I've been slightly on the periphery of plans for my 20th year high school reunion. On a given day, I gravitate from not wanting to go to sort of not really wanting to go. Seriously, the temptation to be there is great. I blew off the 10th.
We've all been exchanging emails and something I've noticed is how much we all tend to revert to who we were twenty years ago. I'm a little desperate to please and to impress. Most of the people on the email exchange didn't think much of me back then. I was an annoyance and a permanent outsider.
What is strange is I am not receiving parts of the emails sent back and forth. For ever couple of notes I get in the ongoing conversation, I'm excluded in a few, then later re-included later in another response.
It feels oddly familiar, like vintage alienation.
Something else. Already groundwork is being laid for all sorts of liaisons during the reunion. A few people, naturally, want to revisit the past, maybe try a combination on a heart that didn't work the first time around. It stings a little that no one even cared to ask if I was married, which I am. What bothers me, I guess, was I was never a consideration. I wasn't cool enough then and I'm not cool enough now.
I need to stay the fuck away from these people. I need to get out of the conversation. It's messing with my head. I don't want or need to be 17 again.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Microcosm
The old guy listens to the radio. A lot of old guys listen because they can't stand the noise of the television and because their eyes no longer show them the world. This particular old guy's vision went to static then to black a little more than a year ago. He's not accustom to it. In his 80s, he resents having to rely on other people to find the front door to his house.
"I listen to the radio," he said. "I listen all day long and it amazes me: parents kill their children, children kill each other. It didn't used to be that way."
I try to point out that's not really true. The media is better at reporting crime than they used to be. We hear about murders, fires and even assaults in other states now and often the same day they happen.
I told him radio stations are driven by ratings and the need to make more people listen longer to turn a buck. Tragedy sells. People listen longer when they think they might here something they need to know. It's very fear based.
He nodded.
"I'm sure that's true," he told me politely.
He was silent after that. He didn't believe me.
I considered what I might believe if I was only a blind old man who only listened to local talk radio. I would only know what was filtered down by different interests who decided for me what was important and what wasn't. The world could seem like a terrible and evil place. It might seem like the entire world had lost its way in the time when I stopped watching it and could only listen to what other people wanted me to hear.
It's hard not to be blind.
"I listen to the radio," he said. "I listen all day long and it amazes me: parents kill their children, children kill each other. It didn't used to be that way."
I try to point out that's not really true. The media is better at reporting crime than they used to be. We hear about murders, fires and even assaults in other states now and often the same day they happen.
I told him radio stations are driven by ratings and the need to make more people listen longer to turn a buck. Tragedy sells. People listen longer when they think they might here something they need to know. It's very fear based.
He nodded.
"I'm sure that's true," he told me politely.
He was silent after that. He didn't believe me.
I considered what I might believe if I was only a blind old man who only listened to local talk radio. I would only know what was filtered down by different interests who decided for me what was important and what wasn't. The world could seem like a terrible and evil place. It might seem like the entire world had lost its way in the time when I stopped watching it and could only listen to what other people wanted me to hear.
It's hard not to be blind.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Novel update.
Yeah, like every other blogger who has ever fessed up to writing something, my novel editing and repairs is coming along fine, but slowly.
I originally intended to unleash it on the vast and disinterested publishing industry at the end of this month. As usual, I'm running behind. It will likely be another two weeks or so.
What's the hold up?
Mostly, it's been about lining up the 'set pieces' the way I want them. It was a plot issue, but in reordering things, it necessitated having to rewrite passages to conform. It's time consuming, but not a story killer.
I still have my ending, which does not change. Much of the third act remains the same, too. So... it's not a terrible thing.
Meanwhile, I've been encouraged to submit the novel (which is still not exactly named) for the West Virginia Writers competition. Apparently, I don't actually need to have a completed novel, just a couple thousand words and a treatment of what I'm doing. I might even thrown in a few recipes cards to really screw with the judges.
I'm at the point now where I have a lot of good ideas for other writing projects. I've had tons of great ideas for months, but I'm not chasing any of them.
I have decided, however, my next writing project is going to be take an old genre fiction novel I wrote and basically rewrite it. It's a horror novel I did 9 years ago I called 'The Undertaker,' about a legend from the hollers that comes to life. With a little luck, it will be fast work. After it's done, I'll see if I can get someone in the state to publish it.
Hell, who knows... it might even work out.
I originally intended to unleash it on the vast and disinterested publishing industry at the end of this month. As usual, I'm running behind. It will likely be another two weeks or so.
What's the hold up?
Mostly, it's been about lining up the 'set pieces' the way I want them. It was a plot issue, but in reordering things, it necessitated having to rewrite passages to conform. It's time consuming, but not a story killer.
I still have my ending, which does not change. Much of the third act remains the same, too. So... it's not a terrible thing.
Meanwhile, I've been encouraged to submit the novel (which is still not exactly named) for the West Virginia Writers competition. Apparently, I don't actually need to have a completed novel, just a couple thousand words and a treatment of what I'm doing. I might even thrown in a few recipes cards to really screw with the judges.
I'm at the point now where I have a lot of good ideas for other writing projects. I've had tons of great ideas for months, but I'm not chasing any of them.
I have decided, however, my next writing project is going to be take an old genre fiction novel I wrote and basically rewrite it. It's a horror novel I did 9 years ago I called 'The Undertaker,' about a legend from the hollers that comes to life. With a little luck, it will be fast work. After it's done, I'll see if I can get someone in the state to publish it.
Hell, who knows... it might even work out.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Finally...
Yeah, Ralph Nader is ruining... I mean running for President. Fucking A. Finally, I've got somebody I can vote for.
Where do I get a God damned t-shirt and a bumpersticker?
Friday, February 22, 2008
Turning dark corners.
I have an ongoing argument about the nature of creative muses. The other day I was talking to one of the most prolific and consistent (though occasionally, seemingly restricted) musical artists of my generation.
Name dropping is bad, so you're just going to have to wonder.
She wrote a book of poems, which I liked well enough (not as much as I like her live albums, but eh...) and I noticed beneath the political rhetoric, the sly references to the complexities of lesbian love and the difficulties in loving men, a singular theme of loneliness kept cropping up.
So... I asked her. What the fuck? Why do I keep reading loneliness even in your political and social stuff?
In general terms, she told me she wrote when she was down. It was just easier to pick up the guitar or the pen when she felt bad. When she was happy, she didn't want to write or work on chords to cheer herself up. She wanted to enjoy the things that made her happy. She told me she was trying to change that a little, which might yield a few happier songs down the road.
... and it might not.
My general belief about the creative process is that good art usually involves a deliberate change in perception. You are forcing yourself one way or another to see the world from a different angle. You do this because you can't see everything at once so you just try to see more. You're limited by the nature of your own perspective.
The act of Art is arriving at truth, even if the art itself is trying to tell lies.
Being miserable is an effective way to alter your perception. It's a tried and true path -possibly the most tried and true.
Anyway, listening to her I was both relieved and saddened. I hope she's able to write a couple of songs from a happier place. My gut instinct says that's not likely.
I write from a very dark place. My best work is not when I am happy, though what I write about isn't necessarily sad or down. When I'm happy, I'd rather go have a drink, take a swim or fall in love.
I have never been in a creative place as rich as the one I am in now. The ideas come like rains during monsoon season and the need to complete them is like a valentine delivered at gunpoint.
Happiness is over rated.
Name dropping is bad, so you're just going to have to wonder.
She wrote a book of poems, which I liked well enough (not as much as I like her live albums, but eh...) and I noticed beneath the political rhetoric, the sly references to the complexities of lesbian love and the difficulties in loving men, a singular theme of loneliness kept cropping up.
So... I asked her. What the fuck? Why do I keep reading loneliness even in your political and social stuff?
In general terms, she told me she wrote when she was down. It was just easier to pick up the guitar or the pen when she felt bad. When she was happy, she didn't want to write or work on chords to cheer herself up. She wanted to enjoy the things that made her happy. She told me she was trying to change that a little, which might yield a few happier songs down the road.
... and it might not.
My general belief about the creative process is that good art usually involves a deliberate change in perception. You are forcing yourself one way or another to see the world from a different angle. You do this because you can't see everything at once so you just try to see more. You're limited by the nature of your own perspective.
The act of Art is arriving at truth, even if the art itself is trying to tell lies.
Being miserable is an effective way to alter your perception. It's a tried and true path -possibly the most tried and true.
Anyway, listening to her I was both relieved and saddened. I hope she's able to write a couple of songs from a happier place. My gut instinct says that's not likely.
I write from a very dark place. My best work is not when I am happy, though what I write about isn't necessarily sad or down. When I'm happy, I'd rather go have a drink, take a swim or fall in love.
I have never been in a creative place as rich as the one I am in now. The ideas come like rains during monsoon season and the need to complete them is like a valentine delivered at gunpoint.
Happiness is over rated.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
wearing the inside out
It's been a long and ragged week. I've been running on a modest amount of sleep and a pace that's not healthy. I've been walking to work to fill in at the radio station early mornings. I'm out of practice and haven't had to function like this in months. Even the coffee isn't helping any more.
On the upside, I haven't had to do this kind of thing in a while. On the downside, I still need to occasionally.
I bottomed out a couple of days ago, but I've been too worn out to really feel anything. After I rest, I will probably feel less honest again.
Some weary observations...
I think if someone cringes when you touch them, they don't want to be touched regardless of what they say to the contrary and no matter how many times they repeat it.
I think if you're called names often enough, even by an idiot, eventually it erodes your confidence just a little. Just because it's the nature of a particular creature to do hurtful things, that doesn't excuse it for doing those things. Naturally, if you know something is unpleasant and can not help but be unpleasant, why be around it? That's a question repeated in a million mirrors in the bathrooms of a million busted up trailers every Sunday morning.
The answer is elusive, but I think it's okay, at the very least, to resent being treated shabbily.
Lately, I've been reading a lot emails from old acquaintances in high school. Mostly, these have been surveys sent out to a couple of dozen people. We all (meaning some of us) fill them out, tell people what we want them to know, distribute and maybe look for some higher truth, some clue about the past we missed.
Some of them have been tiny half-baked conversations. I wanted to throw up after a couple of the women made it a point of noting they'd have been happier if they'd had more sex in high school. Yeah, sister, wouldn't we all have been a lot happier... well, some of us. Chances are, if they'd screwed around, it would have been with the usual suspects, not any of the rest of us.
I think I would have been happier in high school if I'd cut more classes and maybe experimented with huffing gas. I never did that. Of course, I'm probably too old to huff gas now and I never skip class now. Responsibility sometimes feels like a particularly cold chain.
I had a hard time getting past Valentine's Day. I'm not really meant to enjoy registered, scheduled holidays. I think I probably need to start making up my own and if Hallmark wants to invent cards to go with it, they can pay me.
In the last several weeks, I have thought about in a chronologically spiraling pattern, every woman I might have slept with, but didn't. It didn't take as long as I would have liked, but it's out of my system. I think I was working through some kind of regret, probably related to the season. Likely, I'll move on to shoes I might have worn or salad bar choices.
I'm tired. It's not a terrible thing to be tired. I just wish there was a better way to get rid of it than going to my bed.
On the upside, I haven't had to do this kind of thing in a while. On the downside, I still need to occasionally.
I bottomed out a couple of days ago, but I've been too worn out to really feel anything. After I rest, I will probably feel less honest again.
Some weary observations...
I think if someone cringes when you touch them, they don't want to be touched regardless of what they say to the contrary and no matter how many times they repeat it.
I think if you're called names often enough, even by an idiot, eventually it erodes your confidence just a little. Just because it's the nature of a particular creature to do hurtful things, that doesn't excuse it for doing those things. Naturally, if you know something is unpleasant and can not help but be unpleasant, why be around it? That's a question repeated in a million mirrors in the bathrooms of a million busted up trailers every Sunday morning.
The answer is elusive, but I think it's okay, at the very least, to resent being treated shabbily.
Lately, I've been reading a lot emails from old acquaintances in high school. Mostly, these have been surveys sent out to a couple of dozen people. We all (meaning some of us) fill them out, tell people what we want them to know, distribute and maybe look for some higher truth, some clue about the past we missed.
Some of them have been tiny half-baked conversations. I wanted to throw up after a couple of the women made it a point of noting they'd have been happier if they'd had more sex in high school. Yeah, sister, wouldn't we all have been a lot happier... well, some of us. Chances are, if they'd screwed around, it would have been with the usual suspects, not any of the rest of us.
I think I would have been happier in high school if I'd cut more classes and maybe experimented with huffing gas. I never did that. Of course, I'm probably too old to huff gas now and I never skip class now. Responsibility sometimes feels like a particularly cold chain.
I had a hard time getting past Valentine's Day. I'm not really meant to enjoy registered, scheduled holidays. I think I probably need to start making up my own and if Hallmark wants to invent cards to go with it, they can pay me.
In the last several weeks, I have thought about in a chronologically spiraling pattern, every woman I might have slept with, but didn't. It didn't take as long as I would have liked, but it's out of my system. I think I was working through some kind of regret, probably related to the season. Likely, I'll move on to shoes I might have worn or salad bar choices.
I'm tired. It's not a terrible thing to be tired. I just wish there was a better way to get rid of it than going to my bed.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Clarification
As has been pointed out to me (which I already knew, really), when the AP or the Daily Mail decides to pick up one of my articles, gut it and reprint it as their own, they are completely within their rights.
The Gazette is a member of the AP (standing for Associated Press) and we all kind of share. Other members of the AP can reprint without crediting anyone except the AP, which is the organization.
Basically, it ain't plagiarism, which I never said it was. I just said they reprinted it without crediting me with actually writing it. This is their right, but it would naturally tend to irritate -just the kind of guy I am.
Probably, I ought not to have yelped as it will likely discourage someone from reprinting my stories in the future. That's the karma of it, but the way I look at it. If my name isn't on something I wrote, having it reprinted isn't going to mean much to me. If I liked being anonymous, I would never have attached my real name to this here blog. I can't enjoy it, but I suppose I can work on not giving a shit about that kind of thing when it does rarely happen.
The Gazette is a member of the AP (standing for Associated Press) and we all kind of share. Other members of the AP can reprint without crediting anyone except the AP, which is the organization.
Basically, it ain't plagiarism, which I never said it was. I just said they reprinted it without crediting me with actually writing it. This is their right, but it would naturally tend to irritate -just the kind of guy I am.
Probably, I ought not to have yelped as it will likely discourage someone from reprinting my stories in the future. That's the karma of it, but the way I look at it. If my name isn't on something I wrote, having it reprinted isn't going to mean much to me. If I liked being anonymous, I would never have attached my real name to this here blog. I can't enjoy it, but I suppose I can work on not giving a shit about that kind of thing when it does rarely happen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
