I am not going to complain about my weekend.

I will not sit here and complain about how my car was broken into on Friday night (for the second time in a year). I am not going to complain about how the perpetrator stole my 30 gB video iPod. I am not going to complain about how I spent the good part of my Saturday morning vacuuming broken glass out from the cabin of my van. I am not going to complain about how the wet/dry vac I purchased from Home Depot to suck the broken glass from the cabin of my vehicle was missing many of the parts promised on the box, including the casters and the car vacuum attachment.

I also will not complain about the bird which flew into the front door of my house while I was vacuuming my van and crapped on my 1860's sofa.

I believe in karma and can't help but wonder what it is I did to deserve such things. However, I also believe that things always get harder just before a huge leap toward things getting better. I believe someone is always testing my resolve to complete a task.

And the task at hand is finishing my third novel.

I am making great progress on my work-in-progress (here forward to be called EMLM since the actual title is top-secret). Things are coming quickly. In fact, a bit too quickly. My writing time is severely limited these days and it's tough to keep up with the changes that pop into my head. Even more limited in the face of a smashed driver's window and a crapped upon Civil War era sofa. Time to consider a full weekend away to crank out the rest of EMLM.

Anyhow, it was a good Father's Day. Fret I will not!

Check it out:

http://eluper.livejournal.com/36480.html

I'm pleased to tell you that I've received another nice review here on MySpace. In case you are too lazy to click on the link I've provided, here is an excerpt:

"BIG SLICK is filled with colorful characters, poker action, humor, romance, and illegal deals that will keep you turning the pages.  Teen readers - both guys and girls, poker fans or not - will be fighting over who gets this one first."

--ReadingJunky

Thanks, ReadingJunky for such a nice review.

Okay, cover number three is posted as my MySpace pic. I just received this file yesterday along with the entire jacket flap design. All I have to say is, "sexy!" Thanks to the graphic design department of FSG! 

Each day brings along with it more excitement regarding the release of this book. I've been speaking with my editor, the company's publicist, and marketing people. There are some exciting things abrewin' related to this book release, which incidentally is officially 9/9/2007.

Stay tuned, everyone. More information is coming.

Just keepin' you in the loop!

And to stay closer in touch with my goings on, check out my more frequently updated blog at:  dubya dubya dubya dot eluper dot livejournal dot com.

This is a story about putting my dog to sleep, but I promise, promise, promise there is a point to it. And, that point has something to do with writing.

I woke up this morning, the day after Christmas, to the sound of sleet clicking against the windows. Cold. Rainy. It was going to be a dreary day, the kind where no matter what you do you can't seem to get warm. My cell phone was buzzing too and after fumbling with it for a few seconds I answered. It was my colleague who told me not to bother coming to the office today. The roads were treacherous up at the lake and patients were canceling left and right.

He told me to enjoy my birthday with a few hours peace. Oh yeah, it's my birthday. I'm thirty-seven today. I'm not one who typically thinks about age, but thirty-seven is definitely on the downslope of my thirties. It's where the sine curve of this decade really starts to drop off. Aging is an odd thing.

With an entire day free I gave thought to doing what I've been dreading. My dog, Loki, was 14 years old and feeble. His back legs were going and hen had lost bowel and bladder control. He was unable to climb stairs and, although he was in no discernable pain, his quality of life was extremely poor. He was a shadow of the black lab he once was.

I called the vet.

The receptionist was extremely comforting on the phone. She told me about my options and explained what would happen. I told her I would be there in an hour with Loki.

In the shower, a spider lowered itself into the mist. Reflexively, I knocked it free of its thread and let it spiral down the drain. I took a moment to contemplate life and whether the life of that spider was any less significant than the life of my dog. Was what I was about to with Loki any different than what I had just done to the spider? Morbid thoughts, yes, but nonetheless ones that crossed my mind.

After my shower I redressed my wound. I have a martini injury. I had a house full of people on Saturday night and while drying a martini glass to make my famous appletini the stem cracked and sliced deep into the pad of my thumb. With 50 guests at the house, I rushed off to the hospital to get six stitches.

Anyhow, when I was ready I gathered the dog, put him into the back of the van next to a box of empty wine bottles and a bag stuffed with discarded wrapping paper. The vet got me in right away and the procedure was over within a half hour. He went peacefully slowly dropping to the comforter and giving a long, last exhale that blew a small ball of his shed fur onto the linoleum.

$162 later, I was back outside. When I started the car, the radio kicked on. Enya was playing. If you are not familiar with Enya, I can assure you that you would recognize it if you heard it. I could not help but laugh. Total over-the-top cliche. I could not escape the thought that today was so filled with cheeseball symbolism and overwrought images that if it were written into a story I would have no choice but to groan.

Think about it: cold rain, buzzing cell phone, day after Christmas, death of a spider, thumb injury, empty wine bottles, discarded wrapping paper, Enya, etc. I could dredge up plenty more too. Today was chock full of symbolism.

So, I gave thought to symbolism and here is where we get to the bit about writing.

Symbolism is not a bunch of details that are crammed into a story to make it seem contrived and utilized to give headaches to high-school sophomores. Symbolism is the writer's use of particular details that help create a mood or more effectively communicate an idea.

If I didn't put my dog to sleep today, it's likely that I would not have noticed any of the things I described above. I would have been thinking about my kids singing Happy Birthday to me over breakfast or how the colored lights on the far side of the Christmas tree are more interesting because they seem to sparkle when I move my head.

Symbolism is detail observed by a subjective onlooker. Whether that onlooker is the protagonist or a secondary character or a disembodied narrator, it makes no difference. What we notice or what we think about is entirely dependent upon our mood. If I am sad, sad things will resonate with me. I will notice those things. Likewise, happy things will irritate me. If I am happy, I'm likely to turn up the happy music and change the channel when a sad one comes on. It's not forced. It is simply how our minds filter (i.e. embrace or reject, take in or ignore) information.

They say art imitates life and this is a perfect example. We notice things that are pertinent to us. We are less likely to notice things that are not. A good writer will select details that enhance or resonate with the story and omit details that are not pertinent or undermine the effectiveness of the story. The trick is to do it with grace and subtlety.

And the better your symbolism is the more you will successfully irritate high-school sophomores. It's just the natural by-product.

Good luck.