Category: Thinking, thinking

Unprepared

I’ve been thinking about murder. It was fiction, based on news stories and historical accounts of true murders.

I’ve been crafting scenes and realizing characters, and defining arcs. I’ve been immersing myself in these fiction details. It was enjoyable. It was about the writing, the story telling, the characters, and the richness I felt in finding them all in that one beautiful little chapter.

But today it seems odd, even wrong, to write about violence after such a violent week. Besides America’s gun violence, besides Dallas, besides WaPo’s feature that shows 509 Americans killed by Police this year to date, besides the bombing in Iraq that killed 300, besides these and the anti-Semitic, anti-sanity, anti-progress utterings of Donald Trump, GOP candidate for POTUS, besides the ongoing refugee crises from the ongoing wars and fighting, and the animal abuses and murders….

Well, besides these things, and climate change and the hottest June on record and the smallest Arctic ice on record…besides these things….

I write to entertain myself. The entertainment comes from trying to understand events and people. In my murder mysteries, I attempt to understand how one person comes to decide to kill another and the course of thinking investigators follow to discover who did it and why. In my science fiction, I attempt to bridge technological advances with the impact on societies and individuals, and strive to understand how they cope with the challenges of change, of being on other worlds and traveling through space in another world, the one of the starship.

But the real world is intruding today. Dallas is intruding. I don’t want to write about murder.

This becomes a test. I have my coffee, my goals, and my intentions. I’m here to write. Writing is meditative, a chance to escape the world’s trials and errors and the personal frustrations of living. But the building momentum of what’s been going on, the world’s escalating violence and, sadly, what seems like rising selfishness and hatred, is crashing over me and taking me down.

Now I offer another but. Everything is a spectrum for me. This post is on a spectrum of personal and private thoughts and efforts to understand the world and myself. On the private scale, it gets close to the bone, probably a seven on a 1-10 scale. If I’m ever at ten, I’m emotionally and intellectually naked and truthful. There have been searing moments when I’ve been a ten with myself. It’s ugly and beautiful.

So now, the but, writing this post helps me understand my perspective and permits me to vent. It isn’t deep nor gravely insightful or profound, but still, it’s a release. That’s what’s happened by sitting and writing out my thoughts. Now I can take a deep breath, pivot myself, open a file, and write like crazy.

Just give me a few more minutes, and I’ll willing to try.

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I Can’t / I Can

Meditating and calming is hard today. My heart is with Dallas. My heart is with the people the police killed. My heart is with the officers and family killed by snipers.

I can’t digest the reasons a traffic stop ends in death. “I have a gun. I’m permitted to carry it.” Four shots later, dead. Some witnesses say the shots were fired before the officer finished saying. It’s contested. John Scalzi writes what I think. I can’t imagine, I can imagine, I can remember moments when an officer confronted me, but I never thought about being shot and killed. I’m white and male. It’s a different world for me.

Police are called to a convenience store. A black man is outside. Police arrive, confront him, taser him, wrestle him to the crowd. They see a gun. Bang. The narrative is contested. No one is agreeing about what happened, about what videos showed, about who remembers what.

Black people are being killed for broken tail lights. Shot in the back eight times while running away. Because they’re a threat.

Protests break out. Trials, investigations, inquiries are conducted and almost every time, from small black child with a toy gun to people tasered and on the ground, the results return, “It was justified.” The officer feared…. The officer followed proper procedures….

So, who is surprised? Someone else says, “I’m fucking tired of this. I’m fighting back. I’m taking it to them. See how they like it when they’re shot and killed without provocation, because they’re not the ones who did anything, but the system is rigged and has provoked me to this response.” And they get up there and start shooting at officers.

How many trigger words are in those sentences I wrote that people would contest? Many, many. We ‘know’ more violence isn’t the answer but we ‘know’ that nothing has been changed to protect people from being shot and killed by a good guy, bad guy, or police officer, with a gun. We know fear is rising. Imagine being a police officer right now. Imagine being a black person. Imagine being in Dallas when the shots are fired. Imagine being in a car and reaching for your wallet when shots are fired.

There will be responses. There will be posts like this. There will be prayers and pious statements that our hearts are with the victims, whether they’re officers or citizens, of this rising streak of violent death by guns, as I wrote in my first paragraph, as I, weary of these dire headlines and violence, struggle to understand. The NRA will remain silent. They’ve learned not to speak out at these moments. Bad PR. Others will make foolish statements. Some will challenge and mock, “See, those fucking police officers were good guys with guns.”

Yeah.

Reading the officers’ accounts of going into Orlando after that mass shooting – how many days ago? –  they tell of the darkness and uncertainty in the club, of going through carefully to find the shooter. Add some good guys with guns shooting at what they think is the bad gun with a gun into that charged environment of darkness and uncertainty.

But we know the future. There will be protests. Marches. Calls for change. Petitions. Blog posts. Prayers. Statements. Maybe sit-ins. Gun sales will rise again.

We know the future. Just look to the past. You don’t need to travel far.

Just travel to June.

 

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More OMG

As I walked today, I returned to a favorite concept and toyed with it. I love the concept but lacked a vehicle. Yesterday’s concept that pleased me so greatly yesterday rose up. Ah, what can I do with it?

Blink, blink. The favorite concept could be told through a sequel to Returnee. I’d been wanting to write a sequel to that – there’s more story to be told. (There always is, isn’t there?) Blink blink. And the conceptual basis of the novel could be the new, exciting concept.

Blink blink. Blink, blink, blink.

OMG, yes, the story and setting began cascading into me. Now, now, I chided myself, stay true to the current novel. It’s in progress, must be written, finished, revised, edited, polished, published, released. Yes, but, yes, but –

Yes, but crashed through. Excitement couldn’t be stopped. A first line emerged. Oh, yeah, what a wonderful first line. So I’ll write it, just it, along with, maybe just a little scene. As the setup evolved, I thought, perhaps I’ll just write a chapter.

Okay, one chapter. Just one, just, like 2,000 words.

That’s all. For now.

 

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Three Best

Yesterday was my 60th birthday. I lack the socialization or genes or spirit to celebrate. I just don’t do it, not for holidays, nor my birthday. I will try to celebrate with others but when my spouse asks me what I want to do for my birthday, or what I want, I’m pretty lost about my answer.

And I think it’s been so for a long time. But in thinking about what to do, I reflected on the best birthday celebrations. Three stand out in mind. So in no order, because they are the three best —

My fifteenth birthday. I’d moved in with my father and was living in an apartment by the military installation where he was assigned, in Dayton, Ohio, just him and me. I spent days by myself, which isn’t a bad life for me, as I was active as an artist and created pencil drawings, and I read books. My one friend outside of this was my Dad’s friend, Jim. Jim picked me up once a week to take me fishing. After a few weeks of that, he asked me if I wanted to go home with him for lunch. I did, and ended up meeting my future wife.

The birthday tie-in comes from spending July 4th with her and the rest of Jim’s family. Discovering it was my birthday the next day, my fourteen year old future wife ‘borrowed’ my watch and refused to give it back to me, until midnight struck. Then she presented it to me as a gift. That was a great birthday.

But another great birthday involved my Mom. She asked me what I wanted to do and we ended up going to a steak house, like I was an adult, where I had a New York strip steak. I think it was my first steak and certainly the first time I felt like I was more than a son with my mother, but also a friend. That was a great birthday.

The third came when I was stationed in Germany with the Air Force. I flew to the US to go to a writing conference in Ohio. Since I was in that region of the world, with all the time and expense associated with getting there, I also visited my Mom and sisters in Pittsburgh, PA. Going out of their way, they procured me Penn Pils beer, which was like German beer that was brewed in Pittsburgh, and made my favorite dishes. It wasn’t my birthday but it was in the same time period, and, as I’d left home long before and was rarely back, they treated my visit like a birthday celebration. That was a great birthday.

Like many things in life, I’ve been extremely fortunate. Remembering them, and having all the shout-outs from friends, acquaintances, companions, relatives and former co-workers via the Internet (and an enjoyable day with my wife, who I met forty-five years ago) has made this birthday a wonderful day.

Thanks for a great birthday.

I guess that’s four.

 

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OMG Moment

Striding along through sun and shadow, coping with and enjoying a summer breeze, my writing mind settles in. First comes a novel concept that opens up a grin. I’ll add it to the list but — well, it is interesting. But which ones aren’t? A lot to play with there. What POV should be used? Hmmm, the POV can really open it up. Oh, boy, that’s a dilemma because there’s so much more to already write — and edit, and publish.

But – to the novel at hand. Insert chapter 2 and write it, short one, then edit and revise chapter 3 and add this information/insights/events for her POV and then the same in chapter 4 for his POV and

OMG, now I see what’s going to happen. OMG, the whole direction deluged me, the hows and whys of what’s happening now, besides HIS ongoing issues about losing his sanity and trying to learn about his past, and HER ongoing issues as a killer on the run.

Excitement rolls a tide through me. I walk faster and faster, eager to get to the coffee shop, eager to write again. And here I am, quad shot mocha on the table, ready to write like crazy, one more time.

Isn’t it a beautiful day?

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Full Blown Writing Season

I live on spectrums. My moods and energies slide through seasons – or seasons slide along my spectrums. I’m not certain of their true relationship or the degree to which these things are fixed. I don’t know how to predict them. Don’t know what tilting, spinning, revolving, and rotating affects them. I can define specific, larger personal seasons. Lethargy, laziness, apathy, anger, blackness, joy, happiness, excitement, restlessness, I know these seasons among others. Some would call these moods. Moods, a temporary feeling, happens within the seasons, much like you can have a cold summer day or a warm winter day. I can experience a shift through a mood from my season but the season dominates. Moods are more temporary.

I’m in full blown writing season this week. Writing becomes effortless, but more, writing and thinking about writing, rises up. It seems like every thought, observation and experience triggers a desire to write about it. Words, sentences, scenes flow like runoff from a huge rain storm.

Seasons like this have taken me in other realms, too, so they’re not specific to writing. People in other professions and endeavors know what it’s like to be ‘in the zone.’ That’s how this feels. I know about being in the zone from sports and analysis. My vision, thinking and focus are all sharpened, my concentration is heightened. Time becomes more personal and slower. I can feel and sense micro-shifts that position me to be ready.

It’s a beautiful experience, no matter where and when it comes, from sports to math to art, performing, and writing. When it’s a good season, like this, it’s best to enjoy the time. The seasons do turn.

 

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Mysterious Writing

Writing sometimes seems like such a mysterious process. It used to deeply mystify me as I would apply the questions, the who/what/why/how/when melange that flavors fiction and struggle forward.

Not so today, this week. I sit down, open up, read a bit of what’s written and resume. I guess I’ve trained and ordered my mind to ‘think like a writer’ and create fiction. But this book is coming along so seamlessly, I worry that perhaps it’ll be thin and bland. I wonder, if it’s easy writing, is it poor story telling? If it’s easy, is it too predictable, too simplistic? Yet, I enjoy it.

It might be that I’ve been reading wonderful fiction, having just finished The Signature of All Things and now progressed two thirds through My Brilliant Friend. I’ll often end up editing books because they’re written in passive voice, or they tell and then show, or the reverse, at any rate, displaying a need for editing. Not so with Gilbert and Ferrante’s books. Ferrante especially creates such a sense of people and place that I’m inspired.

So maybe this is just a zone contrived from writing the third book in a series (which gives me intimacy with the characters) and reading writers I enjoy. After thinking about the matter, I’ll not worry myself about it. Take it for what it is, a blessing, a luxury. Perhaps it’ll end in a day, an hour, a minute. Just write like crazy and see where I end up when I’m done.

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A History of Writing

The Atlantic provides a perspective of writing software. It fascinates me because of my personal history. I began with WordStar on a CPM 86 machine with a small green screen, and two 5 1/4 inch floppy disk drives. WordStar worked well for me but bundled software forced me to a switch to WordPro. WordPro was set up on a Zenith 150 with a 20 meg hard drive and two 5 1/4 floppy drives and an EGA 16 color screen. The colors didn’t matter but the resolution still wasn’t great. Switching to a VGA screen with 256 colors enhanced the experience. I still wrote in tablets and notebooks with a pen and then typed it all up.

Having a natural bent toward being a geek, I used to be really proficient with those programs, learning formatting, editing and saving secrets on my own. Friends and co-workers would come by or call me, asking for help about setting margins, centering, pagination, headers and other matters. People then wrote these insights up and made money off them by publishing books about these secrets, which never entered my mind to do.

Eventually, Microsoft became the Godzilla that wiped everything out, leaving me with Word. I adjusted to Word well in the early years. But modern improvements have made it less friendly. Word offer a gazillion templates when I use two. It’s odd how selecting File versus clicking on Open takes you down different paths. Adopting from version to version as the operating system changed has been a major irritant. I also eventually switched from a tower to laptops and notebooks, discarding the notebooks. I was sad to let them go. They, along with pens, were friends and companions, pets of sorts, for a struggling writer.

I honestly thought shifting to writing directly onto a computer instead of paper would be challenging. Perhaps using email and filling out computer forms over the years helped, but the change was easier than I expected. I even came to recognize the many advantages of using an electronic media to create.

I still read books in paper formats, though. Although I read and edit my own online, almost everyone else’s is printed out or purchased in a hard format. Yes, I have devices to read them, but that change is surprisingly taking me longer. I’ve seen articles about fonts and colors and the impact on reading on a computer but to me, it seems to be that I like shifting the book around for different angles, and that still doesn’t work well with the electronic devices.

Of course, it really doesn’t matter to me whether I’m reading a book online or a hard copy, as long as I’m reading. I guess that was the lesson for the transition from paper to computer, from WordStar to Word, it doesn’t matter, as long as I’m writing.

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Something Had Hold of Me

Affirmations, meditations,

nothing seemed to work

sleeping, eating, drinking,

nothing seemed to work

trying, hoping, begging,

nothing seemed to work

something had hold of me

something let me go

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What Doesn’t Matter

Black lives matter.

All kids matter.

All children matter.

All men matter.

All women matter.

All peoples matter.

All actions matter.

All lives matter.

 

All pets matter.

All wolves matter.

All lions matter.

All animals matter.

All plants matter.

All fish matter.

All fowl matters.

All life matters.

 

All air matters.

All water matters.

All lands matter.

All energy matters.

All rights matter.

All freedoms matter.

 

All matters matter.

 

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