Sand Art- The Reader

Thanks to D.G. Hudson for the inspiration / suggestion.  An open book, indeed...along with a reader absorbed in its pages.

What book its it?  Why, it's Rudy Toot-Toot, by yours truly!  The sand version slightly thicker than the print or Kindle versions. 

The sculpture is slightly incomplete (about 95%)...a thunderstorm popped up and I had to abandon my efforts in the final details in order to not get hit by lightning.  I guess I'm not the world's most dedicated sand artists, but at least I survived to sculpt again.  It may be a while, since we are leaving first thing in the morning.

Here's a play by play on how I created the reader:

Step 1- Make a rough outline.

Step 2- Make a huge pile of sand.  This took 15 minutes.

Step 3- Add water.  I dumped about 8 buckets full of water on the pile.  The water makes the sand stick together better.

Step 4- Make a rough shape.  Basically, remove sand until I have the shape I want.  It's rare that I add more on to the pile.

Step 4- Front view.  The head is exaggerated, because I will whittle it away.  Start big and refine the sculpture as detail is added.

Step 5- Detail.  I have a paint scraper to make cuts and fine lines.  Making angled cuts at the bottom where the sculpture meets the beach creates shadows, which add depth to the work and keep it from getting washed out in the pictures.

Front view.

Head-on.  This was bigger, so I could put more detail in the face than my mermaid had.

Side view.

Reading over his shoulder- Rudy Toot-Toot by Rick Daley!

Angled view, I like the way the shadows fall on this one.  My son Vic is in the background.

The total effort = 1 hour 15 minutes.  The hardest part was taking the pictures...I couldn't see my phone screen at all in the beach sunlight, so I could only hope a few of them turned out!  Then, I almost wiped them all off my phone, which was giving low data warnings.  Luckily they survived...

Rudy Toot-Toot Goes to School

Last week my older son came home from school and told me his teacher wanted me to email her.  Fearing the worst, I pressed for clarification.

"I told her you write books and she said you can come and read one to us," he said. 

Interesting.  Not knowing what he really told her, or what she really said, I took it upon myself to email his teacher and clarify my status as "someone who writes books."  I explained:

My son Max told me that you were interested in having me read one of my books to your class.  I would love to, but let me clarify where I am in my writing career.  I have attached the manuscript for one of my books so you can give it a glance first.

I wrote a chapter book, RUDY TOOT-TOOT, that a literary agent has submitted to several major publishing houses.  I don't have an offer on it yet, but I'm hopeful one will come...
 
RUDY TOOT-TOOT is a 16,500-word (75 page) chapter book. Rudy has a special power, almost like a superhero: he can fart.  It comes natural when you're born on a bean farm.  His talent often gets him in trouble.  After one monstrous emission scares all the customers away from the Toot-Toot family bean market and the bank threatens to take away their home, Rudy must find a way to use his power to lure the customers back.  As Papa always told him, "There's a right time and a right place for everything."

Un-phased by the premise of farting, she still invited me into her classroom to read to the kids.  She even invited the school librarian.

I love reading to kids.  I have a background in theater and a good amount of experience in public speaking.  Plus I'm totally immature, so I can connect with them on that critical level.

I read the first 23 pages of RUDY TOOT-TOOT to the class.  I had them laughing out loud on page one, and kept their interest until I finished the excerpt.  I left them wanting more.

That was cool, but not as cool as what happened next...

When my son got home from school, he handed me a sheet of paper.  "Ethan wants you to publish this for him," he said, like it's that easy.  I mean, I made it clear I haven't been able to get my own books published...

Ethan wrote a page-and-a-half continuation of my story.  It is one of the coolest things I've ever read.  I emailed my son's teacher to see if she gave them an assignment to write about my story.  She didn't.  He wrote it in his free writing time.  She also said I inspired several of her "non-writers" to write stories.

I never knew how to define success as a writer, until now.  It's not about money, or being a bestseller, or even being represented by an agent or published.  It's about that connection to a reader, and having the ability to make an impact on someone's life.

I am glad to say I succeeded on that level.  It doesn't kill my dreams of actually being a best-selling author, but somehow it makes that part less important. 

I've been invited back to the class to finish the book.  It will probably take two more sessions.  The kids are really looking forward to it...but not half as much as I am.

Reading the Waves

I was at the beach yesterday, standing waist-deep in the water and watching the surf roll in.  I had my eyes trained a hundred yards out, reading the waves and waiting for the best one so I could body-surf back to shore.

As each wave approached I evaluated it.  How big was it?  When was it going to break?  These were my two most important criteria.  If it broke too early, it would be ideal for someone a little further out, but I wouldn't get the same push from it.  If it broke too late those closer to shore would get a great ride but I would be left behind, floating in its wake.  The small waves were great for the kids, but I wanted a big wave. 

Some of the big waves broke at the right distance, but I didn't ride them.  You see, a wave doesn't span the whole beach; one wave is roughly twenty yards wide.  It has an arc, and it breaks best in the center.  If you are too far to the side it breaks later and smaller.  Some waves had a perfect arc for the people to my left or right, they just weren't right for me, so I let them pass on by.

I looked out into the ocean and kept reading.  Earlier in the day I had read the waves from afar - I used the tide clock.  The peak of low tide was the perfect time to go for a run, the long expanse of hard-packed sand made for an ideal track.  But at high tide, there was no room to run.  As the ocean pushed its way on shore the waves got bigger, and the beach, in turn, got smaller. 

I kept reading the waves.  A big one came at me.  It had a perfect arc, was just the right size, and I was right in front of the break point.  I turned and swam and water bubbled around me as the wave pushed me.  I accelerated until my belly scraped the sand and drug me to a halt.  I stood and looked back toward the ocean.  More big waves on the way.  I ran back out and caught three more good rides before the surf settled back down.  Then I waited for the next round.  A few minutes the big waves returned.  The waves come in waves, you know.

My kids played in the waves, too.  My older son was on his boogie board.  He wanted to ride the bigger waves.  He could stay on the board but he needed help getting started, so I held him steady and launched him out on some huge waves.  My younger son couldn't hold on to the board on those waves, though.  He kept flipping over.  I let him climb onto my back and he held onto my neck and rode the biggest waves with me, and I launched him solo onto some smaller waves.  

I think back on all the waves I didn't ride.  They weren't bad waves, they just weren't right for me for where I was at that moment in time.  I could have moved up or back or left or right, and I could have enjoyed the other waves, but then I would have missed the waves I did ride.

And I'm going back to the beach tomorrow.  I'm sure I'll ride more waves.  I might build a sand castle, and then sit back watch the advancing waves slowly knock it down.  That's a long, slow read.

For the love of a good read

Nothing beats a good book. Even a good meal, a glass of wine, a sunny vacation (or snowy, depending on your tastes) is no match for a story told by a master teller.

I few days ago I wrote in a post that I could probably make you hungry, and I believe it. I've read passages that have made my mouth water, that made me feel I was involved in the drunken melee, that I was the lover...

When I read, I get totally absorbed in the material. I allow the book to take me off to its world. I understand the *no spoilers* rules, because sometimes you want a story to tell you on its own. I don't wan tot know how the movie ends; I don't want to know what you got me for Christmas. I enjoy a good surprise.

My wife is finishing book 4 of the Twilight series, and she wants to tell me all about it. I keep stopping her, though. I know it frustrates her, because she loves it and wants to share, but I will read the series on my own, and don't want the plot to be unfolded before I get to it. Although there is some comfort in the fact that she is trying to summarize like 2,600 pages in two minutes, and it comes across more jumbled and confusing than my query letters ;-)