Dusk sings down the solar heat
Breezes rise
Forelegs and paws are stretched
Claws extended
Backs arch
And mouths yawn
Eyes turn toward the door
Tails raise
Movements quickening
They sing a purr of joy and anticipation
And gather for The Feeding
Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Dusk sings down the solar heat
Breezes rise
Forelegs and paws are stretched
Claws extended
Backs arch
And mouths yawn
Eyes turn toward the door
Tails raise
Movements quickening
They sing a purr of joy and anticipation
And gather for The Feeding
A restful night’s sleep.
(With interesting dreams.)
Happy cats.
(Fed, contented, and not fighting.)
The window sills painted.
(They look great.)
(And I am pleased.)
Blue sky and sunshine.
(No clouds at all!)
Warm weather.
(68 now but due to reach 84.)
Soft breeze.
(Cool with spring’s fading influence.)
(And fresh with blooms’ sweet fragrances.)
No redlights!
(This might be a first.)
The perfect table, in the perfect location.
(Quiet solitude to edit.)
An awesome quad shot 12 oz mocha.
(Non-fat.)
(And delicious.)
All signs are trending up.
(It’ll be a good session.)
Time to write like crazy.
(One more time.)
This week, I enjoyed discovering and re-discovering reading regarding the brain and how it works, how we can change its workings, memory, and meditation’s effects on the brain. This all seems to be about practice, expectation, and changing expectations.
DelanceyPlace.com is a website that publishes excerpts from fascinating non-fiction. Back in 2015, they published an excerpt from a 2014 book. By Matthieu Ricard, Antoine Lutz and Richard J. Davidson, the book, Mind of the Meditator, is about how mastering a task transforms the brain’s pathways.
“The discovery of meditation‘s benefits coincides with recent neuroscientific findings showing that the adult brain can still be deeply transformed through experience. These studies show that when we learn how to juggle or play a musical instrument, the brain undergoes changes through a process called neuroplasticity. A brain region that controls the movement of a violinist’s fingers becomes progressively larger with mastery of the instrument. A similar process appears to happen when we meditate. Nothing changes in the surrounding environment, but the meditator regulates mental states to achieve a form of inner enrichment, an experience that affects brain functioning and its physical structure. The evidence amassed from this research has begun to show that meditation can rewire brain circuits to produce salutary effects not just on the mind and the brain but on the entire body. …”
Addressing how ‘the adult brain be still be be transformed through experience’, HuffPost had a related story this week, To Increase Your Well-being, Train Your Brain. Mimi O’Connor wrote, “Dr. Richard Davidson, neuroscientist and founder of the Center for Healthy Minds at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, believes that practice is the key element in changing our brains for the better. He is well known for his pioneering study with Buddhist monks. In that study he hooked the monks up to fMRI machines and observed their brains as they meditated. The monks produced gamma waves, indicating intensely focused thought, which were 30 times as strong as the control groups.’ Additionally, large areas of the meditator’s brains were active, particularly in the left prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for positive emotions. This study showed that conscious effort can change the neural structure, activity and function of the brain.” Dr. Richard Davidson was one of the other book’s authors, of course.
“Similar to the inspiring theme of the film Field of Dreams, “Build it and they will come,” Davidson’s motto seems to be, “Exercise them (neural pathways) and they will strengthen.”
Offering another point of view that affirms the same was Sophie McBain in Head in the Cloud. Her article addressed human memory and studies regarding the impact of computers and digital systems on our ability to remember. What becomes clear from her intriguing article is that, part of what affects our ability to remember, is our expectation of a need to remember. Here, in essence, we’re seeing the opposite impact of the other articles, where people who have computers to help them remember, don’t practice remembering, thereby weakening their ability to remember.
They’re all ripple effects, aren’t they, a sort of Doom Loop on the one hand, of expecting less and trying less, and so spiraling into achieving less, or conversely, a Halo Loop, of expecting more and trying harder.
Of course, I need to tie this back to writing. Practice writing, pursue it, try to master it, and the pathways and areas of the brain used for writing can be strengthened and transformed. Instead of believing you can’t, believe you can, and try. Being human, it’s rarely that simple, and people like Judith Sherven, PhD, can inject insights and ideas for re-working the subconscious programming behind the Doom Loop.
I’d also like to tie all of this back to time, reality and the nature of existence, but that’s for another post. Instead, I need to go off and write like crazy, at least one more time.
The writing like crazy is structured and unstructured, crazy and sane. Really, it just is. Such tautalogy is extremely helpful, isn’t it?
But it is what it is (there’s that help again). Originally structured to shift me from the real world’s insanity to the pleasurable world of writing and editing fiction, the process was all about release. Let me go, job, wife, cats, house, bills, stress, frustration, whatever. Take me away, writing.
The early days began as an after work period. Go somewhere in the house and write. That didn’t work too well, and I blame me. I couldn’t stop myself from falling into normal home routines and thoughts. I initiated a program to go somewhere else and write. Armed with a Z4 pen (my preference) and black and white marble composition notebooks (I was always alert for notebook sales), I usually ended up in a coffee shop, where I would have coffee. Coffee shops were tested like bath water until the ones that worked just right emerged. I was traveling for business often in those years, so I would often write in airplanes and airports.
But my hours and routine were iffy. When home, I often ended up writing only on weekends (at Printers Inc), by getting up early. That wasn’t enough, so the program was expanded to an extended lunch hour at work. Testing the process, I discovered that walking improved my writing mood, so I parked about a mile from the coffee shop and walked. In 1999-2000, I could be spotted in San Mateo, California, walking to a Starbucks. As my company moved its office to Shoreline in Mountain View, I drove to downtown Mountain View and used that Starbucks. Meanwhile, I lived in Half Moon Bay and walked each Saturday and Sunday morning to La Di Da. After moving to Ashland, Oregon, in 2005, I began walking the town to coffee shops. The marble composition books were replaced by laptops.
In those days, I set a word count target, and I tracked it meticulously. There was no pay it forward, no credits and debits. 1,000 words needed to be reached each day, every day. Even if I did 2,000 one day, 1,000 was required the next day. I never let myself off that hook.
With each refinement, I learned more about myself and my writing process. I discovered I was an organic writer, writing with scant mapping or outlining. I found that writing like crazy was critical. Writing like crazy meant that I shoved aside thoughts of grammar, facts, punctuation, and sometimes even point of view and character, and just rode a wave of words rushing into my mind. Then I’d go back and fix it all. When I stalled, I learned to create snapshots to find direction. Snapshots were just exploratory summaries to help me find understanding of the character(s), setting(s), plot, concept, story line, whatever. They were generally not meant for reader consumption, except for my reading.
Learning and evolving fortunately continued. I learned to ask, why, why, why did this character do this or that, or this or that happened, along with the corollary matters of when, what and how. I saw how I told and then showed the same thing, how I tended toward passive writing, how I enjoyed run on sentences and became more mindful of them – when editing – but how, becoming aware of them, fixing them were folded into my writing like crazy process. I learned what I really enjoyed reading by critiquing others, good and bad, for my own enjoyment, and then shaping my voice to be what I most enjoyed in those books, and I threw the reading doors open to all genres and authors.
I’ve always ‘written in my head’, phantom writing, where I see or hear a scene or the developing story. I found how to harvest the essence of those moments and pick them up and put them into the story. I taught myself to be unafraid to revise and edit as I wrote, discovering that fiction writing was much more like creating a painting then it was like writing an essay. And I encouraged myself to have fun.
I no longer have a daily word count. They’re not needed and I often find myself writing several thousand words. The shift to writing mind is much easier now. I can pick up the story line and where I was quickly in my mind and typically pick up where I was with just a few moments of thought.
I’ve written a number of novels, but haven’t published but two. They’re both recent after wearying myself with the agent/publisher route. Each agent had different requirements, and that tedious process drained my joy and optimism, as well as savaging my writing time. So, fuck it, I’ve gone the ebook self-publishing route. I don’t have great expectations, but I won’t be a fraud and claim it doesn’t matter; it does. But, just as with the writing process, and most of everything else I’ve done in life, I’ll keep trying, keep working on it, and I’m confident, I’ll continue progressing.
Now…time to write like crazy, one more time.
I’m suffering from The Reading Problem again and anew, the evil spell and joyful tonic of reading others and then struggling with the many fires they ignite in my mind. It’s like, gasoline has been poured on dry grass, matches tossed on it. A warehouse of explosives has…exploded. But the explosions are thoughts, insights, themes, concepts, ideas, visions, memories, epiphanies, realities, all brought up by others’ words.
My wife and I spoke about this sometime earlier this week, after watching Carpool Karaoke, Broadway edition. We ‘found’ James Corden early on in Gavin and Stacey. He lives up to my hopes that he was the talented individual that he seemed to be (thus vindicating my taste, intelligence, and insights, you see). But, as usual, I’m jealous of the little blue eyed bastard for doing neat things like singing with Lin-Manuel Miranda ‘and more’ – (like Audra McDonald, a pretty damn good ‘and more’, along with Jane Krakowski and Jesse Tyler Ferguson – yeah, ‘and more’). Which prompted the expected, “Gee, wouldn’t it be great to be so talented and to know such talented people and have them as friends and get together to do fun, talented things?” Like the artists and writers in Paris did. Dorothy Parker and friends. Or the Hollywood Vampires, or The Traveling Wilburys. “Let’s get together and do an album, Tom Petty.” “Sure, and let’s call Bob Dylan, Roy Orbison and George Harrison and see if they want to play along.” “Okay, Jeff Lynne.”
But I’m a writer, cocooned in my own self and its creations of doubts, suspicions and insecurities about who I am, hoping that I’ll grow out of it all some day (I’ll be 60 this year, and I hear that 60 is the new forty, but I’m hoping it’s the new 20) so I don’t socialize well, not like Stephen King and the Remainders. I’m more like J.D. Salinger with less talent and intelligence. So I don’t belong to any round tables and don’t do pop ins.
Reading is my outlet, along with conversations with my wife, a highly remarkable, intelligent, and well read person (you should play Jeopardy or Trivial Pursuit with her). She tells me things, and that fires up my mind, like quoting American Dervish writer Ayad Ahktar about writing and his amazing accomplishments as she prepares for her book club.
My mind had already been inflamed by reading other posts. Sweet lord, the amazing writers out there, with insights and inventive, beautiful language. The subjects they choose, the rawness displayed as they strip naked and flash their pain. While I often debase the Internet of Things as the web of greed and misinformation, gems can be found without much effort. People are exploring themselves and telling us what they found, or what can’t be found, or what they’re hoping to find, and the trouble they’re having with their efforts.
If you want a similar mind explosion to what I endured, discover WordPress. Just follow along, and read.
Modern conveniences have spoiled me. Nuke something (via microwave) and have a meal in a few seconds. Refrigerators with built in ice makers. CD and MP3 players and home theater surround sound systems with speakers and woofers that are almost invisible. I use voice over Internet protocols, so I don’t have a telephone land line and don’t pay phone bills. Of course, the phones themselves don’t have wires, either. Just a handset and a charging station.
How fast can I travel the country, or the world, via aircraft? Many waits in security lines and processing to board the aircraft now take longer than the flights.
Once I thought color television was amazing. The rotating mechanical outside rotary antenna supplanted color television as an incredible addition, adding so many more channels. I think we were able to get about eight. Then came cable, and the cable explosion.
Now I don’t have cable or a rotating antenna, nor a satellite dish. I receive over the air broadcasts via a digital indoor antenna, and supplement my watching habits with Roku devices on two televisions. The third television is a curved, high definition smart TV. It doesn’t need a Roku. It has a wireless connection to the web, a ‘smart TV’. Its screen is 55 inches but it weighs about forty pounds, though it has stereo speakers built into it. Through the Roku and smart TV, I stream offerings from Amazon, Hulu, Netflix, HBO Now, Acorn and Showtime. I have monthly subscriptions but these cost me almost nothing. I use Swagbucks to buy gift cards to pay for these subscriptions.
My computers have gone from heavy, thick machines with a small green screen (and no mouse or pointing devices, back then) to sleek, four pound laptops. Enhanced Graphics – wow, sixteen colors! – gave way to VGA to digital graphics and plasma screens. My mouse is wireless. I can take my computer anywhere and connect to wireless systems, using its battery pack to write and converse with people around the world, watch videos, or create posts, like this, that others can read within seconds of me clicking ‘publish’.
All of these are almost taken for granted but the stuff in my car continues impressing me. I’ve had it almost two years, and two things, the climate control, the keyless entry, and the headlights, keep me impressed.
With the climate control, I rarely touch them. The air conditioning and heater are utilized to keep the temperature on my side of the vehicle at whatever I’ve chose. The fan kicks on to a higher speed if necessary to cope with colder or hotter conditions. Sometimes, when it’s really cold, I turn on the seat’s heater. All of this is a long way from rolling down windows, adjusting vents, sliding heating and air con controls back and forth, and turning fans on higher or lower. The car does all these things for me.
Likewise, the keyless entry impresses me. I put the fob into a pocket and forget about it. Press a button to unlock the doors. Press another to start the car. No key.
The headlights are always on, dimming themselves as needed, turning around corners to minimize blind spots, raising and lowering to keep level in relationship to the car and road’s angles. This, again, is a long way from the early days of turning the headlights on, stamping on a metal cylinder to toggle the high beams on and off. The metal cylinder gave way to switches on sticks mounted on the steering wheel column.
How long these will continue impressing me, I don’t know. Digital clocks and watches long impressed me. Cable television amazed me for about four years, I think, because it soon became a flawed offering. But the things that concern me each day are not these amazing devices, but more basic matters, like water and drought. Where are the modern devices to deal with those? And what about the hand gun deaths in the United States? I understand the second amendment but I really thought we could hold two positions in our minds and intelligently address these.
I must pause to write, too, and note, yes, and what of prejudices, prejudices based on sex, sexual orientation, religion, ethnicity, poverty, race, the color of your skin, or even your clothes or the way you wear your hair, and your politics, and your education, and the way you speak?
Of course, the flow is all about money. There is money in prejudice as fearful people keep pathetic power hungry people in leadership positions. If there was more money in solving the drought or improving water efficiency, more modern conveniences would emerge to deal with those issues. We see that happening on the power side. I have passive solar panels on my roof but I’ve had them almost ten years. I take them for granted, too, although I do pause when passing the invertor to see how many watts my system is generating, and I look at the electric bill each month. Yet its technology has already improved and that system is how the mechanical antenna with its rotor was like compared to cable.
I don’t mean this to sound or be self-congratulatory. It’s meant to be a reflection of the changes witnessed, no matter which direction they went, in my lifetime. The world amazes me, but I’m frustrated that we can’t solve or seem even to address some issues, because there’s no profit involved. Where profit becomes involved, like housing, heathcare, agriculture and politics in America, the results become depressing, with profits, power and control overwhelming the common good.
Yet, perhaps because I write fiction, and was raised on Star Trek, or maybe because I’m a natural optimist who hates giving up on anything, I keep hoping and believing that change will come our way. We’ve elected, at last, a black human to be America’s President. A female, at last, is being nominated for the Presidency (assuming all goes well between now and the convention). And the Pope has apologized for some of his religion’s more regretful recent issues, and is pushing his church to be a more charitable and humane organization, the way it was originally intended (I think…).
The USA has even re-established relations with Cuba. Back in my youth, in the 1960s, we were in the cold war with the USSR, which no longer exists, and fighting a hot war in Vietnam (which now manufactures our consumer goods). Hot wars around the world still subsume our energies and destroy lives and the planet. Cue Edwin Starr: “War! Good God, y’all. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing!” And people will argue, no it’s necessary to deter aggression and right wrongs.
Maybe it was once. But now I think of war as a small black and white portable television, with a tiny screen and limited reception. Unfortunately, there remains too much profit in war for anyone to rush to do away with it.
What we need to do is find the profit in peace. And then the modern convenience machine will go right to work.
My cycles ebb and flow, pushing my moods, diluting my motivation, diverting my willpower.
I seek the balance. It’s not sufficient to state what I won’t be. Nor is it great enough to say what I will be. There’s the balance of each, what I won’t be and what I am not, what I am and what I will be. Reassurances, tiny ego strokes.
Sometimes, when seeking the balance, bitterness, weariness, frustration, anger, despair, or many other negative energies, rise up like a revolting population. My fingers grow heavy just typing. Sometimes just thinking of those negative energies lash me with aches and make me tired. I want to curl up and sleep, or go have a drink and forget it all.
I know neither works. If I sleep when such darkness comes, I’ll wake up more tired and sour. Drinking under the influence of darkness leads to obnoxious, sneering drunkeness, shameful and pathetic.
So I seek the balance. White, male, decently intelligent and attractive, living on a military pension, with all the ‘good things’ people want, like a house and a car and no bills, I have enjoyed and still enjoy a comfortable life. Yet there are days when it feels like colossal wheels roll over me. I’m part of the pavement and they just keep coming, crushing me. That’s emotion, and has nothing to do with logic. But I try to treat it logically.
Or I used to. I rarely succumb to that urge any more. I sit and bare it, reminding myself, breath in…release.
Head butting against my hand, Quinn challenged my sleep with soft coos. Gray light had emerged past the screened windows. The windows and blinds were open to release yesterday’s built up heat and permit the cool night air to saturate the house, preparation to coping with another day of heat. Sure, we could turn on the air con but isn’t it more challenging, more fun, and even nostalgic, to live the day without running the a/c, windows closed and blinds down, sweat beading up as the house’s interior temps climb into the mid 80s? Some would disagree, sure. Turn on the air conditioning, you madman, they order.
Dreams were fading, a snow storm moving on. I glimpsed facets of at least three dreams. One drew me in and held me longer, like a relative saying good-bye with an extended hug. I traipsed through remembered segments, amused and pleased by this dream. Then the realization bolted in, wait, hold onto this dream, this is important.
Shifting focus and effort, I tracked through the dream scenes I saw, heard, remembered, tracing back through sequence and organization, picking up details. The dream’s sequences were about moving into new places, acquiring new things – a new office building and office, a new car – with new computers and computer systems, new passwords, a new location, part of a new morning, and a new day. Excited and joyful I went through these new things, the first to arrive and explore my new digs, the leader of a smallish group, about the size of a high school class. And there, in the dream, shock of discovery took me as I grasped, I’m getting a new body.
Oh, it’s my same body, but everything is brand new. Not brand new, I’d been thinking upon waking, but regenerated, which had triggered thoughts of the Doctor Who television series, which was where my thoughts were when I started moving from sleep into consciousness. I’m getting a new body, I’d been thinking, like Doctor Who. And I saw myself then being regenerated as the character had been, shifting from one form into another with a brilliant white glow. That was me. But this body looks exactly the same, yet it’s new. And that’s what had me chuckling myself into wakefulness.
Nor was I alone. The others were also new body recipients, but I was one of the first to receive my body and arrive, and was able to tell them, from my knowledge and experience, my expertise, what was going on and what was to be expected. The others began joining me, and then customers were arriving…what? And it was now business as usual.
Then, wondering about the time and accepting that only feeding Quinn would mollify him, I let myself fully awaken. Making to move and get up, I realized…I was curled up into the fetal position.
Ah, sweet dream.
Eyes open, I dream
of cold
water
sprinklers
rivers
lakes
watermelon
ice cream
sorbet
beer
breezes
What cold dreams does the heat sow in you?
I don’t want to edit my novel.
Not because I don’t love my novel.
My novel is like a brightly shining star.
That can be taken many ways. If it’s a star, its light must travel great distances. That takes a long time. If the novel’s words are the light, its light will not reach people for a while. So what’s another day or two?
If the novel is a star, it’s unique and alike, like snowflakes, beers, cats and people — and novels. It’s remote and unattainable, but inspiring and bright, a thing of beauty and mystery, something to be parsed, studied, watched. Something for wonder.
I don’t want to edit my novel.
And my brain is very happy with that. Come, let us write other stories, my brain says. It’s a beautiful day to start a new story, or to continue one you set aside. Remember that novel about the bookmarker? You want to write it, don’t you, I know you do.
Yes, I want to tear into that novel like it’s a fresh, warm piece of blueberry pie with a scoop of ice cream.
But I am strong, and I resist!
What about that other novel, the one about the woman and equations? You really want to write that novel, don’t you?
Yes, I want to write that novel like it’s a mug of cold ale on a molten lava day.
But I am strong, and I resist!
What about that other novel you’ve been thinking about, you know, the one about the weapon system that impairs people’s memories so people end up with other people’s incomplete memories, and try to live others’ lives? If you don’t want to do that one, you can work on the next novel in the Lessons with Savanna series, Personal Lessons with Savanna. You were writing a chapter in your head this morning while you were weed whacking. There is also the novel about when time fractured —
Enough, brain, enough. I am strong, and I resist! I will edit.
I will edit, I will edit, I will edit.
Oh, but to sample a new novel, to dip myself into those places and characters and let their chi flow through me.
I will edit, I will edit, I will edit.
I will edit.
Really, I will edit.