Day 140--A Mexican gentlemen of lesuire walks into town

Next to the patrol cars and dusty gas pumps he was standing there in his starched pink suit shirt, khaki slacks, and pale straw hat with a leather band around the middle--the kind of hat my grandfather wore so many years ago.  It may not have been a limo to pick him up, but our 2010 Honda was a welcomed site for the humored gentleman....

Someone once asked me where my favorite place was and I answered 'My car during long distances'.  There is something magical about road trip, I am certain.  On the road, all ideas are plausible, all grudges forgotten, all insecurities left behind 70 mph ago, and world is a little bit more friendly and livable amongst the dusk and the trees.

Yesterday my publishing co-worker and I had the mission of picking up one of our authors at the border at Tecate and taking him to one of the local colleges so he could present some writing techniques to undergraduate creative writing majors.  

K. is my age and as we drove the windy two lane road past the new paint of Chula Vista and into the back country of San Diego, we talked about our relationships and the quirks about our boyfriends we hate yet secretly find amusing.  We talked about publishing and graduate school possibilities. We talked about places we've seen and have yet to see.  The Highway 94 road is a curve a minute with the high rocks, brush, and camping grounds to keep your eyes company.

We arrived at the border, which, if you've never seen a border entrance, most are boring looking roads with a boring toll both and boring gate arms.  It makes you wonder what all the fuss is about when it comes to immigration when it's the same damn place and people on both sides--aside from the armed US guards.  Our author hates crossing the border and dealing with the questions and threats of detainment (he was born in Los Angeles to Mexican parents).  He kept silent though, as we passed through the border patrol a few miles down.

He is an old fashioned gentleman in his prime 70s, with a story up his sleeve and old watery eyes that give him the impression of either of remembering times long ago, or enjoying a private joke at your expense.  He told us about the local brujas (witches) and seers of his town, and how he's been listening to the crows lately and if their caws have been the usual stealing caw, the company-is-coming caw, or death caw.  No death caw yet, he laughed.

 His lecture took place at one of the bigger community college I've seen.  The room was packed and I once again missed the feeling of a classroom, their uncomfortable chairs, the desire for class to get out early, but enjoying every minute of it anyway.  

 

His techniques were very practical.  Experiment dialogue between two men, then two women, then a parent and child, then two parents, then two children, ect.  Try writing the dialogue of a scene, like a couple's first kiss, and then write the description to go with it.  Try writing the opposite scene, like a couple's last kiss.  Use angles for a scene.  "A silver BMW glides into the parking space marked Maureen Slateman (outer angle).   Maureen walks in a style best decribes by Webster as 'militant' (middle angle).  She scowls at the doorman, the delivery women, the accountant without pause (close up).  If a puppy had been in Maureen Slateman's path she would have kicked it. (outer angel).

Our author also suggested eavesdropping on conversations to pick up dialogue among people, and that, "If you work I the restaurant business you already have a degree in social science."

He treated us out to lunch on the way home to Mexico--insisting on opening every door for us.  Among chicken sandwiches and his margarita we talked about his love of the ranch and how his writing style involves mornings under a tree with a yellow pad and a nice scotch in the afternoon.  When he told us he hates squirrels we got into a long conversation about how awful the creatures really were.  He also keeps a slingshot nearby because of the crows, and he laughed when I told him about my step-dad from the South whose solution to the annoying dove problem in Arizona (they coo into the fireplace making the whole house coo all fricken day) was a bb gun. 

He told us the secret about writing about the characters of his town: write in English.  His next book is in Spanish so I'm assuming it's about the people on the US-side.

He finished his margarita, insisted that he pay, and off we went down that dusty twisty road once more.  We talked about the immortality of the different mediums of art. A lifetime ago he worked in the movie industry, and then the television business, and before that he was dj, and then he turned to writing in his 50s, 60s.  He said that movies without special effects can last a long time, music has the unique ability of reminding listeners of who they used to be, and that books have "a long life", and that a good story can still be a good story decades later.  He finished by telling us we had to cross the border soon and get our stomach listened to by the local witch to tell us our future--just be careful what we eat beforehand, he laughed.

And so with handshakes and hugs our Mexican gentleman of leisure put on his hat, insisted on paying our gas, thanked us kindly for the ride, and walked back across the gate to Mexico.   I was sad to see him go, and thought for a minute how maybe one day at the end of my life I too can write under a tree on my ranch with a nice scotch in the afternoon.

Other updates:

It's funny really how road trip can relive the tension in the shoulders.  I suppose I should briefly update you about the events from the last post.

My boyfriend and I are doing progressively better.  We fought about the smoking product for a few days but eventually him working 11-hour days and me working my usual 42 hour week and us not really seeing each other for more than an hour/two hours a night finally wore out the conversation.  The final compromises were these: love each other or not (love each other), future problems with present problems (present problems), he let me slap him if I wanted to (I did, though during other rough activities ;) and either the product goes or it gets a name.  He doesn't like the name Henryetta, but he conceded to my whims as long as I concede to his. :) He's been really playful to me and making me laugh and I made us some chili tonight.

Work has been hilariously awful. I've been sent over to the dumpy hotel once a day to relive them for lunch breaks.  One day we had a person passed out from drugs not answering the door nor phone, and a loony woman who was convinced there were termites in her room.  Back at my hotel, a real girl drama coup has been afoot, with my boss waging war against two of my co-workers who forget to file sheets and she thinks they do it on purpose.  Yeah.  I'll be looking for a new job after Thanksgiving.

On the roommate note, one of them is moving out.  She's an impulsive traveler so we knew it was coming, but I think me living here an extra month and helping the bf pay rent in a half-way instead of helping everyone's rent  in a little-each way rubbed the girls the wrong way.  They've been super sweet to me and all, but I still feel guilty that I caused unhappiness without meaning to. I'm still looking for a place via craigslist and we all plan on having a really awesome Halloween weekend together and enjoying each other's company these next few weeks. :)

That's all for now!