tiny excerpts

Because I can't think of anything interesting to write about (save maybe the fact that an entire night spent awake watching TV with a favorite on Friday was confusingly punctuated by a Dusty Rhodes documentary at 9 a.m. -- none of which was interesting), I will post a tiny excerpt from a very rough essay book chapter I'm working on currently (and I hope to finish this at some point this week, along with at least one other thing):

"My bad bike karma began innocuously, with some unimpressive tumbles on breezy, traffic-free residential side streets. My mom, dad and sister took family bike rides on crisp spring and hot summer weekends to a semi-secret meadow of honeysuckles and lilacs, even though everyone in my family was desperately allergic. The blossoms stared at us all in a row, the entrance to a long field that seemed untouched despite being the dividing border between two neighborhoods. Sometimes we would walk our bikes across the field, entering into the alternate universe of the houses just behind ours, which we could usually only glimpse through the narrow slats of our backyard fence. (Years later, my mother would break down and excitedly plant a lilac bush in our very own backyard. I imagine the ashes of my childhood shaggy dog, Cindy, are still buried there, unbeknownst to new owners.) On the way back or to the lilacs, I would sometimes end up laid out on the hood of a car or thrown into a cozy patch of grass at the request of my awkwardly-pedaling limbs."

 

the continuation of inspiration

Today, my drive to do things continues. I have been trying to continue the precious feeling of non-rushed calm that I tried to cultivate while I was in Chicago for almost a month from mid-September - mid-October. I actually find I get less done when I worry about some of the meaningless details about career advancement and general accomplishment -- like how many pages or notes of creative content I should be writing in a day, when the last minute I can finish a transcription is before I'm deemed lazy, when I need to start writing a bio for someone. I sit and spin my wheels for days, feeling guilty about watching TV or anything I do that is not directly contributing to my output.

No more.

Why don't I just wake up and write something ... anything? The worst that can happen is something semi brilliant.

In other news, I want, I want, I want ...

Also, I need to finish my bio and other website content.

And finally, my sister turns 40 today, and I feel this has to be impossible. 

Better Days

I've been gone so long. I really need to get better at this.

On this week's docket is to do some serious work on my books. I need to stop the distractions and just get it done. If I focused like I used to focus, I could be finished with at least one of my many-started ideas in just a few weeks (or less).

Also on my list is to get back into performing. It will take my mind off some of the unpleasantness that has been going on lately and get me out more without having to squander a lot of dollars.

Hopefully I'll be more prolific about this in both quality of thought and length of post next time.

If I say it, it will happen

I'm fairly proud to report that just now, I finished a chapter of my essay book about a dream I once had that was directed by Stanley Kubrick. This satisfying completion thing isn't so unattainable after all. And, the feeling is kind of like a runners' high (which is how I know I'm supposed to be an artist).

And, here's a little taste:

Often, my “important things” manifest themselves in dreams, which tend to be complicated and usually end up being swept away by large amounts of water or a natural disaster like a blizzard. A very favorite person in my life, who seems to understand and embrace my secret love of horrible synthetic pop and be okay with the contents of my movie catalogue, while still being one of the most matter-of-fact assholes in the world recently said, “Wow. Your dreams are long” when I was relaying one that he thought would be a simple barrage of details: “walrus in the desert with balloons;” “baboons laying eggs on the streets of Paris.” We were noshing on our bagels, and after Sentence Two involving a mime, a donkey and a long car trip to Venice, he glanced at my lonely “everything” with bacon/scallion cream cheese, and his chewing got weary.

The Essay Project

The essay project lives today. I'm taking advantage of slowed-down-almost-everywhere-else Thanksgiving week to write some more chapters (and get into some of the tougher subjects), like love, childhood and other tales of woe and embarrassment.

I'm feeling a little inspired and amused (for perhaps no real reason), so we'll see how it all goes ... The pressure of needing to sell some of my work soon to survive doesn't hurt either.