Posts
The Rule: Leftovers are the wisest meal options for intense writing action.
I am currently rocking in my church's nursing room (this is because no one can bother here and I get to appease my need to move in the rocking chair), where mothers come and nurse their babies on Sunday mornings. Well, the only thing I am nursing right now is a small head ache and an upset stomach. Maybe its the rocking chair I'm moving quite swiftly and I know this because I am finding my chair sliding all throughout the room. Or maybe it could be the lack of natural light in the room. But I do know that my left over BBQ ribs from Sunday night is a huge culprit to my icky feeling.
Cheap, free food is not always the best options for creativity. It just might cause us to only create vomit drafts. When it comes to our artistic craft we have to take care of our bodies and mind. Because if we don't, then our art will suffer. Like this blog post. It probably would have something insightful, but due to my nasty feeling, I'm going to be terse.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
The Rule: We need our hands held in everything in our lives.When in the history of humanity did we need a "Sex for Dummies" handbook? When did the joy of exploration and figuring stuff out on our own become second rate to just having someone tell us something in a book?
If the cliche statement that "Life is a Journey" is true, than there are way too many maps pointing in many different directions. Sadly, we as journeyman, rely too heavy on these books to get to where we are going. Humans want to be happy, but they don't want to take their own risk to be happy in case the journey leads them to unhappiness. So instead of taking a risk, they follow someone else's plan. This is religion in its purest form. Self Help Books are religions, and the author's their gods- flawless, all knowing and powerful.
But the catch is, our way is not always the best way. I have failed many times over doing something I think is right and turns out to be a failure. The way I see self-help books is as a gold mine. A lot of useless rock, but good nuggets here and there.
Literature is just a journey in of itself that we allow to take our hearts and captivate our attention to inspire us to live out our own daily journeys and create journeys for ourselves.
But maybe we go to those "Sex for Dummies" type of books because that is just a pit stop in our lives, where the stupid and mundane can take on new light when seen through the eyes of another. And that is what books really are, just a series of observations from someone else perceptive on a journey we are all taking.
Nothing new, but really a reminder. Don't use books to be your only guide. Live your life, don't let your life be lived in between the pages. And for goodness sake, if you are a dummy, please don't procreate. That journey is not meant for you.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Good Enough is Good Enough
The Rule: We must be the best.
In the course of history, there have been many great writers, teachers, parents, painters, leaders, surfers, fishermen, entrepreneurs and whatever other role you consider yourself to be a part of. Do you really think you have what it takes to be the best? If you do, you may be driving yourself mad.
An oak tree doesn't look to see if he is the tallest in a grove, a flower doesn't look at its grandparents to see if it should radiate brighter colors. There are not legacies in the natural world; there are no desires for immortality, it's just life plain and simple.
We are but embers in space showing off our glow, but some of us want our glow to be so intense that it travels millions of light years, visiting numerous inhabited planets with billions of eyes on the surface marveling skyward. That is what it means to be immortal, to mimic the stars themselves. However, for as many stars we can see in the sky, there are millions more that we cannot.
But we try to be the brightest so our life can can transcend this mortal state, so it doesn't fade as our light travels in the deep space of time. But we must embrace what God said, "Life is but a fading morning mist." Meaning, its pretty insignificant. Because even the brightest stars in the sky are too numerous to count, and the whole is far more inspiring than the part.
What we contribute in this life is but a part. It is a single star that catches a Summer camper's imagination, a tree that shades a weary traveler, a flower given to a sick mother. Good enough is good enough. Because I think our "Good Enough" is all that God needs to light the world with his glory.
And you may say, I am not good enough. But I challenge you to look in your heart and ask, if your good enough is the best.
I feel that if we are struggling, we are trying for the best, and that's just disappointing.
In the course of history, there have been many great writers, teachers, parents, painters, leaders, surfers, fishermen, entrepreneurs and whatever other role you consider yourself to be a part of. Do you really think you have what it takes to be the best? If you do, you may be driving yourself mad.
An oak tree doesn't look to see if he is the tallest in a grove, a flower doesn't look at its grandparents to see if it should radiate brighter colors. There are not legacies in the natural world; there are no desires for immortality, it's just life plain and simple.
We are but embers in space showing off our glow, but some of us want our glow to be so intense that it travels millions of light years, visiting numerous inhabited planets with billions of eyes on the surface marveling skyward. That is what it means to be immortal, to mimic the stars themselves. However, for as many stars we can see in the sky, there are millions more that we cannot.
But we try to be the brightest so our life can can transcend this mortal state, so it doesn't fade as our light travels in the deep space of time. But we must embrace what God said, "Life is but a fading morning mist." Meaning, its pretty insignificant. Because even the brightest stars in the sky are too numerous to count, and the whole is far more inspiring than the part.
What we contribute in this life is but a part. It is a single star that catches a Summer camper's imagination, a tree that shades a weary traveler, a flower given to a sick mother. Good enough is good enough. Because I think our "Good Enough" is all that God needs to light the world with his glory.
And you may say, I am not good enough. But I challenge you to look in your heart and ask, if your good enough is the best.
I feel that if we are struggling, we are trying for the best, and that's just disappointing.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Lean Into It!
The Rule: Comfort Breeds Success
The 6am alarm came crashing into my sleepy, warm bedroom and startled me from a deep dream. Darkness engulfed the room and the sun still way below the horizon. I checked the surf report, 2-3 feet poor + conditions. Doesn't look good.
It's pushing through the thick stillness of a morning that makes waking up very hard. I am the only thing breathing on two legs at that hour; I am all alone.
Then I step outside and compete with the bitter cold. From where I parked my car, I walk the 10 minute barefoot hike, navigating shards of glass, oily parking lots, and sand as cold as snow snow.
But as I paddle out, I catch a few fun waves, and a behold a gorgeous sunrise that never fails to catch my breath as it peeks above the Huntington Beach Hilton Tower and glimmers on the smooth watery surface. I have no regrets.
I say all this to remind myself that in order to be better at something, I have to push through the discomfort and not wait until the timing is right. I can't write when inspiration strikes. I even have to write when there are distractions. Of course every artist has heard this, yet we never do this, because our bodies are weak and we would much rather give into the flesh than the spirit.
If we don't lean into discomfort than we will stay where we are at. I for one want to be uncomfortable with my creativity and tread in discomfort; maybe that would create a stir in my creativity.
The 6am alarm came crashing into my sleepy, warm bedroom and startled me from a deep dream. Darkness engulfed the room and the sun still way below the horizon. I checked the surf report, 2-3 feet poor + conditions. Doesn't look good.
It's pushing through the thick stillness of a morning that makes waking up very hard. I am the only thing breathing on two legs at that hour; I am all alone.
Then I step outside and compete with the bitter cold. From where I parked my car, I walk the 10 minute barefoot hike, navigating shards of glass, oily parking lots, and sand as cold as snow snow.
But as I paddle out, I catch a few fun waves, and a behold a gorgeous sunrise that never fails to catch my breath as it peeks above the Huntington Beach Hilton Tower and glimmers on the smooth watery surface. I have no regrets.
I say all this to remind myself that in order to be better at something, I have to push through the discomfort and not wait until the timing is right. I can't write when inspiration strikes. I even have to write when there are distractions. Of course every artist has heard this, yet we never do this, because our bodies are weak and we would much rather give into the flesh than the spirit.
If we don't lean into discomfort than we will stay where we are at. I for one want to be uncomfortable with my creativity and tread in discomfort; maybe that would create a stir in my creativity.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
God Speaks We Goof
The Rule: I am righteous because I encountered God.
I sat patiently floating in the cold ocean waiting for a wave to come my way. And there it was, gaining in size, a rolling hill of water with its peak making its way straight for me. Not only that, but the steepness of the wave was perfect for me to catch. The lip was nearly cresting over. No other surfer was near me. This wave almost seemed to be calling out my name. I turned and paddled, excited to catch one of the best waves that day. I stood up and immediately the speed in which I surfed down the face of the wave, caught be off balance and I fell with a disappointed grunt. I was pissed. Just because a perfectly formed wave is coming my way, doesn't make me a great surfer.
This makes me think about my relationship with God. Just because God is speaking to me doesn't make me more righteous. God speaks and moves despite my sin, or lack thereof. God moves freely outside of me. He does his own thing, and if I fail to miss what he is doing or saying, that is my fault, and God just moves on. What right do I have to think that God speaks to me because I am right with Him?
We should never pride ourselves with our encounters with God. This is not on our own merit. Heck, we might even screw up the message he is trying to say to us. Who knows. I'm not perfect and spiritual wipeouts happen even to the best professionals.
I sat patiently floating in the cold ocean waiting for a wave to come my way. And there it was, gaining in size, a rolling hill of water with its peak making its way straight for me. Not only that, but the steepness of the wave was perfect for me to catch. The lip was nearly cresting over. No other surfer was near me. This wave almost seemed to be calling out my name. I turned and paddled, excited to catch one of the best waves that day. I stood up and immediately the speed in which I surfed down the face of the wave, caught be off balance and I fell with a disappointed grunt. I was pissed. Just because a perfectly formed wave is coming my way, doesn't make me a great surfer.
This makes me think about my relationship with God. Just because God is speaking to me doesn't make me more righteous. God speaks and moves despite my sin, or lack thereof. God moves freely outside of me. He does his own thing, and if I fail to miss what he is doing or saying, that is my fault, and God just moves on. What right do I have to think that God speaks to me because I am right with Him?
We should never pride ourselves with our encounters with God. This is not on our own merit. Heck, we might even screw up the message he is trying to say to us. Who knows. I'm not perfect and spiritual wipeouts happen even to the best professionals.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Abort Your Literary Babies
The Rule: Every good sentence, paragraph and chapter that is written is a keeper.
Writers want to preserve their fine tuned sentences, well crafted paragraphs and protect their cherished chapter. If it's witty, sounds beautiful, shows great insight to the story, and character, they try to keep it close to them like an over bearing mother, even if it isn't working in the piece. In fact, writers will contort the rest of the surrounding writing, so it would fit with the little gem that popped out of their mind and made their way to paper.
For example, one of your characters is generally a nice guy, but as you were writing his dialogue you thought of this extremely malicious and hilarious thing for him to say. You keep it because it is witty and it manifested to your mind at the moment you were writing the dialogue.
It is almost as if we think that Muse is some actual spiritual-being throwing the perfect amount of inspiration at us as she sees fit.
Do you know what happens with overbearing parents? The children rebel, and run away from the parent's values. If a writer is too overbearing, the writing will lose the very heart and soul of the piece you are writing, and form a mind of its own.
If these literary children cause your work to fail, please be kind to yourself and abort them. It's okay. No one is going to picket around your writing station yelling obscenities at you, and the regret you may feel will last on a few moments. The Christian church is all about preservation of individual life, but as a writer, you have to think on a larger scale. In fact, you could keep your useless, yet wonderful children in a cryogenic state for stem cell research (another document). You can always use those sentences for future writing.
Just remember, writers don't write, they rewrite, and that means the death of something you may love. In the end, you will have something far more precious and wonderful- a published work of art.
Writers want to preserve their fine tuned sentences, well crafted paragraphs and protect their cherished chapter. If it's witty, sounds beautiful, shows great insight to the story, and character, they try to keep it close to them like an over bearing mother, even if it isn't working in the piece. In fact, writers will contort the rest of the surrounding writing, so it would fit with the little gem that popped out of their mind and made their way to paper.
For example, one of your characters is generally a nice guy, but as you were writing his dialogue you thought of this extremely malicious and hilarious thing for him to say. You keep it because it is witty and it manifested to your mind at the moment you were writing the dialogue.
It is almost as if we think that Muse is some actual spiritual-being throwing the perfect amount of inspiration at us as she sees fit.
Do you know what happens with overbearing parents? The children rebel, and run away from the parent's values. If a writer is too overbearing, the writing will lose the very heart and soul of the piece you are writing, and form a mind of its own.
If these literary children cause your work to fail, please be kind to yourself and abort them. It's okay. No one is going to picket around your writing station yelling obscenities at you, and the regret you may feel will last on a few moments. The Christian church is all about preservation of individual life, but as a writer, you have to think on a larger scale. In fact, you could keep your useless, yet wonderful children in a cryogenic state for stem cell research (another document). You can always use those sentences for future writing.
Just remember, writers don't write, they rewrite, and that means the death of something you may love. In the end, you will have something far more precious and wonderful- a published work of art.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Alone on a Shelf
The Rule: I write for recognition and published.
The building was old. The automatic sliding door no longer worked. On it was a hand written sign that said "pull." Inside, the carpet was torn up revealing the plywood floor. Unrecognizable books lined the shelves with red discount stickers. This was Crown Books store, ladies and gentlemen-once a popular book vendor gone done the crapper. This is where all the literature rejects, the pariahs, the used and abused lay to rest, rotting on a shelf crying for attention like a mangy mutt poking his dreary eyes out of his dog pound cell.
Thinking about all the hours, the agonizing editing and laborious rewrites I have spent on my book, thus far, I think of all the authors who spent years, their blood, their tormented souls to put words on a page, to publish it, try to sell it and ultimately end up just sitting all alone in a dilapidated store where the pages are bent, the ceiling is falling apart and the cashier looks like a homeless man, instead of someone genuinely cares about books . I felt humbled. On average, most published books will rot just like them- and if I am lucky to get published, I have a good chance of ending up like them.
As much as I dislike the thought, I have to realize my writing will more than likely take me no where. I am not entitled to a cushy job as a full time novelist with people everywhere talking about by latest novel, long lines of eager fans clutching previous works in the arms forming lines outside bookstores ( the popular ones). It will more than likely die a quiet death.
So as I come to the word processor filled with hope for this piece of art to have a better life, I have to realize that it might not last longer than it's birth, and I have to only take joy in the process of creating. That creation is its purpose.
The building was old. The automatic sliding door no longer worked. On it was a hand written sign that said "pull." Inside, the carpet was torn up revealing the plywood floor. Unrecognizable books lined the shelves with red discount stickers. This was Crown Books store, ladies and gentlemen-once a popular book vendor gone done the crapper. This is where all the literature rejects, the pariahs, the used and abused lay to rest, rotting on a shelf crying for attention like a mangy mutt poking his dreary eyes out of his dog pound cell.
Thinking about all the hours, the agonizing editing and laborious rewrites I have spent on my book, thus far, I think of all the authors who spent years, their blood, their tormented souls to put words on a page, to publish it, try to sell it and ultimately end up just sitting all alone in a dilapidated store where the pages are bent, the ceiling is falling apart and the cashier looks like a homeless man, instead of someone genuinely cares about books . I felt humbled. On average, most published books will rot just like them- and if I am lucky to get published, I have a good chance of ending up like them.
As much as I dislike the thought, I have to realize my writing will more than likely take me no where. I am not entitled to a cushy job as a full time novelist with people everywhere talking about by latest novel, long lines of eager fans clutching previous works in the arms forming lines outside bookstores ( the popular ones). It will more than likely die a quiet death.
So as I come to the word processor filled with hope for this piece of art to have a better life, I have to realize that it might not last longer than it's birth, and I have to only take joy in the process of creating. That creation is its purpose.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Please Oh Lord, Kill and Mutilate my Enemies... (with bears)
The Rule: Worship songs encompass the biblical God in His entirety.
"23 Then he (Elisha) went up from there to Bethel; and as he was going up by the way, young lads came out from the city and mocked him and said to him, 'Go up, you bald head; go up, you bald head!' 24 When he looked behind him and saw them, he cursed them in the name of the LORD. Then two female bears came out of the woods and tore up forty-two lads of their number. 25 And he went from there to Mount Carmel, and from there he returned to Samaria."
It is amazing that a man of God would curse young boys to a point of being mauled to death by bears. Elsiha even does it in passing as if it was no big deal. What is even more amazing is God follows through with Elisha's curse. No man of the cloth today would ever succumb to such a thing, and even if he did, would he be jailed and sentenced to prison because he cursed his enemies?
So why don't we sing to the God of Elisha? It would sound rather strange wouldn't you think?
"23 Then he (Elisha) went up from there to Bethel; and as he was going up by the way, young lads came out from the city and mocked him and said to him, 'Go up, you bald head; go up, you bald head!' 24 When he looked behind him and saw them, he cursed them in the name of the LORD. Then two female bears came out of the woods and tore up forty-two lads of their number. 25 And he went from there to Mount Carmel, and from there he returned to Samaria."
It is amazing that a man of God would curse young boys to a point of being mauled to death by bears. Elsiha even does it in passing as if it was no big deal. What is even more amazing is God follows through with Elisha's curse. No man of the cloth today would ever succumb to such a thing, and even if he did, would he be jailed and sentenced to prison because he cursed his enemies?
So why don't we sing to the God of Elisha? It would sound rather strange wouldn't you think?
Striketh My Enemies.... With Bears
Oh Lord, thank you for hearing what I said
And killing those who made fun of my head.
You are worthy to be praised, for you sooth my cares
And rid of those who mock me with giant bears.
Oh Lord, thank you for hearing what I said
And killing those who made fun of my head.
You are worthy to be praised, for you sooth my cares
And rid of those who mock me with giant bears.
We have to admit, the God who we sing to in America lives in fluffy clouds, lofty mountains and raging oceans (these are the images you usually see on screen when worship commences). But he also lives in the moments where young lads' guts are being splattered by bears because they made fun of a bald prophet. He is in the blood, the pain and the grittiness of mankind. He is a defender of the widows and the orphans, of the righteous and meek. Usually, with the exception of those in the United States, those types of people dwell in slums, in violent wild places, they sleep near puddles of sewage, glean in dumps, and do commerce in violent communities.
Why do we worship the God of floating clouds, pastoral landscapes, and pristine streams through green pastures? I think maybe it is because this is how Paul the apostle told us to view life. "Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things" Philippians 4:8. But we must still look at the ugliness of the world and see how God is moving in it. Where the good, the lovely and the things worthy of praise are at.
I would like to worship the God who makes the famished leap with joy. I want to worship the God who gives a sex slave hope, or the God who brings life, vitality and an education to the oldest child whose' mother died from AIDS and now has to raise 8 of his brothers and sisters alone, with whom some are dying of the same disease. No wonder western culture has little faith, they see a God blessing the blessed. It's like adding a scoop of Kool Aid (not a reference to a cult) into a pool with lemonade. Many Americans, myself included, cannot fully understand the magnitude of the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000, because we are already so full. By God giving us 100 loaves from one loaf is but a miracle drop in the bucket of America, but a miracle just the same.
God is among the hungry. The deprived. The sick. The dying. If you are not around this enough, it will be harder to see where God is. In humanities depravity, God's divinity shines even brighter.
So let's look back to the two young lads. Though God loves those young lads, he destroyed them, all for his glory. God's power, and respect for his followers manifested in a very real sense that day. I am sure the villagers and posterity hearing this story knows that God means business.
God is glorified in the guts of young lads mauled by bears.
Lord, in all honesty, if I have said something that is not of truth and insulting to the expansion of your kingdom, please forgive me. I am just trying to figure out who you are in a world lost to the flames.
Why do we worship the God of floating clouds, pastoral landscapes, and pristine streams through green pastures? I think maybe it is because this is how Paul the apostle told us to view life. "Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things" Philippians 4:8. But we must still look at the ugliness of the world and see how God is moving in it. Where the good, the lovely and the things worthy of praise are at.
I would like to worship the God who makes the famished leap with joy. I want to worship the God who gives a sex slave hope, or the God who brings life, vitality and an education to the oldest child whose' mother died from AIDS and now has to raise 8 of his brothers and sisters alone, with whom some are dying of the same disease. No wonder western culture has little faith, they see a God blessing the blessed. It's like adding a scoop of Kool Aid (not a reference to a cult) into a pool with lemonade. Many Americans, myself included, cannot fully understand the magnitude of the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000, because we are already so full. By God giving us 100 loaves from one loaf is but a miracle drop in the bucket of America, but a miracle just the same.
God is among the hungry. The deprived. The sick. The dying. If you are not around this enough, it will be harder to see where God is. In humanities depravity, God's divinity shines even brighter.
So let's look back to the two young lads. Though God loves those young lads, he destroyed them, all for his glory. God's power, and respect for his followers manifested in a very real sense that day. I am sure the villagers and posterity hearing this story knows that God means business.
God is glorified in the guts of young lads mauled by bears.
Lord, in all honesty, if I have said something that is not of truth and insulting to the expansion of your kingdom, please forgive me. I am just trying to figure out who you are in a world lost to the flames.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Don't Have to Take It
The Rule: Walk through the first door God opens.When surfing, in between sets of waves there are boring lulls where the surfer idly floats, looking eagerly to the horizon for the next big wave to roll in. When the first wave in a set comes, surfers scrabble to catch it. Even if the wave is perfectly positioning itself for the surfer to catch, it doesn't mean it is the best wave to catch. The boring lull eggs the surfer into clutching the first opportunity he gets. Unfortunately, often times the waves increase in size after the 1st wave in a set. If a surfer catches the first wave, he subsequently forfeits the greater waves. A true surfer knows the surf break and the pattern of the day's waves and responds accordingly. He must have patience, but also he must catch a wave, not letting the set pass him by all because he waited for the best wave.
Oh how this is true in our lives. Usually after a dry spell, we gravitate to the first sign of God's blessing, but when we jump aboard and walk through the door, we realize something else was just creaking open beside it, something a little better- and then we have regrets. So why does God do this? It almost seems like he is baiting us to fail.
When I look at the waves in the ocean, they move on their own accordance, without the intention of a human ever partnering with it. I believe that, though God is relational with His creations, God moves according to His plan. "Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails" (Proverbs 19:21). God is going to move no matter what, and sometimes God's movement enters the territory (the life) of a beleiever, and he brings multiple blessings their way. The blessing is just God moving through like a passing set of waves. God just gives us the oportunity to join Him. He doesn't fashion his whole entire movements based on what is convinent for us.
God is always ebbing in and out of our mortal existence, flowing through souls, and gliding above our heads like a mist over the lives of every individual. It is the soul's choice to join in the edd, the flow and the glide of God.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
May cause cancer, birth defects or other reproductive malfunctions
The Rule: If it is furbished by Christians, it is perfectly safe.Christians offer amazing gifts to the world: humanitarian aid, great venues to connect with God, prayers, blessings, and apparently cancer.
The above sign is from the largest Christian fast food establishment in the US- Chick Filet, yet they serve up criss cut cancer fries, birth defects in a bun and reproduction repercussions in a wrapper. Of course they don't do this intentionally. No Christian would ever be that malicious, yet there are risks in consuming their food. Because they are a Christian company doesn't mean the blessed greasy chicken enters our stomach and turns into a spiritual chicken with the vitamins and minerals of a heavy weight champion's morning shake.
Funny how churches don't put warning labels on their doors, that reads, "Loneliness, sadness, and seizures may result from entering these doors."
Well, of course they don't. It should be assumed that when a group gathers, sin gathers. Christians do so many amazing things in the world, but we are all sinners, producing great stuff for the kingdom of God as well as not so great stuff, that quite frankly is humiliating, such as B rated Christian movies. But we cannot assume that if a Christian made it, it should be perfect, as if it was from the Hand of God. We should not go to a church, start serving and get burned out and blame the church for not being in-line with God because our needs are not met. Churches are dysfunctional. Heck, people are dysfunctional, even if they have accepted Christ into their heart.
So if a Christians slips up, sins, or causes harm, show grace. It is bound to happen. We are not perfect people.
Pictures to Ponder
The Rule: Words alone are enough to gain a readership.
I will start adding pictures to my stories to make them pop and sizzle. I begin with this picture of a dog I was playing with at work. I put my nose to it and it licked it so gently.
How can you avoid a blog with adorable photos like this?
Monday, March 16, 2009
Why Blog?
The Rule: Blogging is a Boondoggle
Few people have read my blog, and those who have probably don't check on it every day to gander at Travis' new insights. I write as if I have an audience, and I might not have any whatsoever- well at least a mortal audience with flesh and blood. So am I wasting my time, since hardly anyone reads this? Not at all. Blogging is more than busywork. It's a documentation of my soul's inner workings, and an evolution, I hope, to the quality of my writing.
Sure maybe down the line I pick up an audience, but for now I write for the sake of writing.
Then why is it in a blog, a public one at that? This implies my desire to be read. That is true. But whenever a post is published it is a sample of a bigger dream I have: to actually be published in print. Now, then is this a narcissistic hope? I don't think so. The desire to be published is the desire to be heard and this is need to be loved. Eventually, I want to write full time all the time, and this stems from another desire, the desire to create.
Eventually as a blog grows in readership, so does the author's public presence.
So blogging appeases many of the writer's desire:
1. To be heard.
2. To consistently practice their writing.
3. Self-Promotion
4. Share one's knowledge and insight for other's edification
Most of the time, the reader's lives are not changed on blogs, just the writer's, if the writer lets it.
Few people have read my blog, and those who have probably don't check on it every day to gander at Travis' new insights. I write as if I have an audience, and I might not have any whatsoever- well at least a mortal audience with flesh and blood. So am I wasting my time, since hardly anyone reads this? Not at all. Blogging is more than busywork. It's a documentation of my soul's inner workings, and an evolution, I hope, to the quality of my writing.
Sure maybe down the line I pick up an audience, but for now I write for the sake of writing.
Then why is it in a blog, a public one at that? This implies my desire to be read. That is true. But whenever a post is published it is a sample of a bigger dream I have: to actually be published in print. Now, then is this a narcissistic hope? I don't think so. The desire to be published is the desire to be heard and this is need to be loved. Eventually, I want to write full time all the time, and this stems from another desire, the desire to create.
Eventually as a blog grows in readership, so does the author's public presence.
So blogging appeases many of the writer's desire:
1. To be heard.
2. To consistently practice their writing.
3. Self-Promotion
4. Share one's knowledge and insight for other's edification
Most of the time, the reader's lives are not changed on blogs, just the writer's, if the writer lets it.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Saving Private Savior
The Rule: Warriors are Saviors
I have noticed people, particularly men, bestow the title "Warrior" upon themselves as if this title comes without repercussions. Some Christians call themselves Christ's warriors. I once thought of myself as a poetic warrior. Little did I know at the time the roles of a warrior.
The word "Warrior" embodies strength, power, masculinity, responsibility, and sadly it comes with a romantic aura that shatters preconceptions with a forceful blow. It is such a heavy word that one cannot throw it about like a child flings his school bag over his back every morning. It must be used with respect and understanding.
So what is a warrior? A warrior fights with words and action to preserve the quality of his tribe and his home. In every war faring culture this is the purest definition of a warrior. What then is the warrior's tribe and home? His tribe is a system of people working together to stay alive such as his church, work environment, his nation, town, his world. His home is where his family dwells and thrives in order to contribute the greater community. Of course there are invaders who want to steal resources, dominate and control communities. These invaders come from three sources: outside the tribe, in the tribe and inside the home. The very same tactic in defending the city walls, is the same tactic in defending personal walls of the home and the heart. These intruders have different values than yours, and they clash in brutal combat. It is a bleak battle, filled with fear and anguish. With every parley, there are injuries, if not casualties of both sides. A warrior accepts this, though it hard to do so. Comrades fall to their deaths before the warrior's feet. A warrior's heart hardens to the misery, and hates the enemy even more.
In the midst of a loss of a fellow comrade in arms, a warrior dons the burden of his brethren. He resents himself for not saving his life. He looks to himself as weak and unworthy of bearing the banner of his community even his home. He ostracizes himself, punishes his body, and imprisons his soul. The punishment for not living as a savior, is a self proclamation to be a POW (Prisoner of War).
Everyone has their battlefield, may it be at work, being a husband or wife, being dad or mom. A writer, an artists, an athlete. Day in and day out, we have reasons to fight. Day in and day out we win and we lose- either way casualties occur. And when they occur, we must not be POWs. Even if people capture us and say we are the cause of loss now go to prison, it is really our choice if we enter the cell.
Jesus died so warriors never become POWs. He never promises casualties won't occur. He does promise us he will set us free. Everybody gets hit by a stray bullet, sometimes it hits a limb, sometimes it strikes a vital organ. The streets are filled with people on crutches, wheelchairs, and bandaged up, but do they get past their wounds and live freely?
We can only be free as warriors if we realize it is not our job to save our tribe and save our home. Let's go back to the original definition of a warrior: "A warrior fights with words and action to preserve the quality of his tribe and his home." All a warrior can do is fight. The outcome of the fight is not his to control.
So here are some warriors and what they are and not responsible for:
1. Parent: They protect, raise and care for a child. They are not responible for the outcome of the child's growth, for their child's decisions, and their salvation from bullies and hardship.
2. An artist: He creates. He doesn't create for the purpose of a return.
3. An Worker: He does his best to produce a result that his supervisors desire. He doesn't always have to have a 100% track record.
4. Teacher: They teach students classroom materials as best as they can. They are not responsible for each student's success.
5. Someone working in Ministry: Love,God. Love people and do your best to bring them together. They are not responsible for their flock's salvation, for their spiritual growth, or for their sense of community.
We slap ourselves with the role of savior to all, and that's too hard of a burden to carry. Just fight and let God win the battle.
I have noticed people, particularly men, bestow the title "Warrior" upon themselves as if this title comes without repercussions. Some Christians call themselves Christ's warriors. I once thought of myself as a poetic warrior. Little did I know at the time the roles of a warrior.
The word "Warrior" embodies strength, power, masculinity, responsibility, and sadly it comes with a romantic aura that shatters preconceptions with a forceful blow. It is such a heavy word that one cannot throw it about like a child flings his school bag over his back every morning. It must be used with respect and understanding.
So what is a warrior? A warrior fights with words and action to preserve the quality of his tribe and his home. In every war faring culture this is the purest definition of a warrior. What then is the warrior's tribe and home? His tribe is a system of people working together to stay alive such as his church, work environment, his nation, town, his world. His home is where his family dwells and thrives in order to contribute the greater community. Of course there are invaders who want to steal resources, dominate and control communities. These invaders come from three sources: outside the tribe, in the tribe and inside the home. The very same tactic in defending the city walls, is the same tactic in defending personal walls of the home and the heart. These intruders have different values than yours, and they clash in brutal combat. It is a bleak battle, filled with fear and anguish. With every parley, there are injuries, if not casualties of both sides. A warrior accepts this, though it hard to do so. Comrades fall to their deaths before the warrior's feet. A warrior's heart hardens to the misery, and hates the enemy even more.
In the midst of a loss of a fellow comrade in arms, a warrior dons the burden of his brethren. He resents himself for not saving his life. He looks to himself as weak and unworthy of bearing the banner of his community even his home. He ostracizes himself, punishes his body, and imprisons his soul. The punishment for not living as a savior, is a self proclamation to be a POW (Prisoner of War).
Everyone has their battlefield, may it be at work, being a husband or wife, being dad or mom. A writer, an artists, an athlete. Day in and day out, we have reasons to fight. Day in and day out we win and we lose- either way casualties occur. And when they occur, we must not be POWs. Even if people capture us and say we are the cause of loss now go to prison, it is really our choice if we enter the cell.
Jesus died so warriors never become POWs. He never promises casualties won't occur. He does promise us he will set us free. Everybody gets hit by a stray bullet, sometimes it hits a limb, sometimes it strikes a vital organ. The streets are filled with people on crutches, wheelchairs, and bandaged up, but do they get past their wounds and live freely?
We can only be free as warriors if we realize it is not our job to save our tribe and save our home. Let's go back to the original definition of a warrior: "A warrior fights with words and action to preserve the quality of his tribe and his home." All a warrior can do is fight. The outcome of the fight is not his to control.
So here are some warriors and what they are and not responsible for:
1. Parent: They protect, raise and care for a child. They are not responible for the outcome of the child's growth, for their child's decisions, and their salvation from bullies and hardship.
2. An artist: He creates. He doesn't create for the purpose of a return.
3. An Worker: He does his best to produce a result that his supervisors desire. He doesn't always have to have a 100% track record.
4. Teacher: They teach students classroom materials as best as they can. They are not responsible for each student's success.
5. Someone working in Ministry: Love,God. Love people and do your best to bring them together. They are not responsible for their flock's salvation, for their spiritual growth, or for their sense of community.
We slap ourselves with the role of savior to all, and that's too hard of a burden to carry. Just fight and let God win the battle.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
A Cramp In My Marathon
The Rule: I never tire from hearing my voice.
I am a quiet guy, because I feel I don't have much to say, and when I do have much to say I am brief. Though the temptation to say something for the sake of saying something creeps in now and then, I, for the most part, remain silent. Now if I have to say something and its a lot, I get tired of hearing myself.
For the past month I have been hearing myself on written paper, and frankly I am tired of it. Now the question arises, will my readers tire of my words faster than I have? Will they hear something original as they read on past page 10? I am lost in my thoughts and words. I need someone outside of me to speak into my writing. I don't even know if I am digging in the right grave, plowing the right field, mowing the right lawn. All I am doing is writing what I know.
Writing a narrative is hard work. Turing that narrative into a novel is brutal. It is a mental marathon, where exhaustion lies deeper than the muscles and lungs, but it is of the spirit and mind, and it lasts longer than a few hours, but days, weeks and months. Other successful authors, I guess are the electrolights for the marathon writer. We read their styles and tune our own. I have my style. I found it through the many words written on many pages, but is it enjoyable and bearable to the reader? I don't know. People comment on how well I write, but in the midst of this grueling marathon, I wonder if I am sustaining the quality of my writing.
Well, I'm going back to work with JK Rowling and Bryce Courtnay by my side and with the simple prayer, “Let it be beautiful, God” on my lips.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Calling Travis Wimer Pity Party Of One
The Rule: No one is allowed a pity party
In my last post I was rather gloomy. Night time surrounded me, I was working alone in the front office and my writing was driving me mad. Now that the sun is up, the pinata effigy of myself bashed to smithereens, the skull balloons are popped and the vinegar cake devoured, I feel much better, thank you very much. Thus concluded my pity party.
I am sure everyone is entitled to one these shindigs of the grimmest order. I just hope no one sends out invitations.
Feeling sorry for ourselves is a mixed feeling. We may feel self-righteousness and our head inflates with pride, and then at the same time we feel terribly isolated, just hoping someone can take a glimpse at how miserable we truly are and maybe they would comfort us and join the "dark side."
Throwing a pity party is a choice, a choice that has no rewards, only unnoticed depression. So don't throw them. I say, instead throw puppies at grannies walking across the street, at least doing that you'll get some attention.
In my last post I was rather gloomy. Night time surrounded me, I was working alone in the front office and my writing was driving me mad. Now that the sun is up, the pinata effigy of myself bashed to smithereens, the skull balloons are popped and the vinegar cake devoured, I feel much better, thank you very much. Thus concluded my pity party.
I am sure everyone is entitled to one these shindigs of the grimmest order. I just hope no one sends out invitations.
Feeling sorry for ourselves is a mixed feeling. We may feel self-righteousness and our head inflates with pride, and then at the same time we feel terribly isolated, just hoping someone can take a glimpse at how miserable we truly are and maybe they would comfort us and join the "dark side."
Throwing a pity party is a choice, a choice that has no rewards, only unnoticed depression. So don't throw them. I say, instead throw puppies at grannies walking across the street, at least doing that you'll get some attention.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Introverts with ADD Get Lonley Too
The Rule: Introverts never get lonely.
The office is quiet today. A little too quiet. It's dark, the halls are empty and no one is in their office... except me. I have a good idea where everybody is. They are working, or playing I don't know the difference, in the new studio. It's a great environment to work in. Your best buddies by your side, side conversations buzzing about the center of the room. Food packed high. There is laughter, joy and solidarity. Ministry walls are coming down at the Newsong staff. Great! But not for us poor introverts with ADD. We need walls so when we work we don't see that YouTube being watched at the work station next us. Or the flood of people gathering at the center of the room leaning back in their chairs, rubbing their bellies, laughing at a joke I just missed because I was distracted at my workstation from a joke at the center of the room. Some people can work great in such conditions. I can't. I must be by myself.
Of course that hurts, but that is my fault and problem. How does an introvert find the balance between social affirmation and solitude? I am still trying to figure that one out.
Writing a daily blog and a book forces me to be isolated more than I am used to. I have to be in conversation with myself more frequently than I have ever been. What I have discovered in this process is:
1. I am a boring guy. I have being hearing myself talk within the contexts of prolific writing for over a month now and I am getting bored of my voice.
2. I am deeply cynical with a bruised heart. My main character has dark, malicious thoughts towards other characters. He is deeply wounded- I think more wounded than any child in most Young Adult books.
3. I am lonely. I have denied adventures, and social gatherings for the sake of my art. I feel like I am fasting from normalcy, but I want to keep going because I know this feeling is normal in writers. I must seek God in this or I'll end up like Hemingway.
Someone once said the greatest journey a hero can take is self-discovery. I am seeing this as I go deeper and deeper into my subconscious. I am pulling away 20 year old scabs, digging through dingy dreams every night, and swatting at irritability and anger at every moment. Where is the holy spirit in this art? Writing is the most freeing enterprise I can think of, but it certainly confines you into your soul, where one is constantly looking at its nastiness. The difficult part is using this gruesome spectacle to create something of meaning and of beauty.
I am thankful for how God created me. I am thankful that he gave me the heart of a writer. I wouldn't change it for any other craft. It gives me joy when at the same time it makes me sad and lonely.
God be praised (I am serious).
The office is quiet today. A little too quiet. It's dark, the halls are empty and no one is in their office... except me. I have a good idea where everybody is. They are working, or playing I don't know the difference, in the new studio. It's a great environment to work in. Your best buddies by your side, side conversations buzzing about the center of the room. Food packed high. There is laughter, joy and solidarity. Ministry walls are coming down at the Newsong staff. Great! But not for us poor introverts with ADD. We need walls so when we work we don't see that YouTube being watched at the work station next us. Or the flood of people gathering at the center of the room leaning back in their chairs, rubbing their bellies, laughing at a joke I just missed because I was distracted at my workstation from a joke at the center of the room. Some people can work great in such conditions. I can't. I must be by myself.
Of course that hurts, but that is my fault and problem. How does an introvert find the balance between social affirmation and solitude? I am still trying to figure that one out.
Writing a daily blog and a book forces me to be isolated more than I am used to. I have to be in conversation with myself more frequently than I have ever been. What I have discovered in this process is:
1. I am a boring guy. I have being hearing myself talk within the contexts of prolific writing for over a month now and I am getting bored of my voice.
2. I am deeply cynical with a bruised heart. My main character has dark, malicious thoughts towards other characters. He is deeply wounded- I think more wounded than any child in most Young Adult books.
3. I am lonely. I have denied adventures, and social gatherings for the sake of my art. I feel like I am fasting from normalcy, but I want to keep going because I know this feeling is normal in writers. I must seek God in this or I'll end up like Hemingway.
Someone once said the greatest journey a hero can take is self-discovery. I am seeing this as I go deeper and deeper into my subconscious. I am pulling away 20 year old scabs, digging through dingy dreams every night, and swatting at irritability and anger at every moment. Where is the holy spirit in this art? Writing is the most freeing enterprise I can think of, but it certainly confines you into your soul, where one is constantly looking at its nastiness. The difficult part is using this gruesome spectacle to create something of meaning and of beauty.
I am thankful for how God created me. I am thankful that he gave me the heart of a writer. I wouldn't change it for any other craft. It gives me joy when at the same time it makes me sad and lonely.
God be praised (I am serious).
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Turn off Your Lights
The Rule: You Always Need Ample Light to See Where you Are Going
Last night, riding Santiago Truck Trail, I experiences something rather thrilling and interesting. When I reached the end of the trail, 7 miles deep, darkness was quickly approaching and my light didn't have enough battery power to last me the entire ride back to the safety of my car. So I did what any reckless, yet sensible (I know sounds like a oxymoron) mountain biker would do: ride as long as you can without light.
Eventually it became so dark all I could see was a faint white line on the trail made from the tread of hundreds of mountain bikers before me. My tire would leap off of hidden bumps and drop into dark ruts without any warning. Off the side of the trail down far below, I saw the entire Orange County aglow waking up from its diurnal slumber. A gorgeous view. This all led to a fun and exhilarating adventure that I survived, minus a few scratched. If I played it safe than it wouldn't have been as exciting.
As I was racing through the darkness last night I asked myself how this could be just like my writing, or anything else in life. Than I thought to myself, we don't always need to see where we are going in life. We don't need to have the path fully illuminated with plans, strategies and outlines are orchestrated. Art, particularly writing, is extremely messy work that requires a lot of blind faith, and most importantly it requires a sense of taking it one step at a time. To expect your art to come together like an Ikea instruction manual, than it's not art, it's safe, and art is not safe.
If you are willing to be unadventurous and play it safe, than that is what your art will look like. For a writer, if there isn't an element of discovery, of fresh insights and gutsy literary moves, than you are writing something mass produced. How are you to lead your reader into a journey that they have already been down. You eat one In and Out Burger you have eaten them all. A way to avoid that is to turn off the lights, or creative crutches that helps you play it safe.
What are your creative lights? Mine would be to follow someone's example of plot development, especially found in books. Or maybe its the idea of trying to outline every detail of a story before even writing the story, and sticking to it like God etched it in stone with his pinky. In music, it could be playing very similar chord changes with the same vocal pitch and tempo. A huge creative crutch most artists have is the denying of others to speak into their art. You may feel what you have created is wonderful, so you don't show anyone. Whatever it is that you feel safe in, try pushing it to another level. Your art and audience will thank you for it.
Turn off your lights, feel the art underneath you, take a chance and explore senses you know you didn't have. See your music dance off the guitar and swirl about in the air until it lands on an ear, feel your words swirl in your mouth, drip on the page and smeared on someone's chest, hear your painting lament with dark sadness, rejoice with bright pomp or even hear the colors of your kitchen sizzle with bacon and baking cinnamon rolls from days long lost in memory.
When you do this, something original and wonderful will come through and your audience with follow you along the way through the darkest parts.
Last night, riding Santiago Truck Trail, I experiences something rather thrilling and interesting. When I reached the end of the trail, 7 miles deep, darkness was quickly approaching and my light didn't have enough battery power to last me the entire ride back to the safety of my car. So I did what any reckless, yet sensible (I know sounds like a oxymoron) mountain biker would do: ride as long as you can without light.
Eventually it became so dark all I could see was a faint white line on the trail made from the tread of hundreds of mountain bikers before me. My tire would leap off of hidden bumps and drop into dark ruts without any warning. Off the side of the trail down far below, I saw the entire Orange County aglow waking up from its diurnal slumber. A gorgeous view. This all led to a fun and exhilarating adventure that I survived, minus a few scratched. If I played it safe than it wouldn't have been as exciting.
As I was racing through the darkness last night I asked myself how this could be just like my writing, or anything else in life. Than I thought to myself, we don't always need to see where we are going in life. We don't need to have the path fully illuminated with plans, strategies and outlines are orchestrated. Art, particularly writing, is extremely messy work that requires a lot of blind faith, and most importantly it requires a sense of taking it one step at a time. To expect your art to come together like an Ikea instruction manual, than it's not art, it's safe, and art is not safe.
If you are willing to be unadventurous and play it safe, than that is what your art will look like. For a writer, if there isn't an element of discovery, of fresh insights and gutsy literary moves, than you are writing something mass produced. How are you to lead your reader into a journey that they have already been down. You eat one In and Out Burger you have eaten them all. A way to avoid that is to turn off the lights, or creative crutches that helps you play it safe.
What are your creative lights? Mine would be to follow someone's example of plot development, especially found in books. Or maybe its the idea of trying to outline every detail of a story before even writing the story, and sticking to it like God etched it in stone with his pinky. In music, it could be playing very similar chord changes with the same vocal pitch and tempo. A huge creative crutch most artists have is the denying of others to speak into their art. You may feel what you have created is wonderful, so you don't show anyone. Whatever it is that you feel safe in, try pushing it to another level. Your art and audience will thank you for it.
Turn off your lights, feel the art underneath you, take a chance and explore senses you know you didn't have. See your music dance off the guitar and swirl about in the air until it lands on an ear, feel your words swirl in your mouth, drip on the page and smeared on someone's chest, hear your painting lament with dark sadness, rejoice with bright pomp or even hear the colors of your kitchen sizzle with bacon and baking cinnamon rolls from days long lost in memory.
When you do this, something original and wonderful will come through and your audience with follow you along the way through the darkest parts.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Don't Trust your First Born
The Rule: The majority of a published content was from the writer's first attempt.
Writers don't write, they rewrite, rewrite, rewrite and edit. I justed concluded a 2 hour writing session and read my work and it was terrible. So I rewrote it that took another 1 hour, and then I read it again, and sure enough it still didn't look good at all.
For now, I put it aside for the night in utter frustration and a little rest. It is times like these I doubt I am meant for my craft. But, I will not let this upset hold me back. I choose to keep fighting, keep tuning my story, and improving my art.
This is what separates armatures and the common enthusiast from professionals. Professionals bludgeon their words until the bloody pulp turns into something beautiful- a rather impossible feat.
I choose to rewrite, and rewrite and fight the idea that I am a terrible writer. I am not. First creations cannot be perfect.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Giant Squids, Intersteller Volcanoes and Uncharted Jungles
The Rule: Humans are the central source of God's joy.
Why is it that God created millions of galaxies, uncharted jungles, volcanoes gloriously erupting on the moons of Saturn, and giant squids gracefully swimming the deepest darkest regions of the ocean? Is it because God want humans to explore? Not entirely. That is extremely presumptuous and prideful to think that humans are the reason for all of the hidden secrets of the universe. No. God makes what is known, unknown and very little known, for his joy. God is too big. God loves too much. God is too wonderful for him to find only joy in us. Of course he loves us so much he died for humanity.
God takes delight in something even if humans are unaware of it. Think of the grand canyon before the native Americans discovered it. God delighted in it before human eyes had ever seen it. It wasn't built and waited for humans.
There is more to this life than just us and our own happiness.
Why is it that God created millions of galaxies, uncharted jungles, volcanoes gloriously erupting on the moons of Saturn, and giant squids gracefully swimming the deepest darkest regions of the ocean? Is it because God want humans to explore? Not entirely. That is extremely presumptuous and prideful to think that humans are the reason for all of the hidden secrets of the universe. No. God makes what is known, unknown and very little known, for his joy. God is too big. God loves too much. God is too wonderful for him to find only joy in us. Of course he loves us so much he died for humanity.
God takes delight in something even if humans are unaware of it. Think of the grand canyon before the native Americans discovered it. God delighted in it before human eyes had ever seen it. It wasn't built and waited for humans.
There is more to this life than just us and our own happiness.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Glorifying God
The Rule: The only way to glorify God is in a Christian setting.
How can art glorify God when His name or themes are not even mentioned? Does Vincent Van Go's Starry Night glorify God? How about Arthur Miller's tragic play Death if a Salesman? What about the horrific glimpse into drug usage in the film Requiem for a Dream? None of these hold any ideas of God, so were they glorifying God? If not then did they serve no purpose?
Some would say, no. I for one give an enthusiastic "yes!" There is inspiration in art. And when God's goodness and gentleness is completely removed from the subjects, the audience observes the horrors of what life is without Him. That is a paradox: God is being glorified through His absence. No matter what, God will get what's coming to Him.
How can art glorify God when His name or themes are not even mentioned? Does Vincent Van Go's Starry Night glorify God? How about Arthur Miller's tragic play Death if a Salesman? What about the horrific glimpse into drug usage in the film Requiem for a Dream? None of these hold any ideas of God, so were they glorifying God? If not then did they serve no purpose?
Some would say, no. I for one give an enthusiastic "yes!" There is inspiration in art. And when God's goodness and gentleness is completely removed from the subjects, the audience observes the horrors of what life is without Him. That is a paradox: God is being glorified through His absence. No matter what, God will get what's coming to Him.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
The Whitewater
The Rule: There is a trick to getting beyond creative adversity.
I stepped into the beach water at 630am this morning unaware of the extreme difficulty of paddling out before me. With my surf buddy by my side, we set forth. A good 4 foot whitewater charged at us, knocking us back towards the beach and further away from our objective- the lineup. We gain composure and keep paddling only to find another one rolling our way. This went on for 15 more minutes. Plus there were tons of surfers catching the waves ahead of us and paddling back out with what we perceived as ease. That aggravated me and I felt cheated by the ocean.
Eventually my friend turned around and looked at me and said, "I can't do this."
I said, "yes you can."
In response he said "then what's the trick?"
I didn't know what to tell him, but stay positive, and keep pushing. He made it to the lineup before me.
I don't think there is a trick to adversity. It's just pure arm burning, headache inducing, hemorrhoid forming perseverance. The more you are creative, the creative flow loosens, but when you are face to face, fist to fist with your work in progress, resistance is there to fight you back. There is no way around it.
I remember sitting in a library, eyes gazing over the busy bodies hunched over in their studies, struggling to generate a single productive thought towards my story. I couldn't. So I put my pen to my paper and just wrote. Eventually the ideas came to me, but it was a challenge. But two hours later I came up with three pages of good stuff.
It is easy to get disappointed. Here the rest of the world is writing up a storm on a daily basis, displaying beautiful paintings weekly, gorgeous movies released as fast as a sitcom, and here I am sweating at my keyboard, eyes burning and brain aching and all I can produce is dribble. But I have to keep pushing. Even the greatest artists, the greatest surfers had to push through the same opposition.
Maybe there is a trick after all. It is to keep going. Don't stop. Stay positive, even when it hurts so bad.
Listen to what people say is the trick to overcoming creative blocks, but don't hold them to be entirely true- including myself.
I stepped into the beach water at 630am this morning unaware of the extreme difficulty of paddling out before me. With my surf buddy by my side, we set forth. A good 4 foot whitewater charged at us, knocking us back towards the beach and further away from our objective- the lineup. We gain composure and keep paddling only to find another one rolling our way. This went on for 15 more minutes. Plus there were tons of surfers catching the waves ahead of us and paddling back out with what we perceived as ease. That aggravated me and I felt cheated by the ocean.
Eventually my friend turned around and looked at me and said, "I can't do this."
I said, "yes you can."
In response he said "then what's the trick?"
I didn't know what to tell him, but stay positive, and keep pushing. He made it to the lineup before me.
I don't think there is a trick to adversity. It's just pure arm burning, headache inducing, hemorrhoid forming perseverance. The more you are creative, the creative flow loosens, but when you are face to face, fist to fist with your work in progress, resistance is there to fight you back. There is no way around it.
I remember sitting in a library, eyes gazing over the busy bodies hunched over in their studies, struggling to generate a single productive thought towards my story. I couldn't. So I put my pen to my paper and just wrote. Eventually the ideas came to me, but it was a challenge. But two hours later I came up with three pages of good stuff.
It is easy to get disappointed. Here the rest of the world is writing up a storm on a daily basis, displaying beautiful paintings weekly, gorgeous movies released as fast as a sitcom, and here I am sweating at my keyboard, eyes burning and brain aching and all I can produce is dribble. But I have to keep pushing. Even the greatest artists, the greatest surfers had to push through the same opposition.
Maybe there is a trick after all. It is to keep going. Don't stop. Stay positive, even when it hurts so bad.
Listen to what people say is the trick to overcoming creative blocks, but don't hold them to be entirely true- including myself.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Bullets, Posion, Daggers and Nails
The Rule: Good leadership doesn't have consequences.
Bullets, daggers, poisons and in some cases nails entering any leader's body says a lot about the quality of his leadership.
To be assassinated is either a tremendous complement or utter defeat. No one has ever been killed due to mediocre leadership. An assassin's' bullet never makes its way into a leader if the leader has not forged new grounds.
No leader wants to die by an assassin's hand They would much rather die in their sleep in a quiet room covered by cool colors of a summer's evening and a warm breeze gently caressing them, not by coughing up blood with their brains leaking out of their skull.
Leaders want easy lives, but that is not possible. A life of a leader is brutally painful with assassins lurking around every cubicle, hiding behind lurking eyes at a staff meeting, two clicks away from a gut piercing email aimed right at him. Leaders have to take hits that many below them cannot do.
Leaders must dodge the arrows, block the swinging daggers and shun the poison goblet. But not every leader is quick, smart or clever enough to do these things. Sometimes the weapon penetrates the skin. In this case a thick skin is needed.
Gossip, slander and harsh criticism lurks in the hearts of all assassins. This is their weapon of choice. The scary part of it is that all can be recruited into the assassin's camp.
Many a leader's assassin doesn't even know they are smiting them. Their warfare is subtle and even subconscious. The assassins could even be leaders themselves, bloody from the battles they have fought and lost. They limp, and snarl with lips of disgust and frustration over the leader's choices. Generally, a wounded solider or patriot is the cause.
So if you are a leader and are not facing any opposition, hardship or assassination attempts maybe you are mediocre and boring. If you are facing these things you have to ask yourself, what type of leader are you: an Abe Lincoln or a Nero. The difference is Nero wasn't strong enough to lead through the turmoil. Instead he let it eat at him and digest his soul until he slit his own throat. Despite opposition and extreme hatred, Lincoln stood through it all. The death came from the outside. As much as we want to be Lincolns, each leader has a little Nero inside him: after a string of mistakes we tend to be our own assassin.
As leaders let's take the hits others throw at us, and disregard our own.
Bullets, daggers, poisons and in some cases nails entering any leader's body says a lot about the quality of his leadership.
To be assassinated is either a tremendous complement or utter defeat. No one has ever been killed due to mediocre leadership. An assassin's' bullet never makes its way into a leader if the leader has not forged new grounds.
No leader wants to die by an assassin's hand They would much rather die in their sleep in a quiet room covered by cool colors of a summer's evening and a warm breeze gently caressing them, not by coughing up blood with their brains leaking out of their skull.
Leaders want easy lives, but that is not possible. A life of a leader is brutally painful with assassins lurking around every cubicle, hiding behind lurking eyes at a staff meeting, two clicks away from a gut piercing email aimed right at him. Leaders have to take hits that many below them cannot do.
Leaders must dodge the arrows, block the swinging daggers and shun the poison goblet. But not every leader is quick, smart or clever enough to do these things. Sometimes the weapon penetrates the skin. In this case a thick skin is needed.
Gossip, slander and harsh criticism lurks in the hearts of all assassins. This is their weapon of choice. The scary part of it is that all can be recruited into the assassin's camp.
Many a leader's assassin doesn't even know they are smiting them. Their warfare is subtle and even subconscious. The assassins could even be leaders themselves, bloody from the battles they have fought and lost. They limp, and snarl with lips of disgust and frustration over the leader's choices. Generally, a wounded solider or patriot is the cause.
So if you are a leader and are not facing any opposition, hardship or assassination attempts maybe you are mediocre and boring. If you are facing these things you have to ask yourself, what type of leader are you: an Abe Lincoln or a Nero. The difference is Nero wasn't strong enough to lead through the turmoil. Instead he let it eat at him and digest his soul until he slit his own throat. Despite opposition and extreme hatred, Lincoln stood through it all. The death came from the outside. As much as we want to be Lincolns, each leader has a little Nero inside him: after a string of mistakes we tend to be our own assassin.
As leaders let's take the hits others throw at us, and disregard our own.
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