Gary V. Powell, Author

 I've been thinking a lot lately about characters and characterization in fiction. I've been thinking about where characters come from, how they are developed, and what distinguishes a merely interesting character from an unforgettable character.

Beginning writers are often challenged to separate themselves from their protagonists. Their stories are often more about themselves than their characters. The result is usually self-involved, self-indulgent, and boring fiction. The problem is sometimes attributed to writers taking heart in the adage, "write about what you know," which is no doubt good advice. But writing about what one knows differs from knowing what one is writing about. Knowing what one is writing about is probably the better advice.

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I am pleased to announce that my story, set largely in a fictional version of Rainbow Lanes in the fictional northern Indiana town of Dunlap, was selected as a finalist (top 10) for the Thomas Wolfe Review Fiction Prize. I wrote this story last fall between Thanksgiving and Christmas and knew I had a pretty good story. It's one of those stories you carry around for years and then finally find a voice for.

I can't post the story, because I don't yet have a publisher (although I expect to eventually, given the fact that the story placed so highly in a national contest). But interested friends and family can read the story by sending me an e-mail at gary@authorgaryvpowell.com. I'll see that you get a manuscript copy.

Thanks to all of you (lurkers and commenters alike) who have encouraged my writing over the years.

I used to hang out at Rainbow. I drove in my '69 VW.

I saw Willie Mays play in person near the end of his career. In my opinion, he's the greatest ball player of all time. Sorry, Mickey, Honus, Ted, and Joe. It was in Wrigley Field years ago, when Willie was a pinch hitter with the New York Mets, in the last season of his career, 1973. The game was lost, but the bases were loaded. Willie stepped to the plate, took three mighty swings, and carried that timber back to the dug out, as Dizzy Dean used to say. It was an ignominious end to an otherwise amazing career. The good news is that those whiffs were enough to give the crowd a thrill. We knew what we were witnessing.

My dad loved baseball. He was a damn good ball player. He tried to make it at short, but couldn't. From the greasy-spot in the road of Greenhaw, Arkansas (chew tobacco, chew tobacco spit on the wall, hurrah, hurrah, for old Greenhaw), the St. Louis Cardinals picked him up to play D league at second, because he lacked the arm to make the throw from deep in the hole. He didn't last for long, but he never stopped loving baseball. Some of my earliest memories are of playing catch with my dad. When I was growing up in the sixties, during the Cards' hey day, in the summer, we listened nearly every night out on our patio to KMOX out of St. Louis. The pop of Gibby's fast ball, the quick of Brock's feet, I could picture it all to Harry Carey's voice.

We feared and respected the Giants, with Mays and McCovey and Juan Marichal on the mound.

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Is there anything worse than a sinus infection?

Oh, even as I ask that, I know better. Lots of things are worse than a sinus infection. Prostate cancer, heart attacks, bleeding ulcers, hemorrhoids. Hell, even pneumonia is worse than a sinus infection, but when I've got one, it feels like nothing is worse. I've been fighting allergies and colds all winter. Two weeks ago, just when I thought I was about to get better, things actually took a turn for the worse. Last Saturday, we had two other couples over for dinner. Under my direction, the guys drank wine and prepared a five course dinner for the girls. By the time we reached the chocolate, I was in the grip of a full-blown bacterial infection. I felt light headed and completely lost my senses of smell and taste. It only got worse on Sunday. Yellow, green puss flowed from my nostrils, and I started hacking up some stuff that looked like mold.

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So, Mary bought me a Kindle for Christmas. I was hot for it. I spend a lot of may day writing articles and stories and novel chapters and training programs on the damn computer. You'd think I'd have had my fill of electronics. But, no, I wanted that Kindle.

Good wife that she is, she bought it for me.

Here's the deal...I love it. It's probably not for everyone, but it's for me.

I read a lot both for business and pleasure. So far  since Christmas, I've read three books on the Kindle--ordered them at the Amazon Kindle store, bought them for about half the price of the print versions, and had them sent to me in a flash. There they are on my little device, not much bigger than a tablet, easy to use, easy on the eyes. The other day, I was on the computer researching an article for a client. I wanted a book from Amazon right that minute. I normally would have had it in two days. I got in in an instant, no shipping costs, half price. That quick. And, if I want, I can synch my Kindle and my computer to make the book easier to reference as I work.

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I just finished reading "Raymond Carver: A Writer's Life" by Carol Sklenicka (on the Kindle I received from Mary for Christmas). I'm still trying to absorb it all, still trying to work it all out. Ray Carver, in so many ways, has been such a big part of my life that reading this biography of him has left me strung out, depleted, hung over with emotion.

I discovered Ray in the early 1980s when I was working as a young lawyer at Northwestern Mutual and raising a young family. I'd decided, at age 30, that if I was ever going to get serious about writing, it was time to do so. I signed up for a creative writing workshop--it was a terrific workshop with a lot of quirky, talented, hard drinking writers--at Marquette. I attended a couple of nights a week for two or three years. I made some great friends, shared some good stories, and had some great times. I started to believe that maybe I had the natural talent and could acquire the skills to be a writer. Some people I respected took me seriously and encouraged me to take myself seriously.

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 A local publisher recently announced themes for this years' anthology.

The themes for the 2010 anthology are (1) imaginary worlds and (2) evil and villains.

I've only written one "fantasy" or "sci-fi" story ever, and it was published online last year. It was a pretty good story, and maybe I'll post it here sometime. But speculative fiction is not my forte.

As for evil, as for villains, that's a tough one. I initially attempted a story based on a woman I used to work for. At the time, she struck me as about the coldest, greediest person I'd ever met head on. After I quit working for her, she was disbarred and lost her job. I have to admit, I thought she had it coming. But looking back on it, Carolyn seems less evil to me and more pathetic than anything.

Of course, the obvious story would be about a terrorist or serial killer. But because it's so obvious, there will be hundreds of submissions to Scott's anthology that involve terrorists and serial killers going about their business.

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