element of the bit of success I’ve had in moving my books is readings. I’ve set up one for July 14-15, (yes two days) at Roby’s Hallmark in Durant, Oklahoma. I did very well there with my first novel, and I expect this to be just as successful.

I love a Southern summer. Yes, it gets warm, but the heat is far better for me than our cold, wet winters. As a youngster, I used to dream about snow and cold. I read books on Arctic camping, and researched the Native Americans who lived in the Arctic and SubArctic. My short story, “Ghost Fires,” is a story set in Canada, in the land of the Cree, and is a result of an idea and my research. That story won first place in the Hemingway Short Story Competition a few years back. But I digress–back to the topic of summer.

The South is so alive in summer–and I love everthing about it. I have memories of hot, muggy, July nights, lying in bed next to my little brother at my grandmother’s house in Ivanhoe, Texas, listening to the small oscillating fan, to the owls, whipoorwhills, and other nightbirds. I remember looking up at that sky, blanketed with all the stars I couldn’t see in Dallas. Maybe it’s these memories that make me love the summer. Perhaps it’s because summer is when I get a short vacation away from teaching apathetic kids and task-master administrators. I do know that my writing always experiences a great surge of energy in the summer. I think that’s the main reason I like summer–I can give my writing more attention. I can travel (if I have any money) and research and read. I love to sit out on my patio with coffee in the morning and iced tea in the evening and read, write, or just sit and daydream. I lived in northern states twice in my life–four years in northeast PA and two years in White Plains, NY. Those were good times, and I was fortunate to be around a lot of good people, and I learned much, but I missed the South. A few years ago, a good friend gave me Willie Morris’s, North, Towards Home. It was a good read. I guess many Southerners have moved north and adjusted, but I don’t think I could ever live anywhere but the South.