Month: February 2021

Short form here today. 10 minutes but these minutes are filled with…

Some Thoughts:

1. My son doesn’t identify as black at all. He identifies as Asian, which he is half, but he doesn’t claim black in any way and that is odd to me. I don’t really know a way to feel okay about that. Is this what rebellion feels like on the other side?
2. That same son loves to start arguments with me. I think he just wants to win. He picks the worst side and worst topics constantly and works to wear me down, but nah, son. I’m not about that life.
3. The boston dynamics do you love me video with robots doing the running man is scary cool and makes me think the future I imagined already happened and I flat out missed it.
4. The youngest is doing his thing in texas at the youth tourney. He scored twice in this last game on the way to a 42-6 route of an overmatched colorado team. They are now the #1 seed out of the five teams repping their states this weekend. It looks like they are the favorite to win–unless Texas-el Paso steps up and shows themselves as the true home team.
5. Going back to the robots–It feels like we’ve reached a point where video game skills are the skills needed to control robotics and operate in the future professional industrial workspace.

That (10 minutes) come ’round at last….

The word of the day is Megillah (long involved story or account, or everything involved in what is under consideration)

The Whole Ball of Wax

Tracy knew he didn’t like Sarah the moment he saw her with Abdu. He’d come upon the two of them sitting on a bench facing the reservoir in Central Park. Abdu was pointing at something beyond the fence; a bird or something else splashing at the slick surface of the water. She wasn’t looking at what he was pointing to. She was looking at Abdu and she was smiling. To think back it was that smile which set him at tension. He’d been jogging, a hobby he picked up from Abdu–one he’d gotten good at, if anyone can be considered good at jogging. When he saw her toothy smile he came to a dead stop. It wasn’t one of those moments where you see a person and the smile stops at a point short of their eyes. This smile curved past her eyes; through them and on up to the temples. It was a shark’s smile, a wolfish smile, and the first thought that lanced through his head was, “What the hell is she doing to my friend?”

With some effort he got his feet moving again and approached the pair. He slowed again when he was close, feigning surprise. “Abdu?”

“Tracy, my friend! I thought you were still in bed!”

Tracy nodded and said, “I thought that too–I mean I thought you were in bed. I was just getting an early jog in.”

Tracy kept his eyes on Abdu, he struggled not to glance at the young woman who was now, clearly, staring at him. He didn’t want to guess at what thoughts lived behind that stare. Abdu said, “This is Sarah. We just met earlier on the trail. She–“

He hesitated, sharing a conspiratorial look with the woman before finishing. “I guess you can say the short version is that she fell down.”

Tracy couldn’t imagine how Abdu could just meet someone and already there was a long version, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Came up a little short of the ‘suggested daily wordcount’ today, but I hit a really good stopping point. So, I stopped. I have a handful of chapters to work through tomorrow to get the basics of this draft in place before I start painting inside the lines and turning this into a prized novel. Or at least a decent novel. I’m excited about this project for the most part. There are parts of the story where I feel it needs work and more thought, but overall I have a strong sense of characters and plot and where it is going and the story is worth telling. Equally important: I’m writing on a daily basis again and feeling good about putting words on the page and firing up towards my deadline.

More and more I think about how much I want writing to be a part of my life. The degree to which everything else is a part of the life is still in flux. Ultimately, the goal is to have me and my partner living a life where we are doing cool stuff and I get to write and play games while she keeps doing the cool stuff or her own stuff (or plays games or writes right alongside me, though that seems highly unlikely).

These days the typical day involves several hours at the page and a few more at the console to break it up. I like the impact gaming has on writing. I like not thinking so much and just reacting and clearing space mentally to get back on a good page. It works for me. This is becoming my process. Of course, I start with the games and maybe I ought to switch things around to start with the words. That is, at least symbolically, a positive pathway.

The more I do this and sit down to reflect on it, the more I feel I am on the right path in regards to the words. Things are going well in that sense. I can preserve that part of things and be happy.

I’ve been talking about video games the last few waiver weeks. That is really all there is to talk about in regards to sports. Everything else is pure speculation. At least that is true in regards to football. What other sports are there for me? I like basketball, but as a Knicks lifer I do not really like basketball. It is an ever present disappointment. I don’t consider eSports to be true sports either. I won’t sit up here and talk about the Apex Cup or Fortnite or any of that. I realize they have value to others. I realize the entire enterprise of sport is built on the ‘sport’ having value to enough people that it is played and talked about and financially sustainable. This is how soccer can be as huge as it is in some countries and barely exist in others. This is how League Of Legends operates the same way. Such is the way of shared belief systems.

When I was young I developed a sport based around the Marvel Superheroes RPG. The sport was Lacrosse without the sticks. Your job was to reach the other goal and score the ball. That was it. However, the presence of powers made that task quite difficult. I often wonder how that imagined sport would translate to a fictional world. I ask myself, should I write this out? There is this world in my head where this sport exists and I feel like I can speak to it in story, but I never do. I suppose I have a number of untold tales of that nature.

As we round towards the new stories of the upcoming football season I am taken with the idea of story. We are always looking for stories in sports. We are looking for underdogs and heroes. We are looking for the rules and lines and circumstances that define people other than ourselves. Through those definitions we seek to have our beliefs challenged and ultimately to prevail alongside our scions. This is what makes sports matter.

Some Thoughts:

1. My youngest is off to Texas to battle with all stars from across the US. Should be a good test for him. Is he gonna be a G or a JAG?

For me being a writer still means doing anything else first. Like this blog for example. It is 9 in the morning and I woke up three hours ago. I am only now approaching the page. I won’t get there for another ten minutes because I am here with you, dear reader. Presently you are my excuse to suck. I have several. Before this I was looking for a few cords and a stand to further develop my lab (what kind of lab still remains unclear, though I suspect I will try to write there at some point and even hang a monitor, because of course I would). Before that I was playing Madden and enjoying the team I raised from a 73 to now 84 overall in a few short years (hear that, NYG? Listen up!). Before that was coffee with the partner and before that a walk and before that I was in bed. Now if I want to move writing to the top of my life then I have to move writing to the top of my list. Let that be a lesson to you, writers. You gotta want to put writing higher on the list than the other things that are easier and often more fun in the moment. Once you do you will fall into a (not always comfortable) rhythm and get the words out and get better at the words and, in time, do this enough that you produce a thing that is worthwhile.

I may be talking to myself here. I need to learn it as much as other writers.

Some Thoughts:

1. I always want to write ‘Writier’ like courtier. Sounds cooler.
2. Still in search of the perfect desk setup, which is code for: I am still seeking excuses not to write.
3. Well, I am out of excuses not to write… and out of time here…

“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just … come out the other side.”
? Stephen King, The Stand

I’m starting to recognize that statement as true. Each of us have a growth path and each of us go through it in the way we are meant to and through the trials we are meant to face. Perhaps this is merely the professor in me trying to connect reality to Campbell’s hero’s journey, but it fits. It fits nicely.

I’m listening to the Stand for the first time since I was a kid peering out an 8th story window on 135th and trying to imagine how different the world out there was from the world on the pages of the book. Not too much, really. Even now the world that King’s characters leave behind feels like our own in part. There is a timelessness to America that feels like shuffling the same deck of cards over and again and expecting a new suit.

But this is about growth.

I’ve grown and stumbled and grown again only to realize that I too am the deck of cards shuffled and reshuffled, but also to realize that you can make a lot out of those cards. You can live a thousand different kinds of lives and never find the right one, or you can get it right the first time and know you are living your perfect life. For me I see glimpses of that life every day. Moments peak through and I think, If I could just hold on to that part of it and this other. If life lines up right then the parts I’ve held on to will matter and I’ll really have something. My life is a game of poker. 5 card draw. I’m not too sure about the wilds.

Some Thoughts:

1. Lately I’ve been thinking I need a new coffee. I cannot quite say what I should be using, but the brew has become too much of the same thing and I am ready to explore a different taste.
2. Tomorrow I will be writing and grading and putting up post its and tearing them down all in an attempt to convey how much work I’ve been and need to be doing.

I meant to write a post about systems and symptoms and the sound of words and how things all flow together. I meant to be broad and deep and talk about all of this in a way that felt meaningful and even vaguely literary. But… I’m tired. My shoulder hurts. I’m not about that lit life tonight. I want to drink a bunch of water, maybe have an old fashioned, a few chicken wings, and watch some TV. Is that okay?

Is it okay to be the guy who wants to sit on the couch and do nothing or the guy who wants to play a game of Madden but doesn’t entirely care about the nuance of the game? That is who I am this evening. Just a guy. There is a peace and serenity in that which leaves me feeling entirely okay. I can be that guy more often whereas I was raised to think that guy was a total loser and I was coming for his paycheck.

This is a long winding road to a simple point: Ambition can be fleeting and it can be classifiable. I’ve long been a person who can segment my life into cubbies and pull open that cubby to put on the ‘self’ needed for a particular task or role. I don’t know that I am that guy anymore. Maybe I am and maybe I’m burned out on being that guy–or anything to be honest. I know that I get out of bed in the morning thinking about snuggling with my partner, writing, playing a few games, taking a walk, having coffee, and thinking about doing something more with my day before ultimately running down the preexisting list in no set order (though snuggles and coffee usually come first). Do I want or need more?

That is a good question. I ought to be asking another question: Why do I suddenly feel the need to ask?

Some Thoughts:

1. Injury is healing up slowly (and unevenly), and has progressed enough that I am back to writing this novel. The break was unfortunate and set me back a little ways, but I feel like I am ready to dive back in and make the magic happen.
2. More and more I recognize that I make the wrong choices in my family dynamic. It makes me feel like a sociopath… or just a crappy dude.

I just learned that my (perspective) future Sister in Law is packing up her kid and boyfriend and moving to Honduras (or nearabouts). She wants a new start in a tropical paradise. She mentioned that it is a good look for my partner and I, and I think she is wrong. Still, the thought carries. We’ve been talking about this idea of being somewhere else and having a different life. I like that idea. I could see us taking the kids elsewhere and being pretty happy. My life is fairly compact–I require little from this actual state and short of the kids I have no lasting ties to this state. But where to go? Unclear. It is a moment of growth for me to be considering the conversation and being open to the possibilities of a different kind of life.

Overall I want to be living a life where writing is more of a primary concern–more than teaching or games or anything short of my partner. This is a habit I need to form, because I recognize more and more that I do have stories to tell in various mediums. I want to write scripts again. I want to do comics. I want to figure out what is next in the multimedia landscape.

I want to build a life that fulfills the two primaries in it.

The word of the day is: Anondyne (serving to alleviate pain)

The World of the Day is: Minecraft

Xantheum 6

This would be nothing like Xantheum 3. He knew this as absolutely as he knew the snug fit of the headset would result in neck pain if he didn’t log off in under four hours. These were truths. Xantheum 6 felt right. Of course Xantheum 4 fel right as well. She’d even said so on that first day. By the 18th week her resolve had hardened into something else entirely. The world didn’t last long after that.

Xantheum 6 started him at -198, 64, 123. He considered going for 0, but the way the sun was creeping towards the horizon told him to hunker down, find some sheep, and manage to sleep through the night.

Gregory’s worlds were built on the principle of one life one world. Once a character died that world died with him. Xantheum 1 had lasted two years in this fashion. Xantheum 2 was where he found her, and they thrived for a long time–even after the update that added raiders to their virtual world. Xantheum 3 hadn’t worked the same. This world, however, felt promising. Already he’d found a vein of coal that would power light through the gloom of evening and on through the next day.

As Gregory hacked through his fourth tree he felt a gentle buzz fill his temples. A message filtered through his console. It read: Are you playing again? –Alena. He didn’t respond. This world would certainly be different. Off at the edges of his vision he could see the block outline of a jungle biome. That was promising. Even if he didn’t find an abandoned Temple the wildlife alone created opportunities he hadn’t seen in many worlds.

The buzz filled his head again. Another message: Can I play? –Alena. He deleted this along with the first. Afterwards he set a pile of dirt into a circle shape. He used the wood he harvested to manifest a door and a worktable. This left space for a bed and a small clearing within the raised circle for the beginnings of a staircase into the earth. The roof remained open to the night sky and he ringed the circle with torches.

3rd message: Please? — A.

He didn’t bother to delete this one. Instead he lay in his newly crafted bed staring at the night sky. There were shapes moving up there among the clouds and anodyne dots of light masquerading as stars. He thought about each of those dots, how each of them could be seen as a new world; a new Xantheum. The beauty of these worlds was that they could become anything he wanted them to be, so long as he remained in control.

Writing is my life.

There, I said it. This has always been the truth of the matter, but over the last two weeks I have been extremely limited in my capacity to write and that taught me a lesson about the value of writing. In short, life without creation is crap. There is a hole that is there when I am not writing that I believe makes me a darker person. I ended up playing a few hours of minecraft and watching tv shows as a way to fill that void, but it didn’t. Instead I just dealt with it the way I deal with all things: cross-addiction. Find the feeling in another way.

But it isn’t the same feeling. Often I don’t know if I have one true story to tell, but I do know that it matters to me to tell stories and to shape narratives around dynamic characters who, often, are reflections of the people in my sphere. It is a catharsis to come to the page and unload these things. It fills me with a sense of wonder to imagine that someone somewhere might actually read a thing I wrote and smile for a minute or at least feel for a minute–even if they hate it they felt something at that is what matters.

As I sit here at my ever-evolving work station griping my shoulder in the hopes that the pressure will ease the pain, I find myself hopeful and wishing for a time where the words will flow more naturally and more often and that slow trickle of production will give way to what I intend: a lifestyle.

What would that look like? Well, I wake up and take a walk (hopefully with my partner, ,but it is early so…) then we sit and have coffee and talk about our day and our lives. Then I go to the workstation and I grind out the words for a few hours (many writers suggest 4 hours at first sit, but I like 2) and then we move into the other aspects of our day for a while before I return to the page for another burst of the fiction.

After long over forty years I’ve only figured out what the first half of a magical day would look like. I’ve also discovered that this day is built so that it can take place anywhere–any city, any shore, any orbit should that one day become an option (at this point it would take Alien intervention, which I do not expect in the next 1000 years and when they do come they will likely appear in the form of signals and software first–things that can be transmitted by wave and understood once we discover a universal programming language which shouldn’t be a terribly strange concept, but somehow always is).

What is next for me is to sit with my mate and discover what the rest of that day looks like. It is to be our grand adventure.