Kyle Garret's Blog, page 20
September 12, 2012
The Craft
I generally avoid books about writing.
I think part of this stems from the fact that it seems like anyone who's ever self-published a book of fan fiction has decided to share their knowledge of writing with the world. Just because you've written a book, doesn't mean you can talk intelligently about writing. And even if you can, that doesn't mean you have anything of note to share with the rest of us.
I suppose I consider books on writing to be the pinnacle of writing arrogance.
I've also kind of been writing like a hippie for most of my life. I write when the mood strikes me. Even if I try to force myself to write, I still end up procrastinating. It takes a lot to get me to do the actual work. That's a problem.
This realization came along with a rejection letter from an agent. It was an agent who requested the first 3 chapters of Master of the House. There wasn't a lot of feedback included in the rejection, but, of course, it made me go back to look at those first 3 chapters to figure out why they weren't good enough for the aforementioned agent to at least ask for more.
In talking about those chapters with my wife for what must have been only 5 minutes, I realized what was missing. By the end of the day I'd written the first of what would be three brand new chapters for MotH. I knew the book would be better because of these additions, and I was frustrated that I'd sent those sample chapters out before now.
For whatever reason, this led me the conclusion that these breakthroughs would happen much sooner in my process if I were writing more often.
I think, really, it boiled down to a realization that Master of the House is good and that I actually have talent, but I'm never able to take that next step. And I need to.
I decided it was time to read a few books on writing.
I scoured the internet for all the "Best Books on Writing" lists I could find. In the end, there were two books that were basically on every list: "On Writing," by Stephen King, and "The War of Art" by Steven Pressfield.
I have never read anything by Stephen King. It's not intentional, I just have so many other books on my "to read" list that there's never been a spot open for anything by him. So his book on writing was my first exposure to his work. Clearly, the man knows what he's talking about with regards to writing, as he's managed to make a pretty good living at it.
I was not disappointed. "On Writing" was fantastic. It's a nice mix of biography and instruction. King is never preachy about his rules for writing, and he's never really adamant about them. He knows there are exceptions to every rule, but exceptions should be few and far between. He gives plenty of specific lessons on what to avoid in everything from plot to characters to sentences. But there's one thing he stresses above all others: you have to do the work.
"The War of Art" was the polar opposite of "On Writing." It was preachy and the personal anecdotes were flat and uninteresting. While King is trying to get you to change your work habits, Pressfield is trying to change your life, a step which seems unnecessary for the average writing. I can see how such a move would have worked for Pressfield, but I don't think it's applicable across the board. There's also the simple fact that "The War of Art" is a flimsy book; it's 165 page, and only because each point gets it's own chapter, even if that chapter is less than a page long. Sure, there are some useful bits, but it probably could have been a list on a web site instead of an entire book.
In the end I decided it was finally time to start being serious about this thing that I've taken so seriously for so long. I needed a set writing schedule that I follow no matter what. I needed to set word count goals for each of my writing sessions. I need to put the work in so that I could get to the good writing faster.
While forcing myself to write, that hasn't been the hardest part of all this. The hardest part has been the fact that it's nearly impossible to maintain a set schedule. Things come up, even writing related things that aren't actually writing. It's frustrating as hell, but I have to assume this is the way it is for most writers who don't get paid for it.
But this also, in part, explains why I haven't been putting the work. I have always written when the mood struck me, but also when I had the chance. But I admit that my free time hasn't always been direct at writing. There are hours in each day that are unassigned, and those need to go to my writing above almost all other things.
Anyway, "The Craft" is also the name of a fantastic album by Blackalicious.
I think part of this stems from the fact that it seems like anyone who's ever self-published a book of fan fiction has decided to share their knowledge of writing with the world. Just because you've written a book, doesn't mean you can talk intelligently about writing. And even if you can, that doesn't mean you have anything of note to share with the rest of us.
I suppose I consider books on writing to be the pinnacle of writing arrogance.
I've also kind of been writing like a hippie for most of my life. I write when the mood strikes me. Even if I try to force myself to write, I still end up procrastinating. It takes a lot to get me to do the actual work. That's a problem.
This realization came along with a rejection letter from an agent. It was an agent who requested the first 3 chapters of Master of the House. There wasn't a lot of feedback included in the rejection, but, of course, it made me go back to look at those first 3 chapters to figure out why they weren't good enough for the aforementioned agent to at least ask for more.
In talking about those chapters with my wife for what must have been only 5 minutes, I realized what was missing. By the end of the day I'd written the first of what would be three brand new chapters for MotH. I knew the book would be better because of these additions, and I was frustrated that I'd sent those sample chapters out before now.
For whatever reason, this led me the conclusion that these breakthroughs would happen much sooner in my process if I were writing more often.
I think, really, it boiled down to a realization that Master of the House is good and that I actually have talent, but I'm never able to take that next step. And I need to.
I decided it was time to read a few books on writing.
I scoured the internet for all the "Best Books on Writing" lists I could find. In the end, there were two books that were basically on every list: "On Writing," by Stephen King, and "The War of Art" by Steven Pressfield.
I have never read anything by Stephen King. It's not intentional, I just have so many other books on my "to read" list that there's never been a spot open for anything by him. So his book on writing was my first exposure to his work. Clearly, the man knows what he's talking about with regards to writing, as he's managed to make a pretty good living at it.
I was not disappointed. "On Writing" was fantastic. It's a nice mix of biography and instruction. King is never preachy about his rules for writing, and he's never really adamant about them. He knows there are exceptions to every rule, but exceptions should be few and far between. He gives plenty of specific lessons on what to avoid in everything from plot to characters to sentences. But there's one thing he stresses above all others: you have to do the work.
"The War of Art" was the polar opposite of "On Writing." It was preachy and the personal anecdotes were flat and uninteresting. While King is trying to get you to change your work habits, Pressfield is trying to change your life, a step which seems unnecessary for the average writing. I can see how such a move would have worked for Pressfield, but I don't think it's applicable across the board. There's also the simple fact that "The War of Art" is a flimsy book; it's 165 page, and only because each point gets it's own chapter, even if that chapter is less than a page long. Sure, there are some useful bits, but it probably could have been a list on a web site instead of an entire book.
In the end I decided it was finally time to start being serious about this thing that I've taken so seriously for so long. I needed a set writing schedule that I follow no matter what. I needed to set word count goals for each of my writing sessions. I need to put the work in so that I could get to the good writing faster.
While forcing myself to write, that hasn't been the hardest part of all this. The hardest part has been the fact that it's nearly impossible to maintain a set schedule. Things come up, even writing related things that aren't actually writing. It's frustrating as hell, but I have to assume this is the way it is for most writers who don't get paid for it.
But this also, in part, explains why I haven't been putting the work. I have always written when the mood struck me, but also when I had the chance. But I admit that my free time hasn't always been direct at writing. There are hours in each day that are unassigned, and those need to go to my writing above almost all other things.
Anyway, "The Craft" is also the name of a fantastic album by Blackalicious.
August 27, 2012
Connor
I've tried to think of a less cliche way of putting this, but perhaps I'm just too close to it to be creative. If there's one word to describe my nephew Connor (and his fraternal twin, Nathan), it's "survivor."
Connor and Nathan were born at 28 weeks. We were told that they wouldn't make it through the week. And yet they did.
Not long after Connor turned 1, he was diagnosed with liver cancer. He had surgery to remove the tumor and went through chemo. The surgery went great and chemo seemed to do the trick, but you just never know when you're pumping that much poison into someone that small.
At some point, Connor was diagnosed with autism, which is a pretty general thing to say. People like to think of autism as some kind of blanket condition, but every case is unique. I don't know the technical details of Connor's diagnosis. I can tell you that his world is different than ours, and the interaction between those two worlds isn't as frequent as we'd always like. I don't know if I can honestly say that our world is any better than his.
I suppose Connor's autism might play some part in what happened a week ago. His parents and his brother have all made guessed -- anyone who's seen his room and seen the window has made guesses. But no one but Connor knows exactly what happened, exactly how he fell through the screen on the window of his second story bedroom. We think he was standing on a chair and lost his balance, which would explain how he had the momentum to tear through the screen. He's a ten year old boy, though, and screens aren't really made to hold anything out, so much as let air in.
All we know for sure is that he fell from his second story window and landed on his head on the concrete below. We've estimated that it was 25-30 feet.
When the paramedics took Connor to the hospital, they told my brother and his wife that they would have to drive separately. We later learned that this is something they tell family members of people they don't think are going to make it. Understandable, I suppose, that you would need hysterical family members out of the truck as you try to save someone. Kind of wish I didn't know that information now.
My brother didn't just fear the worst at that point, he expected it. Everyone did.
Not only did Connor make it to the hospital, he made it through the night. He had no broken bones, although the bones around his eyes was fractured, but they're still in place, so it's entirely possible that he won't need plastic surgery for that. But I'm getting way ahead of myself.
The scans of his head indicated that there was a blood clot and bone shards in his brain. Tuesday morning they performed brain surgery. They told my brother that Connor wouldn't be the same after the surgery.
Turns out, the bone shards weren't bone shards, but blood that was sitting on the brain and was "easily" cleaned up. The clot wasn't in the brain so much as on the surface. They still had to remove a part of Connor's brain to get the clot, though. It was the uncus, which the doctor said is more or less useless, anyway, so removing it wasn't a big deal. Still -- they removed a part of his brain.
They did another scan of his brain the next day and the clot was still gone, which was a good sign.
When I finally got to see Connor on Friday morning, they were preparing to take him to get a CT scan. They had reduced his sedatives and, while he was responsive, he wasn't as responsive as they would have liked. So they wanted to look at his brain again to make sure everything was as it was supposed to be.
This is the hardest part -- the fact that they have to keep checking things over and over again because even if something is okay one day, that could change the next. I keep waiting for someone to say to me that, on a certain date, he'll be fine, that nothing will suddenly appear. But if that date it exists, it's pretty far down the line.
The CT scan came back fine, although they had to raise Connor's sedation level so he wouldn't move around during the scan.
Here's the thing about Connor being sedated: they doctors want him to be unconscious so that he can heal. On Friday that wasn't clear. He moved a little bit, but it still felt like he was unconscious because of what happened. That changed on Saturday. On Saturday, he was moving around a lot. He squeezed my hand a few times, he moved his legs around and, the kicker, whenever the nurses would do something he didn't like, he would stick his arms out at them to stop them. He was in there and he'd be awake if the doctors weren't keeping him sedated.
Connor's eyes are both purple and puffy, to the point where he can't really see. His tongue is swollen and he's on a respirator, not to mention feeding tubes, IVs, catheter, tubes in his head, and a "bolt." The "bolt" is a device that measures his inter-cranial pressure, which fluctuates depending upon how he's feeling, but that's the case for most of us.
Yesterday, they took the "bolt" out. This morning they took him down for another MRI and everything look like it should. They've reduced his sedatives to 50%, with the plan being to bring him all the way back around sometime tomorrow. That's going to be a big test.
Imagine being a 10 year old who may or may not remember the last thing that happened to you. Your eyes are too swollen for you to see, you have a respirator stuck down your throat, and you're in a strange place filled with strange people and strange noises. A kid without autism would probably freak out a bit. We just don't know how Connor will react. Even Saturday, when he was still heavily sedated, he stuck his hands out to grab the tubes they were removing from his head.
If you're looking at the big picture, these are the things that we know so far: his spine wasn't hurt, his skull is intact aside from the fractures around his eyes, his eyes are okay, he didn't lose any teeth, he didn't break any bones, his lungs are fine, and his brain looks okay. None of those things should really be true, given how far he fell.
But there are so many questions still. It could be months before we really know how this has affected him. I haven't even gotten to the psychological impact of all of this.
It's impossible for me to put myself into my brother's position or in the shoes of his wife. As it stands, I was near tears when I saw Connor for the first time, and I've been in near tears whenever I think about it. I try not to, at least I try not to think about what happened. It just lays me out.
Before I left, I told Connor that I loved him and that I'd be back when he was better. I hope that's soon.
Connor and Nathan were born at 28 weeks. We were told that they wouldn't make it through the week. And yet they did.
Not long after Connor turned 1, he was diagnosed with liver cancer. He had surgery to remove the tumor and went through chemo. The surgery went great and chemo seemed to do the trick, but you just never know when you're pumping that much poison into someone that small.
At some point, Connor was diagnosed with autism, which is a pretty general thing to say. People like to think of autism as some kind of blanket condition, but every case is unique. I don't know the technical details of Connor's diagnosis. I can tell you that his world is different than ours, and the interaction between those two worlds isn't as frequent as we'd always like. I don't know if I can honestly say that our world is any better than his.
I suppose Connor's autism might play some part in what happened a week ago. His parents and his brother have all made guessed -- anyone who's seen his room and seen the window has made guesses. But no one but Connor knows exactly what happened, exactly how he fell through the screen on the window of his second story bedroom. We think he was standing on a chair and lost his balance, which would explain how he had the momentum to tear through the screen. He's a ten year old boy, though, and screens aren't really made to hold anything out, so much as let air in.
All we know for sure is that he fell from his second story window and landed on his head on the concrete below. We've estimated that it was 25-30 feet.
When the paramedics took Connor to the hospital, they told my brother and his wife that they would have to drive separately. We later learned that this is something they tell family members of people they don't think are going to make it. Understandable, I suppose, that you would need hysterical family members out of the truck as you try to save someone. Kind of wish I didn't know that information now.
My brother didn't just fear the worst at that point, he expected it. Everyone did.
Not only did Connor make it to the hospital, he made it through the night. He had no broken bones, although the bones around his eyes was fractured, but they're still in place, so it's entirely possible that he won't need plastic surgery for that. But I'm getting way ahead of myself.
The scans of his head indicated that there was a blood clot and bone shards in his brain. Tuesday morning they performed brain surgery. They told my brother that Connor wouldn't be the same after the surgery.
Turns out, the bone shards weren't bone shards, but blood that was sitting on the brain and was "easily" cleaned up. The clot wasn't in the brain so much as on the surface. They still had to remove a part of Connor's brain to get the clot, though. It was the uncus, which the doctor said is more or less useless, anyway, so removing it wasn't a big deal. Still -- they removed a part of his brain.
They did another scan of his brain the next day and the clot was still gone, which was a good sign.
When I finally got to see Connor on Friday morning, they were preparing to take him to get a CT scan. They had reduced his sedatives and, while he was responsive, he wasn't as responsive as they would have liked. So they wanted to look at his brain again to make sure everything was as it was supposed to be.
This is the hardest part -- the fact that they have to keep checking things over and over again because even if something is okay one day, that could change the next. I keep waiting for someone to say to me that, on a certain date, he'll be fine, that nothing will suddenly appear. But if that date it exists, it's pretty far down the line.
The CT scan came back fine, although they had to raise Connor's sedation level so he wouldn't move around during the scan.
Here's the thing about Connor being sedated: they doctors want him to be unconscious so that he can heal. On Friday that wasn't clear. He moved a little bit, but it still felt like he was unconscious because of what happened. That changed on Saturday. On Saturday, he was moving around a lot. He squeezed my hand a few times, he moved his legs around and, the kicker, whenever the nurses would do something he didn't like, he would stick his arms out at them to stop them. He was in there and he'd be awake if the doctors weren't keeping him sedated.
Connor's eyes are both purple and puffy, to the point where he can't really see. His tongue is swollen and he's on a respirator, not to mention feeding tubes, IVs, catheter, tubes in his head, and a "bolt." The "bolt" is a device that measures his inter-cranial pressure, which fluctuates depending upon how he's feeling, but that's the case for most of us.
Yesterday, they took the "bolt" out. This morning they took him down for another MRI and everything look like it should. They've reduced his sedatives to 50%, with the plan being to bring him all the way back around sometime tomorrow. That's going to be a big test.
Imagine being a 10 year old who may or may not remember the last thing that happened to you. Your eyes are too swollen for you to see, you have a respirator stuck down your throat, and you're in a strange place filled with strange people and strange noises. A kid without autism would probably freak out a bit. We just don't know how Connor will react. Even Saturday, when he was still heavily sedated, he stuck his hands out to grab the tubes they were removing from his head.
If you're looking at the big picture, these are the things that we know so far: his spine wasn't hurt, his skull is intact aside from the fractures around his eyes, his eyes are okay, he didn't lose any teeth, he didn't break any bones, his lungs are fine, and his brain looks okay. None of those things should really be true, given how far he fell.
But there are so many questions still. It could be months before we really know how this has affected him. I haven't even gotten to the psychological impact of all of this.
It's impossible for me to put myself into my brother's position or in the shoes of his wife. As it stands, I was near tears when I saw Connor for the first time, and I've been in near tears whenever I think about it. I try not to, at least I try not to think about what happened. It just lays me out.
Before I left, I told Connor that I loved him and that I'd be back when he was better. I hope that's soon.
August 9, 2012
You can't manufacture inspirado.
"Master of the House" is obviously my main focus these days, but there's only so much I can do with it right now. Besides, it's generally a good idea to get away from a book for a while. Anything I manage to work on with regards to MotH these days is more along the lines of business type stuff.
This doesn't mean I stop writing, of course. I've got a handful of things at various stages, but the one that's getting the most of my attention is "The Caretaker's Son," which also happens to be a YA book (my writing generally seems to fall into YA, slice o' life fiction, and memoir/non-fiction). It's very different than MotH. It's magical realism, not to mention a period piece. World building is much harder when you don't really have an touchstones for it.
Anyway, given the tone of "The Caretaker's Son," I've created a mix of music to move me along. It features a lot of Eisley, like the song below.
This doesn't mean I stop writing, of course. I've got a handful of things at various stages, but the one that's getting the most of my attention is "The Caretaker's Son," which also happens to be a YA book (my writing generally seems to fall into YA, slice o' life fiction, and memoir/non-fiction). It's very different than MotH. It's magical realism, not to mention a period piece. World building is much harder when you don't really have an touchstones for it.
Anyway, given the tone of "The Caretaker's Son," I've created a mix of music to move me along. It features a lot of Eisley, like the song below.
August 6, 2012
Best Foot Forward
Something weird happened last week.
Since I started doing "Free Fridays," I'm used to getting reports from my online shared drive of new visitors, usually something in the range of two to ten each week, maybe a few more if I'm lucky. It gives me a list of each file that has been downloaded and keeps a running total. I get these reports every single day.
On Tuesday, July 31st, 28 files were downloaded. That 28 in a single, 24 hour period. That's more than had been downloaded in, I'm guessing, the two weeks prior. A number like that never, ever happens.
I mentioned this to Nicole and she pointed out that I had recently sent out some query letters in hopes of finding representation for my book, "Master of the House" (which I have gone on and on about on this blog). She suggested that perhaps an agent or two decided to check out the work I was offering online for free.
This seemed like a reasonable answer, which, in turn, freaked me out. Over the course of the 15 weeks that I've been putting up stories for "Free Fridays," I've found it necessary to put stuff up that I may not be entirely thrilled with. I always explain as much when I post an aborted short story or snippet of some kind, but I don't know that the information always comes across.
In other words, I realized that if I'm using this blog to put my best foot forward, I could be undermining that by giving away stories that I don't think truly represent my writing.
I quickly ran to my shared drive and deleted all the ones I thought were problematic. Fortunately, there were still seven left that I'm pretty okay with. I just hope I didn't miss my window to impress someone.
It's a strange beast, this blog business. My traffic has increased since I started "Free Fridays," and there are definitely more people in possession of my writing than ever before. And the big key to maintaining a blog is to update it regularly, but I just don't have a done of work I feel good enough about to share. That didn't seem to stop me, though.
It's also strange to think that I'm at least somewhat being judged by this blog. I suppose that's always going to be the case, as there are people who read this that I don't know and who, more importantly, don't know me.
So, yeah, "Free Fridays" is going to be put on hold for a while. But I'm willing to bet anyone who reads this blog has a nice stockpile of stories to enjoy in the meantime.
Since I started doing "Free Fridays," I'm used to getting reports from my online shared drive of new visitors, usually something in the range of two to ten each week, maybe a few more if I'm lucky. It gives me a list of each file that has been downloaded and keeps a running total. I get these reports every single day.
On Tuesday, July 31st, 28 files were downloaded. That 28 in a single, 24 hour period. That's more than had been downloaded in, I'm guessing, the two weeks prior. A number like that never, ever happens.
I mentioned this to Nicole and she pointed out that I had recently sent out some query letters in hopes of finding representation for my book, "Master of the House" (which I have gone on and on about on this blog). She suggested that perhaps an agent or two decided to check out the work I was offering online for free.
This seemed like a reasonable answer, which, in turn, freaked me out. Over the course of the 15 weeks that I've been putting up stories for "Free Fridays," I've found it necessary to put stuff up that I may not be entirely thrilled with. I always explain as much when I post an aborted short story or snippet of some kind, but I don't know that the information always comes across.
In other words, I realized that if I'm using this blog to put my best foot forward, I could be undermining that by giving away stories that I don't think truly represent my writing.
I quickly ran to my shared drive and deleted all the ones I thought were problematic. Fortunately, there were still seven left that I'm pretty okay with. I just hope I didn't miss my window to impress someone.
It's a strange beast, this blog business. My traffic has increased since I started "Free Fridays," and there are definitely more people in possession of my writing than ever before. And the big key to maintaining a blog is to update it regularly, but I just don't have a done of work I feel good enough about to share. That didn't seem to stop me, though.
It's also strange to think that I'm at least somewhat being judged by this blog. I suppose that's always going to be the case, as there are people who read this that I don't know and who, more importantly, don't know me.
So, yeah, "Free Fridays" is going to be put on hold for a while. But I'm willing to bet anyone who reads this blog has a nice stockpile of stories to enjoy in the meantime.
July 27, 2012
Free Fridays: Poll
My curiosity has gotten the best of me. I realize that, even though my Free Fridays stories have been downloaded over 200 times, that not everyone who has downloaded them has actually gotten around to reading them. But I'm hoping that maybe a few of you have.
And I'd like to pick your brain.
I don't know that the results of this poll will actually influence what I do in the future, but it will be interesting to see.
<a href="http://polldaddy.com/poll/6392456/&qu... "Free Fridays" story have you liked best?</a>
And I'd like to pick your brain.
I don't know that the results of this poll will actually influence what I do in the future, but it will be interesting to see.
<a href="http://polldaddy.com/poll/6392456/&qu... "Free Fridays" story have you liked best?</a>
July 25, 2012
I miss records.
FugaziI think the people who listened to underground or independent music in the 80's often give the music of the 90's a bad rap. It's understandable, of course; they saw bands that they'd been listening to for years suddenly become popular, sometimes jumping to major labels. They saw "progressive" become "alternative." And they saw the "genre," as it were, watered down by copycat artist after copycat artist.Back in, I think, 1995, I went to a punk rock show and written on a table was "Punk isn't dead, but we're sure glad Kurt is." Classy.
What these people don't realize is that there's an entire generation of kids who discovered underground music because of the big acts of the 90's. Say what you want about bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam, but they wore their influences on their sleeve. They were very outspoken about the great, little known bands that made them what they were. Kurt Cobain told me about The Pixies. Eddie Vedder told me about Fugazi. And down the rabbit hole I went.
Team DreschThe true beauty of the 90's underground "scene" is that it took place more or less just before the widespread use of the internet. We read 'zines to get our news. What we bought at record stores was generally determined by what that record store carried, which meant that every new record store was a chance to find something wonderful we'd never heard of before. A friend saw a flier and that friend told another friend and that friend told me and now I know about a show a band is playing two hours away.That was part of the joy, really. You had to work for it. I know that the vinyl album business is perhaps healthier than it's been in years, as records have turned into elaborate collector's editions that come complete with codes for MP3 downloads. They're an investment now. People scour through bins to find hidden gems that are actually worth money. We scoured through bins for the latest 7" by a band no one had ever heard of.
The chase made it fun.
It also made it selective.
I own this Unwound record. Go me.We spoke a language that most people didn't. We drove hours to get to shows, wore t-shirts about our favorite bands, and stopped at every record store we could find. Hell, we ordered things through the mail. You had to work to stay informed. There were no dabblers. Music was a lifestyle because it almost had to be.I miss the simplicity of those indie rock records from the 90's. I miss when slow picking a power chord on clean managed to set a tone all by itself. I miss when strumming that same chord with some distortion was considered an entirely different part to the song. I miss when even the singing sounded a bit like yelling because none of could really sing. I miss palm muting with a purpose.
We really were the last generation to experience all of that. The kids after us had the internet to keep them informed. Record stores started dying off because CDs were cheaper online. Web sites replaced 'zines. Your favorite band's tour dates were conveniently sent to your inbox. You could still get that joy of discovery, but it was fleeting; it ended quickly. In a matter of hours, you could know all there was to know about a band, own everything they'd ever recorded, and have tickets for their next show.
It's just not the same.
This all makes me sound very old, I know, and I'm sure growing nostalgia is sign of mid-life crisis. But I miss those times. I miss the people, the places, the bands.
And I miss the records.
July 23, 2012
The Aurora Shootings
When my wife told me about the shootings at a showing of The Dark Knight Rises in Aurora, Colorado, I didn't answer. I didn't really have a response. I suppose I knew what my response would and should be, but in some way it felt like anything I said would be trite and insufficient.
A little while later, while ironing our clothes for work, I told my wife that what really blew my mind about the shooting was that this is the way our country is now. These things happen. This is our reality.
Sure, the entire country will obsess over every detail of what happened for the next few weeks, but eventually they'll grow bored with it and it will be forgotten. Then a while down the line, it will happen again. And we'll react the same way and the pattern will play out.
What's incomprehensible to me is why. Why don't we do anything about this?
I'm not going to go off on a political rant. In fact, political rants are part of the problem.
It seems like the reactions we get from these shootings are either generic platitudes from our elected officials or ideological rhetoric from the talking heads in the media. And somewhere in that gulf in between those two extremes lie answers, answers that no one is even looking for because they're too busy either avoiding the issue or only worrying about which side they're on.
You're anti-guns? You're pro-guns? You're against universal health care? You're for it? That's all well and good. But you know what? Nothing should be off the table now. Nothing. Every side of this problem should sit down in a room and do so with the full knowledge that even the opposite side of their issue is on the table. You want to get rid of guns? Then you need to sit down with people who want to keep them and say that, if we can find some way of stopping this from happening, you'll let the gun thing go on this.
Finding an answer for this is all that matters.
We need a solution regardless of what might be. But we're not even having that conversation. No one is, certainly not our political leaders.
It also struck me how uniquely American this tragedy is. I read a lot of foreign newspapers after 9/11 (and translations of foreign newspapers) and aside from sympathy, many of them offered empathy. A lot of coverage was given to the tragedy as the moment America lost its innocence. So many other countries in the world were fighting -- and often losing -- terrorism every day.
But this isn't something that happens in other countries, at least not like this. It might happen every once in a while, but here it happens often and it can happen anywhere. Yes, there are reasons for this, but I don't know that we need to get into that.
I suppose I could go on and on. This whole thing has been up in my head since it happened. I just wish people would stop taking sides and start looking for solutions.
A little while later, while ironing our clothes for work, I told my wife that what really blew my mind about the shooting was that this is the way our country is now. These things happen. This is our reality.
Sure, the entire country will obsess over every detail of what happened for the next few weeks, but eventually they'll grow bored with it and it will be forgotten. Then a while down the line, it will happen again. And we'll react the same way and the pattern will play out.
What's incomprehensible to me is why. Why don't we do anything about this?
I'm not going to go off on a political rant. In fact, political rants are part of the problem.
It seems like the reactions we get from these shootings are either generic platitudes from our elected officials or ideological rhetoric from the talking heads in the media. And somewhere in that gulf in between those two extremes lie answers, answers that no one is even looking for because they're too busy either avoiding the issue or only worrying about which side they're on.
You're anti-guns? You're pro-guns? You're against universal health care? You're for it? That's all well and good. But you know what? Nothing should be off the table now. Nothing. Every side of this problem should sit down in a room and do so with the full knowledge that even the opposite side of their issue is on the table. You want to get rid of guns? Then you need to sit down with people who want to keep them and say that, if we can find some way of stopping this from happening, you'll let the gun thing go on this.
Finding an answer for this is all that matters.
We need a solution regardless of what might be. But we're not even having that conversation. No one is, certainly not our political leaders.
It also struck me how uniquely American this tragedy is. I read a lot of foreign newspapers after 9/11 (and translations of foreign newspapers) and aside from sympathy, many of them offered empathy. A lot of coverage was given to the tragedy as the moment America lost its innocence. So many other countries in the world were fighting -- and often losing -- terrorism every day.
But this isn't something that happens in other countries, at least not like this. It might happen every once in a while, but here it happens often and it can happen anywhere. Yes, there are reasons for this, but I don't know that we need to get into that.
I suppose I could go on and on. This whole thing has been up in my head since it happened. I just wish people would stop taking sides and start looking for solutions.
July 20, 2012
Free Fridays: One Rooster
There was a point in my life (and it might be less than truthful to suggest that said point has passed) that I spent a lot of time thinking about the end of the world and sex, usually at the same time.
Thus we have One Rooster, a story that, at some point, I decided I was going to re-work as a graphic novel called Mount. Take that as you will.
One Rooster for most eReaders
One Rooster for Kindle
Fun fact: this story takes place in the same universe as Not So Much a System as a Theory, and I can't imagine a time when anyone other than me would know that.
Thus we have One Rooster, a story that, at some point, I decided I was going to re-work as a graphic novel called Mount. Take that as you will.
One Rooster for most eReaders
One Rooster for Kindle
Fun fact: this story takes place in the same universe as Not So Much a System as a Theory, and I can't imagine a time when anyone other than me would know that.
July 18, 2012
Retail Therapy
If you want to get all New Age-y about it, then perhaps my extreme desire for balance in my life comes from the fact that I'm a Libra. It probably has more to do with the fact that I'm prone to fairly extreme swings in mood and personality. It also probably has something to do with the fact that I need a lot of time alone (or with just Nicole) in order to properly function among others.
Whatever the reason, the last nine months of my life have been off balance. I have become something of an extension of Nicole, or at least an extension of her life. We moved to Northern California, where the majority of her family lives. We even live in the house she grew up in. I've tried to take this all in stride, even if it has been, at times, overwhelming.
There are a few things that I considered to be essential to who I am. One of those things is books. I have a lot of books. I'm always buying books, even if I have books I still haven't read yet. I like having them. I don't eat comfort food. Food, to me, is a necessity, nothing more. Sure, I do, sometimes, partake of comfort drinking. But more than anything, I buy books.
Nicole has kind of turned a blind eye to my buying habits over these nine months. She is well aware of my need for balance -- it's something she believes in herself. And she knows that being here, away from the things and people that I know, I'm going to take comfort in the pages of literary journals, books, and comics.
I've taken full advantage of this blind eye. Don't get me wrong, I really don't spend that much money on books, but I would hazard to guess that, even though I've cut back on the number of comics I buy, I'm probably operating above my norm.
But I think I'm reaching the breaking point. Don't get me wrong, I have plenty of shelf space, but I'm starting to feel buried under the weight of the books that I own, but haven't read.
I'm also going through a period where I want some order in my life.
Strangely enough, this actually started with the food in our freezer. It's packed full and never seems to clear out, basically because we keep filling it up even though we don't empty it. My first step was organizing it. The second step is eating all the freaking food before buying any more.
Which is what I've finally decided to do with books (and, to a certain extent, video games). It's time for my irregular organization, when I make a list of all the books I own that I've yet to read and, of course, stop buying any new ones.
It's time to put a hold on retail therapy and hope that enjoying what I already have in front of me is enough.
Which is a pretty big statement to make.
Whatever the reason, the last nine months of my life have been off balance. I have become something of an extension of Nicole, or at least an extension of her life. We moved to Northern California, where the majority of her family lives. We even live in the house she grew up in. I've tried to take this all in stride, even if it has been, at times, overwhelming.
There are a few things that I considered to be essential to who I am. One of those things is books. I have a lot of books. I'm always buying books, even if I have books I still haven't read yet. I like having them. I don't eat comfort food. Food, to me, is a necessity, nothing more. Sure, I do, sometimes, partake of comfort drinking. But more than anything, I buy books.
Nicole has kind of turned a blind eye to my buying habits over these nine months. She is well aware of my need for balance -- it's something she believes in herself. And she knows that being here, away from the things and people that I know, I'm going to take comfort in the pages of literary journals, books, and comics.
I've taken full advantage of this blind eye. Don't get me wrong, I really don't spend that much money on books, but I would hazard to guess that, even though I've cut back on the number of comics I buy, I'm probably operating above my norm.
But I think I'm reaching the breaking point. Don't get me wrong, I have plenty of shelf space, but I'm starting to feel buried under the weight of the books that I own, but haven't read.
I'm also going through a period where I want some order in my life.
Strangely enough, this actually started with the food in our freezer. It's packed full and never seems to clear out, basically because we keep filling it up even though we don't empty it. My first step was organizing it. The second step is eating all the freaking food before buying any more.
Which is what I've finally decided to do with books (and, to a certain extent, video games). It's time for my irregular organization, when I make a list of all the books I own that I've yet to read and, of course, stop buying any new ones.
It's time to put a hold on retail therapy and hope that enjoying what I already have in front of me is enough.
Which is a pretty big statement to make.
July 16, 2012
Suburban Glamour
"You're living someone else's life, aren't you?"
This was said to me at work. The preface, from the same person, was this: "You live in a house in Danville with a Porsche in the garage. Is any part of that not true?"
My response was "no."
Most people who read this blog probably know the circumstances of our current living situation. We've moved from Los Angeles to Danville, California. We moved from a 2 bedroom apartment to a really big house. And, you know, we're in the suburbs. There's more, but I'll spare you from all that (again).
More to the point, we don't (yet) own the house we live in -- the big house in the nice neighborhood with the great schools. In other words, this is not my beautiful house.
I'm adjusting, though, or at least trying to. I'm putting forth the effort. I'm taking interest. But there's a part of me that wonders if I might not be cut out for the suburbs. I just might not be built for it.
I lack a lot of knowledge that seems to be important for living in the suburbs. I don't know how to take care of a yard or how to build anything or how to fix things. The fact that I know how to use a hammer and nail is something of a minor miracle.
It's more than that, though. I mean, home improvement, lawn care -- any of these things can be learned. I just don't know that my brain works the right way.
I don't notice the things I should notice or worry about the things I should worry about. Fixing, building, improving, these are things I do with my writing, not things I think about doing around the house. And I feel like at some point those things should become a priority for me, at least to keep from driving my wife insane.
It is also, to a certain extent, a lack of investment. We don't actually own the house we're living in, and until we do, I feel like I don't really have a leg to stand on. I don't feel like I really have the right to make any changes. I also don't feel comfortable making any changes yet, and I have a hard time finding motivation when I'm doing something that makes me uncomfortable.
But perhaps when we're settled in, this will all changed. Maybe I'll go to Home Depot and not feel like an American walking through the streets of Germany, hoping everyone thinks I'm one of them. Maybe I'll go to the local Starbucks and not get weirded out that it's filled with blonde cougars. Maybe I'll actually notice when something in the house is in dire need of fixing and actually take the time to fix it.
I just have to figure out if I want that.
It should be noted that the title of this entry is also the title of an excellent comic that you should buy.
This was said to me at work. The preface, from the same person, was this: "You live in a house in Danville with a Porsche in the garage. Is any part of that not true?"
My response was "no."
Most people who read this blog probably know the circumstances of our current living situation. We've moved from Los Angeles to Danville, California. We moved from a 2 bedroom apartment to a really big house. And, you know, we're in the suburbs. There's more, but I'll spare you from all that (again).
More to the point, we don't (yet) own the house we live in -- the big house in the nice neighborhood with the great schools. In other words, this is not my beautiful house.
I'm adjusting, though, or at least trying to. I'm putting forth the effort. I'm taking interest. But there's a part of me that wonders if I might not be cut out for the suburbs. I just might not be built for it.
I lack a lot of knowledge that seems to be important for living in the suburbs. I don't know how to take care of a yard or how to build anything or how to fix things. The fact that I know how to use a hammer and nail is something of a minor miracle.
It's more than that, though. I mean, home improvement, lawn care -- any of these things can be learned. I just don't know that my brain works the right way.
I don't notice the things I should notice or worry about the things I should worry about. Fixing, building, improving, these are things I do with my writing, not things I think about doing around the house. And I feel like at some point those things should become a priority for me, at least to keep from driving my wife insane.
It is also, to a certain extent, a lack of investment. We don't actually own the house we're living in, and until we do, I feel like I don't really have a leg to stand on. I don't feel like I really have the right to make any changes. I also don't feel comfortable making any changes yet, and I have a hard time finding motivation when I'm doing something that makes me uncomfortable.
But perhaps when we're settled in, this will all changed. Maybe I'll go to Home Depot and not feel like an American walking through the streets of Germany, hoping everyone thinks I'm one of them. Maybe I'll go to the local Starbucks and not get weirded out that it's filled with blonde cougars. Maybe I'll actually notice when something in the house is in dire need of fixing and actually take the time to fix it.
I just have to figure out if I want that.
It should be noted that the title of this entry is also the title of an excellent comic that you should buy.
