Sunday, November 4, 2012
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Oh well
I just read Raymond Carver's "Little Things" and it made me hate him. I don't know how long it will last but things will never be the same between us.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Don't Forget Me
I'm working on a new website. And a book. And a job. And...
And I'll be around soon, with lots of good news.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Aerlksnd lsiurs sitat? Iklmt lsiret sler !!!!!
Created by Oatmeal
I stopped drinking coffee yesterday.
If you see me shaking in the corner and mumbling about unlocking the secrets of the Antikythera Mechanism, just put a blanket around me and walk away quietly.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Monday, July 30, 2012
Captain's Log: Passing the Horn of Midnight
"If you see the teeth of the lion, do not think that the lion is smiling at you."
Al-Mutanabbi
To this I would add, "If you stick you head in the mouth of the lion, do not think the lion is kissing you."
I am once again at the helm of the Night Ship, headed into the long channels of the Dark. If I reach the Morning Isles, I will say one prayer for you, one prayer for me, and one prayer for the sleep we've lost along the way.
Now take the wheel while I go below for coffee and self pity.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
38: The Strontium Year
As is our custom here at the Alcelogue, three hundred sixty-five days of consecutive living is a time to reflect, sum up, and otherwise excavate the past for any valuable lessons. So what have I learned?
1. Gratitude is the key to inner peace. When I consciously call to mind the people who love me and the other blessings in my life, I immediately let go of whatever negativity I'm holding. Resentment is useless.
2. My brain is only useful when I need it to do something. All the unsolicited "advice" it gives me is meaningless.
3. I deserve to live a happy, peaceful, completely fulfilled life surrounded by comfort, beauty, and healthy, inspiring influences.
4. Lifecan be is effortless if I want it to be.
5. I don't feel good when I don't exercise and when I don't eat like a human being (yes, I actually had to learn this one).
Now how's that as a plan for living?
1. Gratitude is the key to inner peace. When I consciously call to mind the people who love me and the other blessings in my life, I immediately let go of whatever negativity I'm holding. Resentment is useless.
2. My brain is only useful when I need it to do something. All the unsolicited "advice" it gives me is meaningless.
3. I deserve to live a happy, peaceful, completely fulfilled life surrounded by comfort, beauty, and healthy, inspiring influences.
4. Life
5. I don't feel good when I don't exercise and when I don't eat like a human being (yes, I actually had to learn this one).
Now how's that as a plan for living?
Friday, April 27, 2012
Robust, But Light On The Tongue
His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the
universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon
all the living and the dead.
-James Joyce
I don't need fine wines, aged single malt whiskeys, rare cheeses, or any other obscure delectable delights for my tongue when I have the finely crafted words of brilliant writers.
Take a sentence like the one above and roll it around in your mouth. Speak it slowly, savoring the rhythm and the flow.
This is what is means to devour books. You can read to fill up your time just as easily as you can eat to fill your stomach. Or you can read to taste the flavors of human thought, human expression, and human experience.
A good sentence will satisfy me for days.
If you run across a particularly tasty one, drop me a line.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Do I Have Mentalism?
Please answer as honestly as possible:
1. Do you lose time from work due to thinking?
Yes. Sometimes I even hide in the bathroom and think.
2. Is thinking making your home life unhappy?
Yes. Sometimes I think that my thinking is the cause of all our unhappiness.
3. Is thinking affecting your reputation?
Yes. People have stopped inviting me to parties because of the way I think.
4. Have you ever felt remorse after thinking?
Yes. My God, after a night of binge thinking...sometimes I can't even look at myself in the mirror.
5. Do you crave a think at a definite time every day?
Yes. Usually I wake up and have to have that first thought just to get out of bed.
6. Do you want to think even after thinking has made you sick?
Yes. I know how thinking will make me feel, but I don't care - I have to think or I'll feel worse!
7. Do you ever think alone?
Yes. Sometimes I don't want anyone to see me thinking because I know they're judging how much I think.
8. Have you ever had a complete loss of memory as a result of thinking?
Yes. Once I thought for three days straight and when I stopped thinking, I was in Fresno with no memory of how I got there.
9. Is thinking jeopardizing your job or business?
Yes. My thinking is taking this company down in flames.
10. Have you ever been to a hospital or institution because of your thinking?
Yes. I was arrested on a 5150 because I was running through the streets naked and thinking out loud.
1. Do you lose time from work due to thinking?
Yes. Sometimes I even hide in the bathroom and think.
2. Is thinking making your home life unhappy?
Yes. Sometimes I think that my thinking is the cause of all our unhappiness.
3. Is thinking affecting your reputation?
Yes. People have stopped inviting me to parties because of the way I think.
4. Have you ever felt remorse after thinking?
Yes. My God, after a night of binge thinking...sometimes I can't even look at myself in the mirror.
5. Do you crave a think at a definite time every day?
Yes. Usually I wake up and have to have that first thought just to get out of bed.
6. Do you want to think even after thinking has made you sick?
Yes. I know how thinking will make me feel, but I don't care - I have to think or I'll feel worse!
7. Do you ever think alone?
Yes. Sometimes I don't want anyone to see me thinking because I know they're judging how much I think.
8. Have you ever had a complete loss of memory as a result of thinking?
Yes. Once I thought for three days straight and when I stopped thinking, I was in Fresno with no memory of how I got there.
9. Is thinking jeopardizing your job or business?
Yes. My thinking is taking this company down in flames.
10. Have you ever been to a hospital or institution because of your thinking?
Yes. I was arrested on a 5150 because I was running through the streets naked and thinking out loud.
Results:
You have a thinking problem!
You have a thinking problem!
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Read-Whatcha-Got Challenge: An Update and a Confession
First the update:
12. Thomas Wolfe "Look Homeward Angel"
While I did write this name on my list and strike a line through it, I didn't finish it. I started it eagerly and after about forty pages, I just couldn't go on. Wolfe's prose is full of energy and crammed with ideas, but is just one shade off of purple, which is far too close for me. Let's call his prose violet. Next!
19. Deborah Harkness "A Discovery of Witches"
Easily the smartest vampire/witch/etc book I've ever read. Detailed world-building and humanly-drawn inhuman characters make the book very easy to get lost in, which is the way a book about monsters should be. What I didn't like about the story was the pacing. Far too long and lingering in the wrong places. The heroine, a witch who doesn't know how powerful she really is, spends too much of the story not knowing how powerful she really is. The damsel-in-distress act gets repetitive. While it is crucial for an author to love her characters, she must be ready at a moment's notice to drag their asses through Hell. Harkness mollycoddles her lead characters for three hundred pages and just when things get interesting, the book ends and we are told to wait for the sequel. Which of course I'll read, but I won't be happy about it.
34. Janna Levin "How the Universe Got Its Spots"
This is a wonderful diary by an astrophysicist/cosmologist as she pursues the shape of the Universe and explains how she came to the field. It's a treat to be inside a mind like this. We see her work and her life and along the way learn the ins and out of cosmic topology, relativity both special and general, and why the Universe might be a finite place. I'll admit that a couple of times the math shot right over my head, but for the most part Levin takes care to avoid that.
23. Mary Doria Russell "Doc"
A well-told story - no, yarn, in the best sense - about Doc Holliday and his life before the OK Corral. In Russell's hands, Doc is a living, breathing (painfully, due to the tuberculosis) human being. He is a deep soul, who spends each day with Death and in true Southern form, greets him with a drink and witty joke. The story shifts skillfully from one character to another, getting in their heads without having to rely on first-person narrative. It's a highly crafted narrative technique that Russell makes look effortless. This is NOT an easy thing to do and when it's done well, the reader doesn't even notice. I also loved the fact that Doc's Georgian accent comes through crystal clear without reading like dialect. It brought me back to Savannah every time he said something.
And now the confession: I bought a new book. Yes, I know, but the thing is, I'm going to read it before April 1st. My only saving grace is that I have to read it for work. No, that is not cheating. Why? Shut up! that's why.
While I did write this name on my list and strike a line through it, I didn't finish it. I started it eagerly and after about forty pages, I just couldn't go on. Wolfe's prose is full of energy and crammed with ideas, but is just one shade off of purple, which is far too close for me. Let's call his prose violet. Next!
Easily the smartest vampire/witch/etc book I've ever read. Detailed world-building and humanly-drawn inhuman characters make the book very easy to get lost in, which is the way a book about monsters should be. What I didn't like about the story was the pacing. Far too long and lingering in the wrong places. The heroine, a witch who doesn't know how powerful she really is, spends too much of the story not knowing how powerful she really is. The damsel-in-distress act gets repetitive. While it is crucial for an author to love her characters, she must be ready at a moment's notice to drag their asses through Hell. Harkness mollycoddles her lead characters for three hundred pages and just when things get interesting, the book ends and we are told to wait for the sequel. Which of course I'll read, but I won't be happy about it.
This is a wonderful diary by an astrophysicist/cosmologist as she pursues the shape of the Universe and explains how she came to the field. It's a treat to be inside a mind like this. We see her work and her life and along the way learn the ins and out of cosmic topology, relativity both special and general, and why the Universe might be a finite place. I'll admit that a couple of times the math shot right over my head, but for the most part Levin takes care to avoid that.
A well-told story - no, yarn, in the best sense - about Doc Holliday and his life before the OK Corral. In Russell's hands, Doc is a living, breathing (painfully, due to the tuberculosis) human being. He is a deep soul, who spends each day with Death and in true Southern form, greets him with a drink and witty joke. The story shifts skillfully from one character to another, getting in their heads without having to rely on first-person narrative. It's a highly crafted narrative technique that Russell makes look effortless. This is NOT an easy thing to do and when it's done well, the reader doesn't even notice. I also loved the fact that Doc's Georgian accent comes through crystal clear without reading like dialect. It brought me back to Savannah every time he said something.
And now the confession: I bought a new book. Yes, I know, but the thing is, I'm going to read it before April 1st. My only saving grace is that I have to read it for work. No, that is not cheating. Why? Shut up! that's why.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Rant For The Week: Booze Is To Drugs Like Milk Is To Cookies
It comes down to this: no one was smoking crack in Akron, Ohio in 1935. If they were, the first Twelve Step program would not have been called Alcoholics Anonymous and seventy-seven years later you would not see "sober" people smoking weed between meetings.
Alcohol is a drug. Put it in your system and it alters your consciousness, impairs your body, and makes you think you're extremely interesting, a great dancer, an unbeatable fighter, and able to drive home even though your right eyelid won't open for some reason. Maybe you can't stop drinking it even though you desperately want to. But when you say you're an alcoholic, you can still think of marijuana as something outside of your alcoholism instead of inside of your addiction.
Alcoholics - drug addicts - are already people prone to self delusion and hypocrisy. When you tell them that alcohol is different from drugs, you are giving them an easy out. When you label their condition "alcoholism", you are giving them an external focus instead of forcing them to confront themselves. The problem is not the liquid in the bottle, it is the shit in their brains.
I don't believe that addiction is a disease. Bill Wilson and the other founders of AA called it a disease because that was the best explanation they could come up with at the time. They did not have access to brain scans and the other tools of modern neuroscience. When the people of ancient Sumeria saw a comet, they figured it was a message from the gods. When the people of 1935 saw a man take a shot of whiskey minutes after his doctor told him one more drink would kill him, they figured he had a disease. It was a logical assumption at the time. Today, it's no longer an accurate conclusion based on the given evidence.
In my opinion, addiction is self-programming run amok. We are self-programming beings. If we learn to deal with overwhelming emotions by shutting down our central nervous systems with a six pack (or two), then that will become our default behavior. Eventually, we will literally not be able to do otherwise. Until we learn a new program.
I believe this idea of being able to re-program the brain keeps the responsibility of recovery on the addicts, while also giving them active hope. Addiction as an incurable disease is a depressing premise. Addiction as a reversible set of programming is an open invitation to a new way of living. And it doesn't make me roll my eyes when I hear it the way I do when someone tells me "alcoholism is a disease just like cancer is a disease." Is that so? Then how come I don't see cancer patients driving their cars into telephone poles after they take their medicine?
Alcohol is a drug. Put it in your system and it alters your consciousness, impairs your body, and makes you think you're extremely interesting, a great dancer, an unbeatable fighter, and able to drive home even though your right eyelid won't open for some reason. Maybe you can't stop drinking it even though you desperately want to. But when you say you're an alcoholic, you can still think of marijuana as something outside of your alcoholism instead of inside of your addiction.
Alcoholics - drug addicts - are already people prone to self delusion and hypocrisy. When you tell them that alcohol is different from drugs, you are giving them an easy out. When you label their condition "alcoholism", you are giving them an external focus instead of forcing them to confront themselves. The problem is not the liquid in the bottle, it is the shit in their brains.
I don't believe that addiction is a disease. Bill Wilson and the other founders of AA called it a disease because that was the best explanation they could come up with at the time. They did not have access to brain scans and the other tools of modern neuroscience. When the people of ancient Sumeria saw a comet, they figured it was a message from the gods. When the people of 1935 saw a man take a shot of whiskey minutes after his doctor told him one more drink would kill him, they figured he had a disease. It was a logical assumption at the time. Today, it's no longer an accurate conclusion based on the given evidence.
In my opinion, addiction is self-programming run amok. We are self-programming beings. If we learn to deal with overwhelming emotions by shutting down our central nervous systems with a six pack (or two), then that will become our default behavior. Eventually, we will literally not be able to do otherwise. Until we learn a new program.
I believe this idea of being able to re-program the brain keeps the responsibility of recovery on the addicts, while also giving them active hope. Addiction as an incurable disease is a depressing premise. Addiction as a reversible set of programming is an open invitation to a new way of living. And it doesn't make me roll my eyes when I hear it the way I do when someone tells me "alcoholism is a disease just like cancer is a disease." Is that so? Then how come I don't see cancer patients driving their cars into telephone poles after they take their medicine?
Sunday, January 1, 2012
To The Book Depository!
January First: goals have been spoken aloud, auto-da-fe have been handed down, and gauntlets have been thrown. The Annual Read-Whatcha-Got Challenge has begun (yes, I re-named it!).
As the ancient Mayan prophecies foretold, it is now 2012 - the End of the To Be Read Pile!!!!!!
It can be looked at as a literary housecleaning, a feng shui re-orientation of your narrative spirit. The rules are simple: from 1 January until 1 April, you will read no new books. Read my blog: No. New. Books. You can only read books you have already purchased and which, quite frankly, are beginning to lean precariously over the edge of your nightstand, threatening to topple over onto your head while you sleep (most likely dreaming of all the books you're going to buy, you insatiable bastard).
You must read only those books, and read only those books you shall. It is a challenge, it is a goal, and it is an endurance test. It will be long. It will be grueling. You will curse the day you ever agreed to do something so publicly stupid. You will go mad watching all the shiny, new books rolling by. The endless "Best Books of 2011" lists and the upcoming Tournament of Books will be especially torturous. The way is dark and lit only by the flaming bodies of those who have fallen before you, but...
Don't be discouraged! We'll get through this together and be better readers for it.
To get you started, here is my personal Ball & Chain List:
1. Joy Williams "Honored Guest"
2. Grace Paley "Enormous Changes At The Last Minute"
3. Warren Ellis "Crooked Little Vein"
4. Marcel Proust "Swann's Way" (Lydia Davis translation)
5. Tom Rachman "The Imperfectionists"
6. Diane Ackerman "A Natural History of the Senses"
7. Lisa Lutz "Curse of the Spellmans"
8. S. J. Perelman "The Most of S.J. Perelman"
9. Haruki Murakami "1Q84"
10. Kevin Brockmeier "The Brief History of the Dead"
11. Rick Bass "The Ninemile Wolves"
12. Thomas Wolfe "Look Homeward Angel"
13. Katherine Porter "The Collected Stories"
14. Lewis Thomas "The Lives of a Cell"
15. The Dalai Lama "Healing Anger"
16. John McPhee "Coming Into the Country"
17. John Steinbeck "Journal of a Novel"
18. Thomas Browne "Religio Medici" (don't ask)
19. Deborah Harkness "A Discovery of Witches"
20. Brandon Sanderson "Mistborn"
21. Rainer Maria Rilke "The Notebooks of Malte Laurid Brigge"
22. William K. Krueger "Iron Lake"
23. Mary Doria Russell "Doc"
24. Don Winslow "The Power of the Dog"
25. Josh Ritter "Bright's Passage"
26. Ellen Datlow (ed.) "Teeth"
27. Teddy Wayne "Kapitoil"
28. Virginia Woolf "The Waves"
29. Karl Marlantes "Matterhorn"
30. David W. Page "Body Trauma"
31. Stanley Fish "How To Read A Sentence"
32. F. Scott Fitzgeral "Tender Is The Night"
33. Terry Pratchett "The Color of Magic"
34. Janna Levin "How the Universe Got Its Spots"
Three months and thirty-four books? I don't know if I'll read all of these (in fact, I know I won't because the previous sentence equals a little over two books a day), but I intend to stick to this list for any and all reading pleasure. No matter what.
May God have mercy on our souls. Now go, and buy no more.
As the ancient Mayan prophecies foretold, it is now 2012 - the End of the To Be Read Pile!!!!!!
It can be looked at as a literary housecleaning, a feng shui re-orientation of your narrative spirit. The rules are simple: from 1 January until 1 April, you will read no new books. Read my blog: No. New. Books. You can only read books you have already purchased and which, quite frankly, are beginning to lean precariously over the edge of your nightstand, threatening to topple over onto your head while you sleep (most likely dreaming of all the books you're going to buy, you insatiable bastard).
You must read only those books, and read only those books you shall. It is a challenge, it is a goal, and it is an endurance test. It will be long. It will be grueling. You will curse the day you ever agreed to do something so publicly stupid. You will go mad watching all the shiny, new books rolling by. The endless "Best Books of 2011" lists and the upcoming Tournament of Books will be especially torturous. The way is dark and lit only by the flaming bodies of those who have fallen before you, but...
Don't be discouraged! We'll get through this together and be better readers for it.
To get you started, here is my personal Ball & Chain List:
1. Joy Williams "Honored Guest"
2. Grace Paley "Enormous Changes At The Last Minute"
3. Warren Ellis "Crooked Little Vein"
4. Marcel Proust "Swann's Way" (Lydia Davis translation)
5. Tom Rachman "The Imperfectionists"
6. Diane Ackerman "A Natural History of the Senses"
7. Lisa Lutz "Curse of the Spellmans"
8. S. J. Perelman "The Most of S.J. Perelman"
9. Haruki Murakami "1Q84"
10. Kevin Brockmeier "The Brief History of the Dead"
11. Rick Bass "The Ninemile Wolves"
12. Thomas Wolfe "Look Homeward Angel"
13. Katherine Porter "The Collected Stories"
14. Lewis Thomas "The Lives of a Cell"
15. The Dalai Lama "Healing Anger"
16. John McPhee "Coming Into the Country"
17. John Steinbeck "Journal of a Novel"
18. Thomas Browne "Religio Medici" (don't ask)
19. Deborah Harkness "A Discovery of Witches"
20. Brandon Sanderson "Mistborn"
21. Rainer Maria Rilke "The Notebooks of Malte Laurid Brigge"
22. William K. Krueger "Iron Lake"
23. Mary Doria Russell "Doc"
24. Don Winslow "The Power of the Dog"
25. Josh Ritter "Bright's Passage"
26. Ellen Datlow (ed.) "Teeth"
27. Teddy Wayne "Kapitoil"
28. Virginia Woolf "The Waves"
29. Karl Marlantes "Matterhorn"
30. David W. Page "Body Trauma"
31. Stanley Fish "How To Read A Sentence"
32. F. Scott Fitzgeral "Tender Is The Night"
33. Terry Pratchett "The Color of Magic"
34. Janna Levin "How the Universe Got Its Spots"
Three months and thirty-four books? I don't know if I'll read all of these (in fact, I know I won't because the previous sentence equals a little over two books a day), but I intend to stick to this list for any and all reading pleasure. No matter what.
May God have mercy on our souls. Now go, and buy no more.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Dear Wynton Marsalis: Shut the Fuck Up
I just watched a great documentary on the new face(s) of (jazz) called "Icons Among Us" and it made me fall in love with this music all over again. It also made me feel: curious, inspired, angry, frustrated, happy, and full of bilious rage at critics, professors, so-called jazz purists, and Wynton Stickindabutt Marsalis.
This is not a retread of the usual debate of Traditional Jazz versus New Jazz. This is an examination of jazz losing it's way in order to find its way. Jazz transcending jazz to be...I don't even know - cosmic improvisation? tathagata-jam? The definition of jazz is not expanding, it is evaporating. The musicians in this documentary play improvisational music built on a number of influences beside the tradition of Jazz. They're soaking in the world and living a philosophy of improvisation within community, treating the music as a living organism. The music is incredible! Hip hop jazz orchestras, metal blues bop, and freestyle rhythmic vitality. The music is alive and well and going in new directions.
But then the purists step in and embarrass themselves with the same old stock "This isn't Jazz!" bullshit. A writer says, "Jazz today has no clear message, no clear identity." Marsalis says, "We're not producing the same caliber of musician." Harrison says, "If you haven't shared the stage with a Blakey or Gillespie, you don't have the foundation to move this tradition forward."
The new musicians respond in kind. Robert Glasper says, "If Charlie Parker came back from the dead, he'd say, 'You're still playing the same shit I was - what the fuck are you doing?" Robert Shipp says, "I don't have to view music through the prism of 'Bud Powell played it like this' or 'Bill Evans played it like this'. Fuck those guys. I do it my way."
That to me is the spirit of this music: that which does not grow is dead. I love the way Bill Frisell defines music. He says it's "a place where no one gets hurt and you can do whatever you want." I think that's all the context/message/identity you need. Now pick up that goddamn horn and say something honest.
This is not a retread of the usual debate of Traditional Jazz versus New Jazz. This is an examination of jazz losing it's way in order to find its way. Jazz transcending jazz to be...I don't even know - cosmic improvisation? tathagata-jam? The definition of jazz is not expanding, it is evaporating. The musicians in this documentary play improvisational music built on a number of influences beside the tradition of Jazz. They're soaking in the world and living a philosophy of improvisation within community, treating the music as a living organism. The music is incredible! Hip hop jazz orchestras, metal blues bop, and freestyle rhythmic vitality. The music is alive and well and going in new directions.
But then the purists step in and embarrass themselves with the same old stock "This isn't Jazz!" bullshit. A writer says, "Jazz today has no clear message, no clear identity." Marsalis says, "We're not producing the same caliber of musician." Harrison says, "If you haven't shared the stage with a Blakey or Gillespie, you don't have the foundation to move this tradition forward."
The new musicians respond in kind. Robert Glasper says, "If Charlie Parker came back from the dead, he'd say, 'You're still playing the same shit I was - what the fuck are you doing?" Robert Shipp says, "I don't have to view music through the prism of 'Bud Powell played it like this' or 'Bill Evans played it like this'. Fuck those guys. I do it my way."
That to me is the spirit of this music: that which does not grow is dead. I love the way Bill Frisell defines music. He says it's "a place where no one gets hurt and you can do whatever you want." I think that's all the context/message/identity you need. Now pick up that goddamn horn and say something honest.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Head Full of Pages
During a break at a recent writing event, a favorite Reader question was asked in a playful, get-to-know-you way: "If you could live in any book, what would it be?" Normally I would skip this line of inquiry in favor of inscrutable silence, but the NaNo folks are a kindly lot and I decided to join in. Without giving it too much thought, I said the Hobbit. This was immediately seconded by a dozen other people and gave way to one of those intense nerdalogues wherein the pros and cons of a completely fictional concept are scrutinized in detail. Where would you live? What species would you be? When would you live - before or after the first or second defeat of Sauron? What would you do for a living? It was all going swimmingly until I broached a practical question to the would-be Hobbit contingent, namely, what kind of sewer system is employed in a Hobbit hole? Bilbo Baggins lived under a hill in a multi-roomed, one story house with one-sided ventilation. Where do you put the toilet in that layout? Next to the windows? IN the center? Where does the waste drain out? Middle Earth is basically a Medieval era world which means, er, garderobes at best, privies at worst. Bag End, as we all know, was the epitome of Hobbit comfort and coziness, but let's face it, it's still a hole in the ground. Once you hit that bathroom, that place is going to smell like Hobbit crap. And those little dudes are way too fond of rich food.
The Hobbit contingent countered that their favorite species is a very industrious and resourceful one and surely they would have invented some sort of Roman aqueduct style of sewage. Perhaps. But if anyone in Middle Earth is going to do that, it would be those stinky but clever Dwarves living under that damn mountain.
We were all in agreement on this.
The Hobbit contingent countered that their favorite species is a very industrious and resourceful one and surely they would have invented some sort of Roman aqueduct style of sewage. Perhaps. But if anyone in Middle Earth is going to do that, it would be those stinky but clever Dwarves living under that damn mountain.
We were all in agreement on this.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
The Luddite In The Meatlocker
Yesterday I sat in on a writing group which had convened for NaNoWriMo - or National Novel Writing Month. It took place in a library at CalTech. A small, freezing room full of scientific journals at the end of a hallway cramped with cold storage lockers and cabinets full of empty beakers. I loved it. Froze my fingers off, but I loved it (though it was so cold, the guy across from me asked, "What is this? NaNoGitMo?")
We started at ten and wrote until two, with a couple of breaks to step outside and warm up. They also kept track of everyone's "word count" and awarded various prizes for Most Words In An Hour, Fewest Words In An Hour, and the very special prize, made up on the spot, of Negative Word Count. The last was awarded to a guy who forgot to save his first couple of pages.
The awards were a nice way to break up the day. I didn't mind the interruption like I thought I would. The whole energy of writing in a group of people who are just writing to have fun and reach 50K words in a month is pretty infectious (Hunter Thompson once said that writing is like sex, in that it's only fun for amateurs - he was only half joking, I think). There is a lot of criticism of NaNo for the "gamification of novel writing" (actual fucking quote), but I think it's wonderful - people are writing books! What could possibly be wrong with that? Yes, yes, agents and publishers are less than a month away from being swamped with sloppy, unedited books which are all inexplicably only 200 pages long, but so what? That's what slush piles are for. On the other end of those books are happy people who have fulfilled a dream. May the Great Scribendu bless them and keep them.
I was an oddity in that room, being the only one not writing on a computer. I was immediately branded a Luddite, and given a free sticker. But what can I say - the first draft for me must be physically exorcised with pen and paper. The computer is for the later, refined version. Plus it felt fun making all those scratchy-scratch sounds on my legal pad while everyone else was gently plinking away on their keyboards.
All said, I had a blast. This idea of a daily word count is working, because if I'm going to get anything done, it has to be measurable. This is a concept from the fitness world which I have come to believe in wholeheartedly. 1,667 is the magic fucking number today and everyday until this nightmare is in the can. Follow it up with some heavy December editing, some last minute character revisions, a little bit of Old Negro Wisdom, and we'll have ourselves a Novel!
We started at ten and wrote until two, with a couple of breaks to step outside and warm up. They also kept track of everyone's "word count" and awarded various prizes for Most Words In An Hour, Fewest Words In An Hour, and the very special prize, made up on the spot, of Negative Word Count. The last was awarded to a guy who forgot to save his first couple of pages.
The awards were a nice way to break up the day. I didn't mind the interruption like I thought I would. The whole energy of writing in a group of people who are just writing to have fun and reach 50K words in a month is pretty infectious (Hunter Thompson once said that writing is like sex, in that it's only fun for amateurs - he was only half joking, I think). There is a lot of criticism of NaNo for the "gamification of novel writing" (actual fucking quote), but I think it's wonderful - people are writing books! What could possibly be wrong with that? Yes, yes, agents and publishers are less than a month away from being swamped with sloppy, unedited books which are all inexplicably only 200 pages long, but so what? That's what slush piles are for. On the other end of those books are happy people who have fulfilled a dream. May the Great Scribendu bless them and keep them.
I was an oddity in that room, being the only one not writing on a computer. I was immediately branded a Luddite, and given a free sticker. But what can I say - the first draft for me must be physically exorcised with pen and paper. The computer is for the later, refined version. Plus it felt fun making all those scratchy-scratch sounds on my legal pad while everyone else was gently plinking away on their keyboards.
All said, I had a blast. This idea of a daily word count is working, because if I'm going to get anything done, it has to be measurable. This is a concept from the fitness world which I have come to believe in wholeheartedly. 1,667 is the magic fucking number today and everyday until this nightmare is in the can. Follow it up with some heavy December editing, some last minute character revisions, a little bit of Old Negro Wisdom, and we'll have ourselves a Novel!
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Vox Populi
I am a shy, skittish man at times - no more so than when I am speaking to a large crowd (large being here defined as five or more people). But if I am reading to said crowd, I feel calmer and more in my element. I am connected to the words like an anchor. I have noticed, however, that this is the exact opposite of most people.
The context I am speaking of is my meetings, where people are regularly called upon to read from the Big Book. Rarely have I seen adults who are comfortable in this role. I think it's because for most folks, they have not had to do this since high school English class, reciting Eliot or Shakespeare in that disinterested monotone so beloved by students the world over. Called upon to recite as adults, they stumble, stutter, and hesitate, unsure of their rhythmic footing. They also seem to unable to pronounce certain words which they could probably use in casual conversation without a problem. The biggest offenders?
1. anonymity
2. autonomous
3. regularly
Read these aloud if you have any doubts.
Why the struggle with the public voice? Pressure. Most likely from old fears and social expectations. My advice is to have fun with it. Listen to your voice - no, dance with your voice. It's an instrument of expression. And this is not to say that I recite all my readings like Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellan, or Sean Connery - though of course I so wish that I could. No, even when I fall flat vocally, I still enjoy it. (Put another way, yes, I do enjoy the sound of my own voice!)
So relax, o speakers and readers! For your voice is buried treasure, here unearthed and strewn at the feet of a awestruck populace!
(No, I don't know where that came from, I'm just having fun...)
The context I am speaking of is my meetings, where people are regularly called upon to read from the Big Book. Rarely have I seen adults who are comfortable in this role. I think it's because for most folks, they have not had to do this since high school English class, reciting Eliot or Shakespeare in that disinterested monotone so beloved by students the world over. Called upon to recite as adults, they stumble, stutter, and hesitate, unsure of their rhythmic footing. They also seem to unable to pronounce certain words which they could probably use in casual conversation without a problem. The biggest offenders?
1. anonymity
2. autonomous
3. regularly
Read these aloud if you have any doubts.
Why the struggle with the public voice? Pressure. Most likely from old fears and social expectations. My advice is to have fun with it. Listen to your voice - no, dance with your voice. It's an instrument of expression. And this is not to say that I recite all my readings like Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellan, or Sean Connery - though of course I so wish that I could. No, even when I fall flat vocally, I still enjoy it. (Put another way, yes, I do enjoy the sound of my own voice!)
So relax, o speakers and readers! For your voice is buried treasure, here unearthed and strewn at the feet of a awestruck populace!
(No, I don't know where that came from, I'm just having fun...)
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Madre de Dios!
Friends! I was so tired today and needed a boost to keep working, so I decided to hit the local coffee spot for a shot of espresso over ice. But between the coffee place and my destination, there is a wonderful little Mexican restaurant that makes wonderful little cups of...horchata.
It was a moment of pure inspiration.
Pouring the espresso into the cup of horchata, I felt I was on the edge of a great revelation. With the first sip, I heard the beating wings of mighty angels and felt the warmth of the Coffee God's smile.
Now, I'm sure this drink already exists somewhere and it probably has a badass name in colloquial Mexican-Spanish, and someday I'm going to find out what it is but until then, I will make it my mission to share the GOOD NEWS!
It was a moment of pure inspiration.
Pouring the espresso into the cup of horchata, I felt I was on the edge of a great revelation. With the first sip, I heard the beating wings of mighty angels and felt the warmth of the Coffee God's smile.
Now, I'm sure this drink already exists somewhere and it probably has a badass name in colloquial Mexican-Spanish, and someday I'm going to find out what it is but until then, I will make it my mission to share the GOOD NEWS!
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