It's that time of year again. It's a beautiful time of year when the temps stay reasonable and the sun shines throughout the long days. It's that time of year when the birds sing, babies are born and school is out for the summer. In just one week I will be done with yet another semester of school and my girls will be going on to third grade.
After a tough semester full of depression and uncertainty I feel more triumph this time around. It's the first time in a very long time that I survived a whole year in school. It's also the first time I've realized I'm almost done with junior college. It's still 18+ months off but there is a light at the end of the tunnel and a promise of good things to come. I have plans forming in my mind and they seem attainable if a bit far fetched. It's not a feeling I get very often. Work, school and family tends to bog down ones mind and its hard to see to far into the future. Yet, I've been able to.
This morning I spent a couple of hours talking with my Environmental Sciences Professor about school. We didn't discuss the class or the junior college and all of its little nasty oddities but rather we discussed the possibilities facing us. I got to share with someone besides my wife my ideas about what I want to do for school. I've realized recently that I don't want to go to school just to ultimately make money. I want to go to school so that I can be happy and to learn about something that really matters to me. My wife is crazy loyal and supportive and sometimes I wonder if she isn't just agreeing with me to make me feel better so it was nice to have an outside unbiased source agree with many of my ideas and even feel excited about the ideas. I felt empowered that not only did I and my wife think the ideas were worth it but a third party seemed to be jumping on board too. For the first time in too many weeks I feel uplifted and open to the possibilities and I have to thank my professor for that. She rocks.
So what are these wild and crazy ideas? Nothing super special I suppose just a solid idea of where school will take me. I've had only two passions that have stuck with me through life (other than my family) and I've decided to pursue one. I've been writing stories and fan fiction since I was a kid. I've been reading books most of my late teen years and all of my adult life so I've decided to try and pursue the art form. UCR has a bachelors degree in Creative Writing as well as a M.F.A. in Creative Writing. I am going to chase after these degrees and I don't care if they bring me work or not. To stand up and proclaim that I have a Masters in Creative Writing would be really really cool. I do, however, feel that by following this path possibilities will open themselves to me. By working hard and giving 110% something will open up for me and I'll be able to put the Master's to work for me. Believe it or not I feel....HAPPY! It's a strange feeling of late and I'm looking forward to holding on to it for a few hours!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Poetry, Part 1: Do I still have a voice?
Recently I have been watching a show on HBO called “Brave New Voices” it is a powerful show that focus’s on teenagers participating in Slam Poetry. These kids come from various backgrounds from the ghetto’s of New York to the relatively well off world of San Fran. They all have stories that make me shake my head and a tear to leak from my eye. From a kid who’s father left him at an early age only to run into him when buying some soda in a convenient store…and the father didn’t even acknowledge him. Another story involves a young lady with a blood related sickness and she struggled through this debilitating disease to still perform her poetry. These kids all have one thing in common. They have a voice. They have strong opinions and activist ideas born of poverty, strife and struggle. I have none of these!
I didn’t grow up in the hood, the barrio, or the ghetto. I know my mother and my father and both were active in my life from day one. I graduated high school, I tried the college thing and yet I’m still lost. I’ve never been mugged, I’ve not had disease or been abused. I’ve not been homeless or kicked out. I live in the perfect world, right? I have children, I’ve been married for 16 years and I’m 36. I am rapidly outgrowing my teenage angst and my anger at the world has been blunted by to many years of being beaten down by the Man. The system has drug me over the coals and left my soul worn and withered. My voice has gone horse from screaming obscenities at a government who gives two shits about me, my house or my people.
Did I mention that I’m white? And Male?
Yep that’s right I’m supposed to have it all! I am the picture of success the white devil riding the coat tails of the minority. Eating the food they’ve picked, going to the restaurants they clean and driving my gas guzzling SUV they’ve built. I’ve killed, I’ve maimed, I’ve ruined lives and taken nations away from people. I’ve driven people to drink and suppressed the voice of others. I am the root of all evil in the world. I should repay, apologize and grovel before the feet of those my people have destroyed.
In the darkness at the end of the day though I just sit humbly in the corner watching myself grow old. Seeing my imaginative spark dying a slow painful death. Sucked under by bills, children and a mortgage. I want to be free and to fly. I want to shout at the rooftops and proclaim my place in the world. Yet I sit back and I wonder….do I still have a voice? Can I write the poetry these kids have written? Once I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. My angst, my anger and my passion fed the words that spilled onto the screen. My fingers flying over the keyboard like lightening cast down from the Gods; this was my world. Then came children and responsibility. Happiness ensued and passion died. My angst has dwindled to defeatism and I exist. To old to embrace the youth and to young to embrace the death that is inevitable.
I want a voice. I want to speak and to shout and to write but all too often my mind is blank and I my own private fear gives way to stark panic; Have I lost my voice?
I didn’t grow up in the hood, the barrio, or the ghetto. I know my mother and my father and both were active in my life from day one. I graduated high school, I tried the college thing and yet I’m still lost. I’ve never been mugged, I’ve not had disease or been abused. I’ve not been homeless or kicked out. I live in the perfect world, right? I have children, I’ve been married for 16 years and I’m 36. I am rapidly outgrowing my teenage angst and my anger at the world has been blunted by to many years of being beaten down by the Man. The system has drug me over the coals and left my soul worn and withered. My voice has gone horse from screaming obscenities at a government who gives two shits about me, my house or my people.
Did I mention that I’m white? And Male?
Yep that’s right I’m supposed to have it all! I am the picture of success the white devil riding the coat tails of the minority. Eating the food they’ve picked, going to the restaurants they clean and driving my gas guzzling SUV they’ve built. I’ve killed, I’ve maimed, I’ve ruined lives and taken nations away from people. I’ve driven people to drink and suppressed the voice of others. I am the root of all evil in the world. I should repay, apologize and grovel before the feet of those my people have destroyed.
In the darkness at the end of the day though I just sit humbly in the corner watching myself grow old. Seeing my imaginative spark dying a slow painful death. Sucked under by bills, children and a mortgage. I want to be free and to fly. I want to shout at the rooftops and proclaim my place in the world. Yet I sit back and I wonder….do I still have a voice? Can I write the poetry these kids have written? Once I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. My angst, my anger and my passion fed the words that spilled onto the screen. My fingers flying over the keyboard like lightening cast down from the Gods; this was my world. Then came children and responsibility. Happiness ensued and passion died. My angst has dwindled to defeatism and I exist. To old to embrace the youth and to young to embrace the death that is inevitable.
I want a voice. I want to speak and to shout and to write but all too often my mind is blank and I my own private fear gives way to stark panic; Have I lost my voice?
Saturday, May 16, 2009
A writer’s life!
As I embark on the more serious side of writing attempts I have come across many books describing how to do it. These books range from daily hints for writing or daily inspirations for writing to character studies. One book I looked at spent the first chapter expressing how miserably hard the publishing world is! That was a desperately depressing book. I walked away from it. All of these books are an attempt to open the new writer’s eyes and get them moving forward, yet none of them really answer my questions.
And what questions are those Jack?
Well let me tell you! I am infinitely curious how the ‘real’ authors really work. How does Lilith Saintcrow, Jim Butcher, William Gibson, Robert B. Parker, E.E. Knight and others go about writing? I’ve seen pictures of renowned author/director Kevin Smith’s ‘office’ and it looks surprisingly like mine….slightly messy with an ode to my favorite comic/movie/book. I wonder more than that though. I wonder how they go about composing their ideas. What do they read to get those ideas? Do they write by hand much or is everything kept on a laptop and that laptop is never far from their side in case the light bulb lights up unexpectedly in the middle of a long day of rushing around? Is there a small journal floating around that has bunches of notes kept over the years? You know the type, small and leather and kept bound by a rubber band….an ode to Indiana Jones little notebook in “Raiders of the Lost Ark”.
For many, these questions may seem trivial and perhaps you could view me as a closet stalker. I prefer, however, to see myself as trying to understand the inner workings of a successful author so as to try and incorporate some of those patterns of success into my own hectic day. Successful patterns can lead to enlightenment when examining ones own daily patterns and to that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I’m not looking for an all encompassing answer or that magic way to be successful just some insight. Call a signpost on a long trail that you’ve spent six days trudging down. You’re out of food and water and just want to dive into that six pack of beer waiting in an ice chest in the trunk of the car. An insight into their life would be something like that……..
And what questions are those Jack?
Well let me tell you! I am infinitely curious how the ‘real’ authors really work. How does Lilith Saintcrow, Jim Butcher, William Gibson, Robert B. Parker, E.E. Knight and others go about writing? I’ve seen pictures of renowned author/director Kevin Smith’s ‘office’ and it looks surprisingly like mine….slightly messy with an ode to my favorite comic/movie/book. I wonder more than that though. I wonder how they go about composing their ideas. What do they read to get those ideas? Do they write by hand much or is everything kept on a laptop and that laptop is never far from their side in case the light bulb lights up unexpectedly in the middle of a long day of rushing around? Is there a small journal floating around that has bunches of notes kept over the years? You know the type, small and leather and kept bound by a rubber band….an ode to Indiana Jones little notebook in “Raiders of the Lost Ark”.
For many, these questions may seem trivial and perhaps you could view me as a closet stalker. I prefer, however, to see myself as trying to understand the inner workings of a successful author so as to try and incorporate some of those patterns of success into my own hectic day. Successful patterns can lead to enlightenment when examining ones own daily patterns and to that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I’m not looking for an all encompassing answer or that magic way to be successful just some insight. Call a signpost on a long trail that you’ve spent six days trudging down. You’re out of food and water and just want to dive into that six pack of beer waiting in an ice chest in the trunk of the car. An insight into their life would be something like that……..
Thursday, May 14, 2009
A writing career? What writing career?
Since I was just a wee boy stumbling his way through the rocky shores of my pre-teen existence and the crashing emotional wave that is teen-hood I have written. I have spent many hours lost in other worlds. Many classes were spent day dreaming about Han Solo's cousin (what you didn't know he had a cousin named Flynn?) or about the U.S.S. Archer (long before there was a Captain Archer or even a Beagle for Scotty to lose...let alone an Admiral Archer). I stumbled through my 11th grade English class on a wing and a prayer working on story after story just to get away from life.
Then just into my twenties I stumbled across William Gibson's first novel and I'm hooked. I had read Star Trek books and some Star Wars books (I loved the original Han Solo trilogy) and I had read all of the Robotech books but Neuromancer was my first real sci-fi book outside of those three previously created universes. It took me in a whole new direction and I had the anger and angst to fuel many many more hours of writing. Acyd was born as was Isis and my world took on a dark and sinister aspect. For nearly four years Acyd ruled my life. His story was one of the longest I've ever typed at nearly 150 pages.
Children changed all of that. I had no time to write and my life settled into a comfortable sled ride through the dreamy snow covered hills of some far off fairy tale. Yep, I was content. No anger combined with no angst all added up to no ideas, no feeling and no writing. I longed to write, oh believe me, I wanted to write more than a crack whore needs her next fix. Nothing came out. I tried everything and finally figured that was it. I was done and the silly adventures I had penned all those many years were simply a way for an emotionally torn up teen to make it through life. A coping mechanism I suppose.
Fast forward to NOW! I find myself really wanting to write. The urge is there but the ideas are not. I even went to the book store to try and find a book to rocket me forward. I got rocked perhaps, but not rocketed I suppose. I found a book on freelance writing and now I have this ambition to become a professional writer. I have virtually no hope in this endeavor and yet it nags at me like my two year old wanting a fresh sippy-cup of milk. I bought the book and tore through it. I needed to know the secret and I've stumbled on the humbling idea that there is no secret. There is no Dr. Jones moment of triumph but rather long hours of slogging through the mud to get to an end that I'll probably never see.
Ideas for 'true' stories seem to elude me at this junction in my life but I have written. I am forcing myself to write for an hour a day 5 to 6 days a week. The experts say that to be a good writer one must write...write...and then write some more and so I am.
I have not only started to write but also I am devouring books and finding outlets for a beginner to go to. Perhaps this is a pipe dream but its a pipe dream that perhaps I'll slide down for a little while and see where it takes me.
I am hoping to share some work here and to lay out my attempts and my stumbling blocks. I am hoping to share the tragedies and triumphs of a wanna-be author, writer, father of three, husband to one awesome woman, part-time student and full time government employee. That's a lot to juggle and if you want you can jump on this pipe dream with me leave a few comments and see where it takes you to!
Then just into my twenties I stumbled across William Gibson's first novel and I'm hooked. I had read Star Trek books and some Star Wars books (I loved the original Han Solo trilogy) and I had read all of the Robotech books but Neuromancer was my first real sci-fi book outside of those three previously created universes. It took me in a whole new direction and I had the anger and angst to fuel many many more hours of writing. Acyd was born as was Isis and my world took on a dark and sinister aspect. For nearly four years Acyd ruled my life. His story was one of the longest I've ever typed at nearly 150 pages.
Children changed all of that. I had no time to write and my life settled into a comfortable sled ride through the dreamy snow covered hills of some far off fairy tale. Yep, I was content. No anger combined with no angst all added up to no ideas, no feeling and no writing. I longed to write, oh believe me, I wanted to write more than a crack whore needs her next fix. Nothing came out. I tried everything and finally figured that was it. I was done and the silly adventures I had penned all those many years were simply a way for an emotionally torn up teen to make it through life. A coping mechanism I suppose.
Fast forward to NOW! I find myself really wanting to write. The urge is there but the ideas are not. I even went to the book store to try and find a book to rocket me forward. I got rocked perhaps, but not rocketed I suppose. I found a book on freelance writing and now I have this ambition to become a professional writer. I have virtually no hope in this endeavor and yet it nags at me like my two year old wanting a fresh sippy-cup of milk. I bought the book and tore through it. I needed to know the secret and I've stumbled on the humbling idea that there is no secret. There is no Dr. Jones moment of triumph but rather long hours of slogging through the mud to get to an end that I'll probably never see.
Ideas for 'true' stories seem to elude me at this junction in my life but I have written. I am forcing myself to write for an hour a day 5 to 6 days a week. The experts say that to be a good writer one must write...write...and then write some more and so I am.
I have not only started to write but also I am devouring books and finding outlets for a beginner to go to. Perhaps this is a pipe dream but its a pipe dream that perhaps I'll slide down for a little while and see where it takes me.
I am hoping to share some work here and to lay out my attempts and my stumbling blocks. I am hoping to share the tragedies and triumphs of a wanna-be author, writer, father of three, husband to one awesome woman, part-time student and full time government employee. That's a lot to juggle and if you want you can jump on this pipe dream with me leave a few comments and see where it takes you to!
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