Just a lot on my mind
I’m definitely in the mood to uncut for just a bit.
I miss my ’10 grads. I saw a picture today of one of them, with her UMass friends, looking so forward to classes beginning in the fall. She, like all the others, looks so different already. To think they were in high school just two months ago is ridiculous. They have moved on and are excited about what lies ahead. As I said, though, I miss them.
My own kids can’t seem to find their summer groove. Their expectations are through the roof, they are extremely emotional, and not much is making them happy these days. It breaks my heart. I don’t know what else to do for them, but to offer them routine, stability, love, and patience.
I’m not writing enough. I can’t find my own groove as well, and it’s getting to me. I just can’t piece this revision together an hour here, an hour there. I get in the core, and then it’s time to switch gears for the rest of the day–no, not gears. It’s more like changing stations from the Discovery Channel to Nick Jr. No sims there. Totally derailed. I spend half of my next writing hour trying to regroup and remember what I did last session.
I’m battling the negatives with my guitar lessons. Shouts of You Suck and You’ll Never Be Good Enough resonate every time I pick up the guitar. It’s horrible. Kills my confidence.
I miss my nature photo shoots. I’m going to take Bellatrix out this weekend for a shoot somewhere. Problem is, I trip with her, and then my writing time suffers.
Maybe I just need to write and get through that. Not miss my grads, show my kids my own summer groove, and realize I can’t do it all this summer. There’s a time for everything.
Maybe I just need to hate this and just get some rest and just start over tomorrow and just be okay with that and just write.
Maybe.
I watched (most of) A Beautiful Mind last night. Disturbed me for some reason. Tried to figure it out, but it’s not coming to me. Really weighed heavily on my mind as I tried to fall asleep afterward. Hmm.
I wish I didn’t like to do so many things. I wish, sometimes, that I was just a writer, or just a musician, or just a teacher, or just a photographer.
Maybe I just wish that writing this would have made everything better, but it has not.
Hmm.
I wish that I could write the words, Maybe That’s Okay.
But I know it is not.
Maybe.
Summer Strummin’
Jerry in 1970 playing a Gibson SG…
A few days ago, I was at the pool talking with my friend, Steve. He and I have collaborated on several photo projects, and it’s always good to chat with him about my writing, hobbies, frustrations — whatever is on that day’s plate when I see him. When I met with him last, I told him my goals for the summer.
“Steve,” I said, “every summer I do the same thing–take a spiritual journey, write a lot of stuff trying to figure things out: the past, the future. I drop a few pounds and do some writing. But not this year. That spiritual journey stuff is just too heavy, and I’m not into deep right now.”
He seemed curious about this revelation I was having. He shifted a little into his listening pose and offered, “I see. Go on.”
And I did. I proceeded to tell him about my approach to the next 66 days.
I’m still going to write, I told him, but not about the deep stuff. I’m just going to focus on my fiction, maybe get a few nonfiction pieces done. But what I’m really digging into is music.
He looked at me and smiled.
“You should do another 40-day thing on your blog, but this time make it about your music.”
Brilliant idea, I thought. And so, thanks to Steve, I’ll be blogging daily about all the regular stuff, but with a focus on my music, especially my resurrected love-fest with my guitar.
Right now, I’m playing with an Aria acoustic that my terribly-missed friend Chris gave me so long ago. And, if/when I stick with this long enough to be able to play for an audience of 2, or maybe even 3, I’ll check out that Gibson SG (now sold as a classic) that Jerry’s playing on in the photo above.
What’s the big deal, you might ask? How about this: I’m doing stuff that I’ve always talked about. Instead of pondering and studying and analyzing, I’m just doing. I’m not worried about what I haven’t done. Not worried about how good or bad I am or will be. I’m just playin’. Loving the connections and discoveries being made in just doing some summer strummin’.
Don’t Teach Me; Thrill Me
One of the things that divides me as a writer (hence, the title of this blog) is how much–if at all–I “teach” my readers any valuable lessons. Much of my past writing in this blog has been didactic in nature, asking you semi-philosophic questions about how we live our lives. The response has been great, and I appreciate that.
There’s a place and time for that, too. I wouldn’t change anything about the blog entries I’ve posted.
Where I am now, though, with Cold Rock, is exactly the opposite of where I started this story a few years ago. The first draft was filled with teach-mes, and the climax was supposed to be some kind of self-applicable, reader-relevant lesson about coming to Christ, religion, and/or the spiritual side.
What I’ve come to realize is that Cold Rock needs to be about none of these things. In fact, it needs to be much more thrill, and much less teach.
I was working on one of the later chapters yesterday, at the pool, and I could hear my inner censor pointing out to me that I was heading back toward that dreaded teach-me-a-lesson zone. I could feel the pull of the teach-me writer within, followed by the thrill-me writer shouting warnings of what will happen if I go too far down that teachable road.
Fortunately, thrill-me won, and I got back on track. But I’m not going to lie to you. It’s in (half) my nature to write like this. I am a generally positive person who wants others to be happy. I’d be a liar if I said anything differently. I want to teach you something. It’s why I’m a teacher (I guess, right?).
One of the main reasons why I decided to Thrill instead of Teach is because of feedback I received, oddly enough, about a Miley Cyrus song called, “The Climb.” I found it on YouTube by accident, and I loved it. I loved the lyrics, the melody, the video. Everything. I asked my 14-year-old daughter what she thought, fully expecting her to say something like, “I love the song, but it’s annoying that you like it. So I guess I hate it now.”
She said nearly all of that: “I [hate] the song, [and] it’s annoying that you like it. I hate it [even more] now.”
Or something like that. I remember a lot of annoyings and hates. I certainly got the message.
I went to school the next day and asked some of the kids who were just a little older–15 – 17. What did they think of “The Climb”?
Hate. Annoying. Yeah.
Same thing. So I went further. I dared to ask the ultimate follow-up question: Why?
More Annoyings. More Hates. And then this:
“I don’t want a message. I want good music that thrills me.”
Back to the Thrill Ride.
So that’s where I am now, with Cold Rock.
Did I tell you that I’ve been reading these Patricia Cornwell novels? The Kay Scarpetta series? I’m on Book Four now, Cruel and Unusual. Love them. Devour them. Don’t remember much about them a week after I finish them.
A sign of good fiction? A good thrill without the teach? I’m not sure. But I do know that I am thrilled enough to buy the next book, and the next, and the next.
Exactly what I want to do for my readers. Thrill. Entertain. Make them want to come back for more. Not to be told how to live their lives or be better people. But for the thrill ride.
I’ll end with this: I mentioned this in an earlier blog post, and I’ll state it here again. My good friend Brad gave me some great advice: If it’s not a how-to book, don’t instruct.
Perfect.
Reclaiming my space
I’ve had this “debate” with writers for decades now, about the necessity of having your own “space” to write. There are basically two sides to this argument:
Side no. 1: Get over it and just write. You don’t need to be in that perfect world, that perfect setting to let the words flow. Just write. It doesn’t matter if it’s in a spiral, on a napkin, at a mall, or in a car. Just write and get over it.
Side no. 2: There are, for the purposes of this entry, two types of writing: to release and to create. Release writing, for the most part, can be done anywhere. I liken it to eating on the run. When you pick up your pizza, your fast food, your carry-out sushi, it doesn’t really matter how you are dressed, what car, truck, or Jeep you use to pick up your food, or if you use cash or credit. The goal: Get The Food.
Create writing, on the other hand, requires an environment, a place where your writing can take up residence and breathe, live a little, become a part of the walls where, when you come back, it’s waiting for you. That environment can be anything, as long as it’s a constant. A cafe, the kitchen table, a den, a local mountain top.
It has to be a place where you, as the writer, feel safe, uninhibited, able to take risks. Your muse has to feel nurtured and safe to roam around without attack. (I know that sounds a little crazy to non-Muse believers, but humor me–and your Muse–and give it a try). Writers past and present, from Mark Twain to Jean Craighead George to Tom Clancy, have written in rooms that are sacred to the Writer. Twain wrote in his Billiard Room on the third floor of his home in Hartford, CT., where he would fan out his manuscripts across the pool table and make edits. It is in this room that he entertained other writers to discuss the art and craft until the early hours of the morning.
Jean Craighead George surrounded herself with sketches from the settings of her books, places she would frequent and illustrate to envelop her in the story’s environment throughout the writing process. Clancy surrounded himself with books in a beautiful study with a big-screen computer. When I had the honor of visiting his home many years ago, I remember feeling a great energy from that room, a revered space where bestsellers were created year after year. It felt like being inside the writer’s core, the sacred space where characters would come and go as they pleased, conflicts would play out as needed, and the writer’s Muse ruled the world within those four walls.
That’s the space I’m talking about.
I don’t have the houses of Twain and Clancy, and I probably never will. But I do have some space to call my own, where my characters can roam, my conflicts can sort things out, and my beginnings and endings can start and stop when they’re good and ready.
That’s what I’m doing now. Reclaiming my space. Giving my Muse the chance to breathe, to live, to write the yet-discovered stories that have been bottled up inside of me these past nine months.
Yes, in so many ways, it is gestational. Now it’s time to make that delivery room as conducive for new life as possible, and birth a story or two before the ’10-’11 school year begins.
Looking for Ana Lopez-PLEASE READ
Ok, Friends. We need your help. The girl pictured above, Ana Lopez, a student at my school, has not been seen or heard from since Sunday, June 6, 2010.
Here’s the pertinent information:
ANA MARIA LOPEZ
If you have seen her–PLEASE call Howard County Police Department at 410-313-2620. All information provided will be kept in confidence.
- Ana Lopez left her home in Ellicott City, MD (Plum Tree Apartments) on Sunday June 6, 2010
- Ana left wearing a black shirt, black pants, and black hoodie.
- On Monday June 7, 2010 Ana was reported as a missing person to the Howard County Police Department.
- A detective from the Police Department has been working with the Lopez family to investigate Ana’s disappearance.
- Some of Ana’s belongings have been found missing including a suitcase, an iPod, and a PSP, leading her family and police to believe she may have planned to run away.
- If you have any information regarding Ana’s whereabouts, please call the Howard County Police Department.
Ana, if for any reason you are reading this, please, PLEASE contact someone and let them know you are ok. You are loved by so many, and they are extremely worried about you.
I hope that, with the lines of communication that we have connecting so many of us throughout our communities, beyond our own states, and even around the globe, we may be able to reach someone who knows where Ana may be or who she may be with. PLEASE contact the police at the number above and let them know.
Thanks, all, for passing this along in hopes of finding Ana. So many people are terribly concerned.
It’s all coming back…
Really, it is.
Your provide a little space in your life, some breathing room, some opportunity for clarity, and the reason why we’re here presents itself….clearly.
I’ve spent most of the weekend NOT running here or there, grading this or that, but rather reading, writing, biking, spending time with old friends, family, and some new friends that I’m looking forward to seeing again soon. As James Taylor offers in his song, “That Lonesome Road,” I’ve taken the time to close my mouth and open my eyes, to cool my head and warm my heart.
The difference between the song and me is that I’m doing it now, before it’s too late.
I was lucky to get through these last few years relatively unscathed. I put my body through unrelenting challenges, and I know that I have suffered for it. I am grateful for the chance to do all that I’ve done, but really–there’s no need to put myself or my body through that kind of punishment ever again.
So I write to you tonight, on a late Sunday evening, with the air conditioner blowing coolly on me to wick away the beads of sweat that had formed on my face. I write to you with a prayer, a wish, a hope that you, too, will slow down. open your eyes, warm your heart, and live genuinely and peacefully. It’s not too late.
I have a lot of work to do in rebooting my health, but I know that it’s possible. Thank God for these moments of clarity.
Now…To stay close to the center and hold on to it–
I’m ready.
morning ride on the NCR
We began our ride late this morning, relatively speaking. By the time we arrived at Monkton station at 7:15, the temperature was 71 degrees, and the small parking lot was filled with riders and joggers’ cars–most of them were at least a mile or two along in their journey. T and I ended up parking on Matthews Road, about 2 blocks from the trail.
Once on the trail, it didn’t take long for the urban stresses to dissipate and the natural sounds of the Gunpowder and its rushes to relax me? The mile markers fell away easily, and before we knew it, we had stopped nearly halfway to take a few pictures.
The ride back always goes a little faster, as there is the gentlest of slopes heading northbound (still, that last mile and a half does tend to drag). T is in much better shape, and her normal run on the NCR is 20 miles. Twelve is just fine for me right now… :)
We got back to our cars a little after 9 am, and the temperature was already pushing 77 degrees. The humidity had worsened as well…a typical summer morn in Maryland.
What a great ride this would be three, four times a week. Something to consider when school wraps up!
On-site blogging
Well, I took the plunge and bought an iPad to write (and publish) on-location wherever I went this summer. In fact, I am keying in this entry via my iPad. It is both easy and incredibly convenient to use. I know that many critics have said that it can’t replace the laptop, and. I don’t disagree with them. However, for my purposes in writing in various locations, I would say that the iPad replaces about 90% of my computer needs. It’s been nearly 10 years since I bought a new computer, and this was a very economical choice.
The only drawback that I can see right now is that this version of the iPad does not have a built-in camera (none of them do at this time). As I frequently include pictures in my entries, it will be an extra step to take a picture with my phone, email it to myself, download it on to the iPad, and then incorporate it into the entry.
When you really think about it though, it’s only one extra step. No big deal at all, really.
I look forward to posting more regularly now, especially since school is winding up. It’s nice to make the time to write and know nothing will suffer as a result!
Sunrise ride by the Gunpowder River
Absolutely love sunrises when hiking or biking….
My friend T and I went to Gunpowder State Park along Jerusalem Rd. in Kingsville, MD this morning to check out the trails that rise and fall along the Gunpowder River. We were wonderfully surprised by the well-maintained trails (the Gunpowder and Hobbes trails) that formed a nice circuit for us to master in the coming weeks.
On a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being the most difficult, I would place this loop at a strong level 2. A few steep pitches and knobby roots make the trail challenging enough to encourage you to come back for more and attempt to do the entire loop without stopping.
According to the Maryland Department of Natural Resources, Gunpowder Falls State Park comprises nearly 18,000 acres in Harford and Baltimore counties, boasting more than 100 miles of trails. One of the great things about the Gunpowder is that it runs long, yet narrowly, throughout north/central MD, from tidal marshes and wetlands to steep, rugged slopes.
Once you discover the Gunpowder, there are literally years of outdoor experiences for the novice to the expert. Hiking, biking, fishing, canoeing, kayaking — the Gunpowder has it all.
For me, it’s perfect because I can go alone for the solitude, enjoy a trip with friends, or take my family for a day of fishing and picnicking.
The Jerusalem Mill, which is where we started our bike trip this morning, offers plenty of trails, a museum, educational events, and period re-creations that are fun for the entire family. For more information about upcoming events, go here.
If Shakespeare Could Do It…
Epiphanies are wonderful things. . .
I usually experience them in the strangest of places–red lights, waiting in a grocery checkout lane. No surprise, really. These are times and places where stillness exists. Our brains are so overworked with hectic schedules, multi-tasking, and worries over the economy and other such troubles, we rarely have time (or find the energy to make it) to still the waters and give the mind a rest.
Funny how we need to find time or energy to slow down or stop the very things that deprive us of these two precious commodities.
Anyway, I had this epiphany about not staying in one genre of writing. Money, for the last 50 years, has driven this demand–if not outright requirement–that writers stick to one genre, one field. It just takes too much energy (there’s that word again) and money to market a writer to multiple audiences.
In one sense, I’m happy to see so many artists marketing their name first and their product second. Christine Kane is a great example of a musician who is now reaching many thousands of individuals in several innovative and inspiring ways.
Bill Shakespeare did this too, didn’t he? A writer of tragedies and comedies and histories and poems. . . .
Not that I’m saying any of us is like Bill. But if he could do it then, and if folks like Christine Kane are finding ways to do it now, we all need to have faith in ourselves that we can do it, too.
Don’t let Marketing tactics restrict you from living your life fully. Nobody or no thing should dictate how we direct and share our creative energies to improve our community and make our mark.
Just do it….like Shakespeare!
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