Bad Gas, Man, Bad Gas

Last Thursday I had bad gas.

No, not the kind you get from eating four Taco Bell Chalupas. I’m talking about the kind that goes in your car.

I was on my way to an appointment Thursday afternoon, so I decided I would fuel up on the way. I was a couple miles from the gas station when my car started to sputter like Speedy from the old Hanna-Barbera cartoon (yeah, Speed Buggy goes a ways back.)  

The sputtering only increased until I was forced to pull off the road and inch along until my SUV stalled completely a good mile or so from the gas station with a storm approaching. I looked at the fuel gauge. It barely touched the top corner of the letter E, so it didn’t seem like I should be out of gas.

But I was, unless my car had a far more serious problem.

Then I remembered my visit to a shady gas station two days earlier.  I had been in St. Augustine that afternoon and was driving to my parent’s house for dinner. My SUV was running on fumes, clearly below E. I remembered seeing a gas station near their house. It was the only one to the west of the I-95 / 207 exchange point. Even though it looked a bit rundown, it advertised a major franchise name, so I figured it was safe enough.

I pulled up to the only open of four pumps. After inserting my credit card, I got to the business of pumping gas. But the gas was barely coming out. The numbers ticked by like the finals seconds of a time bomb detonation during a slow-motion movie scene.  After a few minutes of pumping, during which I unclenched and clenched the handle more than once and giggled the hose to make sure there were no kinks, I only had one dollar of gas. No, not one gallon, one dollar!

I stopped and put the handle back into its holster, and then drove around to another pump that just became free. Of course, I couldn’t charge to my card twice in a row outside. I went inside and a dirty, unshaven dude with greasy trucker hat and an unbuttoned lime and white pinstriped shirt over a grimy wife-beater asked me if there was a problem. He kind of grumbled it, actually.

I told him about the situation and he directed me to the cashier. The cashier took my card and turned on the pump for me.

This time was better, but not by much. I sat out there pumping for nearly ten minutes and only got three gallons of gas from it. Good enough, I figured, until I can get to a real gas station.

Back inside, I retrieved my card and receipt. I said, “That pump was better, but not by much. They’re pumping way too slowly.”

He said, “All you have to do is release the handle and squeeze it again. Should work fine.”

“I’m pretty sure I tried that. More than once.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell ya,” he started in a condescending tone. “You’re the only one who complained about it all day.”

“All I know is that I haven’t had this problem at any other gas station I’ve been to.”

“Well, the owner doesn’t set the tanks to pump as fast as those other places for a reason,” he said.

“Yeah, and what reason would that be?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask the guy out there in the green shirt—the owner.” Ah, the unkempt dude with the unbuttoned lime and white pinstriped shirt.

“To be honest with you—I’m really not that interested,” I said and turned to walk out.

“One of the reasons is probably because some people start pumping and walk away from their car and forget about it.”

“Forget about it? Well, even if they did, don’t these pumps automatically shut-off when full?”

“Not all the time, they don’t.”

I opened the door as the owner approached with a smug look on his face and nearly ran into me. I stepped back and held the door open from him.

No, I thought, I guess they don’t always turn off. Not at a shitty station like this, they don’t.

Two days later, when my car stalled out and I had to walk a mile or so to buy a $20 gas container and gas to get my car going again, I would realize that those three gallons I had gotten at that shitty station weren’t much more than sludge.

 I was telling this story to a friend, and she had a similarly bad experience at the same gas station. She said as she pumped gas, the handle fell apart and gas sprayed all over the place including getting all over her work clothes. She was on a lunch break. She had to hit the emergency turn-off for the pump. Went inside to explain what happened, and the guy at the counter was completely unsympathetic and rude. He would not even give her a refund, because he said she put her card in and paid for the gas, so it was her tough luck.

If you live in the St. Augustine area, stay away from this gas station. Like I said, it’s the only one to the west of the I-95 / 207 exchange point.

My car has been driving shakily ever since. And I can’t even fed it Pepto!

The Three Burning Questions Regarding My Holocaust Writing Project

For the past year and a half I’ve been working with Rabbi Samuel Cywiak of the Sons of Israel Synagogue in St. Augustine, FL to help produce his Holocaust survival memoir, “Flight from Fear.” I am the ghostwriter for his memoir. Rabbi Cywiak is 89 years young, and is very sharp and mobile for a man his age. He was only 19 when the Nazis invaded his hometown of Wyszków, Poland at the start of World War II. He escaped death and capture many times and experienced numerous miracles during the Holocaust to be able to serve as a rabbi for over sixty years.

Now when I discuss this project with people, I usually get asked one of three questions:

1) What is a ghostwriter?

A ghostwriter is not someone who tells scary stories of poltergeists or haunts. There are a few terrific writers who are already covering those topics in my neighboring city, St. Augustine, FL, which is the oldest city in the U.S. and known as being a ghost town of sorts. No, a ghostwriter is simply an author who researches, interviews, and writes a book for a person with a remarkable or marketable story, who does not have the expertise to do the writing on their own. A ghostwriter may or may not get writing credit for his or her efforts. Thankfully, I will be getting one.

To elaborate, think of all these celebrity tell-alls where you know that the “author” can barely string a few meaningful words together let alone write intelligent prose. That’s not the case with the Rabbi—he’s quite intelligent. But English is not his first language. He speaks Hebrew, Yiddish, Spanish, and a little Polish and Russian too. But even if he wrote perfect English, it takes an experienced writer to be able to organize the material into a logical and readable format, making it palatable for mass consumption.

2) Are you Jewish?

No, I’m not Jewish. I was raised Roman Catholic and consider myself to be a Christian. But faith in God is faith in God, and that alone gave the Rabbi and me something in common.

Sure there was an additional learning curve for me, being that I am not a Jew. I had to learn about the religion, custom, culture, and language. And I think that was actually to our advantage, because I wanted to add some of these details in the memoir so that other non-Jewish readers could understand things that are common knowledge for most Jews.

3) How did you become involved with this project?

Through an announcement that was made by Karen Harvey at the Ancient City Chapter meeting for the Florida Writers Association. Karen, a local author and historian, mentioned that a local Rabbi, originally from Poland, was seeking an author to write his Holocaust memoir. World War II and the Holocaust had always left me both horrified and fascinated. I’ve also wanted to learn more about my Polish roots, so this project seemed ideal for me.

Karen put me in touch with Rabbi Cywiak once I had expressed interest, and the two of us got along right away. It became a much bigger challenge than I had expected. Hours upon hours of interviews, research, writing and rewriting. But with the first draft under our belt and a publisher on board, all the time and effort is promising to pay off in the near future.

I will make further announcements once we have a more definitive date for publication, but right now we’re looking at early 2010. I hope you decide to invest the time into reading this memoir. Rabbi Cywiak is sharing his 89 years of struggle, wisdom, humor, faith, hope, and love with us, to help guide us through our own struggles and difficulties. To remind us to be compassionate toward others, even if they have different beliefs.

And most importantly, to remind us of what happened during the Holocaust, so that an event like it may never happen again.

Embracing My Wicked Slice

Continuing on the subject of sports, I thought I’d dedicate this post to discussing my new passion: Golf. Why I thought I needed another frustration in my life, I don’t know. Was it something new to focus on to help take my mind off other problems? Was it because it felt good to be in the outdoors for a few hours?

It certainly wasn’t because I loved my wicked slice. That no matter how or where I lined up, I still sent the ball to the far right of the fairway. It drove me to the brink of insanity!

Maybe part of my involvement has to do with golf being the perfect, albeit cliché, metaphor for life. Especially for new golfers, like me, there is so much to learn and so many ways to screw up. You can go out on the course and tank shot after shot sending the ball into sand, water, or brush. If you’re lucky to hit it at all, that is. You curse and swear, claiming you did nothing wrong, it wasn’t your fault, you listened to all the advice and tips and still everything went horribly wrong.  You suffer and doubt yourself.

Just like in life how you can fuck up time and time again. You don’t mean to screw up. You have the right intentions. You want to be a good person, do the right thing, and be a success. You want be involved in strong, healthy relationships with others. And then you take a swing and all goes to hell.

On the golf course, you can be in the middle of all this chaos, nothing going right, then out-of-the-blue, without over-thinking or over-planning, you line-up, take a nice even swing, and hit the perfect shot. Straight, high, and long. Landing where you intended it to. You forget about all the bad shots and everything is about that one great moment. Something positive to build on.

You realize, yes, I can do this!

And my past few golf outings, things started to come together. All the tips and suggestions offered to me began to make sense. More times than not, I can line up and hit a pretty good shot. I’m always looking forward to the next round of golf. To see how I can improve my game, but more importantly, have fun with it and not take it too seriously.

The past few years of my life have been like those amateur golf outings. Hacking my way toward each goal, not quite coming away with any feeling of satisfaction or accomplishment. Nothing but failure and frustration. Sometimes wanting to give up the game altogether.

But recently I started to hit those sweet shots, and it completely changed my outlook in life. I became hopeful, confident, and ready to take on the next round. I’m trying not to take life too seriously, coping with the ebb and flow that we constantly face. And like in golf, I can’t do it alone. Not without friends and family to give me company, offer tips and suggestions, and encourage me to keep swinging away!

And yes, I’ve realized that I can play the game of life too.

Growing the Manuscript Beard

This is a repost from my now defunct Mr. Bloodtrail blog. I wrote this entry while working to complete the first draft of “Flight from Fear” in time to make the Royal Palm Literary Awards deadline. Being that “Flight” won 2nd place in its category for that contest, I thought it appropriate to revisit  this post on my author’s blog, especially since the original has been blown away to cyber-world oblivion. Enjoy:

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I am a writer.

I am also a hockey player.

The two big passions in my life.

I don’t think there are many writing hockey players or hockey-playing writers out there. Perhaps I’m a breed all my own. With the NHL on summer break and my local recreational ice rink in a rebuilding stage, I have no hockey to watch or play right now.

It turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I’ve had some tough deadlines recently, and this extra time has allowed me to focus a little more on my writing. But this past Saturday, I found out that I needed to have the first draft of a manuscript I’m working on completed in less than a week.

Completed?!

In less than a week?!

Impossible!!! With the current state it was in, I’d need at least a month!!!

I realized that I would have to bring that dormant hockey player out in me.  Writing alone would not help me reach this deadline.  I needed to reach down to those special traits that all true hockey players possess: heart, grit, determination. That “never give up” attitude, which is the only way to lift the ultimate prize.

Pittsburgh Penguin Maxime Talbot's Playoff Beard

For me, it became playoff time. And before I realized it, I was even growing the traditional Playoff Beard! Although, on me, it doesn’t look like much. Yes, we hockey players can be superstitious, so I sure as hell won’t be shaving until I hit my deadline.

This could be the first recorded case of growing a Manuscript Beard!

Writing and re-writing a first draft on a condensed schedule, is much like the NHL playoff season. When you get stuck or feel the pressures of the challenge, it’s like taking a vicious check or giving up a goal against.  When the keyboard starts clicking away and you string together some beautiful prose, it feels like scoring a goal!

Earlier this evening I felt like I got into a fight with an enforcer.  I needed five minutes in the box after that scrap.

You have to build on momentum. Every sentence or paragraph is like playing an intense shift. Every section break feels like you finished a hard fought period.  And every chapter is like completing a game, some you win and some you lose. If you lose enough, have weak chapters that don’t come together, your manuscript is out of the series for good. Forget the deadline, just complete the handshakes and call it a season.  Get your golf game ready.

But if you start putting together enough wins, the chapters keep adding up.  Completed acts are like winning a playoff series.  And I’ve won a few so far.

Right now, with two days to go, I’m about to enter the Stanley Cup Finals—seven chapters to go.  I’m sporting my lame Manuscript Beard, got my playoff related injuries (carpal tunnel, sore neck, strained eyeballs,) but I’m determined to grab hold of the most coveted prize in writing.

By the end of this series, I’ll be raising the Stanley Cup just like my hometown Pittsburgh Penguins did this year.

Only, my Stanley Cup will be the completed first draft of my manuscript.

Pittsburgh Penguin Sidney Crosby hoisting The Cup

FWA Award Announcement

Contact: Chrissy Jackson
Vice President, Florida Writers Association
Email: Chrissyj@earthlink.net
FWA Website: www.floridawriters.net

 

LOCAL WRITER JEFF SWESKY WINS PRESTIGIOUS RPLA AWARD, ANNOUNCED AT STATEWIDE FLORIDA WRITERS ASSOCIATION CONFERENCE

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE. November 1, 2009: Palm Coast, FL. The Florida Writers Association (FWA) has announced that Jeff Swesky of Palm Coast, FL won a prestigious Royal Palm Literary Award (RPLA). Jeff Swesky’s winning entry, Flight from Fear, which Jeff had ghostwritten for Rabbi Samuel Cywiak of St. Augustine, FL, won 2^nd place for Unpublished Autobiography.

FWA is a statewide nonprofit trade association with some 1,000 members. Jeff Swesky’s award was announced at the awards ceremony at FWA’s recent three-day annual conference in Orlando, Florida. The conference attracted nearly 300 member-attendees and offered a mix of workshops and opportunities to network with a faculty of agents, acquisition editors, publishers, and industry professionals from across the United States. The ceremony was the conference’s crowning event.

Other RPLA winners included FWA’s Northeast Florida Regional Director, Victor DiGenti, of Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida, whose mystery, Matanzas Bay, won the award for Unpublished Book of the Year. This was the first year this award was made, and literary agent Elizabeth Trupin-Pulli of JET Literary Associates, a faculty member at the conference, has already expressed an interest in the book.

Chris Roerden’s educational/information book, Don’t Sabotage Your Submission, and Erwin Wunderlich’s historical novel, Salvos on the Backwater, tied for 2009 Published Book of the Year.

This competition was RPLA’s eighth, and to date it is the largest. Some 236 entries were submitted for 23 categories of writing, including book-length nonfiction (six genres), short nonfiction (two genres), poetry, book-length fiction (twelve genres) and short fiction (two genres). Awards were given separately for published and unpublished works.

“RPLA is special.” said Chrissy Jackson, FWA’s vice president. “Like all writing competitions, it recognizes excellence, but this competition also provides comprehensive, constructive feedback to all entrants. I don’t know of any other competition that guarantees that at least three judges will read and thoroughly comment on all entries.”

This year, RPLA had 64 active judges, the largest number in its history. Each read an average of 12 submissions, for a total of 776 rubrics completed. The judges are current or retired teachers, librarians, professional editors, college professors, published authors, former RPLA winners, journalists, and leaders of writing and reading groups. A good percentage have advanced degrees. Most are Floridians, but others hail from Connecticut, Massachusetts, Minnesota, New Hampshire, and New York. All entries were blind.

“The judging was first-rate,” said Chris Coward, RPLA’s 2009 chairperson. “Collectively, the judges donated thousands of hours of time to this competition, and because they’re anonymous, they got absolutely no public recognition for it. They truly live the FWA motto, ‘Writers Helping Writers’.”

The Florida Writers Association, 1,000 members strong and growing, is a nonprofit 501(c)(6) organization that supports the state’s established and emerging writers. Membership is open to the public, and membership forms are posted on FWA’s website, www.floridawriters.net.

The Royal Palm Literary Awards competition is a service of the Florida Writers Association established to recognize excellence in members’ published and unpublished works while providing blind, objective, and constructive written assessments for all entrants.

For additional information about FWA, visit the FWA website: www.floridawriters.net. For a list of 2009 RPLA winners, complete with submission summaries and author biographies, visit http://www.floridawriters.net/uploads/Awards_WWE_posting.pdf.

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The 2009 Florida Writers Association Statewide Conference

This past weekend I attended the 8th Annual Florida Writers Association Statewide Conference held in Lake Mary, FL. The conference in 2008 was the first time I had attended this event. And even though I enjoyed the conference that first year, I was not in the best state of mind, so I probably didn’t make the most of it.

This year was different. I went in feeling like a renewed person and had a total blast from beginning to end. The conference organized many terrific workshops that were well conceived and presented, and covered a myriad of writing and publishing topics. I met so many talented, brilliant, friendly, creative writers and artists that one could not come home without feeling inspired and energized by all the knowledge and passion being shared.

From Our Family to Yours

 The 2009 conference also released “From Our Family to Yours,” Volume 1 of the new FWA Collection series which features short stories from FWA members and can be purchased online at Amazon and Barnes&Noble. Out of hundreds of entries only 61 stories were selected for this collection. Out of these 61 stories, ten came from Ancient City writers; the St. Augustine chapter of the FWA which I help to run. And Rogues Gallery Writer, Rebekah Scott, had the top ranked story in the entire collection with “Variations on Mr. Cornflake.”

I’m honored that two of my short stories, “An Anniversary Remembered” and “Keepsakes,” were published in this collection. My first two publications. On Saturday afternoon, contributing authors gathered to do a group book signing. My first book signing as well.

That brings me to the highlight of the conference, the Royal Palm Literary 

RPLA Award for "Flight from Fear"

Awards. This prestigious writing contest coincides with the FWA Conference, and on Saturday evening, a big banquet and awards ceremony is held to announce and celebrate the winners. I was blown away to learn that the Holocaust survival memoir I’ve ghostwritten for Rabbi Samuel Cywiak of St. Augustine, “Flight from Fear,” won second place in the unpublished Autobiography category. Fellow Rogue, Mike King, won first place for his published poem, “Rendezvous.” Again, the Ancient City Chapter left their mark by taking home seven RPLAs.

I personally want to congratulate all of the Royal Palm Literary Award winners, the contributing authors for “From Our Family to Yours,” and everyone who helped to organize and run this year’s amazing conference.

B.Y.O.C. (Bring Your Own Chair)

I haven’t been writing much lately. My life’s been in a transitional state of sorts, which has put a damper on my creative productivity. I’ve recently moved from a temporary housing situation—which lasted nearly a year—to a two bedroom apartment. This will be Home a while.

The big problem is that I didn’t have much to move into it.

My bedroom suite consists of a twin-sized air mattress. For my nightstand I use a book and for a lamp I wield a small flashlight. I feel like I’m camping out every night. And being that this is a new apartment building, I probably have my share of creepy crawly visitors at night. My dresser consists of plastic storage containers and suitcases lying on the floor spine down with their tops unzipped and flipped open like cadavers at an autopsy. The second bedroom, my future office, is empty for the most part. Just a huge storage bin.

In my dining room I have a card table, which also doubles as my computer desk. Since I work from home, this is not the most comfortable work environment, but it’ll have to do for now. I just need to get used to looking down at a monitor.

Aside from a TV, my living room is furnished with a beach chair and two small fold-out camping chairs; they’re acting as my couch and recliners. I’m using an empty dinnerware set box as my coffee table. Since I don’t have a set of coasters yet, the water rings are disfiguring my makeshift table like the craters on the moon. Soon I’ll have to sift through the dumpster to find a new “coffee table.”

The reason for this minimalist style of home furnishing is that my real furniture and possessions are being held captive. Prisoners of War. War, in my case, is my divorce. The Big D. And the final chapter of this historical event has yet to be written.

I may not have much right now, but I am appreciative of what I do have. I may not be able to host a big shindig or Steelers football party, but that’s all right. The sound of the TV may reverberate off the empty walls like the hallways of a movie theater, but it sounds cool, so I don’t mind.

And honestly, the lack of material possessions makes me appreciative of what I once had (and hope to regain.) Because let’s be honest, in this country we often take our possessions for granted. Whether it’s a house, car, computer, or pet—sometimes we don’t realize how much we depend on these things until they’re gone. Although, aside from the big ticket items, I’ve come to realize that half the shit we own we don’t need or even use in the first place.

Still—a bed and a couch would be nice at this point. My neck and back would agree.

So, my friends, you are more than welcome to stop by and hang out. I’ll even have plenty of alcohol on hand. But . . . you may have to Bring Your Own Chair.

Nothing Like We Imagined

The inspiration for my blog’s title, Nothing Like We Imagined, was that we all have an idea of what our lives are going to be like. What or who we’ll be when we grow up. The journeys we’ll take. The families we’ll create. The accomplishments we’ll achieve.

Well, it rarely turns out quite how we imagined, does it? It didn’t for me. It doesn’t for most of the people I talk to about the subject.

There are so many events that happen throughout our lives that alter this universe we had imagined for ourselves. Some of these take us in even better directions and lead us to heights we never thought we’d reach. Other events tear us down and strip away our dignity. Challenge our character and strength. Try to push us down into the darkest of places.

All the experiences, both good and bad, mold us, alter us, point us toward new directions. All the while, we try to envision the future, how things will be in another ten, twenty, thirty years.

For writers, many of our waking hours are spent in yet another world of imagination with the lives of fictional characters. We conceive them, birth them, raise them, plan for them, and then throw them to the wolves. But we do so with a passion as strong as that which we have for our own lives.

I think it’s natural that we writers put our own personality, beliefs, and experiences into our stories. We put ourselves into them. Hell, we pour our hearts out. And when our characters fight through life’s messy battles and come out on top, it can be quite cathartic.

Sometimes we want the perfect life and perfect future for these characters. And initially, we plan for that to happen. But once we let the creative juices flow and let our subconscious take over, there’s no telling what life-altering events can be created.

Our characters, the ones we love so dearly, often pay the price for our carelessness. And they are forced to fight for themselves, for what they believe in.

Or die trying.