Month: November 2015

I’m writing this post sans internet, so it won’t be up till the morning when I’m sitting at my regular booth at Village Inn writing the next one. At some point I became the guy that has a regular booth, waiter, time of arrival, and meal at a breakfast spot. In a way it’s the guy I always wanted to be—the guy you see at the front of those old small town mysteries who stumbles on to something nefarious and tugs at the threads until it unravels, revealing itself as a great plot.

That, or I’m just a guy who goes to the same spot to write every Tuesday and Thursday morning and gets a thrill just knowing he’s living the writer’s life. Slowly I’m getting a great deal better at that construct, moving away from the nonsense of slow dying and moving inexorably towards a life of real happiness—not just from the three bright stars in my life, but in love and work and the deep practice of writing and reading.

And video games too. Lets not forget that, despite the hours of senseless button mashing, there is a wealth of creative storytelling to be found in games. I wish I had more time to access that—maybe the summer. Maybe I’ll design a summer research project around embedding popular gaming into the classroom (How I learned Math through Warcraft?). It comes down to finding the time and love to do the things in life that are good for your heart and soul. It comes down to finding the people to do it with.

 

Some Thoughts:

1. I haven’t seen my dudes since I skyped with them Saturday morning. I feel like I’m impeding on their special time with their mom when I interrupt to call or to let them know that I’m still out here in the world missing them and loving them. I haven’t been with them since Thursday, which is the longest I’ve been without my kids in as long as I can remember. It isn’t a happy feeling to be away from them for that long. I’m crazy about those boys. I’ll be seeing them in the afternoon!

I like my women machine sculpted. It is easier to look at a girl when you know exactly how she was put together—no surprises in the bedroom, y’know. Mostly I go for the ones that keep it under wraps. I like to peel back the layers of cloth and coyness over a series of dates, careful not to rush the job less I sour myself on the close. In the end, mind you, it is the form that matters. She has to look a certain way. I am not much for the Barbie or the big girl. There is a type in between that titillates. A model of beauty, sexuality, and easy death.

Stephanie told me she was from Portland. She had gray eyes and large full lips. We met over dinner at a rooftop restaurant in Chandler, Arizona. I found her on one of those dating apps and instantly became enchanted by her smile. It wasn’t innocent by any means. Instead she smiled like a woman who knew what she wanted. I knew it would make what I do so much sweeter, to watch that smile freeze on her lips and then fade as the true work began.

 

Some Thoughts:

1. okay that was a short creepy start to something Stephen King inspired. I read the entry to his latest creation and thought about how much I would love to know how to capture the essence of fear. I’m not good or practiced at it, but I enjoy the effort—the work of learning. So, I’ll return to this freewrite again.
2. I’m on a plane ripping through the clouds en route to Phoenix. I’m not homesick, but I miss the people I love.

Some writers drink or use drugs in order to tap into that ‘litmosphere’ but I seem to get there on raw emotion. I’m a feeler and not a very intelligent one, mind you. I can sniff out quite a bit about how others are feeling, but articulating my own emotions face to face and making decisions absent of those emotions is as hard for me as speaking mandarin. Maybe that is what makes me a decent writer. I tend to bleed on the page. I have a better grasp of what and how I am feeling when I am doing so through the lens of another character. Its kind of screwed up, but there it is.

So, when I write characters there is always an emotional piece of me lurking right there below the surface. It can be wants and needs or fears or strange emotions I haven’t quite sorted out. In a way that is what keeps me writing. I’m not just figuring out the world I live in, I’m figuring out myself. I’m finding the things that make me happy and keep me strong and help me to feel like I have a place and a role in this world.

In the end it all comes down to having that all important sense of self. I have a friend, who i’ve mentioned before, who is basically a modern ronin. He lives by the principles and ideas of that set and has found his place and purpose and happiness in the world. I can’t point to any particular pre-built and say, ‘yep, thats me’. I also cannot say that I have ever found or built a character that is entirely reflective of me and my wants and needs. Maybe I’ll find that mirror in the words or one day come to better recognize it in real life.

Perhaps that is what it means to be the best possible version of yourself. Perhaps that version is crafted out of experience and desire and the core skills and abilities you’ve taken from your travels in the world. Maybe there is no externalization of that and the only way to be that and see that is to be and see it on your own and in yourself. The waiting and searching never seems to come to anything more than just more waiting.

So here I am walking the streets of Portland and assessing my own life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. Strangely, the first thing that occurred to me about the place was how accurate it was that, in the Shadowrun vernacular, the elves took over this place. I mean I don’t want to sound mean, but I am at the point where stores are even telling me where they source their tea leaves. This place travels past common sense holistic values and moves full on into the realm of mean green. I even saw a sticker calling for less bikes and more skateboards. No, it wasn’t ironic.

Portland feels like New Brooklyn. It also makes me feel like I would do better in life if I enjoyed an urban area. Phoenix, at least the parts I frequent, doesn’t count. The truth of the matter is, I am a city boy and extended removal from one’s natural habitat results in a fundamental ‘wackening’ of that individual. I am not yet wack, but its coming on fast.

I’m super wack at fantasy football. Even as I sit by the hotel fire hammering out ten minutes of pure dope, I am reminded how not dope my individual fantasy season has been. According to the espn numbers, Johnny Manziel was predicted to be my best player this week… The aforementioned team, which I joke is the New Madden Curse lost 3+ qb’s and 2 top RB’s to injury. I traded a top WR who hadn’t done crap all year for two back up QB’s and the week of the trade he blows up and outscores, well, my whole damn team. Sebastian Janikowski has been carrying me. So, yeah, bad luck…

 

You have to recognize that writing chose you.

This is a big deal. Not everyone in our universe has access to story. Even amongst those who do, only a few are talented and dedicated enough to turn story into art. It’s a gift. I know I go overboard about that stuff sometimes, but I do believe that writing is a gift the way that speed is a gift to runners or good aim is a gift to basketballers. They were born with something that set them apart from the rest of known humanity in the same way that you were born special. Often writers tell me the opposite of this. Anyone can learn how to be a good writer? Not true. I teach writing and I think I’m pretty darn good at it. Still, there are some people I just can’t reach. They will always be awful, no matter how many classes they take. On the other hand, those who have be chosen will be great so long as they allow themselves the time and dedication to be such.

 

So, you accept that this is meant to be, and then you get to work. You find time in your busy schedule every day to put words on the page. You stop making all the excuses about not having a moment to yourself. You realize the lies you tell yourself; the misconceptions that float up out of you and hang over your life like a dull haze are seen for what they truly are. Often the failure to capitalize on real talent is a function of fear and of lack of motivation. I am not afraid to be great, but I admit to struggling with motivation. I know that I’ve pulled the ‘not enough time’ card multiple times. I also know that I have four gaming systems in my house and each tracks time of usage. I pretend that I have to play them so they don’t feel unused; so I can justify their purchase. This is how I procrastinate and like to myself about how much time I really have in my life. This is also how I decompress after a tough day or even a tough bit of writing. See, the line between taking time to yourself in order to stay sane and stay the best version of you and taking time to yourself simply because it is easier than doing anything else is very thin. It takes a great deal of self-awareness to recognize which is which.

 

Finally, think about writing as a part of you. It isn’t just about being chosen. It is about following through. Its about deciding that this is actually important to you and, despite the moments of difficulty, this is something that is truly meaningful and impactful to your life. I mean that last part: your life. When we write for other people, we are writing in order to please some external force. However, writing is a deeply internal process. It is about looking into yourself and seeing the connection you have with the universe and putting that connection down on paper for posterity. You have to want to do it for you, because ultimately you are the one who needs to do the hard work of writing and you are the most important critic you will ever face.

Its been said before, but when people ask you ‘how are you feeling?’ I don’t think they really want an answer. They’re looking for platitudes. I’m fine. I’m doing well, and you? But if you step outside of the realm of acceptable answer to this social formality, the formality aspect of it begins to emerge more clearly.

 

“How are you?”

“I’m at peace with the universe.”

“Huh?”

 

“How are you?”

“I’m contemplating suicide.”

“Ummm… What?”

 

“How are you?”

“After that rape last night? Great!”

“…”

 

While these represent extreme cases, even the mildest of deviation can trigger confusion, as though both parties were reading from a script and someone screwed it up.

 

“How are you?”

“I’m straight up frisky.”

“Wait, what?”

 

“How are you?”

“I’m like a two today.”

“Wow, that’s too bad. Well, bye!” (avoids eye contact and scurries off)

 

As in the latter case, an indication that the asked party is not doing well can create social tension. Odds are you don’t neccesarily want to talk to a person and even moreso don’t want to be the shoulder to be cried on or ear to be lent. However, once the bad news is proffered one can’t help but feel trapped in what is likely to be a lengthy and emotional conversation. It is as if the social contract was not recognized as a mere formality and nicety but instead a genuine invitation to air one’s grievances against the world.

 

This, therefore, is the problem with how are you.

We need a new form of greeting that shows a clear dividing line between creating small talk and social niceness and actually wanting the answer to a question. Some of this division is mitigated by tone and body language. If someone asks you how you are and then say, turns away from you and walks into their office, they clearly couldn’t care less about how you really are. If they appear to be listening intently, they might be really good about the social cues and structures or they might actually care. It is hard to tell. I suggest a change of language. Perhaps say something along the line of, ‘how are things going in your life right now?’ Give that strong indicator that a genuine response is welcome.

 

Thus ends my lesson for the day.

 

It turns out I cannot get anything done at home.

Nothing.

Nada.

Maybe the blog, but little else. There are far too many distractions here. Most come in the form of video games and delectable TV shows, but some arrive in the form of chores and unfinished projects. There isn’t a single room I can lock myself into without trying to paint it or watch a TV in it or just straight slack off. I cannot find a way past this problem as of yet and have, as a result, been writing off site. It works much better that way.

Some Thoughts:

1. I still don’t get why Iowa matters so dang much to the Caucus system. There are 3.1 million Iowans. There are 318 million Americans. That’s literally the 1%. We are leaving the opening roll call of the 2016 presidential race to the 1%. That is just dumb.
2. I watched my dog pee on the rug. He sucks.
3. I am proud of the incredible work my students did on the Tunnel of Oppression.
4. Republicans are seriously complaining about ‘gotcha’ questions and the room being too hot? Seriously? Seeing a legitimate field of GOP candidates reminds me that there isn’t a legitimate field of GOP candidates.

I’m up early and writing in honor of NanoWrimo and in anticipation of a busy day where I need to get to the words early and often, knowing I won’t have a lot of time later. I want to start by talking about the debacle of the NY teams. Everybody lost. I say this not even knowing if the Knicks played but assuming if they did they lost. Well, not everyone lost. Buffalo beat the Islanders, but in that situation someone had to win. More importantly, the Jets were handled by what most assumed to be an inferior Raiders team. The Giants got jobbed by the refs at the end of the game, leading to a 50 yd field goal to cap a 13 TD contest. I mean, wow. Oh, and don’t get me started about the Mets.

I’m not going to spend the entire ten talking sports. That’ll get me angry and have the wrong effect on my psyche. Today and tomorrow is the event I spent yesterday’s post complaining about. I past the complaints and the disappointment and in that very me mode of trying to make the lemonade out of whatever lemons might be laying around. In truth I think things are going to wind up going well. What the students lack in props and polish they more than make up for in intensity and scene preparedness.

Now in terms of local earth news, I experienced my first earthquake last night. Some reports say 4.1 while others say 5.2. I say what the heck? Earthquakes were never supposed to be a situation in AZ. Yet here we are. This situation, like this series of blogs, is to be continued.

 

Recently I prepped my class for a tunnel of oppression project. I was under the impression that I’d hipped them to the gravity of the situation and the level of effort required to create the tunnel environment. Now of the two groups/skits my class was responsible for, neither seemed prepared for setup at the level that was expected. We walked into our area and saw two other skits looking outstanding and clearly felt overmatched. So, why? I think that a part of that is my responsibility. Its like the coach who gets fired because his team loses a bunch of games. The losses are his fault to an extent–for not making the most out of what s/he had and not preparing his/her players. I feel that as a youth coach and feel it as a teacher especially when the students aren’t properly prepped for the task.

So, why weren’t they ready? For starters, its a developmental class competing with on ors and 200 level courses. Most of the kids I have are first semester college students and are trying on college for size. This reads like an excuse, but I mean it to sound like a condition. Having diagnosed that condition I am responsible for simplifying the tasks to an extent and providing strong enough instructions and time on task to get the work done. I feel like I could have done better with instructions (story of my life) but I also feel like the instructions really become boundaries to creativity to a certain extent. The students formed cogent ideas and executed scripts that felt both realistic and powerful. They just didn’t look as polished and professional as I wanted.

In the end I will learn from the event and I will become a better and stronger and more organized instructor as a result. I’m glad we are doing the tunnel, and I truly hope it comes off well.

The thing about holidays is that once they happen it is like a huge release of pressure. Everything that has built up towards making the holiday great diffuses in a sudden rush of activity. The front end of it is always the hardest. In our case, my boys and I were prepping for the Halloween candy walk right up until the point where we walked out the door. They stressed me out with costume failures and disagreements. Then we left and all was greatness.

I must say that I always wind up having a wonderful time with my boys. I found myself linking this to the cycle of professional wrestling in a way. We end an event and spend the next few weeks building the hype and storyline for the next event. I our case the next event is team parties and Thanksgiving. The latter isn’t really an exciting event, but maybe it is time to start some new traditions and raise the excitement of November’s big day.

Some Thoughts:

1. Mental illness is a serious issue. I wonder why and how we continue to allow the mentally ill the same freedoms–such as freedom to purchase guns–that we allow those who are not sick.