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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.
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