Damn it's HOT! There's something maddening about summer. Something has been sucked from me. Like a dried up piece of fruit. Asphalt, the hum of the fan, my cats half dead. Patiently waiting for the sun to go down. Night swimming. Hard to imagine some folks have never been underwater. Oh man, ain't nothing like it.
I have to admit, I need a little Chet Baker in my ear when I write. Bukowski said if you need to do SOMETHING to get you to write. Don't do it. I think Buck would approve.
So what's on the agenda? Well, nobody seems to be reading this shit, so I shall bask in the freedom of my craft. I have too many half written pieces floating around. I've never even contemplated "endings" for half these stories, but I must get to work. Work it out. Get it down.
The idea behind "These 28 Walls" is the story of a writer working on his pieces, while a parallel commentary/story carries on about that very same writer. it's not confusing to me. Hopefully readers will get it. I read a book called "The end of the island" or some shit like that about a guy who told his kids it was the end of the world and took them off to some deserted island. And while "mankind" eventually found him, it lead to his madness. While the dual perspective thing kinda worked for that story, I hopeful i can pull if off. Trying to blur the lines though. make it interesting and provocative.
There are millions of writers out there, getting their crap published. They have an audience. They are paid to write. I can't imagine that ever happening to me, but I have to keep going. I have to try. (Sorry Buck)
So I'm going to get organized. I'll only post actual work here once it's done. Done? When am i ever done? But I will interject my thoughts on this blog during the process. This tool is working for me, if for no one else.
God damn, my kids sure make me smile.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
These 28 Walls
Mental Fatigue. Need to somehow reclaim the power to relax. This is the great challenge over the next few weeks/months. Example; a talented writer, no one reads. Reason; not so talented? Not good. Uninteresting?...more to ponder. I better just fight through this. I have never been more inspired, never had the access, tools and capabilities to break through. All the more reason to feel more frustrated. Can you hear me? Stop caring what they think. Just start writing damn it.
I've been going through old pictures. There is a lot there. Not a life wasted.
But now I am stagnant. Makes me feel worthless now. This body of work behind me, it was valid once. A young man's game. Too many temptations. Oh, that's the excuse. Now, what excuse is there? Perhaps, it has all just passed me by. So many times I remember wishing I had the tools to get it down, to work it out. Now the valve is running and the tap is all dried out.
I spend my days reflecting. Opportunity after opportunity...wasted. Maybe there are only a handful of Mondays left. Better make the most of them.
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Campbell Stahlworth was a man of tedious discipline and tireless dedication. His mind never wondered, he had little time for distractions. He spent his days organizing and overseeing the home he had occupied for these some 25 years. He was master of this domain. He knew ever creaking floor board and the location of every novel, note and letter which had ever passed through his stainless, well manicured hands. But the one thing Campbell could not lasso was his destiny. You see Campbell Stahlworth had managed to isolate himself so deep in this self imposed exile, he knew little of the world outside his door. He was totally oblivious to the neighbors who spoke in whispers and the housekeepers who hated the very site of this lonely shadow of a man.
I've been going through old pictures. There is a lot there. Not a life wasted.
But now I am stagnant. Makes me feel worthless now. This body of work behind me, it was valid once. A young man's game. Too many temptations. Oh, that's the excuse. Now, what excuse is there? Perhaps, it has all just passed me by. So many times I remember wishing I had the tools to get it down, to work it out. Now the valve is running and the tap is all dried out.
I spend my days reflecting. Opportunity after opportunity...wasted. Maybe there are only a handful of Mondays left. Better make the most of them.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Campbell Stahlworth was a man of tedious discipline and tireless dedication. His mind never wondered, he had little time for distractions. He spent his days organizing and overseeing the home he had occupied for these some 25 years. He was master of this domain. He knew ever creaking floor board and the location of every novel, note and letter which had ever passed through his stainless, well manicured hands. But the one thing Campbell could not lasso was his destiny. You see Campbell Stahlworth had managed to isolate himself so deep in this self imposed exile, he knew little of the world outside his door. He was totally oblivious to the neighbors who spoke in whispers and the housekeepers who hated the very site of this lonely shadow of a man.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
The New Journals of the Anti Everything...
He knew he was in trouble as he panted out of breath getting up for his grilled cheese sandwich. Achievements were nowhere near this frame of mind. Survival was barely in focus. But he liked to drive and see old faces. Even cats were starting to avoid him. But he felt better than ever. Happy. yes, happy. Happy to be one of the many. Don't let the headlines fool you. In simple times, thrives the simpleton....
stay tuned as we careen down the cul de sac of broken dreams.
stay tuned as we careen down the cul de sac of broken dreams.
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