Some writing updates...

Right-o.  I've abandoned the blog over the past few weeks, but I haven't stopped writing.  See?
My Trazzler entries on the U.S. Botantic Garden, the Abraham Lincoln Birthplace National Historic Park (yeah, long name, huh?), and the (ex-USS, now-Display Ship) Barry have been submitted for consideration.

I also won Honorable Mention for my National Steinbeck Center entry, even if they did replace my photo.  So, this week, while I've been rereading my travel writing books, the photo replacement thing has been at the top of my mind.  Both Louisa Peat O'Neil and the Butler/Zobel team harp on the importance of being able to accompany your own writing with moderately useful photos - enough to tempt the editors, who are as visual as anyone else.  They also recommend sending in a variety of photos - vertical, close-up, landscape, people, places, from a distance - so the graphics and layout people can play with the set-up.  Nothing in a magazine is more boring than a layout that looks like it came from the plastic sleeves of your photo album.  Besides, the author has no idea what the whole publication will look like, or if the story will be next to something with very similar photos.

Translating that to my current efforts, I figure I should consider submitting a few pictures along with my writing, so editors can decide themselves what picture they want.  They don't exactly have access to my computer full of (awesome, usually) images, so they resort to someone else's tumblr of relevant photos to grab what they've envisioned.  I'd rather they use me for both, though, so I posted my two favorites for each location on the Botanic Garden and Lincoln pieces.

I still don't understand why people post six stories in a single week's contest, though.  There's only one prize per week, and they're destroying their ability to submit these pieces over the next six weeks...


Books referenced in this post:
Travel Writing: See the World, Sell the Story, by L. Peat O'Neil
The Travel Writer's Handbook, by Jacqueline Harmon Butler and Louise Purwin Zobel

Busboys and Poets, part one...

Third time's a charm, right?  My Crater of Diamonds piece (the third one I've submitted) won honorable mention over at Trazzler!  Yay!  So, obviously, I've tried again, with the National Steinbeck Center (described below in Rocinante...).

So far, I've been scoping out places I've already been and pictures I've already taken.  It's a little less time-consuming to be writing based off of memories than to take the time to go somewhere with the specific intent of reviewing the place for a writing contest.  However, today, with about three books on my school reading list and an eight-page paper to write before Tuesday, I decided to ditch my house and go to Busboys and Poets, a D.C. institution that is on the Trazzler contest list.  I'm pretty excited that I've been sitting here for two hours, eating brunch and reading, and that they have zero problem with this.  I'm also pretty excited that I've managed to actually accomplish a fair amount of reading for my classes in an environment that buzzes with chatter and laughter, is lit up by the patrons' smiles and the vast windows, and has dozens of objects that attract my attention when I look up.  My favorites?  The sign stating, "Private Poetry: Trespassers Welcome," and the Langston Hughes poem "Democracy" printed on the menu.

I like poetry, though I don't often seek it out.  And this particular poem distracted me from my intended reading because it spoke so much to the ongoing troubles in Syria and the partisan fights here in America.  So for those of you like me, who read poetry only when it comes to you, here's a poem to mull over:

Democracy
by Langston Hughes


Democracy will not come
Today, this year
Nor ever
Through compromise and fear.

I have as much right 
As the other fellow has
To stand
On my two feet 
And own the land.

I tire so of hearing people say, 
Let things take their course.
Tomorrow is another day.
I do not need my freedom when I'm dead.
I cannot live on tomorrow's bread.

Freedom
Is a strong seed
Planted
In a great need.

I live here, too.
I want freedom
Just as you.

The Great Diamond Rush...

Another week, another Trazzler contest entry.  Here's the backstory on this one:

My brother and I have driven across the country twice, once west-bound and once east-bound.  I determine the general route ("It's winter, so let's cross in the south.") and buy guidebooks (he was a starving grad student at the time, and is now a starving teacher), and he does some internet research (okay, he has enough money for cable internet) and finds gems like Arkansas' Crater of Diamonds State Park, stating in all seriousness, "We're going here so I can find a engagement ring diamond."  He didn't have a girlfriend at the time.  No, really.

"Slow down, I want to get a picture of the sign!"

Anyway, apparently the south-central part of the United States has enough places like this that you could go on a week-long mining road trip.  We debated making the trip geologically themed.  I even went solo to Carlsbad Caverns before I picked him up.  But I was feeling Travels with Charley, there are way too many random Americana sites to see, the chance to do a cross-country road trip only happens once every two and a half years, and the brother and I were on a mission to get to New York before his interview, so we restricted ourselves to finding diamonds in our allotted hour at the Crater.  

The brother doesn't read all the interesting parts of the guidebook out loud but is okay with driving long distances and making diverts for random historical sites and/or breweries, so I became the geology and gemology lecturer/navigator/travel guide/drive-by photographer for most of the trip.

Fun fact that I remembered to include in my geology lecture: The Crater of Diamonds was formed 100 million years ago, approximately, by volcanic action that spewed diamonds and other compressed minerals high into the air.  They settled back into the volcanic cone and were covered by a mere 160 feet or so of dirt, in place of the previous miles of dirt.  That 160 feet or so of dirt has since been redistributed elsewhere, exposing the gemstones (diamond, amethyst, peridot, etc.) to the farmer that spotted a 2-carat diamond lying in the dirt in 1906 and generations of diamond-hunters since.

Fun fact that I should've included in my gemology lecture: Diamonds seem to have an oily sheen to them, which keeps dirt from sticking to them and makes them be easily discoverable in, oh, a 37-acre field.  Or, theoretically at least, more easily discoverable than the other rocks and minerals there.  This assumes that the preponderance of said rocks and minerals are diamonds.  Right.  Moving on.

"Oh my God, oh my God, please don't break my car!"

I was navigating as we approached the park but iPhone navigation cuts out in backwoods Arkansas (who knew?), so we missed our turn.  The iPhone, which conveniently regained satellite access a mile later, said to turn around, but I'm a trained map-reader and obviously knew better than to trust the phone again.  I saw a road on the map that would be more direct, and we were on a tight schedule.  We took it.  Quickly.

It was definitely the road less traveled.  But hey, every road trip should have a Bo and Daisy Duke moment, right?

"Hurry up.  We only have an hour to find an engagement ring."

State Parks are dirt cheap.  This one allows you to keep everything you find, even if it's a giant, flawless diamond, which makes it even a better deal.  Also, they rent the equipment you need, so you can literally do zero preparation for this, spend $20 for two adults, and end up with thousands of dollars of diamonds. 

Zero preparation, in our case, included poor choice of clothing (on the brother's part, but he didn't have time to change), lack of proper gemology reading (on my part, but I didn't have time to drive AND google), not enough time (on our shared part, but we had to get to the Little Rock High School to check out the civil rights museum), and ice-cold water in the shaded troughs (on the park's part, but we left at 8:20 am so the sun didn't have much of a chance to overcome the 40-degree weather; see background of the photo above; this water convinced us that the natural result of washing the mud off our hands would be frostbite).  Oh, and failure of the brother to download his camera to my computer before he lost it.  He has no excuse.  F minus, bro.

"Can you dig?  I don't want my khakis to get dirty."

In order to find the mandated diamond, we set ourselves well apart from the other three people in the field (so we could have our own 10 acres to comb over in 60 minutes) and set to digging.  By this I mean that I took a few pictures, was told to hurry up, got handed a shovel (because I was wearing jeans), and sifted through the dirt by hand while on my knees.  The brother sifted, carefully yet vigorously, so as not to get messy.  He occasionally took off his tuque and wiped his brow with the back of his wrist, for sifting is hard work.  We both pocketed the potentially interesting rocks we came across, even those that were a kind of mottled red (jasper).  We covered approximately six square feet.

Fun fact that we learned when the nice people at the visitor center disappointed us: Diamonds come in brown and yellow as well as white.  Barite looks suspiciously like brown diamonds.  Calcite looks suspiciously like yellow diamonds.  Quartz looks suspiciously like white diamonds.  The first two blend into the ground in early morning winter light, especially when the ground is still a touch damp from rain earlier in the week.  We found pretty stones, mostly by pushing the clay off them with muddy thumbs.  And by pretty stones, I mean no diamonds.  Frownie face :(

But hey, when's the last time YOU mined for diamonds?

Referenced in this post:

Travels with Charley in Search of America, by John Steinbeck

"The Road Not Taken," by Robert Frost

  

Hometown tourist...

Trazzler remains one of my favorite travel sites, and a darn good place to practice my writing.  They have recently revised their writing contests, so I've submitted another piece, on the National Museum of Natural History.  Considering I only have five competitors, and that only one other submission includes both photo and story, I do have faith that the editors will read my submission, and maybe give me some feedback.

Their main writing contest this week is about experiencing winter in national and state parks.  I wish the Olympic bobsled run at Lake Placid was in a park, but alas, it is not.  So I looked instead at their other contest, which asks you to fill in the blanks on the places that their editors wish they had pieces on.  It suggests local spots, based on your profile.  Lucky me, I'm a hometown tourist.

What's that?  You don't know what a hometown tourist is?  Well, my dear reader, have you ever had the experience of hosting a relative or friend, who asks whether Alcatraz/Statue of Liberty/Washington Monument/Freedom Trail/Coca-Cola museum/Grassy Knoll/Santa Monica Pier/Sears Tower is really worth it?  Where you're unable to answer because, despite having lived in the city your entire life, you've never actually been?  As a hometown tourist, you are less likely to find yourself in this position, because you spend time mingling with the tourists and seeing all the amazing things the city has to offer.

I used to live in Oxnard, California - pretty enough but kind of devoid of local culture.  So when I moved to D.C., I promised myself that I would be a hometown tourist and take advantage of the outstanding museums, theater, and music opportunities in the District.  I told myself that once a week (probably, but not always, on the weekend) I'd do something "cultural."  Because of that, I found myself exploring the Smithsonian, playing kickball in the shadow of the Washington Monument, picnicking during the Cherry Blossom Festival, watching UConn basketball play in the NCAA tournament, getting season tickets to the Washington National Opera (and learning that my mother was in the Old Saybrook High School Opera Club), doing arabesques with my girlfriends outside the Nutcracker, touring most of the monuments, attending concerts as diverse as Mozart at the Austrian Embassy and Christmas by the Alexandria Singers, and taking advantage of an unexpected day off of work to watch the House of Representatives in session.

And, when Trazzler said they were interested in the National Museum of Natural History, I pulled out my photos (in iPhoto - because I am in no way good enough to edit photos, post on facebook, blog, AND put them into a real photo album) and relived my trips there.

Like how I returned, just to see Arabia 3D.

Note: 3D glasses make me dizzy, and it was heavy on the special effects (such as a camel trekking across a parchment map) that didn't quite live up to their potential (think the Marauder's Map in Harry Potter), but overall I liked this film that focused on Saudi Arabia.  It reminded my of my brief stop in Bahrain and my years of Arabic study at Cornell, and it featured a lot about the Hajj.

Recommended pairings:
Islam: A Short History, for a quick background on the history of the religion and culture that dominates Saudi Arabia.
The Qur'an, for the source text.
The Desert and the Sown: The Syrian Adventures of the Female Lawrence of Arabia, which I haven't read yet, but which provides a personal account of the development of the Middle East by the West.

Like how cool the giant right whale (named Phoenix) is...and how she eats with her mouth open.

Note: Phoenix is a replica of a real North Atlantic right whale that the museum tracks, is plankton-eating, has barnacles living on her skin, is not quite as big as New York's American Museum of Natural History's blue whale, and is an all-around cool chick.

Recommended pairings:
"True to Form," an article from the Smithsonian magazine.
Moby Dick, the classic whale story.  (Also, the New Bedford Whaling Museum does an annual, round-the-clock reading of the story.  My 82-year-old grandpa had the 2:40 am slot this year.)

Like how fascinatingly gross a 25-foot giant squid is.

Note: Doesn't this case remind you of something much less modern than a state-of-the-art museum display?  It's as if you're in a 1940's glass-bottomed boat, shrieking at the sight of a sea monster...and no one will believe you, because she's sinking back down into the darkness and will fade from view before you can persuade anyone to look.

Recommended pairings:
http://ocean.si.edu/, the Smithsonian's online companion to everything that doesn't fit onto the Ocean Hall's signs.
"Giant Squid has world's largest eye," an AP video report showing a squid in context.

Not recommended:
This hilarious site that uses the best of early 90s web design.  On a NASA domain name.

Like Lucy.

Note: It's only gross to look at bones when they have decomposing flesh attached, and since Miss Lucy here is about 3.2 million years old, she just feels like a really short, barrel-chested, apelike skeleton that you'd find in a science classroom or at a Halloween party.

Recommended pairings:
Lucy: the Beginnings of Humankind, also newly on my to-read list.
The Origin of Species, for its insights into how species evolve, say, from Lucy to homo sapiens sapiens.

Like wandering through the Hall of Mammals.

Note: I'm not sure whether it's that the museum has better taxidermists than, say, McGuire's of Pensacola, Florida, or that people at the museum clean and groom their mounted animals whereas the people at the bar use their grubby, sticky, beer hands to "kiss the moose" ... nonetheless, these animals look like they could pounce at any second.  The kids love it.

Recommended pairings:
The Jungle Book, featuring Mowgli, a human who grew up among the animals.
Tarzan of the Apes, featuring Tarzan, who did the same.
An Historical Account of the Discovery and Education of a Savage Man, or of the First Developments, Physical and Moral, of the Young Savage, Caught in the Woods near Aveyron, in the Year 1798, featuring Victor, who may or may not have done the same.
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, because the lion here is how I picture Aslan looking noble.
The Life of Pi, because the tiger here is how I picture Richard Parker pouncing on threats to Pi's lifeboat.

]

Like dinosaurs, ancient walkers of the Earth.

Note: This hall is always crowded, and the chatter echoes.  For slightly more peaceful dinosaur experiences, go to Connecticut's Peabody Museum and Dinosaur State Park.

Recommended pairings:
Anything recommended by your local children's librarian.

Like practicing with my camera's telephoto lens on orchids.

Note: This was a temporary exhibit co-sponsored by the Botanic Garden.  It had, literally, hundreds of varieties of orchids.  They were all colors, all petal shapes, all kinds of exotic.  It was the first time I understood why my Aunt Fran would travel for flower shows - the flowers were gorgeous.  But they also put these flowers into the setting of an eastern philosopher's room, surrounding a "scholar's stone."  This stone is meant to have an interesting shape, one that can be endlessly pondered.

Recommended pairings:
The Sayings of Confucius
The Art of Happiness, by the Dalai Lama

Like these seabirds.

Note: I'm obsessed with seagulls, and the big one in the middle is the gull in this picture.  But really, I just see these skeletons dancing around with the Corpse Bride, in an unreleased beach scene.

Recommended pairing:
Jonathan Livingston Seagull, for the name alone.

Like this display, which lets me pretend I'm as knowledgable as Dr. Temperance "Bones" Brennan.

Note: The bones in this exhibit come from 17th century Chesapeake settlements.  The exhibit points out the features that distinguish sex and race, and also shows things like the holes worn in teeth by pipes (big holes, indicating not much of anything) and pins (smaller grooves, indicating a probable tailor/seamstress profession).  Cool!

Recommended pairings:
The Bone Lady: Life as a Forensic Anthropologist, despite the fact that it feels like it's capitalizing on the Bones phenomenon.
Anything by Kathy Reichs, who is the initiator of said Bones phenomenon.  Fun fact: first place she held bones was at this museum!

A flying misadventure...

Trouble in the air is very rare. It is hitting the ground that causes it.

— Amelia Earhart, 20 Hrs 40 Mins 

I used to live in Pensacola, Florida, where I was training to be a Naval Flight Officer.  Seeing as there was a surplus of Ensigns waiting to train in the fall* of 2005/spring of 2006 and seeing as I adore museums, I spent my fair share of time at the base's National Museum of Naval Aviation.  (I may also have gone for food at the Cubi Point Officers' Club and class, where they showed us cut-away engines and such, but we digress.)

The Naval Aviation Museum, one of about a dozen formal naval service museums, was built at the "cradle of naval aviation," Naval Air Station Pensacola.  The building stands just off the flight line, next to the grandstands where interested parties can view the Blue Angels practice every Tuesday and Wednesday morning.  The flight line also provides storage for the many old and/or retired aircraft that cannot fit inside the museum displays.  Most visitors are interested in these planes.  I was interested in the people.  My favorite displays were not the four Blue Angels hanging in a diamond formation in the atrium, nor the aircraft lined up for takeoff in the WWII carrier exhibit.  No, my favorite exhibits showcased the architectural drawings that one LTjg Dan Glenn drew while in captivity at the Hanoi Hilton and the World War II-era raft in which AOC Harold Dixon, and petty officers Tony Pastula, and Gene Aldrich survived for 34 days after ditching their bomber in the South Pacific.

Survival - both water and land - is a huge topic in naval aviation, and one of the earliest things we train to.  In Aviation Preflight Indoctrination, pilots and NFOs spend hours a day in a pool, where we prove our ability to save ourselves when jumping from high points into "debris-filled water" (carrier decks), while treading water in soaked and heavy gear and boots, by disentangling ourselves from parachutes that sometimes are rigged to drag us across the pool (as if a surface wind had caught the chute) and climbing into rafts, through swimming a mile (to the nearest island, presumably), and eventually by being dropped off in Pensacola Bay and successfully signaling to and getting hoisted by a rescue helicopter.  In SERE (survival, evasion, resistance, and escape) school, we learn how how to survive being behind enemy lines and how to return from a Prisoner of War scenario with honor.  As you can see, the POW/water survival exhibits seemed to have more practical applications than the planes that would never fly again.

The raft exhibit, especially, caught my eye.  Such a tiny, worn rubber vessel had brought these three aviators safely through storms, high winds and waves, and scorching tropical heat.  These men had spent 34 days and over 1000 miles in roughly an 8'x4' space and somehow had managed not to go insane or be permanently harmed.  In both API and SERE, the instructors told us that one of the more important things we could do for morale was to assign people roles - say, a fisherman, a spiritual leader, a commander, a storyteller, and a medic.  Just inside the raft display, I could see a book that promised to tell me what these three men had done to keep alive and sane.  This was information and ideas that I could put in my back pocket and pull out at some point when I needed it.  "The Raft, by Trumbull," I said, and wrote it down, only to fail to find it at the Pensacola Public Library (full of pulp fiction) or on Amazon.com (out of print).  I forgot about it.

Enter my grandfather, who this week pulled a book from his shelf.  "The Raft," I mused, and opened the cover, where there was sure to be an inscription.

"Thought you would enjoy this though I hope it does not happen to you!  With love and admiration, Grandpa, Christmas 2006."

Still not sure exactly what I was looking at, I opened to the first page, where, under an image of a survival raft, I read, "Bomber Pilot Harold Dixon was a man that Bligh would fancy..." and gasped.  This was the book I'd been looking for since 2006!  No matter that I no longer fly, I started the book that night and finished it the next.  Fantastic.

Fun facts from The Raft:

- Always know where the carrier is.  When you can't find it and you run out of gas, you end up ditching.

- Planes sink quickly.  Have your gear in your survival vest so you don't lose it when the plane sinks - that which doesn't fit should be in hand before you go down.

- Know how to swim so you don't panic and drop things.

- Shoes can be used as paddles.  Don't kick off the boots when you ditch.

- Rowing/paddling is exhausting on no food.  Save for moments when morale is needed or islands are sighted.

- Know how to create and use a sea anchor as an alternate method of boat control (and safety in high seas).

- Metal tools rust, especially in sea water.  Rust prevents metal-on-metal movement.  Assign someone to corrosion control.

- Fishing line and hooks have far more potential than sidearms in getting you food.

- Sharks are vulnerable at the gills.  Watching Shark Week will probably scare you more than help you, though.

- Fresh water is your friend.  Find a way to collect water ASAP.

- Sea water (especially in the boat) is your enemy.  Find a way to bail ASAP.  Absorbent cloth is one such option.

- The sun is also your enemy, and sunburns are more uncomfortable than clothes on a sunny, humid day.  Find a way to protect your head, shade your eyes, and prevent too much sunburn.

- Always put things away in a pouch that won't be lost when the raft flips.  Shipshape and Bristol fashion and all that.

- Create a routine, like marking days and navigating.  These men also held a "prayer meeting" nightly.

- Celestial navigation is probably the only thing you'll be capable of in a raft in the middle of the ocean.  Not a bad thing to learn, even if today's Navy is all about GPS.

- Have a lot of stories to tell - even if you mess up the details, everyone will be so excited at something new to talk about that they won't care.  Bible stories and hymns were particularly helpful for their prayer meeting.

- Have lots of food that you could cook in your head.  It will gradually become the only topic of conversation.

While I don't expect to use this new-found knowledge in a ditching scenario, it could still be applicable to my bucket list's offshore sails.  Obviously, I now have to bring my brother along, since he's the only person I know who knows how to take and use sextant readings.

*Actually, most falls - this is a product of most Ensigns getting commissioned in May and doing introductory flight training over the summer.

Books referenced in this post:

20 Hrs 40 Mins by Amelia Earhart

The Raft, by Robert Trumbull