Wash.

Busy lately. I’ve been wanting to get back into blogging regularly, but it’s been difficult seeing that I’ve changed my approach to it as I’ve gotten older. LiveJournal was dedicated mostly to griping and finding a writing voice that worked for me (between the ages of 19 and 23); Blogger was for more bitching, but for figuring out what I was doing with my life (from 24-28). WordPress I’ve been treating as a venue for essays and news dissemination rather than a forum for personal head dumps. Since it’s so different from what I’m used to, I’m still figuring out what I want to do with it. But one thing is for certain – I need to start posting more because I fucking miss it. I need it.

It’s funny. I’ve always felt a need to be writing SOMETHING, be it a blog post or a story. And I started a written journal for the stuff I would have put in either of my old blogs, but doesn’t seem appropriate to share anymore. Right now, though, my fiction writing has become sporadic and blogging hasn’t been able to pick up the slack. And that personal journal has been gathering dust since I’m currently cohabiting in an apartment that is much too small for me to live in with someone else. I don’t feel comfortable pouring out painful things into a notebook with someone sitting next to me in their underwear playing Call of Duty or watching Star Trek.

I thought the mental frustration that came from stifling that oversharing might impart more energy to my writing, but it hasn’t. Instead I’m beginning to notice a general feeling of claustrophobia  in my stories. But it’s undeveloped – ineffable. It’s there, but I don’t understand why.

And that’s the benefit of writing it out. If I can’t understand all the shit roiling around in my head, I don’t know to look for it in the stories I’m writing. I can’t nurture it. And it’s making everything I write feel hollow.

I have a trick I use when I’m writing and I start feeling paralyzed by the enormity of the thing I’m creating (I can’t sit still if there’s a “Why” question I can’t answer). I sit down with a legal tablet and just start writing about a small part of the story. I write and write and write until I start running into things I can’t easily explain with looking at reference materials. Then I go back and see if that helped. If it didn’t, I’ll pick something else and do the same thing. Sometimes this will go on for weeks. Months. Years. But that’s a matter of discipline. All of those have helped me get around mental blocks. But most of the time I write enough to find out I don’t like the world I’ve built. Or the character. Or worse yet, it highlights why the story is so hollow. But sometimes, it’ll get me through that mental block and make the story better. Those are the stories I finish. The rest haunt me.

It’s the same thing with my journal. I figure if I write enough I’ll have that epiphany that’ll help me internalize and move on. That’s what I used to do. There’s so much stuff in my head I want to write about (Viable Paradise, stuff with my day jerb, my friends, where I want my life to be, wonderful weekends and bad weekends, blackouts and neighbors and banjos and bands), but I think I’ve given myself too many boxes that are all the wrong size.

And I’m fucking haunted.

Still not sure what I’m going to be doing here. But I can promise that whatever it is, there will be more of it than there is now.

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In Which I Write a Rare Book Review

I’ve been doing a Hugo Book Club with my friends from grad school for the better part of a year now, and I just wrote a review that I decided to cross post here, since it’s relevant. Our book this month was Robert Charles Wilson’s Spin (which won the Hugo in 2006, I believe). There are only very mild spoilers if you’ve not read Spin – and if you read the summary on the back of the book, there are none at all:

I just finished reading Spin. Maybe 15 minutes ago.

I loved it. But I have to qualify this review before I start it:

I finished reading Perdido Street Station (by China Mieville) earlier this week. Perdido Street Station did something to my head that I’m still trying to parse. It rewired something. And I was coming off a week of writerly optimism (which has made me feel much like leaving grad school did – that the things I’ve been waiting to happen for years are finally happening). The result of all of this is I’ve been living in a state of pleasant anticipation. And it’s with this mindset that I picked up Spin.

Continue reading

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A Manifesto and a Moment

I’ve seen this making the rounds the last few days, and thought it appropriate to share:

(Originally from here)

It took me years to stumble and wrench and claw my way into a life philosophy I believe in that brings me peace and motivation and makes me a force of good in the lives of others. All I’ve ever wanted was to inspire others to do what they love without apology so I could share the freedom and happiness I’ve cultivated within myself with them. To live a life that is beautiful.

So when I come across something like this, where I spend so much time nodding my head furiously to the point of whiplash, I regret the road has been so bumpy.

But then I think back to some words of wisdom from my favorite Doctor:

Amen, my friend. Amen.

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The ship is sinking

 

I am officially in love with whoever made this video.

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This…

…illustrates my point exactly:

“People say ‘It’s all about the story,'” Hendrickson said. “When you’re making tentpole films, bullshit.” Hendrickson showed a chart of the top 12 all-time domestic grossers, and noted every one is a spectacle film. Of his own studio’s “Alice in Wonderland,” which is on the list, he said: “The story isn’t very good, but visual spectacle brought people in droves. And Johnny Depp didn’t hurt.”

(Disney studios exec, Andy Hendrickson, on their strategy to increase the profitability of their films – from this article in Variety)

In other news: The procrastination is strong with me lately.

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I AM big. It’s the pictures that got small.

Today on twitter, Damien Walter posted the question,

“Do you want or expect more from an SF/Fantasy story / film etc than entertainment?”

Because twitter is seriously limiting on the amount of space to go into this in any kind of depth, on his prompting I’m laying down my ideas here. Continue reading

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Why I Write – Part 1: A Thought Experiment

The past week I’ve given myself permission to not do any writing and just read instead. It felt deliciously evil. So much so that I’ve read three and a half books in the past 6 days. Oh glory, glory, hally hoo-hah. Such a delicious change.

So as I was lying in bed last night, indulging in the latest VP instructor’s story, I briefly entertained a thought:

What if you just gave up writing? There’d finally be enough hours in the day for everything you want to do. I mean, can you imagine getting home from work and not having to sacrifice cooking or yoga or reading in favor of writing? You could exist in an indefinite hedonistic state!

I put the book down and stared up at the ceiling for a bit after that thought came and went.

I’ve always had something I was aching for, ever since I hit puberty, so at first this thought was distressing. Asking me to give up pursuit of an impossible goal is like asking me to give up breathing. I feel empty and adrift without constantly working towards something and the constant dull pain from the resulting (self-inflicted) ego bruises is as familiar as my own heartbeat.

But the prospect of having no obligations is intoxicating – nothing to worry about, nothing to plan for, nothing to lament when things go wrong or when your failure grows so large you become warped from the gravity of it. But this feels so wrong – so unhuman.

Everyone has a “thing,” be it striving for the perfect house, or family, or fantasy football team or five minute mile or golf swing. We have a compulsion to seek novel things, then seek to get better at it (I mean, look at the points you can get on Xbox games for achieving certain things in certain games). We have a vision of what we could be, and what we are and that gap between is what causes us to get up at 5:30 in the morning and pull on our running shoes or bring our camera with us everywhere or learn a new coding language.

Who wants to spend their life and at the end of it say: “I’m certainly proud of the amount of TV I watched.”

So the prospect of giving up writing became less hollow at that thought. I haven’t always wanted to be a writer (though to be fair, it is the first thing I wanted to be). I wanted to be a lot of other things and threw myself in with as much vigor as I’m using now (go back and talk to my fifteen-year-old self who had no other eyes than for music). I’m sure I would find something else if I gave it up, so at this thought the distress abated.

And it left me with the question: Why write at all? Why do this one thing that brings you so much grief and frustration; that feels so impossibly out of reach most days?

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Autophagy and how to smile all the time

The other song from the recording binge this weekend is now up at soundcloud.

I had started working on this one a week or so ago when I printed out the lyrics to the Gummi Bears TV Show theme song and picked out a sad, sad chord progression.

Because Damir requested a threnody to be written for this one particular gummi bear from a Robot Chicken episode. And it made so much sense that’s what Damir wanted the song to be about because Damir and I know each other, though we’ve never met in person or even heard one another’s voice. These were the lyrics I wrote in a rush at a coffee shop before meeting up at Rob’s place.

I knew I wanted there to be some accordion on it, and I knew just the man for the job. I got the accordion track back last night from Stephan, mixed it into the track Rob and I had recorded and out came a song I’m really, really fond of.

Autophagy (permalink on soundcloud here)


All of the songs I’ve written I’ve been proud of for one reason or another, but as for a song I would actually listen to again, this is the one. It’s closest to the kind of music I listen to. And it makes me hopeful that I might be able to actually write music I would willingly listen to. The kind of music that gets me excited.

I want to write another sad song.  I want to write a song that breaks my heart.

We’ll see how I do.

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3 in 7

Earlier in the week, I invited myself over to my friend Rob’s place to go on a recording binge. Rob has helped in some way on every single song I’ve written for the Write-a-Thon this year. Naturally, since he’s also a multitalented local musician (who I happen to work with), it made perfect sense to go on a music-writing binge this weekend, especially considering the next two weekends are booked solid with family vacation-related things.

We were supposed to start at 10, but I woke up late and he woke up late and needed extra time to clean up his house, so I wound up sitting in a coffeeshop writing the lyrics for the first song (which only had a very basic chord structure at that point). I got to his place at 12 and we spent the next seven hours writing and recording three songs.

The first song was for another coworker (who lives in New York state). It’s currently having another track laid down on top of it by one of my former partners in musical crime, Stephan (who some of you may remember as being part of the Basic Milk Hotel project, where we did a few street performances of all of Neutral Milk Hotel’s In the Aeroplane Over the Sea with guitar, mandolin, accordion and trumpet back in 2007). I’m not gonna write more about this song, since it’s unfinished and its story will come when I can post it.

After we finished that one, there was nothing else that was done. There was one cover song, so the lyrics were already done, but we had to write the chords and the melody. This one was requested by Eric who wanted a ukulele cover of MC Luscious’ Boom I Got Your Boyfriend:

I wandered around the backyard, singing to myself until I found a melody that would work, then fiddled around with the uke for a bit before I found a chord progression I liked, then laid down the chords and the vocals in one take (fuck yeah). Rob cheesed it up a bit by adding some sounds from the hip hop drum kit in GarageBand and some ridiculous backing vocals and BOOM. It was done.

Boom I Got Your Boyfriend (permalink here):

We were fucking dancing on the final playback. So much fun, I can’t even tell you.

It was maybe 4 o’clock by now and we were both kind of tired and hungry, but we wanted to do one more, but none of the others had lyrics or chords yet – they were still just ideas. I had never written a song from scratch with someone else before. We wound up picking the song requested by my friend Kendra, who wanted a song on the banjo about her dog Ginger and a platypus (because she friggin’ loves platypuses (Kendra, not Ginger)), and oh, by the way, Ginger has a secret dream of becoming an astronaut.

While Rob was laying down the percussion track on BOOM I grabbed my pen and started writing. I knew I wanted to have Ginger crash land on an alien planet that’s populated by Marsupials and, after making a quick list of marsupials to draw puns from later and writing the first two versus, I got stuck. So I picked up the banjo and started picking out a chord progression I liked to see if I could find a melody and rhythm for the lyrics that would at least give the rest of the song some structure I could write around. The song was in G. Note to self: sometimes it’s not the best idea to start a chord progression with the V chord, since you run into a LOT of chord progression problems down the line.

Once Rob was done, we set to work on this one. Rob started doing triage on the chord progression and we found a rhythm that worked, and what the pre-chorus would be and the heart of the fucking song came out when Rob mis-spoke and said, “platypee”, which is where platypeople came from and it made the song so simple to finish since now it had a plot (albeit a borrowed one). He wrote a neat chord progression on the guitar for the pre-chorus and chorus, so we laid that one down first, then the vocals and the banjo track. Rob added some drums and a bassline and we were fucking done for the day.

Planet of the Platypeople (permalink here):

Seven hours later, we had written three songs and I couldn’t help be reminded of the lessons I learned from watching 8 in 8. Songwriting doesn’t have to be difficult and collaboration helps cut through the bullshit in your head. And the more you do it, like any art, the easier it gets. And if you’re not good enough at certain aspects of your art, practice until you are, whether it’s forcing your fingers to make an unfamiliar chord until you can do it in your sleep, or writing millions of words until your voice comes through loud and strong.

I’m on a songwriting break for the next week or so to focus on some writing/revising. But I’ve written five songs in the past three weeks, two new short stories, and I’ve send two out to publications.

All in all not a bad Write-a-Thon this year.

And if you’re on the fence about donating, there are only three weeks left. I strongly urge you to consider, even if it’s only $5. I really want to make this album happen – as I’ve discovered it’s one of those things on my bucket list that I didn’t even know was on there. And I only have $100 to go. On top of that, you’d be donating to an awesome cause (ensuring that you’re gonna get some really kick ass fiction by some really kick ass writers in the future). As always, you can donate here.

And as always, give yourself permission to make something today. And remember, even if you think it’s awful, finish it. Because when you’re done, you’ll be one step closer to making something you love.

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Interview meme (now with 100% more ponies)

There is an interview thingy going around right now and because it’s Friday (and I’m still so enthralled because I forgot this morning and finding out was like finding out today was FUCKING CHRISTMAS), Imma do this thing. ::nods to K. Marie Criddle for the impetus:: And for added fun, I’m going to answer all of these with as many pop culture references and song lyrics as I can:

Are you a rutabaga?

Negative. I am a meat popsicle.

When was the last time you ate lion meat?

Shortly before the last time I woke up naked in the forest beside a deer with its throat ripped out.  They were unrelated incidents.

Upload a heartwarming picture of something that makes you smile.

I really do

If you could go back in time and kick the crap out of someone, who would it be?

"Hey guys! This lightbulb is powered exclusively by my dickishness!"

Name one habit that makes people plot your demise.

I love many things very deeply. If you don’t love those things too, I will spend most of my time subtly trying to convince you your life is small and broken without them.

What song would you like to be playing while you are kicking the crap out of someone?

Tom Waits’ Misery is the River of the World would provide a nice reinforcement of the message the beatee should be taking away. “For want of a life, a knife was lost…”

Where da muffin top at?

1997

How many goats, stacked atop one another like Yertle’s Turtles, would it take to reach the moon?

It would depend on how we would secure the goats to one another, and whether or not the goats have to be alive for it to count. If the latter is not important, the former problem becomes much easier to solve. However, if they must be alive, first we have to figure out how much additional height the spacesuits for the goats would add. But using an average between all possible methods, it would take 6.022 x 10^23 goats.

Describe yourself using obscure Latin words.

“A posse ad esse.” Though on my tombstone, I wouldn’t mind having “Acta est fabula plaudite.”

Why does evil exist?

Bruce Campbell’s exists. When Bruce exists, Evil exists to antagonize him. Therefore without Bruce, there is no Evil.

What the chiz are you thinking right now?

“Everybody has a secret world inside of them. All of the people of the world, I mean everybody. No matter how dull and boring they are on the outside, inside them they’ve all got unimaginable, magnificent, wonderful, stupid, amazing worlds. Not just one world. Hundreds of them. Thousands maybe.” – Who else?

* * *

In other news, I wrote a ridiculous story the other day based on a request from Marie, and it turned out so well that not only did she make an incredible piece of art based on it, but I decided to just go ahead and send it off to a magazine (I have a feeling that saying, “Why the fuck not?” is going to have a huge impact on the success of my writing career at some point). I won’t hear back for a bit, but still – felt good. It’s probably the funniest story I’ve ever written – and a perfect example of my favorite kind of humor: satire.

Next week, I’m going to Yosemite for the first time.

This weekend, my friend Rob and I are going to record as many songs as we can in one day.

And tonight I’m going to do absolutely nothing.

Do something beautiful this weekend in secret. Use it to smile for no apparent reason next week.

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