Friday, September 2, 2022
Thirty-seven thousand feet, but it wasn’t much of a view. It had leg room, though. People walking all over in the airplane, bare feet just across the aisle from me on the bulkhead wall, the smell of something I was told was French toast and everyone coming to use the space I’d paid extra for to stretch their legs and backs by putting their ass or other regions far too close for my liking.
The exit row on a flight from Chicago, O’Hare to Amman, Jordan. Yep, you read that right. Jordan. The country. Remember how I said I wanted to write, and I had the beginning of what could be a story? Well, a beginning was on the page, but it started much earlier…
The story started with a conversation I had about old horror movies and the monsters in them. This was the around the summer of 2013. It grew exponentially after that. In quiet moments before I fell asleep and the daydream moments, we all have at work. It took root and grew quickly from there to the point it towered over other things in my mind. When it finally had an ending, I knew I had to write it. For better or for worse. Which brings me to my current situation.
The story I wrote was good. It’s full of everything I enjoy in a good book that I have never seen. So, I wrote the book I wanted to read. It took around a year to finish the ugly duckling version. I enjoy the master wordsmith Stephen King’s description of writing. I’m paraphrasing here as well as taking it out of context, but it’s applicable. “Shoveling shit from a seated position.” That is exactly what I’d done. And I’d shoveled quite a lot. My back should have been sore. I’d taken a break, then I’d started the next book in the series while the story was still playing out in my head.
The first I put away. It stared at me from my computer screen, under the icon, for it was simply Book I. I gained momentum on the second and was driving past fifteen thousand words when the nagging of my inner voice started. It had been a few months; I needed to look at the first book again to begin my first re-write. It was going to take more work and a lot more imagination to whittle, sand and polish it. What I needed was more perspective to make it happen, since the story begins in a place I’ve never seen. I had to do something I’ve never done. It was time to write about something I know because I’ve experienced it. I needed to be there. Drastic I know.
I wanted to walk in places my characters had. Travel similar routes or the same. Although the method of travel will be different, and the circumstances couldn’t be more different. Wouldn’t be much of a story if it was.
Now, here. In Amman at the Amman Pasha hotel, the riot of traffic and voices float through the windows. The Chorus of car horns speak for the drivers. Sirens warble and bounce off the densely packed buildings. It’s a city that doesn’t sleep, a constantly shifting landscape of light and sound rising through thick air with the waves of heat from the tarmac. And when I say heat, I mean it. I sat on a stone wall today; it was like sitting on a frying pan made of travertine. Even the thick shade of the wilted tree canopy couldn’t stop it, but the views of what I see couldn’t be better.
The story starts in the middle east and continues through places around the Mediterranean and eastern Europe. Now, like a detective, I follow a trail of clues I’ve planted myself. Not a cold case at all for me, though, quite the opposite. Now, I’m taking you along. Sharing discoveries through writing, photos, a video or two and even social media when we can figure out how to get everything cobbled together.
We have a lot of ground to cover over the next four-ish months. More about the book will come along the way. You can give me some thoughts on what you think, or maybe suggestions of what to see if you’re familiar. It’s time to see this book finished. Another in a long list of books I want to read, but this one I’ll move to the top of the pile.
