Another Human Being Saved

James Lee Woodard is a man experiencing an unexpected, greatly deserved rebirth. Another in a line of embarassing "Oops, we're sorry we stole half of your life away from you" moments in the American justice system, Mr. Woodard was freed after having spent TWENTY SEVEN YEARS of his life in prison for a murder he didn't commit. (Bonus points--guess which state? If you guessed that one that puts out oil and a president who can hardly steer a bicycle along a trail much less steer a country, then you win!) Thanks to the Innoncence Project , Mr. Woodard can somehow start to assemble the rest of his life. At age 55, he certainly still has many years ahead of him, though probably even more behind him that he'd rather forget. Sentenced to life in prison, I imagine the only thing Woodard can be thankful for is that he didn't get the death penalty. In the 27 years he was behind bars, Texas exectuted 406, according to the site TexasExecutions.com. And according to the Innocence Project, 31 individuals in Texas have been exonerated by DNA testing alone. It's not clear how many prisoners have been moved from death row due to overturned cases, but one can only imagine how many still remain to be proven innocent. Feelings about state-sanctioned killing of guilty people aside, the mere fact that there can be one person executed for a crime that he or she didn't commit should wipe the laws from the books with no discussion whatsoever. In the movies (and in real life), there are many unhappy endings where a reactionary mob or angry lover pulls the trigger or cinches the noose, only to walk away dazed when the reality of innocence comes to light. It's the consequence of violent impulse and shortsighted justice. When we have the luxury of time and science, why do we continue to hear about underrepresented prisoners begging to be heard?

**It is often easier to become outraged by injustice half a world away than by oppression and discrimination half a block from home. ~Carl T. Rowan

A Stimulating Thought

When the solution to a failing economy is to sink us deeper into debt, flush the system with money so that we can buy more HD televisions, Crocs and I-phones, I can only imagine that if my grandparents (who lived through the depression) were alive today they'd, well...keel over. I have a thought! How about taking that $168 billion and putting it into the continued (?) efforts to rebuild New Orleans or the failing bridges and roads around the country. Remember the roads projects in the 30's? I think that money spent shoring up our infastructure would be what they call investment in the future. It would get jobs going, income flowing and, in turn, purchases would happen.

I read an interesting blog posting by Aria Fine, who hails from Minneapolis (I was just there on my book tour--funny...). His posting at http://blog.iamnotashamed.net/2008/04/25/if-we-are-just-giving-money-away-why-not-try-reparations/ puts forth some interesting ideas, not just about the conundrum of reparations, but about a more responsible use of those monies. I love it. Think. Be creative. Be proactive. Here are a few of my alternatives to using Walmart as a depository for my "gift" from G.W. Bush that's on its way:

1. Put it all toward your credit card. You're actually taking money away from them that way.

2. Give half to your neighborhood school's PTA/PTO fund.

3. Make a donation to your local library.

4. Put some toward your local food bank.

5. Send it where it's needed even more, where, for many people, basic food, housing and personal safety are lofty goals: http://www.alternativegifts.org/ or http://www.heifer.org/

6. Put it toward your 401K or retirement fund.

7. Visit a local community college or trade school and ask the counseling office if there are needy students who could use help buying text books for the upcoming quarter.

Make a difference that is meaningful.

Family: The Cheer(-y) of Relativity

This weekend I got a birthday card and a phone call from two of my siblings, both pleasant surprises since it's been only recently that we've had more consistent conversations with one another (consistent, meaning, regular time intervals between communication, not in the syntax and semantic sense). My sister explained to me that she had made it about halfway through my book, but has had to pause for a bit to take a breather, that the memories being brought up for her have been a challenge. My brother said essentially the same thing, though he hadn't even started the book yet. His relucatance has come from questions asked by his girlfriend and her mother, both of whom have read the book. He intends to read it and is happy that it's been written and is out there, but it's still a struggle. He really wants to talk more and has promised to call back later in the week. I must admit that there is an element of surprise on my part; I'm clearly ignorant in thinking that with all the baggage we all have from childhood, that there would have been no way NOT to have processed it over the years, as I have done. I guess I'd assumed that they'd have dealt with it, but apparently not. Looking at the struggles they have even today, it makes sense, I suppose. The toxicity of denial is...well, undeniable.

My neighbor had his family in town to visit for a long weekend and was pretty much out of commission the whole time. I think it might have been a stressful time for him since a brief phone call I made to him was exactly that--brief. I was talking to my partner and we were comparing the idea of family living nearby versus far away (my family vs. his family). I think that when family lives nearby it's easy to take one another for granted. Visits are sparse, short but communication is fairly frequent. When your family is far away, visits are sparse, long (when they happen) and communication is less frequent. I think that while having family come to visit is more valued ("It's been TOO long since we've seen each other!"), it can be overly stressful, since there is no getting away anytime soon. Maybe it's just me, but while I absolutely LOVE my family and enjoy the visits we have, I wonder what condition we'd all be in if we forced ourselves to stay in the same place for five days straight. Would this cluster of non or light drinkers, who have alcoholic DNA woven within us like a blanket, come out the other side with a bottle of Thunderbird wine in each hand, lurking outside the front doors of The Rainbow Lounge, tapping on the glass for the bartender to please open five minutes early? I wonder.

My Literary Rock Star Moment

This last Friday, I had the geat honor of hearing and meeting one of my longtime literary role models, Tobias Wolff (pictured with yours truly). I don't want to get all Annie Wilkes ("Misery") about it, so I won't gush. But the reading was wonderful and Mr. Wolff's graciousness and humility was a treat. 20 years of reading his work and to have him remember having read about my own book, showing a geniune interest and willingness to read it, was more than I ever would have imagined in my wildest dreams. I hadn't yet begun reading his new collection--partly because I was finishing Mary Roach's new book, partly because I was holding out since the longer I stretch the reading experience, the longer I'll have it to read--but on the ferry ride home that night, I cracked it open and had to struggle to put it down as we reached the dock.

I also had my final reading (for now) of my own book, "The Lyncher in Me" at our local bookstore here on Bainbridge Island. A great crowd, about 50 or so, including some family members. I admired that they were there, as I know it wasn't a comfortable spot to be in, knowing that all of these strangers around them were privvy to the most intimate of details of our family. The support was wonderful, though, and the feedback was validating. As great as it was, though, there's a certain level of relief to be done for awhile.

When Does a Childhood Joy Become a Childish Joy?

I been reading about a possible "Speed Racer" film for probably a decade or more--sometime ago I'd read a blurb that mentioned Charlie Sheen as a possible Speed. Remember when he was a viable candidate? Like, 1987 or something? I kept wondering what a live action Speed Racer would be like and I knew then that it would have to be done just right or it would be a bust. Man, I LOVED that show as a kid. Inspector Detector. Spritle. Racer X. And the villians were awesomely named. Dr. Femur and his daughter Calcia. Snake Oiler. Cruncher Block. Cheesy, yes, but many an afternoon was spent with my eyes glued to the screen, cheering on Speed (expecting Spritle and Chim to pop from the trunk where they had stowed away yet again) as he battled everyone who not only wanted to steal the race from him, but dominate the world as well. Those car racers--it's never simply about the checkered flag. And even though I was disappointed time after time when the film project got tanked (no pun intented), I think the Wachowskis are the perfect team for it. And judging from the THREE previews now available http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0811080/trailers it looks like the spirit of the show (some cheesiness, action and vibrant, kind of ADD-ish colors and action) shows up. Some may scoff, but I say, "Go, Speed Racer, Go!!"

Spring Has Sprung--Then She's Gone Into Hiding Again

What a glorious day Saturday was! My neice contacted me to share her tickets to see the Dalai Lama in the afternoon, which was a hard thing to turn down. Why would I turn down this rare opportunity to witness such greatness? My unselfish nature, I guess. My partner Shayne has been a follower (and reader) with much more fervor than I've been and so I thought it only fitting to pass the offer on to him. A lame analogy would be to use my old REM standard. When REM became all the rage with their Automatic For the People CD, I had to fight an element of bitterness at all the pruported "fans" suddenly turning out in droves for them. After all, I'd been a fan since way back in their college radio days, back in the days of "Radio Free Europe" and "Murmur" (back when no one could understand a word that Michael Stipe was...well, murmuring). And so out of recognition that "he who hath loved longest should receive the love most purely", I gave up my seat way in the back of Quest Field. Instead, I basked in the sun and pulled weeds, planted starts and listened to Verve jazz remix all afternoon (oh, there was a little league game in there and a late arrival to a birthday party).

On Sunday, I nearly had an aneurism reading the paper. I read a review of Tobias Wolff's new collection of short stories, (picture above) a book that I had pre-ordered months before its release and have been coveting ever since receiving it, putting off opening it until I finish my new Mary Roach book. I look at Wolff's book like Charlie Bucket opening that final Wonka bar, peeling it just slightly, savoring the wonder and excitement of a one-of-kind treasure. There are very few writers that I re-read, whose writing I take in like rolling fine wine over my tongue. Steinbeck, Hemingway Edward P. Jones, Tobias Wolff (and I wouldn't even place them in that order). I e-mailed Mr. Wolff some months ago, as I was mired in the final editorial revisions of my own book. I wanted to thank him for being such an inspiration to me as a writer (and for providing such joy as a reader) and he was gracious enough to send a very thoughtful reply. And now I see that he is coming to Seattle for a reading and I will be able to meet him at long last. It's hard to put into words without sounding like a crazed stalker-fan, but I remember the incredible impact his book, "This Boy's Life" had on me at first reading--a fellow northewesterner, a young boy dealing with a maniacal stepfather--it was incredibly moving. From then I discovered his sublime, complex fiction storytelling and can recall specific moments (backpacking through Thailand while reading "In Pharoh's Army", camping in Costa Rica with "The Night in Question", sharing "The Barracks Thief" with my newly teenaged son) when his writing carried me away. Even this last week, when I was in Minnesota for my own book tour and I was caught in a horizonal driving snow, I couldn't help but think of the cold that enveloped me when I read his dark, frustrating, are the guys completely clueless? short story, "Hunters in the Snow."

Can't wait.

Teenagers and Free Time

So, I was just pulling into the parking lot of the ballfield to watch my middle son's first game of the season. It had been one of those, "schedule's full, everything has to happen like clockwork" kind of days--my partner had dropped him off early for last minute practice, then dropped our oldest (15) at home (who was then supposed to hop on his bike and head to piano lessons). My partner was then off to a scheduled consultation for the remainder of the evening. I then picked up my youngest and was to get to the game. Anyway, I pull into the lot and the cell rings--it's my partner telling me that our oldest had called him from home, saying cryptically, "Uh...you need to come home." (WHY?) "Uh...just come home." Details emerge like molasses pouring in Fairbanks in January. Upshot: bored, our son decided to continue on an art project in his room which apparently involved breaking bottles (something we'd told him already not to do--because apparently we had to tell him not to break bottles in his bedroom). Glass breaks, is unpredicatble and cuts skin on one's right forearm quite nicely. A great neighbor is on hand to come over and bandage the suddenly humbled child. I had time to watch my middle son get one hit, then I was off to the house which, by the time I arrived, looked like a crime scene. After thanking, thanking, thanking my wonderful neighbor, I advised my son to check "serial killer" from his future goals since clean up after carnage seems to have escaped him. The reminder of the term, "natural consequences" chased away my impulse to say "I told you so, you..." Six stitches (and a missed piano lesson) later, we have learned a valuable lesson in our household. One would hope.

Oh, and my middle son's team won their game, 9-0. Wish I could have seen it.

Ah, the Great Northwest

After a week in Minnesota, it was a relief to touch down in Seattle Sunday evening. This is no slight to Minnesota--the people I met there, those folks who shepherded me from place to place, the scenery and the food--were all wonderful. Old friends (and new ones) helped make me feel like their home was my home and I could feel the slightest sense of roots finding their ways down. Not in a sense of Minnesota being a home to me in any way, but a place that I can imagine returning and, in one way or another, feeling welcome.

The pictures above are from a couple moments along my tour. The spot at the microphone was during my interview at MPR, in the American Public Media building. What an amazing place. It was a great interview and I felt pretty on top of things, even though in the picture I look like I've had one pause too many with the traveling Pepsi can (some of you may not be able to make heads or tails of that reference, but my memories of high school Saturday nights at Harborview Park Beach brings the image to mind). I was in complete possession of my faculties; my eyes were just a little slow on the take.

The other picture is that of me and Don Claret, the grandson of Elmer Jackson's cousin. He came to two of my readings, and we were able to have dinner together both times. What a great guy. Who'd have thought we'd have become good friends? Full circle.

Running on Fumes!

Man, oh man. Yesterday I was able to tape a short segment at KARE tv in Minneapolis, a 5 minute piece on a morning show called "Showcase Minnesota". It went well, but was very assembly line oriented, perfect for the ADD viewer. I shared time with Jodie Foster (via tape), some circus performers, baby farm animals, Ms. Senior Minnesota and a couple cast members from "High School Musical". In the afternoon, I talked to a classroom of nursing students at the College of St. Catherine.

Today, I taped a segment for "All Things Considered" at the MPR studios. I think it was local, but it may get picked up for the national show sometime. Perhaps. I just heard it on the radio and it came off pretty good; I didn't sound too boring or clueless.

My favorite one was this afternoon, talking live with Lori and Brian at FM107.1 with the "Drivetime Divas" show (Brian isn't one of the divas, but was sitting in for one). The conversation was really engaging, friendly and both announcers really worked to put me at ease. We had a great conversation, about 15 minutes long.

I just got an e-mail and talked to a person from the local public tv station who wants a short interview before I leave town. This basically leaves tomorrow morning, before I head to the airport. She's willing to pick me up here at the hotel at about 7:00 am, tape a quick 10 minute piece, then jet me to the airport. I really didn't want to schedule it, but I suppose that's what I'm supposed to do if I can, so be it.

In about an hour and a half, I'm off to my last reading here before heading to Duluth, then I need to talk over the phone with a Duluth reporter. I can't wait to get back to work on Monday so I can relax....