I didn't mean to rant yesterday. Rants are generally reserved for talk radio hosts and pretentious college kids. But life feels dark right now and things are sort of unwinding after so much promise and hope and I'm pretty angry about the governments failure to really deal with health care reform. In my mind there are so many threads twisted and tangled and I'm having a hard time bringing any one thought into focus long enough to examine and write about it.
This is the point at which i usually quit writing. After a strong, or prolific, start there comes the wall, the block where thoughts and emotions are veiled in a confusing web of uncertainty and darkness. And i quit. Just stop. I don't wind out with a whimper, i don't hang onto the last threads of the promise and inspiration I'd had at the beginning. Any sense of discipline, dedication, desire, artistic integrity, or the creative practice of writing vanishes and i find myself just searching the web and reading the mundane stories of Soccer players abroad. Who's in court for what and what manager wants what player...I'm no better than a fan of American football or baseball! Depressing.
I had always seen myself as a writer, i college and finishing up high school. Even after i had my degree, a new baby and newly married, i was constantly looking towards the future and hoping to write and write and make a living with language and stories. And i poured into it at first and gradually it slowed and stopped. Life took over. Being a newly wed is challenging. Getting to know your spouse, really knowing them, is a whole new adventure but added to that was a baby and i had to work to pay rent and support my wife and kid and i got a job and i quit writing. This is not the fault of the family, rather a consequence of our choices and do not regret them one bit. Life changes quickly and our reaction is adapt and, as fathers/husbands provide. I held onto the dream for while. This passion for writing welled up in my chest and sometimes made it hard to focus on whatever job it was i had at the time--roofing i believe.
Its remarkable what we can ignore and how easy it is to bury our dreams and passions. I'm under no misconception that i am a good writer. I may know a few tricks, have some knowledge of the craft, understand concepts of free writing and character development but my writing isn't inspired and i have a shallow capacity for fiction. Really, fiction is immensely challenging for me. Not to read but because i hit the point in which nothing happens, inspiration has run dry, and my fingers begin to slow on the keyboard. The next day i wake up and turn on the computer to troll craigslist. My writing forgotten and the promise and dreams of my youth slowly slipping away.
Today I'll go to work as a carpenter, installing trim and custom shelves. When i get home I'll be husband and father. Tonight there will be a celebration of the new year. For me and my wife and my children this will be a year of dramatic change. I'll turn 30 in march and i am ready to figure out what i want to do with my life.
It is time.
But now my mind is shrouded, lightly, in darkness and the hope of a week ago, three days ago even, is waning thin.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
a brief rant
I began a post this morning and failed miserably. I had intended to rant on the injustices around me--disappointing health care reform, the unfair balance of wealth and power in the U.S., property management companies with Fucked up fees and policies, societies failure to come to grips with the nations poor, etc...--but it came across as whinging. I don't want to be like that. People around me are dying and going cold and hungry and without a lot more than i have had to sacrifice our make do without. I am warm and fed and supported by family and friends. I have problems and anxieties and frustrations with our society and government and a lot of it stems from the human failure to empathise with the poor and powerless--the "have-nots". Briefly i don't think health care reform would be so lacking in its provision of coverage or the governments involvement if more men and women in the house and senate had seen their lives toppled because of unforeseeable health issues. When those issues come up they put families in a hole that is hard to climb out of. The insured mass of the U.S. isn't insured because they feel invincible or they don't want coverage. They are uninsured because health care is out of their reach. Too poor and uninformed to find state/government help or not poor enough. Ironic isn't it? This being the country that controls the majority of the worlds resources and wealth to have more people die due to lack of access to health care than any other developed nation in the world (see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Distribution_of_wealth).
I'm ranting. But, lets think about it, don't we have a responsibility to care for the needy, poor, and dis-valued elements of our society?
I'm ranting. But, lets think about it, don't we have a responsibility to care for the needy, poor, and dis-valued elements of our society?
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Waking Up My Muse
I knew this day would come the day i woke up and found i was suffering from acute writers block. Writers block or exhaustion. Some mornings i wake up and do my computer thing (i.e. check soccer scores, surf craigslist, glance at my email) while drinking coffee and i can not keep my eyes open. This is one of those mornings. I don't like it. I don't like being tired and fighting a battle to stay awake and alert. All i want to do right now is retreat back to bed and sleep deep into the morning. That is the "now" in my brain talking, the real me knows that i don't like sleeping in and fights the urge to go back to sleep.
What I've just written is a consequence of my writers block. In the past, during sustained periods of committed writing, I've done free writing exercises to help over come writers block. The idea is to write regardless of limited brain activity or inspiration but to create a practice of writing that helps overcome those occasions. Writer's block has been the thing that has derailed my attempts at writing over and over and over and most likely will again. That is, of course, unless i can figure out a way to maintain my writing.
This is something Steven King writes about in On Writing. No writer will ever live a life full of inspiration, creativity oozing out their every orifice, and a Midas touch at the computer. It doesn't work that way, much to my dismay. Being inspired, for me is ideal, it is an effortless pathway to a productive day of writing. Being inspired happens so very rarely that writing is almost always an effort. To ease the effort, I've gotta keep on writing and make sure my muse is awake more often.
My muse (we all have one) is a rather lazy young man who drinks to much and doesn't like to socialize. He sits in the dark and reads, he is fond of the darker authors and books on my list and others I haven't mentioned. My muse is hard to motivate, hard to communicate with, and won't work for too long. I've let him go to seed, bye and large, let him off the hook for too long. I can feel him becoming a bit more active in this process of blogging. The thing about my muse is that when i call on him he has to reply, he has no choice, he's mine. He grumbles and comes to work slowly and with a bad attitude but he works when i insist and when i insist writing happens.
I've decided to write, that is part of what i want my future to be. That is why I've started this blog. So, my muse and i will overcome writer's block on a daily basis and write, here, on this blog. Hopefully we will write other things too and one day I'll look back on my blog and sigh and think that this was a catalyst for going forward with writing, a sort of shallow record of my life and experience in a time of big changes and new futures.
What I've just written is a consequence of my writers block. In the past, during sustained periods of committed writing, I've done free writing exercises to help over come writers block. The idea is to write regardless of limited brain activity or inspiration but to create a practice of writing that helps overcome those occasions. Writer's block has been the thing that has derailed my attempts at writing over and over and over and most likely will again. That is, of course, unless i can figure out a way to maintain my writing.
This is something Steven King writes about in On Writing. No writer will ever live a life full of inspiration, creativity oozing out their every orifice, and a Midas touch at the computer. It doesn't work that way, much to my dismay. Being inspired, for me is ideal, it is an effortless pathway to a productive day of writing. Being inspired happens so very rarely that writing is almost always an effort. To ease the effort, I've gotta keep on writing and make sure my muse is awake more often.
My muse (we all have one) is a rather lazy young man who drinks to much and doesn't like to socialize. He sits in the dark and reads, he is fond of the darker authors and books on my list and others I haven't mentioned. My muse is hard to motivate, hard to communicate with, and won't work for too long. I've let him go to seed, bye and large, let him off the hook for too long. I can feel him becoming a bit more active in this process of blogging. The thing about my muse is that when i call on him he has to reply, he has no choice, he's mine. He grumbles and comes to work slowly and with a bad attitude but he works when i insist and when i insist writing happens.
I've decided to write, that is part of what i want my future to be. That is why I've started this blog. So, my muse and i will overcome writer's block on a daily basis and write, here, on this blog. Hopefully we will write other things too and one day I'll look back on my blog and sigh and think that this was a catalyst for going forward with writing, a sort of shallow record of my life and experience in a time of big changes and new futures.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Another Monday
Its the day after a four day weekend and work looms around the corner. It is a Monday on steroids already. Over the weekend, due to my gross negligence, my truck has sat, out of gas, with dead battery. My efforts to jump it last night were fruitless and this morning we will see. Hopefully it simply needs a little more time. But it is bitter cold outside. As soon as the sun went down last night frost crystals began shimmering in the porch light. This slow invasion of ice was beginning. This morning I'll have to make multiple trips into the crunchy grass, the frozen dirt where i park and where i have shoe horned in my wife's vehicle, to work at jump starting my truck. I know i have to do it but i couldn't care less. All the effort for a temporary job? It isn't even that its temporary so much as its work. Work in general. I know, i sound like a whinger. I am a little bit, but indulge me, i don't whinge too often.
Carpentry doesn't bother me. I actually enjoy carpentry and take a great deal of pride in the work i do, especially at the finishing stage. Putting together perfect miters and tight coped joints is very satisfying. The same is true for standing up walls and pushing a house from floor to floor to roof and watching the process come together. Looking back, project after project, the memory is all stop action footage from nothing to something. Being a carpenter has been gratifying on many levels and i have moved through the ranks quickly and efficiently. But my time in this industry is over, i have felt it for some time. As the economy finds equilibrium it will be a disjointed job market filled with layoffs and pay cuts and this family is not in a position to constantly deal with the ups and downs of a feast or famine career. But what i want to do is unclear.
Maybe this is an echo but it is my blog and this is my morning thought. What i want to do is unclear, what is clear is that it has to be in line with my passions. I don't think, at this point, I'm going to be paid to sit late into the morning drinking coffee--passion number one out. There in lies the problem though. Not finding things that interest me to do, rather the whole concept of work in general. I simply don't like to do it! The 8-5 grind, or 9-5, or 7-4, or whatever a 40 work week is to whoever is reading, I'd rather not, honestly. I like sitting late and watching the world come to light. I like drinking coffee and being with my family in the morning. I like setting out for a bit o' trail riding on my mt. bike mid morning and returning with half the day ahead of me. A life of leisure is what i long for. But as i stated, that is out. I've got to work. It is the curse Adam brought upon his descendants when he tasted the apple. But it is hard to find energy and inspiration for that which i have no ownership. This blog is different.
This blog is mine. I own it. Some days the writing will suffer. Some days i will be void of inspiration and creative thought. My opinions will be dry and i am sure it will seem like cotton mouth as you read--distasteful and annoying. However, it is mine, and i take ownership over what i write because what i write is an expression of me. The place I'm coming from.
And it doesn't feel like work.
Carpentry doesn't bother me. I actually enjoy carpentry and take a great deal of pride in the work i do, especially at the finishing stage. Putting together perfect miters and tight coped joints is very satisfying. The same is true for standing up walls and pushing a house from floor to floor to roof and watching the process come together. Looking back, project after project, the memory is all stop action footage from nothing to something. Being a carpenter has been gratifying on many levels and i have moved through the ranks quickly and efficiently. But my time in this industry is over, i have felt it for some time. As the economy finds equilibrium it will be a disjointed job market filled with layoffs and pay cuts and this family is not in a position to constantly deal with the ups and downs of a feast or famine career. But what i want to do is unclear.
Maybe this is an echo but it is my blog and this is my morning thought. What i want to do is unclear, what is clear is that it has to be in line with my passions. I don't think, at this point, I'm going to be paid to sit late into the morning drinking coffee--passion number one out. There in lies the problem though. Not finding things that interest me to do, rather the whole concept of work in general. I simply don't like to do it! The 8-5 grind, or 9-5, or 7-4, or whatever a 40 work week is to whoever is reading, I'd rather not, honestly. I like sitting late and watching the world come to light. I like drinking coffee and being with my family in the morning. I like setting out for a bit o' trail riding on my mt. bike mid morning and returning with half the day ahead of me. A life of leisure is what i long for. But as i stated, that is out. I've got to work. It is the curse Adam brought upon his descendants when he tasted the apple. But it is hard to find energy and inspiration for that which i have no ownership. This blog is different.
This blog is mine. I own it. Some days the writing will suffer. Some days i will be void of inspiration and creative thought. My opinions will be dry and i am sure it will seem like cotton mouth as you read--distasteful and annoying. However, it is mine, and i take ownership over what i write because what i write is an expression of me. The place I'm coming from.
And it doesn't feel like work.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Landon Donovan's Loan to Everton FC
I won't do this often, delve into the world of sports, that is, unless of course, there is resounding success and substantial payoff for my efforts and endeavors on the subject of world soccer...but I'm not holding my breath. Briefly though, i want to explore Landon Donovan's eminent loan move to Everton FC in the English Premier League (EPL).
It is argued that the EPL is the fastest, most physical, and certainly the richest league in the world. In terms of speed and entertainment it is a special league with special teams and great players. I hesitate to say the best league because often the more technical attributes of the game are lost in the speed and physicality of the game in England. The slower technical flow of Spain's La Liga or France's Ligue 1 are generally absent (with the notable exception of Arsenal.) Donovan is laying himself on the line for Everton, a highly physical hardworking team that consists of more graft than gift and lacks the technical properties that make Donovan the unique American player he is. To be completely honest if he couldn't hack it in the German Bundesliga 1 is he really going to have an impact at Everton? A player who excels on the ball, running at defense, and using the open space and athleticism that the U.S. Men's team tries to implement? His game is built on speed and technical playing, not the physical power of the EPL and i am afraid Landon will flop. I want, though, to see him succeed.
Donovan is a special talent for the US and we have no other player who can control the game the way he can. Bradely is turning out to be little more than a one trick pony for the U.S. men and Edu can't get a game. Jeremy Jones is untried...Coach Bradely has to go if this team is going to explore its full potential and find a focal point in its tactics. That focal point has to be Donovan and he has to succeed at the highest possible level to give credibility to his place on the international stage. I just wish that place were to be Ligue 1 in France or La Liga in Spain. A place to really foster his considerable technical talents, not stunt them in a 2 1/2 loan spell in England. Hardly enough time to unpack his bags much less adapt to the richest league in the world.
I applaud the effort and hope he succeeds but i wont be holding my breath, for long anyways. What do you think?
It is argued that the EPL is the fastest, most physical, and certainly the richest league in the world. In terms of speed and entertainment it is a special league with special teams and great players. I hesitate to say the best league because often the more technical attributes of the game are lost in the speed and physicality of the game in England. The slower technical flow of Spain's La Liga or France's Ligue 1 are generally absent (with the notable exception of Arsenal.) Donovan is laying himself on the line for Everton, a highly physical hardworking team that consists of more graft than gift and lacks the technical properties that make Donovan the unique American player he is. To be completely honest if he couldn't hack it in the German Bundesliga 1 is he really going to have an impact at Everton? A player who excels on the ball, running at defense, and using the open space and athleticism that the U.S. Men's team tries to implement? His game is built on speed and technical playing, not the physical power of the EPL and i am afraid Landon will flop. I want, though, to see him succeed.
Donovan is a special talent for the US and we have no other player who can control the game the way he can. Bradely is turning out to be little more than a one trick pony for the U.S. men and Edu can't get a game. Jeremy Jones is untried...Coach Bradely has to go if this team is going to explore its full potential and find a focal point in its tactics. That focal point has to be Donovan and he has to succeed at the highest possible level to give credibility to his place on the international stage. I just wish that place were to be Ligue 1 in France or La Liga in Spain. A place to really foster his considerable technical talents, not stunt them in a 2 1/2 loan spell in England. Hardly enough time to unpack his bags much less adapt to the richest league in the world.
I applaud the effort and hope he succeeds but i wont be holding my breath, for long anyways. What do you think?
Friday, December 25, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Morning will Become Day
Its Christmas eve. Outside cars and lawns and roofs are frosted with ice. Slowly as neighbors are coming to life smoke lifts from the chimneys and mingles with the fog. The frost melts from the roofs to make a blotchy collage. Hopefully those that work are fortunate to have the day off, it has been a quiet morning for me, so far, with our 8 month old. Drinking coffee and playing with toys and dreading the progression of the day. This is my favorite time. This quiet slice of peace that is inserted on lazy days. I don't dread Christmas eve, itself, just the day in general. If i had my druthers it would stay morning and my coffee always hot but the morning will become day and life will run its hectic course. As days go, though, i like Christmas eve a great deal.
Christmas eve has always stood out to me for what ever reason. I remember one unseasonably warm Christmas eve where i rode my bike to my grandmas in anticipation of the days feast of Swedish meatballs, lefse, and the rest i honestly don't remember, i think that may have been all i ate. Then presents with my dads family accompanied by plates of cookies and pie and glasses of coke and 7-up. As i got older and started working part time jobs, i landed in a local ski shop and Christmas eve was a commission maker! But at the end of the day one of the other employees dads would bring in home brew and Reuben loaf and we would have a pre-feast and celebration. Christmas eve is the pre-funk and it builds the anticipation of Christmas. The giddy anticipation that, as a child, kept me up late and got me up early, and as an adult keeps me up late and gets me up early.
As the month of December has progressed i have gone through a myriad of emotions to reach this calming excitement. The upheaval of learning that a job, fairly or unfairly, has become temporary, the stress of realizing that the dependable income has vanished, the panic of what to do, the depression that comes with impending unemployment...This mass of chaotic life stuff had spread thick over my mind but in the past week it has been siphoned away.
It is the season, i am sure, Christmas is something for me to look forward to. It isn't the gifts, this will be a humble Christmas for us, it is the anticipation of the incarnation and joy that we can bring to our children and knowledge that for a day, at the least, the hearts of the people at large are generally filled with genuine good will.
I am several things but among them i am an optimist and a sentimentalist and Christmas lends itself to such emotions as these.
Christmas eve has always stood out to me for what ever reason. I remember one unseasonably warm Christmas eve where i rode my bike to my grandmas in anticipation of the days feast of Swedish meatballs, lefse, and the rest i honestly don't remember, i think that may have been all i ate. Then presents with my dads family accompanied by plates of cookies and pie and glasses of coke and 7-up. As i got older and started working part time jobs, i landed in a local ski shop and Christmas eve was a commission maker! But at the end of the day one of the other employees dads would bring in home brew and Reuben loaf and we would have a pre-feast and celebration. Christmas eve is the pre-funk and it builds the anticipation of Christmas. The giddy anticipation that, as a child, kept me up late and got me up early, and as an adult keeps me up late and gets me up early.
As the month of December has progressed i have gone through a myriad of emotions to reach this calming excitement. The upheaval of learning that a job, fairly or unfairly, has become temporary, the stress of realizing that the dependable income has vanished, the panic of what to do, the depression that comes with impending unemployment...This mass of chaotic life stuff had spread thick over my mind but in the past week it has been siphoned away.
It is the season, i am sure, Christmas is something for me to look forward to. It isn't the gifts, this will be a humble Christmas for us, it is the anticipation of the incarnation and joy that we can bring to our children and knowledge that for a day, at the least, the hearts of the people at large are generally filled with genuine good will.
I am several things but among them i am an optimist and a sentimentalist and Christmas lends itself to such emotions as these.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Writing in the Dark
I don't know if I'm a daily blogger or not. Blogger...i kind of hate that word actually. Blog is the best we've got for this casual form of self publishing and by consequence those that practice "it" are called bloggers. I'm a blogger. Blog, blog, blog. The more i write it the more distasteful it is to me. A note to anyone with their hackles up or factdar on, i know where the term blog comes from (web + log = blog) but it doesn't make it an any more edifying word to use and say. Anyways, i don't know if this is a daily thing for me. I'm enjoying this morning practice of getting thoughts out and away and as an off shoot of yesterdays little bit on writing i guess it is a form of free writing though i spend a bit of my day after I've posted thinking about a topic for the next.
I'm making this a morning thing, I've already had some coffee, checked the soccer scores and news (I follow the English Premier League and will have some thoughts on Landon Donovan's move to Everton soon), and browsed craigslist. I've woken up to some extent. The Christmas lights are on behind me and the rest of the house is dark save the computer screen. This is a time that lends itself to writing. This silence that encroaches around. The darkness helps me feel anonymous, a feeling that has always aided me when writing. It is very hard for me to write in the light of day, i feel like I'm being watched and scrutinized. There is this unreal paranoia hanging over my shoulder. Additionally, writing later in the day has given me a chance to over think and over analyze what I'm thinking, what i want to say. A lot of the organic evolution of writing is lost in the later parts of the day. Unless I've been drinking.
Alcohol doesn't make me a better writer but under its influence my mind is languid and loose and have done some strong writing under the muse of wine and beer. Of course, strong to me, as I'm rather afraid to really share my writing with other people...this blog (i cringe again at the word) is sharing...suddenly i feel pretty self conscious.
I do practice free writing but it is this practice of relatively worked out thoughts going onto a blog that defines my free writing, i do not free write, often, in the true sense of the exercise, and anyone who reads or is reading this are subject to this process of writing I'm going through. I wrote, first, that this would be a chronicle through career change from doing carpentry to being something, finding my vocation. But that is a very personal process! And i am a private person. And i don't know how well i can share that stuff with you.
The reality of what I'm setting out to do is a real as the darkness that surrounds me. Going back to school, possibly, changing careers, training and learning to do something new and different is a frightening prospect. We do stand on the precipice of change and discovery and it is time to move forward. But a precipice is an exposed and dangerous place to be and i crave and desire comfort and safety.
I do not like being exposed, this is why i write in the dark.
I'm making this a morning thing, I've already had some coffee, checked the soccer scores and news (I follow the English Premier League and will have some thoughts on Landon Donovan's move to Everton soon), and browsed craigslist. I've woken up to some extent. The Christmas lights are on behind me and the rest of the house is dark save the computer screen. This is a time that lends itself to writing. This silence that encroaches around. The darkness helps me feel anonymous, a feeling that has always aided me when writing. It is very hard for me to write in the light of day, i feel like I'm being watched and scrutinized. There is this unreal paranoia hanging over my shoulder. Additionally, writing later in the day has given me a chance to over think and over analyze what I'm thinking, what i want to say. A lot of the organic evolution of writing is lost in the later parts of the day. Unless I've been drinking.
Alcohol doesn't make me a better writer but under its influence my mind is languid and loose and have done some strong writing under the muse of wine and beer. Of course, strong to me, as I'm rather afraid to really share my writing with other people...this blog (i cringe again at the word) is sharing...suddenly i feel pretty self conscious.
I do practice free writing but it is this practice of relatively worked out thoughts going onto a blog that defines my free writing, i do not free write, often, in the true sense of the exercise, and anyone who reads or is reading this are subject to this process of writing I'm going through. I wrote, first, that this would be a chronicle through career change from doing carpentry to being something, finding my vocation. But that is a very personal process! And i am a private person. And i don't know how well i can share that stuff with you.
The reality of what I'm setting out to do is a real as the darkness that surrounds me. Going back to school, possibly, changing careers, training and learning to do something new and different is a frightening prospect. We do stand on the precipice of change and discovery and it is time to move forward. But a precipice is an exposed and dangerous place to be and i crave and desire comfort and safety.
I do not like being exposed, this is why i write in the dark.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
On Writing
I've been thinking a lot about writing these past few days. More so than I have is some time. Writing is a strange thing for me at this junction in life and i can't explain why. I think it has to do with the amount of energy it takes to really compose something vibrant, dynamic, and full of life. Finding rhythm and voice and relearning old methods of showing readers what I'm saying.
As a writing student i was asked to read several books the delved into the craft of writing. Some include Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones, a book i did not find particularly helpful, I read The Art of Fiction by David Lodge, and Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. After I left college i read Steven Kings memoir On Writing and most recently I read Hemingway's great collection of personal essays A Moveable Feast. There have been others too but they are lost in the college haze but on the topic of writing they all say the same thing: write.
No shit.
It is easier said than done i am afraid. I am testament to anyways. I have to give Steven King credit, he writes about writing Carrie in the laundry room of a trailer with a baby on his lap, hammering away at a type writer. (Of the famous, wealthy, prolific writers i admire Steven King a bit more than most. His story is powerful and inspiring and the demons he fought to get where he is should be lauded.) But i don't have those writing convictions, or if i do, i can't seem to get myself to stick to it. These books about writing all point to free writing, almost every writing teacher, class, instructor, or book says that free writing is the key to success in the writing world. If you are unfamiliar free writing is this process of sitting down and just writing. The idea is to maintain constant flow of words for a set period of time. It isn't suppose to make sense, it isn't supposed to be read by anyone else, it isn't suppose to be edited. When I've done it regularly I've had a free-write journal so my mess is contained in one fileable place. Within these free writing sessions there are supposed to be little gems to be pulled out and explored later. Really anything in my free writes is generally iron pyrite.
All the books say free writing is the first key to success. It doesn't work for me. When i sit down to write i will know after the first paragraph if it is something i will keep or not. I can't do free writing. I don't know if it is the time commitment to something that is ultimately, in my situation, useless or the battle against perfectionism is lost (i am not a real perfectionist but maybe pride is a better word) or what it is. Free writing does not work for me. It is kinda fun but i don't have time for it.
Two nuggets of great information i have gleaned from those books i mentioned are: "Shitty First Drafts" from Bird by Bird, read it if you haven't, but for those of you haven't or won't it is really all summed up in the chapter heading. Then their is Hemingway's practice of "always starting with the truest sentence i know" then if the days works is bad there is always truth to return to. The other authors I've mention, save Lodge who's book i find interesting but not really helpful, say the something similar, generally they say to write from experience. But i like the "truest sentence" idea better. In the context of Hemingway it sheds a new light on his novels and short storys and opens up a new way to read what he's written. In my context it gives me a place start from. A place i feel good about coming from. If everything i right, after my true sentence, is a glorified free write full of iron pyrite, there is a gem at the beginning.
That is comforting to me.
As a writing student i was asked to read several books the delved into the craft of writing. Some include Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones, a book i did not find particularly helpful, I read The Art of Fiction by David Lodge, and Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. After I left college i read Steven Kings memoir On Writing and most recently I read Hemingway's great collection of personal essays A Moveable Feast. There have been others too but they are lost in the college haze but on the topic of writing they all say the same thing: write.
No shit.
It is easier said than done i am afraid. I am testament to anyways. I have to give Steven King credit, he writes about writing Carrie in the laundry room of a trailer with a baby on his lap, hammering away at a type writer. (Of the famous, wealthy, prolific writers i admire Steven King a bit more than most. His story is powerful and inspiring and the demons he fought to get where he is should be lauded.) But i don't have those writing convictions, or if i do, i can't seem to get myself to stick to it. These books about writing all point to free writing, almost every writing teacher, class, instructor, or book says that free writing is the key to success in the writing world. If you are unfamiliar free writing is this process of sitting down and just writing. The idea is to maintain constant flow of words for a set period of time. It isn't suppose to make sense, it isn't supposed to be read by anyone else, it isn't suppose to be edited. When I've done it regularly I've had a free-write journal so my mess is contained in one fileable place. Within these free writing sessions there are supposed to be little gems to be pulled out and explored later. Really anything in my free writes is generally iron pyrite.
All the books say free writing is the first key to success. It doesn't work for me. When i sit down to write i will know after the first paragraph if it is something i will keep or not. I can't do free writing. I don't know if it is the time commitment to something that is ultimately, in my situation, useless or the battle against perfectionism is lost (i am not a real perfectionist but maybe pride is a better word) or what it is. Free writing does not work for me. It is kinda fun but i don't have time for it.
Two nuggets of great information i have gleaned from those books i mentioned are: "Shitty First Drafts" from Bird by Bird, read it if you haven't, but for those of you haven't or won't it is really all summed up in the chapter heading. Then their is Hemingway's practice of "always starting with the truest sentence i know" then if the days works is bad there is always truth to return to. The other authors I've mention, save Lodge who's book i find interesting but not really helpful, say the something similar, generally they say to write from experience. But i like the "truest sentence" idea better. In the context of Hemingway it sheds a new light on his novels and short storys and opens up a new way to read what he's written. In my context it gives me a place start from. A place i feel good about coming from. If everything i right, after my true sentence, is a glorified free write full of iron pyrite, there is a gem at the beginning.
That is comforting to me.
Monday, December 21, 2009
A Christmas Memory
With Christmas looming on Friday it seems cliche to reflect on the season yet that is where my thoughts and feelings are hiding. This year is a tight year for us. The kindness and generosity of friends and family has lifted the burden - none the less we have tightened the proverbial belt. But I would say that in the tightening I feel relieved. I don't remember the conglomeration of gifts i received as a child, or even as an adolescence (with a few notable exceptions). The things about Christmas, the reason to be joyful and at peace run far deeper than the material expression of giving and receiving. (That isn't to say I'm not materialistic, i have a "Christmas list" the length of I-5, however I have, tried, to reposition my priorities within our situation.)
What I remember most about Christmas are the lights on the tree. Honestly, as a child I would lay in front of our wall height gas furnace with the heat clicked up and bake in the hot air. Nothing to me was more gratifying during the winter months. For the month of December I would lay and gaze across the room, in the early mornings, at our tree. The stand out being the non-sequitor collaboration of lights, flashing or solid, big and small, I watched the the lights flicker and cast shadows around the room, over the walls, and across the floor.
On Christmas morning I was always the first one up and after careful examination of my stockings (another fond memory, my parents would put together lavish stockings for me and my brothers and sister) I would retreat to my spot in the furnace and watch the lights. Fall back asleep with our dog--a beautiful English Springer named Denali--and wait for Christmas presents and the traditional breakfast of Codfish gravy, biscuits, apple ring, Danish cinnamon bread, bacon, and as i matured pot after pot of rich black coffee.
My parents made Christmas very special for us, as limited as we were financially, it was a lavish morning that stands out in my mind. We never felt poor, especially on Christmas. As a father and husband I hope that together this family is able to replicate that, that my wife and I can bestow a similar memory to our children. At this point that is all I really want for Christmas.
What I remember most about Christmas are the lights on the tree. Honestly, as a child I would lay in front of our wall height gas furnace with the heat clicked up and bake in the hot air. Nothing to me was more gratifying during the winter months. For the month of December I would lay and gaze across the room, in the early mornings, at our tree. The stand out being the non-sequitor collaboration of lights, flashing or solid, big and small, I watched the the lights flicker and cast shadows around the room, over the walls, and across the floor.
On Christmas morning I was always the first one up and after careful examination of my stockings (another fond memory, my parents would put together lavish stockings for me and my brothers and sister) I would retreat to my spot in the furnace and watch the lights. Fall back asleep with our dog--a beautiful English Springer named Denali--and wait for Christmas presents and the traditional breakfast of Codfish gravy, biscuits, apple ring, Danish cinnamon bread, bacon, and as i matured pot after pot of rich black coffee.
My parents made Christmas very special for us, as limited as we were financially, it was a lavish morning that stands out in my mind. We never felt poor, especially on Christmas. As a father and husband I hope that together this family is able to replicate that, that my wife and I can bestow a similar memory to our children. At this point that is all I really want for Christmas.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
The big plunge
Okay, I'm three beers in and I'm starting a blog. For me a blog has to be about something, I'd rather not subject myself or anyone else to whimsical ramblings of my mind. Cruel, painful, and most likely pathetic. I've been giving this a lot of thought and here is the conclusion I've come to: my blog is about where I'm at and where I'm going.
My family and I have come to a junction in life. Faced with an impending lay-off due to the stuttering economic recovery and realizing that what I'm doing now (swingn' a hammer as a carpenter) is not the vocation that stirs my passion and motivates me push through one day after another, we can choose to pursue something, anything, that is what we--this family--are meant to be pursuing, or acquiesce to the status-quo of what we have been doing. We have, by the way, been struggling, week-in-week-out to get by on side work and some steady employment but steady employment as a carpenter in Bellingham is, well, not so steady. For me anyways.
The ultimate problem is I don't know what to do. A good friend told me once that he felt that I managed to keep my family afloat from one place to the next but we were drifting and reacting to the circumstances of life and rarely had control over where we were and what we were doing. I want to change that. I'm ready to grow up i guess. Finally. But I need to figure out what I want to do. I'm going to figure it out. I guess this is what my blog is all about. Us figuring it out. The big...it. I guess this blog is about the process, how I proceed, what happens along the way, if anything does happen. Also, I've got thoughts and opinions about what I see going on around me, lets open a dialoge on what i right, observe, experience. I can't promise I'll agree with you and I'm most certian you'll disagree with me a great majority of the time.
King St. Industries, where does this come from. I was coming home from work thinking about blogging, what the future holds, and good business names and this came to me. King St. Industries. It is so appropriate for me right now, i feel. King St. is the name of our street and in this small house we have had a formative year. Welcoming our second child into the world, in and out of work, learning to be humble, learning to accept the help offered us. Learning to get by. I feel that we've learned to make what we have work for us. Some how in months of unemployment and the uncertainty of collecting unemployment we found rent. I found little jobs, we survived. We discovered how to love wine (just drink what you fucking like and shut up about how to store it and when to buy it what goes with what, ok? shut up). We discovered our true friends, our real family, a church home. We've suffered together and with others over the loss of children, the loss of jobs, the loss of security, the uncertainty of life... In the novel Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry, the one of the characters says, somewhere in the sorrow and pain that comes in that novel: "This is a fine life, though rich in hardships at times." And I have taken that quote to heart. I am constantly blown away at the creativity of my older boy, the peace of my younger, the beauty of my wife, the goodness of God, the vastness of the ocean, the support of friends, good books, good beer, good coffee, mt. biking, soccer. But, in a rambling sort of way, is where King St Industries comes from, where i live and the potential to move forward, be industries, use my damn boot straps.
Finally, I'm a writer. Rather, I've a BA in Creative Writing/English. So, I'm an aspiring writer. I'm unpublished save this blog and I have a problem finding motivation to write. I spend the time i could be writing reading or watching TV or surfing the net or what ever. But Not Writing. This is, ultimately, a way to right. To practice getting thoughts into words and words onto paper and paper into the hands of someone who'll read it.
So, here we go.
My family and I have come to a junction in life. Faced with an impending lay-off due to the stuttering economic recovery and realizing that what I'm doing now (swingn' a hammer as a carpenter) is not the vocation that stirs my passion and motivates me push through one day after another, we can choose to pursue something, anything, that is what we--this family--are meant to be pursuing, or acquiesce to the status-quo of what we have been doing. We have, by the way, been struggling, week-in-week-out to get by on side work and some steady employment but steady employment as a carpenter in Bellingham is, well, not so steady. For me anyways.
The ultimate problem is I don't know what to do. A good friend told me once that he felt that I managed to keep my family afloat from one place to the next but we were drifting and reacting to the circumstances of life and rarely had control over where we were and what we were doing. I want to change that. I'm ready to grow up i guess. Finally. But I need to figure out what I want to do. I'm going to figure it out. I guess this is what my blog is all about. Us figuring it out. The big...it. I guess this blog is about the process, how I proceed, what happens along the way, if anything does happen. Also, I've got thoughts and opinions about what I see going on around me, lets open a dialoge on what i right, observe, experience. I can't promise I'll agree with you and I'm most certian you'll disagree with me a great majority of the time.
King St. Industries, where does this come from. I was coming home from work thinking about blogging, what the future holds, and good business names and this came to me. King St. Industries. It is so appropriate for me right now, i feel. King St. is the name of our street and in this small house we have had a formative year. Welcoming our second child into the world, in and out of work, learning to be humble, learning to accept the help offered us. Learning to get by. I feel that we've learned to make what we have work for us. Some how in months of unemployment and the uncertainty of collecting unemployment we found rent. I found little jobs, we survived. We discovered how to love wine (just drink what you fucking like and shut up about how to store it and when to buy it what goes with what, ok? shut up). We discovered our true friends, our real family, a church home. We've suffered together and with others over the loss of children, the loss of jobs, the loss of security, the uncertainty of life... In the novel Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry, the one of the characters says, somewhere in the sorrow and pain that comes in that novel: "This is a fine life, though rich in hardships at times." And I have taken that quote to heart. I am constantly blown away at the creativity of my older boy, the peace of my younger, the beauty of my wife, the goodness of God, the vastness of the ocean, the support of friends, good books, good beer, good coffee, mt. biking, soccer. But, in a rambling sort of way, is where King St Industries comes from, where i live and the potential to move forward, be industries, use my damn boot straps.
Finally, I'm a writer. Rather, I've a BA in Creative Writing/English. So, I'm an aspiring writer. I'm unpublished save this blog and I have a problem finding motivation to write. I spend the time i could be writing reading or watching TV or surfing the net or what ever. But Not Writing. This is, ultimately, a way to right. To practice getting thoughts into words and words onto paper and paper into the hands of someone who'll read it.
So, here we go.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)