The Names Have Been Changed

Costa Rica, Year 3, Day 1: It's like we never left, only more so. 

I've been reading The Best American Travel Stories 2011, edited by one of my favorite authors, Sloane Crosley. In her introduction essay, she states that she never wants to go back to the same place twice because the world is so big and wonderful. I used to agree with her, and in many ways I still do. In a previous life (about 15 years ago, I suppose) I spent 10 days on the island of Mustique. Mystical, to be sure. Ah, Basil and his friends (rock stars, clothing designers, European royalty, entrepreneurs and trust fund babies), what's not to like? The beaches, the views, the restaurants—ok, there was only one restaurant, but it was fabulous... a lively lobster once scampered across the dining room floor trying to escape his devilishly hot fate—heaven on earth for us humans. And here is where Ms. Crosley's point is valid: my return trip the following year had none of the awe and fascination. I went back hoping to repeat the wonderment. Alas, it was, "Oh, yeah, I remember this beach."

But this spot in Costa Rica where we (my hubby and I) have found... We love it more each year. We've met people here, found the best places to eat and buy good meat (organic beef and pork from Nicaragua), my Spanish has greatly improved, and I am over the culture shock that overwhelmed me on my first visit. But I post this post as a marker, taking my emotional temperature, if you will, so I can compare how I feel about it at the end of our trip. 

Here's my Costa Rican recap:

First trip to CR: 1 Week in Tamarindo: Fabulous. Me, hubby, 4 sons. Great time, great food, great town, great house though it didn't have an ocean view.

Second trip to CR: 1 month near Coco Beach: Not so fabulous. Hubby and I land after dark; by the time we got our rental car and found our house, I was depleted of all positive emotions. An afternoon wildfire had scorched the hilltop just below our house, but our host insisted they'd hosed everything down so we'd be fine. The house was in disrepair, though the ants and geckos didn't seem to mind. The tarantulas loved our pool, but they can't swim so it wasn't that scary to scoop them out in the mornings. But by Week 3, when 5 (grown) kids arrived, I had adjusted and relearned to sleep at night out of pure exhaustion from all the local adventures we mastered. This is how I felt about it at the time!

Then we moved to another house for 1 month: Ah, much better. Clean, airtight, no bugs inside. Wonderful. Enjoyment! A writer's dream. Lovely. Until our final night here. That night, sound asleep, pure bliss, and then BANG! Ouch! OMFingG! My husband was stung by a scorpion who had crawled into our bed! After we killed it, we wondered if it had a nest of friends nearby...

Year 2: Back to the Scorpion house. (yes, I agreed to this... hey, it wasn't me who got stung!). (We did have 10 scorpions in the house during our stay, but no stings. They were mostly dead due to perimeter fumigation by the time they snuck into middle of the rooms.) This year, no kids, no adventures, only peace, quiet, calm, happiness, and writing: 45,000 words on my "third" novel, The King of Liars. I also did a lot of blogging about our time here. Some of it's worth reading. Most of the last 20 or so entries relay our adventures. (Note: This link is to my "old" blog via Apple. I have since moved my blog to where you are reading now.)

Year 3: Now here I sit, in the Scorpion house again, in my "writing studio over looking the Pacific Ocean." I wonder what lies ahead for us over the next 11 weeks. We'll have most of our kids visiting for parts of 3 separate weeks. With any luck, our children will outnumber the scorpions, although that still leaves room for too many scorpions! This year, I'm working on a new novel—my "breakout" novel? Yes, this is the one!—A Reasonable Price. I'm at 35,000 words now (125 pages), but no telling how many of those I'll scrap in the next 11 weeks. My current friends—I mean, characters—have different names from last year, but my intensity persists.

So, friends, I hope to entertain and inform you in the coming months. I'd love questions or comments from you along the way so don't be shy. Take care and I'll write more soon! Hasta luega!

Publishing Dilema #GN/BN

(My new hashtag: #GN/BN: Good news/bad news)

On Sunday, I was sipping my coffee, watching Sunday Morning on CBS, lounging with my husband, reading the paper, minding my own business. I opened up the Life section of Sunday's Des Moines Register and screamed! My travel essay and photos from a recent trip to Panama were published in full color for God and everybody to see. I had submitted my story about 10 days before, but hadn't heard a peep back from them so I had no idea it would be printed so quickly—or at all.

I jumped, I danced, I squealed, I Tweeted, I Facebooked, I called Mom, I called Dad, I texted family from out of town.

Then... I read my printed story, the one I wrote and knew by heart. Five hundred and six words, carefully chosen, carefully edited, carefully reviewed. But lo and behold, there were beaucoup errors! What? How could that be? Embarrassment silenced me. Half the verbs in the printed version are in past tense, half in present tense. HELLO!

My husband insisted that no one except writers would even notice. But... who else matters?

I've written 3 1/2 novels, all in past tense. That's normal for me. But travel essays are often written in present tense, so I challenged myself. It's not that hard, but it does take concentration to tell a story that happened 10 months ago in present tense. I consulted my best editor (yes, my son, @Elliott_Krause (as I now refer to him) on the finer points of non-fiction writing (he's in the NF Iowa Writers' Workshop and is an editorial assistant at the Iowa Review), and soon I had an essay I was happy with. Attach photos. Polite email. Send.

So the GN/BN: My essay was in print—nearly a full page!—but all those errors are so embarrassing that I don't even want to frame my first hard-copy publication. I was ashamed that I let all those errors slip through. Shocked, even. Until I consulted my advisor again, (yes, Elliott) and he said, "Blame the paper." I said, "I can't do that. If I made the errors, I need to be responsible for them." He said, "They may have transcribed it incorrectly to put it in their required format." I said, "What? They don't just Cut and Paste?" He said, "Probably not." So I ran home and checked and, sure enough, my copy is clean, theirs has errors.

I can't (won't) complain to the newspaper editor because a writer does not want a black mark by his/her name with the local newspaper. But, still... how discouraging. What would any of you writers do? Does this happen often? How do you promote your accomplishments when someone else screws them up in the printing/publishing process? I suppose, **it happens, so you just deal with it and move on, right?

One thing I know for sure: This will not stop me from submitting a thousand more articles in the near future.