Pat Bertram

Quantum Banking

March 13, 2018 — Pat Bertram

The workings of the modern world seem unnecessarily complicated at times. On March 3, I put in an order to a vitamin company. I ordered one particular size of a product, but somehow, because I had another browser window open to look at various other sizes of the item, the shopping cart blipped and I ended up with the larger size, which I could never use before the expiration date. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice the change until it was too late.

I immediately called the company to ask them to change the order. They said they couldn’t make the change, but since the charge hadn’t gone through, they could cancel the order and then I could reorder. The woman I talked to mumbled something about a hold on my bank account (although these phone folks were in the Philippines rather than India, there was still a bit of an accent problem). So I asked for an explanation. Apparently, as soon as I placed the order, they put a hold on the funds in my bank account, and although they could cancel the order, they could not cancel the hold. So the money was in my account, but not.

Since I couldn’t use the money, I couldn’t redo the order because the money was already on hold. Nice, huh?

Also, they refused to send me an email saying they cancelled the order. So not only couldn’t I use the money, I had no guarantee that they wouldn’t at some point decide to take out the funds.

So, come Monday the fifth, I called my bank to see what my balance was. And sure enough, the money was missing. When I told the teller the problem, she looked further and said the money was there, but it wouldn’t show on my balance until the hold “fell off.” She also said the hold was placed just that day.

So, the company had cancelled the order but two days later still put through the hold. I called the company, and they said they couldn’t do anything about it, that the bank would have to. The bank said they couldn’t do anything about it, the company would have to. And both said there was nothing I could do about it.

Every day for a week I called the bank for my balance, and every day they assured me the funds were still there but on hold. And every day they said that the hold would probably fall off that night. It didn’t.

So I had money but I didn’t have money. Sort of like quantum physics where a thing is both alive and dead at the same time until it is observed, and no one was observing my money.

On Friday, the ninth, a bank employee looked further and discovered that the hold would expire on the tenth, but that because it was a weekend, it wouldn’t fall off until the twelfth. You guessed it. Come the twelfth, the money was still on hold.

Sheesh.

The bank wouldn’t tell me what would happen if the hold never fell off. They wouldn’t tell me if they would ever release the funds. They wouldn’t tell me how long they would keep the funds in limbo.

Luckily, before the banks closed tonight, the funds reverted to my account. How does the money revert to the account when it was always there? I don’t know. But such is the nature of quantum banking.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Posted in culture, life. Tags: cancelling an order, checking bank balance, missing money, modern banking, money in the bank but can't use it, putting funds on hold. 2 Comments »

Blogging, Writing, Planning

March 12, 2018 — Pat Bertram

This doesn’t seem to be a night for writing a blog — I’ve been sitting here playing games for the last hour with a totally blank mind — and yet, I hate to break the habit of daily blogging. It’s one of my few creative disciplines, and generally, if I let myself take a night off, the next thing I know, weeks have gone by without a single post.

To be honest, I already broke the string of daily blogs at about day 101, but since it was a mistake — I thought I posted something but didn’t — it didn’t affect the habit. But I suppose that raises the question — is it better to blog with nothing to say, or is it better to keep my computer closed?

Well, since I’m here, I might as well bring you up to date on the plans for my May trip. So far, I haven’t done much except schedule visits with friends on my way to Seattle. I had planned to camp at the Carrizo Plain National Monument, but the roads to campgrounds and dispersed camping areas are not paved, and I’m not sure I want to risk getting caught on muddy roads, especially since I would be there in the middle of the week when there would be no park personnel.

I’m thinking now I’ll drive in to the plain as far as I can on the paved road to see what if anything I can see — last year there was a super bloom of wildflowers, but this year, because of the lack of precipitation, they are not expecting much color at all. (Same with the Antelope Valley Poppy Preserve, but one can hope! I sure would like to see those orange fields again.)

I might end up spending that first night in a motel, which doesn’t seem very adventurous, but I’m not sure I’d make it all the way up to The Pinnacles National Park, which was to be my next stop. (My map says it’s a national monument; apparently, somewhere along the way, it got a promotion.)

I still have weeks before I go, so I’m not particularly concerned about not having any plans yet. I wish I could be totally spontaneous, just take off and see what happens, but I know what would happen. I would drive until I couldn’t keep my eyes open, get a motel room, then finish the drive the next day. Admittedly, that sort of trip is its own form of adventure, but not the eye-satisfying, spirit-expanding commune with nature that I crave. And anyway, I might have to do that sort of drive on the return trip to get back before the Memorial Day weekend, and I’d prefer not to do it both ways.

Well, what do you know — I wrote a blog tonight after all. Now let’s see if I can manage to do my novel writing stint, too.

***

Posted in Adventure, blogging, life, writing. Tags: Antelope Valley Poppy Preserve, being spontaneous, Carrizo Plain National Monument, daily blogging, postaday, The Pinnacles National Park. 4 Comments »

Doing Not Much

March 11, 2018 — Pat Bertram

It’s been a long time since I’ve done nothing. Every day, there is a compelling item on my calendar — either dance classes or backpacking practice — but ever since I popped something in my thigh on Friday, I haven’t done anything. Well, nothing physical, that is. I’ve been taking it easy, reading and writing. Mostly writing.

I still don’t know what happened to my thigh. The tiny pop I felt/heard was definitely some sort of tear, but it doesn’t seem to have caused major damage. There is no bruise, no pain, no limitation of movement except for the limitations I’ve put on myself. I was concerned about exacerbating the tear, but with no real effects from the pop, I don’t suppose it’s necessary to continue resting. Too bad. I’ve really enjoyed these two days of doing not much.

If all continues to be well, I will go to my dance classes this week and hope that by Friday, I will be able to practice backpacking again without ill effects. Unfortunately, I will probably have to reduce the weight in the pack, so that will set me further back in the conditioning process than I want to be, but better such a setback than shouldering the same poundage and destroying my thigh permanently.

Even if I couldn’t go hiking today, I can do it vicariously through my poor benighted (and gaily bedighted) hero since, oddly, he is setting out on a journey across the desert. (Well, not so oddly considering who the author of this journey is!) Luckily, when I go out to the desert for real, I get to wear clothes that cover almost all exposed skin. My poor hero is clad only in that silly pink and lime green polka-dotted loincloth.

Maybe I’ll write an oasis to give him a break from the relentless sun.

But first . . . more of doing “not much.”

I hope you are having as enjoyable day as I am, and with as little to do.

***

Posted in Adventure, life, writing. Tags: doing nothing, enjoying doing nothing, hiking in the desert, muscle tear, oasis. 7 Comments »

Spending My Words Wisely

March 10, 2018 — Pat Bertram

I hope you’re not expecting words of wisdom tonight — I spent all my wise words on my book.

Yep. My book. Imagine that! Although I don’t hurt from whatever popped in my thigh yesterday, I thought I should take it easy, so I spent the day inside. Writing.

It’s been years since I spent so much time in one day on a book, and it was actually fun. I had several stray scenes that I’d once written but had no idea how to incorporate into the book, and now they are all connected to the story but one. That one remaining stray scene is a sex scene that I don’t really remember writing, but I’m glad I did because I don’t have much inclination to write sex scenes anymore, and it was an important scene. So yay! The scene is already written. Problem solved.

Except for that one scene, though, I am to the point in the book where I can write chronologically again, which will be good since telling the story as it happens keeps me in the story.

One thing that might be disappointing is that so many of my minor characters are more caricatures than fully rounded characters, but since most of them are going to disappear, does it matter? Besides, the story is from a single point of view, and since the hero was the group outcast and scapegoat, there wasn’t really much opportunity for him to get to know them.

Since the beginning of March when I embarked on this personal novel writing month, I have added a good 3,000 thousand words to the story, though I still have a minimum of 15,000 to go. I worry that the book will be too short — generally stories that take place in alternate or fantasy worlds are rather long, but those books are usually also told from multiple points of view with multiple subplots. But when you have a single main character, once that character has changed to become what the story needs him to become and has done what the character needs to do, the story must come to a close.

Meantime, my hero has embarked on a journey, so there is still a long way to go, both in the writing and in the story.

We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.

Here is a very brief excerpt from my book that amused me today:

Unable to see more than a few inches in front of him, he stopped. He felt a hard push on his back and realized the sheep was prodding him with a hand-like hoof. Or a hoof-like hand. His brain seemed to skip a cog, and for a moment he had the light-headed feeling that none of this was real—not this world, not the storm, and certainly not the sheepish humanoid. Another prod from the sheep. The cog slipped back into place, and he bowed under the weight of reality.

***

Posted in books, writing. Tags: character or caricature, having fun writing, hero as outcast, single point of view character, telling a story as it happens, writing chronologically, writing: sex scenes. 3 Comments »

Pop Goes the . . .

March 9, 2018 — Pat Bertram

Today as I was walking — simply walking slowly with a weighted backpack, no false step or stumble — I heard a tiny pop in the front of my thigh. There was no pain, but after walking a bit farther, I felt a faint ache. I had no trouble walking back — the road was downhill all the way, which uses more hamstrings than quadriceps — and when I got to the house and shucked off my pack, I iced the thigh. Now I have it wrapped in an Ace bandage to contain any damage, though there’s still no real pain. It’s entirely possible the effects of any damage will show up tomorrow, in which case I will have to decide if I should rest or if it would be possible to continue my backpack training.

Or it could be nothing.

Still, this is the sort of thing I’ve been concerned about — I know a person can develop muscles at any age. Even the feeblest person can get stronger with a bit of effort. The trouble is that as one is getting in better shape, the body continues to age. My quandary has always been to see if I can get strong enough for a backpacking trip before my body falls apart enough to make it impossible. People always say age is a state of mind, which is true to a certain extent, but age is also a state of body. As of right now, there is no way an average person can reverse the aging process. (I say average person because who knows what mad scientists, holed away in secret laboratories, are cooking up to create everlasting bodies.)

But, as one friend said recently, “What other choice do you have?” We can’t just stagnate, waiting for age to take its toll. We have to try . . . something . . . whatever that something might be. And, for lack of any other dream pulling on me, this fabled backpacking trip is my something.

The more I practice backpacking, the more the dream changes, and it remains to be seen what, if anything, I will end up doing. My research into the Pacific Crest Trail culture makes a thru hike, or even a long section hike, seem less a spiritual journey and more of a bacchanalia, though how people who have hiked all day can have any energy for drinking or sex is more than I can understand. (Admittedly, this is only a small part of the culture, but nothing I want to have anything to do with.)

And then there are the problems of feral dogs, wild bulls, and hikers that disappear off the grid.

Not exactly my idea of a spiritual journey.

I get a bit embarrassed at times when people express their appreciation of my courage and adventurous spirit, because as of right now, my only backpacking experience comes from my local weekend saunters. But even that is something. I mean, how many people strap on a twenty-six pound pack (plus a two-pound belly pack) and go walking. For fun.

Well, we shall see what happens. I hope this “pop” turns out not to be anything serious. I’d certainly hate to give up the dream — whatever that dream might turn out to be — because of something that doesn’t even hurt.

***

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: adventurous spirit, age is a state of body, age is a state of mind, develop muscles at any age, Pacific Crest Trail culture, popping sound in muscle, spiritual journey, we have to try. 8 Comments »

Polka-Dotted Loin Cloths

March 8, 2018 — Pat Bertram

I have my decade-old manuscript open on my laptop, so the first thing I see when I lift the lid is the last thing I wrote. And this is what greeted me today:

The polka-dotted loin cloths and cave girl outfits did not disappear, but Bob did.

Seeing that sentence amuses me and makes me excited about working on this new/old book. Not excited enough to actually write, you understand, but enough to keep me thinking about writing. Still, any kind of excitement when it comes to my writing is a good thing.

Actually, I have been writing a few words each day — nothing immortal, just brief bits to connect stray scenes. Much of what still needs to be written are the day-to-day activities of the characters, with enough interaction between the secondary characters and the hero so you get to understand them and their group roles and perhaps care when they meet their ignominious end.

After that, there is the whole last part of the book where the characters that remain find a place to settle down before they are whapped with one final horror.

But, until then, a whole lot of daily details need to be written. Thousands of words worth.

You never know — I might actually write a few of those words today.

Well, perhaps later.

***

Posted in books, fiction, writing. Tags: characters interacting, day to day activities of characters, decade-old manuscript, getting excited about writing, trying to entice myself to write, work in progress. 5 Comments »

Day Body, Night Mind

March 7, 2018 — Pat Bertram

I never considered myself either a day person or a night person, and now I see why. I’m both. Or neither.

It seems as if physical activity suits me more in the morning. Before taking dance classes, when my times of exercise were at my discretion rather than scheduled classes, I always preferred to stretch and do weights first thing, then immediately go out walking in the cool of the day.

And mental activity suits me more at night. Late at night, when my brain comes awake, acuity and creativity are stronger than any other time, which is why, when I wrote, I always wrote at night.

Sounds good? Right?

Well, no. It was fine when I was younger and not so physically active, but now my poor tired body shuts down before my brain awakens.

Oddly, though I have trouble falling asleep at night, I have no trouble at all dozing off when I want to do something intellectual. Last night, I actually fell asleep while I was writing. Doesn’t bode well for my writing career!

Still, I did manage to add a few words to the poor moribund manuscript. Now let’s see if I can stay awake long enough to add a few more words tonight before I collapse.

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Posted in books, culture, writing. Tags: day person, falling asleep while writing, night person, writes best at night. 5 Comments »

My Life After All

March 6, 2018 — Pat Bertram

It probably hasn’t escaped your notice that I’ve been ambivalent about taking dance classes lately. I still love dancing, but now frustration and unhappiness seem to occur more often than joy. It’s not just having to deal with people I don’t want in my life, it’s also feeling that I’m living someone else’s life. I’m not sure why I feel this way after all these years of classes, though I suppose it has a lot to do with my never having had any inclination to be a dancer, not having any natural aptitude for dance, being too heavy for grace, and lacking musicality. I suppose it has even more to do with my sinking back into myself after Jeff’s death catapulted me to hell and beyond, and so I feel more myself than I have in ages, and “myself” is … well, not a dancer, which makes me feel more and more like an imposter. (Oddly, I dance more than I write, but I consider myself a writer even when I don’t write.)

And, of course, there’s my dubious financial situation, which adds even more ambivalence to the issue because I really should be working rather than depleting my savings on ungainful activities.

It’s no wonder then, that I woke the other morning with these words echoing in my post-dream-state brain: You can teach an elephant to dance, but that doesn’t make her a dancer.

Still, I have the strange idea that I can get stronger, more agile, and more balanced by combining the dance classes with the backpacking saunters, and before I settle down to some ridiculous job, I want a chance to see what I can do physically.

If I am ambivalent about dancing, it’s nothing compared to my ambivalence about long distance backpacking. Even if by some miracle, sheer determination, or a combination of the two, I am able to carry the weight I need, it’s still remains to be seen if my body will cooperate.

For example, I’d been feeling a pinch in one knee occasionally when I went uphill and a pinch in the other when I went downhill, so I researched how to walk downhill properly, and then my knees really started to hurt! Apparently, the advice was all wrong for me. It was more for powering down a hill rather than saving one’s knees. So now that I’ve found the right “right way” (hypothetically, by shifting weight side to side as you walk downhill, you use more hamstrings than quadriceps, which helps keep the muscles in balance and protects the cartilage), we’ll see if I can keep from destroying my knees.

Still, ambivalent or not, living my life or a borrowed life, I plan to keep moving ahead with the combined strength and agility training. And maybe, someday, whatever I end up doing will feel like it’s my life after all.

***

Posted in being me, culture, grief. Tags: ambivalence about life, depleting my savings, feeling like an imposter, living a borrowed life, no aptitude for dancing, not a dancer, trying to get stronger. 2 Comments »

On Writing: Potential Discrepancies

March 5, 2018 — Pat Bertram

In a scene in my work that’s still not progressing, I have my characters roaming a hostile landscape in nothing but Tarzan and Jane outfits. Until a few days ago, they wore their normal clothes, including shoes.

Keeping that in mind, can you spot the potential discrepancy in the following excerpt?

Faint screams became deafening as Chet approached. Christopher rolled around on the ground, ignoring Francie’s pleas to hold still. The others huddled off to the side. The eyes they turned to Chet had a blankness in their stare.

Chet rushed to Francie’s side. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. He tripped and fell an hour ago, or maybe two minutes or two hours. Out here, there seems to be no time.”

“Did he break a bone?”

“No. He looks fine, but he won’t stop screaming.”

Chet knelt on one knee by Christopher, then immediately jumped up, his kneecap burning as if impaled with a thousand splinters. Gritting his teeth, he limped to a hassock-sized rock, perched on the edge of it, pulled his knee to his chest to study it, but could see nothing out of the ordinary.

“. . . wrong?” Francie said, the rest of her words drowned out by Christopher’s screams.

Chet glanced at her and found her looking at him, a crease of concern between her brows.

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” He exaggerated the words so she could read his lips, and touched his knee to show here where he hurt. The touch made him gasp with pain. He turned his knee toward the sun to get a better look, then he saw them—hundreds of tiny blond filaments sprouting from his skin. They came out easily; the hard part was finding them all. What were they? Leftovers from a furred plant that had disintegrated in the heat? Not that it mattered where they came from. Just something else to watch out for.

When he could finally touch his knee without hurting, he hunkered by Christopher’s side and began removing the filaments. Francie’s eyes grew wide with comprehension, then she too set to work.

Christopher’s screams subsided to sobs then whimpers.

I’m sure you didn’t spot the discrepancy. In fact, I didn’t either at first. So, here’s the problem: they aren’t wearing shoes now, right? And had been wearing them until a few days previously? Which meant their soles weren’t yet acclimated to walking barefoot. Then why didn’t all the characters feel the splinters on the bottoms of their feet?

That’s as good a starting place for today’s writing session as any. Now I just need to figure a way around the problem. And hope there aren’t any more potential discrepancies.

***

Posted in books, fiction, writing. Tags: figuring out problems in my story, spotting discrepancies in writing, working on a book, working on an old manuscript. 5 Comments »

Room For My Book

March 4, 2018 — Pat Bertram

I don’t know what happened to today. The hours simply evaporated. Now should be the time for relaxing, but I need to do all the things I should have done earlier. (Such as writing this blog.) I did go out sauntering with my backpack, so that’s something, but I got back almost eight hours ago and did . . . well, obviously, not much of anything.

I did finish reading the last of what I had already written of my manuscript, but I am still having a hard time putting myself in the proper frame of mind for writing. I simply cannot hold the whole book in my head as I did when I first started writing. I was younger then, of course, and at the time, didn’t have much in my head. It’s not that I didn’t have things to think about; it’s that I couldn’t think about all the things that were going on in my life, such as Jeff being very sick, our business fading, our savings about gone. So I wrote. (Silly me, I had the idea that writing would solve our financial problems.)

Now, I have to keep a closet in my mind filled with the new dance I’m learning for a performance this June — if I don’t keep it available, the steps will slide right out of my head, and that won’t do at all. There’s a shelf somewhere in the back of my mind for my Pacific Crest Trail research, and that shelf looks like a hoarder’s shelf, with stuff falling all over the place. And then there’s a whole room set aside for things to do before my May trip to make the journey safer and more enjoyable. I’ve closed the door, but I still know the room is filled with items screaming for attention.

I’m sure there are several more shelves, closets, and storerooms in my mind containing stuff I can’t yet clear out, but at the moment, the lights are off in those places, and I can’t recall what I should be remembering.

Is it any wonder there’s no room for my book?

I might have to go back to the way I started writing — by hand. It’s a lot slower than typing, but it allows me the time to arrange at least part of the book in my head so I can move forward with the story.

Still, this time spent rereading what I’d written has helped me understand why I left the work idle for so long — every one of my other novels has an element of mystery. With a mystery, you know how the story is doing and where it is going. When the mystery is solved, the story ends. Without a mystery, I’m not sure what I am doing, not sure where I am going, and don’t know how to end it. (Well, that last one is a lie. I know the ending.)

For as old a manuscript as it is, the writing isn’t as jejune as I expected it to be. I did find a lot more “was”s than I use now, and too many scenes started with “he did this” or “he did that” rather than something more compelling, but over all, I’m pleased with the book and excited about working on the story again.

I hope I can keep the excitement when I actually start writing.

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