Category Archives: Writing

Leaf on the Wind

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I didn’t go straight home last night from my business trip from Toledo, Ohio. I had a few things to do first. I had to watch Steve Jobs die. And I had to finish reading Atlas Shrugged. Oh, I’m gonna blog all day long about Ayn Rand, and I’ll blog about Atlas Shrugged, and literature, but today, let’s talk about the tree outside of my window at my Marriott hotel. I went to bed, looking at the wind shake the tree, and it was shadows and wind and light. It was very pretty and soothing.

In the morning, it was also pretty with sunshine, soothing with dawn. Someday, I’ll be dead, and I won’t be able to look at the trees any more. Both Ayn Rand and Steve Jobs, their days of tree-gazing are over.

In the hotel, I watched the Steve Jobs Stanford speech. Yes, I should have been writing, or working, or doing all the things that fill my days, but I knew this moment wasn’t going to come around again. Let’s be clear, I am not an Apple guy. Microsoft all the way. I enjoy the freedom of PC’s to the imperial chains that Apple has. Don’t get me wrong, love Apple products, but I’d rather go ghetto than be imprisoned in pretty graphics and smooth userability by the man.

Stay hungry. Stay foolish. Steve Jobs is one of those guys Ayn Rand would have drooled over. True story. Come on. He was an entrepreneur. He was driven. He was a captain of industry. He followed his dream.

Now he’s dead and all over the news. The Marriott Breakfast Woman, all capital letters, said she was tired of hearing about him. Is she following her dreams? Am I? Am I hungry and foolish?

I never did foolish well. I was too busy getting stuff done for foolishness. And hungry? I learned early to feed myself so I didn’t have to take chances on asking anyone for food. So I haven’t been hungry and foolish, but I want to be. I long to be.

The problem is, I have kids now, and kids need structure and a stable environment. Especially the James-Bond-Super-Villains-Posing-As-Little-Girls I’m trying to raise. Or is that what I’ve been told? Maybe the forces of nature would do better if there were more chaos. I don’t know.

This is the year of discernment. By August, 2012, I am going to wrestle the truth out of God and I’m going to know what the next thing to do. It’s probably not going to be the 9 to 5 I’ve been livin’.

From Firefly, Wash would say, “I am a leaf on the wind.” I am going to be the leaf on the wind. I am not going to cower with the other dying leaves in the gutter. I refuse. And if I die penniless, well, every writer needs to die penniless. That’s part of the deal.

Stay hungry. Stay foolish. In the end, scream it out loud, we all die. Every single one of us.

Curley Sue: A Cautionary Tale

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I met a guy at a writer’s conference who only wrote in suburban Marriott bars. He was jaded, sad, tragic, frustrated with the poverty, oppression and generally suckiness of being a writer. Of course, I loved him. He was drunk. He couldn’t pitch his book. He loved his story. I might have been talking in the mirror. Except for the drunk part. None for me, thanks, I’m driving. Sober as a judge.

I’m in the bar at a Hilton in Toledo, Ohio, and I want to warn you all of the tragedy, frustration, and general suckiness of squandering time. Last night, we got done early from the software installation at a local hospital. I had hours to write, and write, and write. I have a lot to do. I have stuff to read for my critique group. I have stuff to read for friends. I have stuff to do. Being writer means having homework for the rest of your life. I think Lawrence Kasdan said that. He wrote The Empire Strikes Back. Oh yeah.

But did I write, and read, and do my homework? No.

Stay with me. I’m about to jump. Like in Battlestar Galactica. JUMP! Back in 1998. I was thirteen years younger. Late twenties. I was just married. I was flirting with the idea of writing for reals. Just flirting. Nothing serious. I was too scared for serious. I was terrified of serious. And one Sunday, I watched the movie Curley Sue. I was in that tragic state of wanting to do something, but not being motivated to do anything. I knew I didn’t want to watch Curley Sue. But I couldn’t move. John Hughes had me spellbound. I was trapped. Like a rat. Like a writer at a suburban hotel chain, in the bar, writing books no one would ever read.

Life is too short for watching movies you don’t really want to watch. Life is too short to avoid doing the things that bring life and power to ourselves and others. Life is not about hiding in ice cream and TV. Life is about doing the hard things that task us. Like from Star Trek II, it tasks me, it tasks me.

So last night, I Curley Sue’d. I watched Monday Night Football. It was tragic. I did feel manly, and the game was good, but it was still Curley Sueing.

And so, tonight, we stayed late at the hospital. There were bugs that needed to be stepped on. We got as many as we could, but here it is, late, and we have to be there early tomorrow morning. I blew it. But I’ll get my homework done, well, the little piece I can, and I’ll be a little light on sleep, and I’ll regret the hours I squandered when I had the time.

Do you know what the trick is? It’s to put writing first. Yesterday, I went up to my room, thinking I would write later. Later will never come. So tonight after dinner, I headed for the bar. I’m drinking de-caf coffee. It’s very fine. But I’m doing my writing first. Because writing will never happen later. Other things will happen later, but not writing. Writing will only ever happen right now.

I love de-caf coffee. Not manly, but it beats Curley Sueing myself out of life.

Why I Have To Be Better Than You, or Remember the Alamo!

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I love the Alamo, the story of the Alamo, the massacre at the Alamo, all things Alamo. It was American tragedy at its best. Most American tragedies deal with slavery, genocide, or unrestrained greed. The Alamo was just a group of men, outnumbered, defending a fort against overwhelming odds. Please ignore the imperialism behind the story, just concentrate on the men, William Travis, Jim Bowie, Davy Crocket and a line in the dirt. You know the story, William Travis drew a line in the dirt and made it clear, “To cross this line is to fight with me to the death.” Those that wanted, could leave, but those with the courage had to cross the line though it meant certain death. But oh what a death it would be.

In America, we don’t like the idea of losing. We’re winners. When was the last time you saw an American mainstream movie where the hero loses? We don’t like it. But we love the Alamo because it was a few against many. We love the underdog.

I love the underdog.

Which is probably why I write books. Mario Acevedo says being a writer is most likely harder than being a navy seal because it takes years to become a writer for most of us. How long does it take to be a navy seal? Google it, baby, ‘cause that’s not my job today.

Writing a novel is like standing on the ramparts of the Alamo: my little book is just one book facing the hordes of books out there, one against many. Most likely I’ll die, but the line has been drawn in the dirt. It’s up to me to cross it and try. It’s a romantic idea. In reality, it scares the PB&J out of me.

I have a deep seated belief that I have to be the best, that if I’m not , I might as well not play. I have to be better than you, or I’m worth nothing. This is an insane idea and it fills me with suffering.

I like writing books. Other people have said they like reading them. Should I stop writing because I probably won’t be rich and famous? Should Davy Crockett have run off when he knew to stay was certain death?

Life is showing up, doing what you love, and struggling forward. Always. Fighting the good fight when all you want to do is cry and give up. I can do my crying in the grave. Now is the time to cross the line and fight.

And if I’m not better than you, well, I had a good time, and God bless ya.

One man fled from the Alamo. He failed to cross the line. His name was Moses (Louis) Rose. He died uneventfully. I won’t let the same be said of me.

So let us cross that line together, my friends. Let us make our stand in the words and sentences we write and let our paragraphs be our citadels, our books our fortresses, against despair and death.

http://library.flawlesslogic.com/alamo.htm