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Do you enjoy the posts on Write Well? The tips, essays, and, perhaps most importantly, the interviews on Ask the Writer? Did you happen to catch the interviews with Dennis Lehane, Kevin Brockmeier, and Benjamin Percy, among others?

Did it make you want to read their books?

And if you could give back -- at no cost or hassle to yourself -- would you?

I'm pleased to announce the Read Well Amazon-affiliate bookstore. It's just like Amazon, except a small percentage of the money you spend goes back to support the efforts of Write Well.

The prices are the same. It has the same hassle-free navigation as Amazon, the "We also recommend..." links, the customer and starred reviews, the ultra-secure shopping cart, check-out, and shipping. You can see the search box on the right -- an exact duplicate, isn't it?

You even use the same user name and password that you use on Amazon.

As a bonus, though, we've tailored the Read Well store to our site. For example, the opening page is populated by authors who answered questions on Ask the Writer. You can buy Dennis Lehane's Gone, Baby, Gone, Ben Percy's Refresh, Refresh, and Kevin Brockmeier's The Brief History of the Dead, along with all the other books and movies featured on those pages (be sure to click over at the bottom of the page, so you can see all of the section).

The second link, A Writer's Toolbox (again, pictured on the right) features all the best books on fiction technique, especially the ones referenced in posts on this site -- John Gardner's On Becoming a Novelist, Francine Prose's Reading Like A Writer, and Betsy Lerner's The Forest for the Trees. It also includes, on the second page, a link to the textbook Missouri State's Creative Writing faculty uses when we teach English 215: Introduction to Short Story Writing (this, of course, would be Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft, 7th Ed. by Janet Burroway and Elizabeth Stuckey-French).

A few days ago, Steve Rucker invited me to lunch at a small Italian café downtown, near the square, and I was in such a good mood I said absolutely without consulting my dwindling cash supply. For once didn't think about spending money. Dollars are tight, but not so tight I would turn down a steaming plate of spaghetti. Nona's is a narrow building painted white and trimmed in robin's egg blue, with some of the best food in Greene County for under ten dollars inside.

I had just finished up a meeting with my thesis committee chair, Brian Shawver. He read my proposal and gave me ideas for my thesis. Mostly we just sat around and talked. He talked about concerts in Kansas City, old professors of his from the University of Iowa, and Michael Chabon's The Yiddish Policeman's Union. We drank some coffee and talked about genre fiction and literary fiction, and the coming Fall semester. He gave me his thoughts on how to build convincing characters, and we talked about several points from his books Aftermath and The Cuban Prospect, and we debated the pros and cons of using tricks to burn a character into the reader's mind.

I left feeling wound up, ready to write, excited to tackle this new novel I'm planning, which is titled Atlantis in the Sands. It would have to wait for Nona's, of course.

When I met up with Steve, we fell to talking. I could listen to people like Brian and Steve talk all day long and never get bored. It came up that I had been reading the new The Atlantic article, "Is Google Making Us Stoopid?"

This article isn't what you think--it's not memory-based, really. But the opening bars struck a chord with me. You see, for a while now I've been feeling less sharp than I was. Not that I'm a genius, you know, just that I wasn't always so flaky. The author, Nicholas Carr, suggests that hyper-links and Internet, while making research easier, is actually altering our brain chemistry, and gives several instances of shortened attention spans, etc. You can read the whole article here and I hope you do.

The answer I had been seeking to my questions ("Why can't I finish what I start?" and "Why is it so hard to focus on writing sometimes?") was right in front of my nose. I knew it had something to do with the article, but I didn't know what. As he often does, Steve pointed this out to me. He's got that built-in, shock-proof shit detector Ernest Hemingway loved so much.

Writing is paying attention to a fictional setting moment by moment, with non-judgmental awareness. In mindfulness, when a mind wanders, you bring it back patiently, time after time. In writing, you have to keep closing the Firefox window with Wikipedia in it. Or Google Earth. Or Merriam-Webster Online. Or all those books you checked out from the library.

Mindfulness is hard enough. Writing, too. So why make it more difficult?

Steve said he always had to write late at night. No music, nothing. He said, "It was like I had to be in a bubble." I said, "I should try that." I thought of Stephen King's locked door, which he says is all-important. A locked door to keep distractions out and to keep the writer in.

Apparently, I sometimes need to lock the door in my head.

When I write now, I refuse to open other windows on the computer, even for research, unless the question is very small and easily answered. An example of that would be "When was T.E. Lawrence's Seven Pillars of Wisdom published?" Answer: "1935." But for something more complicated, like, "How does a steam engine work on an old train?" I do that research before I start writing. Otherwise, it's too easy to get distracted.

When I got home, I tried locking the door in my head for the first time. I wrote 10 pages, 2,000 words, and I plan to write more next week.

I have another reason for writing this post. Besides always wanting to title a blog in honor of William Morris's book of essays on the state of utopia, I spent the weekend in western Kansas, near a town called Phillipsburg. Sarah and I drove out to visit her relatives, her mother's parents, father's parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. This was 20+ hours on the road from where I live.

Lanette Cadle says, "Both Missouri and Kansas people are storytellers, but the stories from Kansas have a darker flavor." I will try to capture that flavor here.

The trip combined with my fallout after the university's semester ended -- I had mentally burned out by the time I turned in my student's grades -- left me reluctant to punch the keys. I'd thought I'd bust my chops (and re-learn the alphabet) by relating my Top 5 Moments from Nowhere:

• Eating lunch at a burger stand called The Chubby Pickle, which boasts the greasiest (sorry, McDonald's) hamburgers every grilled. The mascot is a vaguely racist-looking pickle-man wearing a bow-tie and gloves. You can buy a t-shirt with him on it. And the burgers (I'm not joking) are known as "The Big Chubby," "The Super Chubby," and so on. This is one of Phillipsburg's five or so restaurants.
  Another is the Pizza Hut.

• Sarah's Grandpa Carly and Grandma Diane: these two were wonderful company. Carly, who was once the sheriff and quite a musician, played us some tapes he had recorded with his western swing band. They showed us pictures of Sarah and of the family from way, way back when. I set up an old computer for Diane to write letters on. Both Diane and Carly love animals, so the farm and house are crawling with cats and dogs. Between them and their son, Jim, who lives next door, they have two dogs named "Sugar."

• Jim is on the terrorist-watch list. Sarah's uncle is a born storyteller, and we talked for hours about almost any subject anyone could think of. The best stories were about Jim, who used to travel six days a week, being placed on the terrorist-watch list. Which makes it difficult, you might imagine, to fly.

• Sarah's uncle Jim also found 5/6 of a set of 1890 Charles Dickens at a garage sale in some small nearby town. The name on the set is Daniel Brobst of Manhattan, Kansas. The first volume is missing and the books themselves are worn, but together the set is worth $300 (or so we discovered this weekend, when we looked it up on the computer). So reading the old books and papers in them was an interesting experience.

• I love western Kansas, and the best thing about traveling back was that I got to see where Sarah was born and raised until she was six years old. I can't fit all of the people into this post, and I can't fit in all the experiences (The Adventure of the Low-Flying Plane Over the Highway, The Adventure of the Wind Turbine Farms, and The Adventure of the Meth House are just three more experiences that would fill a story of their own; readers must content themselves for now with just the titles).

Now that I've written this list, which is silly and doesn't do justice to the experiences I had in Kansas, I safely believe I can move on and write something more.

Coming Up Next: A New Direction for the Blog? What does Ben have planned for the summer? Also, What Ever Happened to The Red Ink Journal? The answers are coming on the new season of Write Well.

Last weekend I flew to Boston, via Providence and Chicago, and I met Sarah in Rhode Island. Then we took the train across the bay and met my friend Andrew Jackson at the South Station. Drew attends the Boston Conservatory; he's a classical composer. From there it was a mad dash to a community theatre, where Erica Spyres, Drew's girlfriend, was debuting in her first East Coast show. The play was called The Mystery of Edwin Drood, loosely based on the unfinished Charles Dickens novel of the same name. Sarah and I had a wonderful time, we all left together, and we ate Malaysian food at a restaurant near Erica and Drew's apartment.

Boston is an old city. Every building, including the apartment building, seems as if it was built between 1636 and 1942. Cathedrals and graveyards with crumbling headstones are sprinkled among the fast food chains, mega-bookstores, and office buildings. On Saturday we walked. We saw the graves of John Hancock, Ben Franklin's parents, Paul Revere, and Rev. John Winthrop (the true author of The City on the Hill speech). We ate sushi for lunch and walked down to the harbor where the fog was rolling in.

Saturday night we took the green and red trains to Harvard Square. I bought a sweatshirt with the Harvard name and colors. Sarah got a shirt, too. When the rain started in we ducked into a rare bookstore. The basement was stacked with books, and a Russian poster in the window promised potential. Drew spoted a rare autographed photo of a famous Canadian composer ($8,500). The owner of the store was Russian and he said, "It's very rare," when Drew gasped a little. I bought a first edition of The Short Stories of Anton Chekov ($19.95) published by the Modern Library and another book by Chekov's student, the first Russian to win the Nobel Prize for literature ($1.95). The second book was called The Gentleman From San Francisco & Other Stories. I couldn't resist! After that we had a wonderful seafood dinner and a beer.

Erica arrived home late from her second performance of Edwin Drood and Drew cooked her a heap of bacon. We were all exhausted from the walking during the day. Sarah and I had to get up early, find a ride to Providence, and fly out at 10:00 am or so. Drew called some of his friends, who pleasantly agreed to drive us up. We were very, very grateful, because it was that or an hour-long cab ride. So the friend, whose name was Matt, drove us into Rhode Island and we flew out. I can't wait to visit again next spring, when Drew and I will present our opera based on the final hours of life Rasputin spent (with his murderers). Maybe we'll run the Boston marathon, too... Maybe.