Monday, February 27, 2017
Action vs.Intention (the dreamer that becomes the artist)
Dear Reader,
Happy Monday, Wherever you are. I hope you are having a productive day. I hope your coffee was strong and your morning was tolerable. I confess that I am (as I'm sure you have realized by now) not at all a morning person. I don't think I've ever gotten up before 9AM if I didn't have to. Some people would say I'm sleeping the day away. I disagree. "The early bird gets the worm!" Well so, what does the night-owl care? He's sleeping off his banquet of field mice from the night before. What about you, dear reader? Are you a night owl or early bird? One of my favorite song writers Samuel Beam (Iron & Wine, of whom I'm currently listening to, if I might add) says that he finds morning writing to be a far more eclectic time to create. I could care less what time you put pen to paper if you can write music like that man can, and I can understand as a sentiment if you are someone like my mother has always been who arises with vigor and purpose and curiosity, you could find "sunrise writing" a more fulfilling way to create. I find trouble with that. I awaken most mornings with only thoughts of going back to bed simply because I'm spent from writing so much during the night. It's a viscous cycle as you can imagine. Maybe I can try getting up and forcing myself to the keyboard. Try to develop the habit of taking my work into my own hands. After all, I've heard it said that as a writer, or any type of entrepreneur really, you are the acting CEO of your own company. Lets just say that my company is VERY easy going and losing a lot of business to other companies who aren't afraid to put their product out into the public.
Maybe early-rising will give me the fortitude to accomplish more throughout the day and at the very least get me in front of my work during more "productive hours." Or maybe that's just a bullshit mind-hack to make you feel like your work is more meaningful. "It's 9AM and everyone is at work now INCLUDING ME!" ... okay pal, whatever you need to tell yourself. Anyway. Whatever works for you, whatever time you feel more comfortable creating, dear reader, do that. You don't owe anyone an explanation to your creative process. Someone once told me that, and I never felt more empowered, more in control of my creative process when I heard that. So I'm passing that thought on to you. All that matters is whether or not you take action.
ACTION yes. The verb of accomplishment. One would argue, as an artist, is the most important verb of them all. Not even just to the artist though, whatever your dreams, whatever your goals in whatever facet of life you are examining... the only step that matters is the doing.
I'm reminded of a tattoo one of my ex-lovers got on her wrist: it was the word intention. I'd like to examine this concept, and do my best to ignore the fact that she misspelled the word in the cursive script of her bland penmanship so it reads "imtensiom". I shit you not. I often wonder if the tattoo artist just laughed and rolled his eyes as he knowingly injected the meaningless jumble of cursive letters onto her delicate, unspoiled wrist. Or was he, like so many before him (including myself) so enamored by her charm and beauty that he just ignored her blatantly pretentious stupidity for a chance to see what the rest of her dancer's figure might look like unclothed. "How many other misspelled musings of hers did she hastily plaster onto her lovely olive skin," he wonders "...and where?". I feel your inquisitive pain, mister unknown tattoo artist.
How dare you, Colin Joseph! It could have been a female tattoo artist who spoke no English! Well, dear reader, it still doesn't detract from my original point...which is...which is what?
Oh yes! What the f@ck is Intention to an artist -- or anyone, for that matter? Intention is the self-righteous cousin of laziness. I intended to do my homework, I intended to write a novel, I intended to vote, I intended to perform surgery on your daughter, I intended to start a blog, I intended to memorize my lines, I intended to donate to that charity you sent to me, I intended to quit drinking and sleeping around, I intended to...am I driving the point home?
Intention is a daydream, and even dogs have daydreams. It's a tepid, and self-affirming excuse to get out of actually f@cking bothering to do the thing. Sure, I intended to write this blog post, but until I sat my skinny ass down, threw on some Iron & Wine and started mindlessly typing, it was just a thought, a daydream, a plan. And sure, plans and intentions are a useful thing to start with, but they are abstract and useless until they are put into action ... I can put a billion great ideas into a planner or journal, but that is only the VERY BEGINNING of the creative process. The only thing that matters is the follow-through. That's why, in the arts for example, we have people called "actors" or "dancers" or "directors"... there are no "intenders" anywhere to be found.
Anyway, dear READer (see, even you are in the processes of doing... you can intend to read a rambling blog, or a book, or a listicle on the most-favored sexual positions, but if you don't actually do the thing, you'll never gain the knowledge you set out to acquire) my question to you is this:
What have you been intending to do that you have not put into action? I'll throw out a "humble brag" and tell you that I had been intending to send in an application to a local writer's residency that offers housing and pay for an entire month to work on whatever creative project you are working on. This is an incredible thing for an artist if you are finding it difficult to get the time you need to create, or looking to get away from the humdrum routine of your daily life. Anyway, today I sacked up and just did it. Got my project description, my CV and a 10 page sample of some previous writing together and just sent them in. I might not get it, but I'll never know unless I try. Anyway dear reader, I hope this posts finds you well, and whether you found my ramblings harsh, or inspiring, I hope you at least can assess your projects, your daydreams, creations, intentions, and start to put them into action.
Good luck and I'll talk to you soon!
-CjM
Saturday, February 25, 2017
Escape
Dear Reader,
Happy Saturday. Another beautiful late February day. I know I'm supposed to be "globally conscious" and weary that the Earth has a fever and is subtly telling us to change our ways, (whatever those ways are can be argued at length) but dammit I can't help but enjoy the day today. I'm at a coffee shop in lovely little Lennox here, continuing, as I told you to read Ethan Frome. I guess you could say that's a bit "on the nose" or "typical" or "basic"... but I'd argue that those are easy labels and there is no better place to be to escape into writing and reading tales about the Berkshires-- "When in Rome!"... I'd also say "Why are we arguing? Can't we escape this swill of judgement for just one day and enjoy the sunshine before the planet eliminates our species the way it has eliminated so many others in the past? Can't we? Can't we escape?"
That's a good topic to discuss today. Escape. Where do you, dear reader, escape to? I've already told you my escape, or have I? Well, I suppose, in many ways, it's this. Escaping into my writings and ramblings. And ramblings by the way is a double meaning for me, because I'm so F@CKING CLEVER. To go for a ramble, to "ramble on, " as Robert Plant would squawk. Of course, there is mentally escaping and physically escaping, which I suppose was the original proposal of my asking. Where do you go when you need to escape? Where are you at the moment? Why do we feel the need to escape?
We are constantly on the go aren't we, dear reader, you and I. I'm reminded of my oldest and dearest friend, let's call him Ponos (for Ponos is the Greek god of hard work.) He is my age and he has been all over the world. "You need to go to XYZ" he says like it's a sandwich shop in town or something. Oh no problem, let me just go do that with the nothingness that is my finances. That's what Ponos doesn't understand, is that ultimately, vacationing costs money--and that's what he does-- he vacations, because he has it. He is at a stage where his escaping is purely recreational. And why shouldn't he be able to? Ponos works hard. The difference though, between his hard work and mine, is that his work currently rewards him financially and mine has yet to (again, purely financially) give me a damn cent. The truth is that I'm jealous of my friend Ponos. He has made the "correct American decisions," if you will. See, I couldn't possibly afford to visit all the places that he has, at this point in my life at least, but ultimately I would like to. I believe, personally, that travelling and experiencing other cultures is the most profound way to grow as a person. You are thrust into an entirely unfamiliar region with a rich history, a history just as complex and interesting as the place you came from. I can think of no better way to truly grasp the fact that there is an existence outside of our tiny little perspective. I think he believes that too, but just presents it in a different way. I guess I just get jealous as I said, that he is experiencing so much traveling and "exploring" while I feel that I am left with only the ability to wander around aimlessly. I suppose I should just be happy being able to be in a place that so many others would kill to be in, shouldn't I? To be so carefree and introspective at the moment when others are crippled with so many other things on top of what I am feeling...
There is a word for that realization you have that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own, "sonder," I believe is the word. Not that you need to be on a different continent to fully comprehend or experience that feeling, but I believe it would provide a more poignant definition to the word, and a new perspective, at least, to your individual sonder-ized world.
PERSPECTIVE that's it. That's why we escape. I often think it's to get away from myself when I "escape" into reading or writing or escaping to nature, but really it's just to recharge and understand that we need to trust our journey. We need clarity. It's hard being a human, isn't it? We are so intuitive and curious and fragile by nature, so it is easy for us to second guess ourselves in anything that we do.
A thought dawned on me as I was vomiting my thoughts all over this page. There is no escape. Not really, anyway. Nomatter where we go, we are always stuck with our selves and our perception of existence. There is only ever exploring and growth. So try to escape, dear reader, and you will be found again. This thought might frighten you, or it might give you some delightful comfort. Maybe you completely disagree with me. That's fine, I've never claimed my babbling to be gospel. But solipsism states, if you subscribe to the notion, that the self is all that can be known to exist, so the only way to "escape" our thoughts or troubles or what-have-you-- is to face them, explore them, understand them, and grow out of them. Every thought is just an itch that needs to be scratched.
Maybe I'm thinking too much, I can go on, can't I... I just wanted to know where you escape to and I ended up dissecting the very concept of "escapism". So I define escaping, so far anyways, as exploring outwardly and inwardly in order to find growth and perspective.
There is one more thing that I want to address: hiding. F@ck. Sometimes that's how I see my escaping, dear reader; hiding.
What from?
Well, if we can't hide from ourselves, we must be hiding from our fears. Maybe we have to address our fears in order to get to the root of our urge to escape. Are we afraid of being lonely? Afraid of losing the ones we love? Afraid of failure? Afraid of not experiencing everything there is to experience? Maybe we all escape for different reasons.
The main character I created in my novel is a cliched daydreamer when the story opens. He too, must escape, explore, hide, and grow. I don't honestly have an issue with "cliche character traits" as long as you make honest character growth and honest character reaction to the world you've created around that character. Besides, cliche is just another label, and it's not like that's his only character trait. Is it cliche to make characters that have two legs and two arms then? Is it cliche to have all your characters speak the same language... Anyway I'm defending something that doesn't call for defending. I've had too much coffee. Let me get back on track.
"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only by night."
-- E.A. Poe
So what I'm saying dear reader, is we all have a need to escape, but we have to be conscious of whether that escape is coming from the urge to explore or the urge to hide, or both. Either way we should use this urge to escape as a chance to grow and learn. I hope I've left you with something to think about, even if it's "wow, this kid is over-analyzing a simple human urge to go different places." But, dear reader I think it's important to analyze the choices we make, and the places we go to when we feel trapped.
It's still so beautiful out. Years ago, my friend Ponos and I would be together on a Saturday such as this and we'd be outside throwing the baseball around. Tomorrow is his birthday, funny enough, perhaps that's why he is so presently on my mind today. He is living across the country and I miss him. Perhaps I will explore the idea of journeying out to the west coast. Someday.
I used to be so impulsive, dear reader. Now I find myself being so much more tentative. What I'd really like to escape from is this caffeine rush if I'm honest --but I'm glad to have explored it with you. I hope you are experiencing a nice weekend, and hope you are doing far more exploring than hiding when you escape. That's all. I'm escaping this blog for the rest of the weekend. Hopefully I'll finish my reading of Ethan Frome as well.
See you Monday!
-CjM
Happy Saturday. Another beautiful late February day. I know I'm supposed to be "globally conscious" and weary that the Earth has a fever and is subtly telling us to change our ways, (whatever those ways are can be argued at length) but dammit I can't help but enjoy the day today. I'm at a coffee shop in lovely little Lennox here, continuing, as I told you to read Ethan Frome. I guess you could say that's a bit "on the nose" or "typical" or "basic"... but I'd argue that those are easy labels and there is no better place to be to escape into writing and reading tales about the Berkshires-- "When in Rome!"... I'd also say "Why are we arguing? Can't we escape this swill of judgement for just one day and enjoy the sunshine before the planet eliminates our species the way it has eliminated so many others in the past? Can't we? Can't we escape?"
That's a good topic to discuss today. Escape. Where do you, dear reader, escape to? I've already told you my escape, or have I? Well, I suppose, in many ways, it's this. Escaping into my writings and ramblings. And ramblings by the way is a double meaning for me, because I'm so F@CKING CLEVER. To go for a ramble, to "ramble on, " as Robert Plant would squawk. Of course, there is mentally escaping and physically escaping, which I suppose was the original proposal of my asking. Where do you go when you need to escape? Where are you at the moment? Why do we feel the need to escape?
We are constantly on the go aren't we, dear reader, you and I. I'm reminded of my oldest and dearest friend, let's call him Ponos (for Ponos is the Greek god of hard work.) He is my age and he has been all over the world. "You need to go to XYZ" he says like it's a sandwich shop in town or something. Oh no problem, let me just go do that with the nothingness that is my finances. That's what Ponos doesn't understand, is that ultimately, vacationing costs money--and that's what he does-- he vacations, because he has it. He is at a stage where his escaping is purely recreational. And why shouldn't he be able to? Ponos works hard. The difference though, between his hard work and mine, is that his work currently rewards him financially and mine has yet to (again, purely financially) give me a damn cent. The truth is that I'm jealous of my friend Ponos. He has made the "correct American decisions," if you will. See, I couldn't possibly afford to visit all the places that he has, at this point in my life at least, but ultimately I would like to. I believe, personally, that travelling and experiencing other cultures is the most profound way to grow as a person. You are thrust into an entirely unfamiliar region with a rich history, a history just as complex and interesting as the place you came from. I can think of no better way to truly grasp the fact that there is an existence outside of our tiny little perspective. I think he believes that too, but just presents it in a different way. I guess I just get jealous as I said, that he is experiencing so much traveling and "exploring" while I feel that I am left with only the ability to wander around aimlessly. I suppose I should just be happy being able to be in a place that so many others would kill to be in, shouldn't I? To be so carefree and introspective at the moment when others are crippled with so many other things on top of what I am feeling...
There is a word for that realization you have that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own, "sonder," I believe is the word. Not that you need to be on a different continent to fully comprehend or experience that feeling, but I believe it would provide a more poignant definition to the word, and a new perspective, at least, to your individual sonder-ized world.
PERSPECTIVE that's it. That's why we escape. I often think it's to get away from myself when I "escape" into reading or writing or escaping to nature, but really it's just to recharge and understand that we need to trust our journey. We need clarity. It's hard being a human, isn't it? We are so intuitive and curious and fragile by nature, so it is easy for us to second guess ourselves in anything that we do.
A thought dawned on me as I was vomiting my thoughts all over this page. There is no escape. Not really, anyway. Nomatter where we go, we are always stuck with our selves and our perception of existence. There is only ever exploring and growth. So try to escape, dear reader, and you will be found again. This thought might frighten you, or it might give you some delightful comfort. Maybe you completely disagree with me. That's fine, I've never claimed my babbling to be gospel. But solipsism states, if you subscribe to the notion, that the self is all that can be known to exist, so the only way to "escape" our thoughts or troubles or what-have-you-- is to face them, explore them, understand them, and grow out of them. Every thought is just an itch that needs to be scratched.
Maybe I'm thinking too much, I can go on, can't I... I just wanted to know where you escape to and I ended up dissecting the very concept of "escapism". So I define escaping, so far anyways, as exploring outwardly and inwardly in order to find growth and perspective.
There is one more thing that I want to address: hiding. F@ck. Sometimes that's how I see my escaping, dear reader; hiding.
What from?
Well, if we can't hide from ourselves, we must be hiding from our fears. Maybe we have to address our fears in order to get to the root of our urge to escape. Are we afraid of being lonely? Afraid of losing the ones we love? Afraid of failure? Afraid of not experiencing everything there is to experience? Maybe we all escape for different reasons.
The main character I created in my novel is a cliched daydreamer when the story opens. He too, must escape, explore, hide, and grow. I don't honestly have an issue with "cliche character traits" as long as you make honest character growth and honest character reaction to the world you've created around that character. Besides, cliche is just another label, and it's not like that's his only character trait. Is it cliche to make characters that have two legs and two arms then? Is it cliche to have all your characters speak the same language... Anyway I'm defending something that doesn't call for defending. I've had too much coffee. Let me get back on track.
"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only by night."
-- E.A. Poe
So what I'm saying dear reader, is we all have a need to escape, but we have to be conscious of whether that escape is coming from the urge to explore or the urge to hide, or both. Either way we should use this urge to escape as a chance to grow and learn. I hope I've left you with something to think about, even if it's "wow, this kid is over-analyzing a simple human urge to go different places." But, dear reader I think it's important to analyze the choices we make, and the places we go to when we feel trapped.
It's still so beautiful out. Years ago, my friend Ponos and I would be together on a Saturday such as this and we'd be outside throwing the baseball around. Tomorrow is his birthday, funny enough, perhaps that's why he is so presently on my mind today. He is living across the country and I miss him. Perhaps I will explore the idea of journeying out to the west coast. Someday.
I used to be so impulsive, dear reader. Now I find myself being so much more tentative. What I'd really like to escape from is this caffeine rush if I'm honest --but I'm glad to have explored it with you. I hope you are experiencing a nice weekend, and hope you are doing far more exploring than hiding when you escape. That's all. I'm escaping this blog for the rest of the weekend. Hopefully I'll finish my reading of Ethan Frome as well.
See you Monday!
-CjM
Friday, February 24, 2017
Reading List.
Good Morning Reader,
It's so beautiful out today. Spring has moved itself on in for these last few days, and it's been wonderful for adventuring around these parts. Of course, this being New England, I'm sure winter has not had its final say in this, the argument of seasons. I woke up with excitement to say hello to you reader, there must be something about you that I can't quite shake.
I wanted to ask if you've been reading anything good lately? I thought about making my list for 2017 as my typical motivation to read has been "I'd like to read XYZ so I'm going to do it." My library is stacked to the brim and it sometimes feels overwhelming, especially when I make all these grandiose plans to "revisit old books," you know, shit you read in high school that you never enjoy because it's been forced upon you. Or just revisiting old books because you have changed so much and so your perception and interpretation has (hopefully) evolved.
Anyways my my 2016 reading list was sparse, and I hate that because when you reflect on your past year, sometimes all you see are the opportunities you wasted, or how you kept putting off the things you enjoyed in order to appease some unrelenting force (or at least, that's what you convinced the thing to be.) Anyways, I didn't read as much as I'd like to last year and I'm going to change that. Good writers read. There's really no disputing that. This was my list last year:
A Dance With Dragons (reread) -- George RR. Martin
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (reread) -- Lewis Carroll
The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (reread)-- J.R.R. Tolkien
MacBeth--William Shakespeare
A Wrinkle in Time--Madeleine L'engle
Animal Farm-- George Orwell
1984--George Orwell
Of Mice and Men-- John Steinbeck
Okay so writing that out I'm not totally ashamed of the list. I guess the year is much longer than we give it credit. I remember being in a park on or near 110th street on the west side of Harlem reading the Lord of the Rings late last Spring on one of my days off ; beautiful. And I remember sitting on my porch before the maple-covered hills in North Adams this Fall reading 1984. That type of literary-induced paranoia was not fun coupled with the 2016 election which attempted to consume our very souls. There is one more book I didn't put on the list because I never got to finish it: The Epic of Gilgamesh. I bought it off a street vendor in Williamsburg for $3. On one of my desperately drunken evenings (around 3:30 in the morning) returning from the bar still in my work uniform. I fell asleep on the A Train. At my transfer stop, Broadway Junction, I awoke in a sudden panic like a homeless man being sprayed with a hose. I bounded for the door and made it off the car just in time...without my bag. So I lost my copy of Gilgamesh that night. along with my phone charger, a pair of shoes and (most importantly) my journal of which I had been tirelessly entering ideas, drawings and outlines into for more than a year. That was a bad night. But yeah, books.
So far this year I've completed only 1 book entitled: Steal Like an Artist by Austin Kleon. I highly recommend it for any artist worried about toeing the line between inspiration and plagiarism. If it's any indication, the book exposed one of my all-time favorite quotes (and possibly my next tattoo) from Pablo Picasso, that is "Art is Theft." How blunt. So that should give you some idea of how the book views the creative process.
I also began War and Peace. Admittedly, I was slogging through it and decided to stop. Not because Tolstoy isn't a thrilling, eloquent writer, he very much is... I just don't think I'm ready for it. Luckily The book is divided into SOO many chapters and sections and parts, so after "Part 1" on page a-million-and-something, I gave it a rest and will eventually return to it someday. That's how my mind works, I have lots of bookmarks in lots of books at the moment-- maybe that shows a lack of commitment, maybe that shows a lack of attention. But f@ck that, there are no rules to enjoying literature, so I will see Pierre Beznukhov, and Prince Andrey, and feisty little Natasha at a later time.
Today I told myself I wouldn't do any writing or editing, but now after this post I am electrified to do some editing on my novel, isn't that always the way. Maybe I'll tell myself I'm not going to do any writing everyday! Maybe the very idea that I'm not allowed to do something will propel me into the doing it. (isn't that how they study toddler behaviors? Yeah that makes sense, I'm a toddler more often than not.)
Well, dear reader, now that It's almost noon, I'm going to get to editing and then for the weekend I've decided to read Edith Wharton's Ethan Frome I figure there is no place better suited for it, as I can take a ten minute drive to her house if I want. I'll let you know my thoughts.
Enjoy the Day.
-CjM
It's so beautiful out today. Spring has moved itself on in for these last few days, and it's been wonderful for adventuring around these parts. Of course, this being New England, I'm sure winter has not had its final say in this, the argument of seasons. I woke up with excitement to say hello to you reader, there must be something about you that I can't quite shake.
I wanted to ask if you've been reading anything good lately? I thought about making my list for 2017 as my typical motivation to read has been "I'd like to read XYZ so I'm going to do it." My library is stacked to the brim and it sometimes feels overwhelming, especially when I make all these grandiose plans to "revisit old books," you know, shit you read in high school that you never enjoy because it's been forced upon you. Or just revisiting old books because you have changed so much and so your perception and interpretation has (hopefully) evolved.
Anyways my my 2016 reading list was sparse, and I hate that because when you reflect on your past year, sometimes all you see are the opportunities you wasted, or how you kept putting off the things you enjoyed in order to appease some unrelenting force (or at least, that's what you convinced the thing to be.) Anyways, I didn't read as much as I'd like to last year and I'm going to change that. Good writers read. There's really no disputing that. This was my list last year:
A Dance With Dragons (reread) -- George RR. Martin
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (reread) -- Lewis Carroll
The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (reread)-- J.R.R. Tolkien
MacBeth--William Shakespeare
A Wrinkle in Time--Madeleine L'engle
Animal Farm-- George Orwell
1984--George Orwell
Of Mice and Men-- John Steinbeck
Okay so writing that out I'm not totally ashamed of the list. I guess the year is much longer than we give it credit. I remember being in a park on or near 110th street on the west side of Harlem reading the Lord of the Rings late last Spring on one of my days off ; beautiful. And I remember sitting on my porch before the maple-covered hills in North Adams this Fall reading 1984. That type of literary-induced paranoia was not fun coupled with the 2016 election which attempted to consume our very souls. There is one more book I didn't put on the list because I never got to finish it: The Epic of Gilgamesh. I bought it off a street vendor in Williamsburg for $3. On one of my desperately drunken evenings (around 3:30 in the morning) returning from the bar still in my work uniform. I fell asleep on the A Train. At my transfer stop, Broadway Junction, I awoke in a sudden panic like a homeless man being sprayed with a hose. I bounded for the door and made it off the car just in time...without my bag. So I lost my copy of Gilgamesh that night. along with my phone charger, a pair of shoes and (most importantly) my journal of which I had been tirelessly entering ideas, drawings and outlines into for more than a year. That was a bad night. But yeah, books.
So far this year I've completed only 1 book entitled: Steal Like an Artist by Austin Kleon. I highly recommend it for any artist worried about toeing the line between inspiration and plagiarism. If it's any indication, the book exposed one of my all-time favorite quotes (and possibly my next tattoo) from Pablo Picasso, that is "Art is Theft." How blunt. So that should give you some idea of how the book views the creative process.
I also began War and Peace. Admittedly, I was slogging through it and decided to stop. Not because Tolstoy isn't a thrilling, eloquent writer, he very much is... I just don't think I'm ready for it. Luckily The book is divided into SOO many chapters and sections and parts, so after "Part 1" on page a-million-and-something, I gave it a rest and will eventually return to it someday. That's how my mind works, I have lots of bookmarks in lots of books at the moment-- maybe that shows a lack of commitment, maybe that shows a lack of attention. But f@ck that, there are no rules to enjoying literature, so I will see Pierre Beznukhov, and Prince Andrey, and feisty little Natasha at a later time.
Today I told myself I wouldn't do any writing or editing, but now after this post I am electrified to do some editing on my novel, isn't that always the way. Maybe I'll tell myself I'm not going to do any writing everyday! Maybe the very idea that I'm not allowed to do something will propel me into the doing it. (isn't that how they study toddler behaviors? Yeah that makes sense, I'm a toddler more often than not.)
Well, dear reader, now that It's almost noon, I'm going to get to editing and then for the weekend I've decided to read Edith Wharton's Ethan Frome I figure there is no place better suited for it, as I can take a ten minute drive to her house if I want. I'll let you know my thoughts.
Enjoy the Day.
-CjM
Thursday, February 23, 2017
Popping My Blog Cherry
I know it's late, but I'm really glad you're here with me tonight, dear reader. I've been waiting a long time to do this with someone and I'm glad it's you. I can already tell how special our time together is going to be. I know you'll treat me with the intimate care that I deserve, and I'm going to try my best to make you feel amazing...
A weirdly intimate sexual metaphor to start... yep, that about sets the tone. Popping my 'Blog Cherry'. Ha. Good one, you rascal. Though if you know me, reader, you'd know that I already lost my virginity in a college dorm room to a redheaded lesbian while both of her roommates pretended to be asleep. And if you didn't know me, well now you know just a tad too much. Anyways this will be my altogether ridiculous dribble of a Blog. As described, (so there's no funny business going on, you know what you're getting into, dear reader) this blog will serve as my morning pages. If you don't know what that is, I'll tell you.
Morning pages, serve, to a writer, as a way for them to "warm up" for the day. Athletes need to stretch before they practice, actors need to do a bunch of weird vocal exercises, and sigh, and clap their hands, and a bunch of other useless garbage while you desperately try to recall that line that you always manage to say incorrectly before the show starts-- and writers need to remind themselves how to write. Each and every day. Constantly. Reteach and Relearn. So this blog will serve as my morning pages. I know I know "It's like 2AM". Well reader, this will be an irregularity. It's morning when I damn well say it's morning. And, I say with delightful bombast, "Let others hail the rising sun, I bow to that whose course is run!"
But really, I will make diligent efforts to post at least a daily thought or two. Mostly, as I stated earlier, to warm up my brain, or to unleash some egocentric diatribe in reaction to some insipid (one of my favorite words) Facebook post, or family crisis or mainstream happening. So not to get too "Meta" but I'm sure a lot of this blog will be a whole lot of me writing about my writing, or talking about the process of not being able to write yada yada boohoo... So if you, yourself are stuck as I have been, (as we all have been) with creative anxiety or fear or any of the other fun monsters that hide under the bed of us creative types-- maybe this blog can tap into something you may need to hear or feel, but you just can't quite put a finger on it. I can totally be that finger. WhoOoowaa, Charlie.
I've been taking writing seriously for quite some time now, and have been making wonderful strides despite my ambivalent feelings toward my work, and my sometimes unpredictable bouts of self-loathing, bitterness and fear.
I am writing a novel.
It is difficult.
Words are hard.
Send help.
Send pizza.
This is my epitaph.
I have felt recently that something has been missing. After moving back home from Brooklyn to my beloved Berkshires in Massachusetts, (Oh we'll get into that, I'm sure, dear reader) I have spent more than six months away from the cacophony of concrete that is NYC, and sunk back into the serene, undisturbed bedrock of my home. I realize now that I miss humans. I try not to "do social media" because I get massively addicted to it and end up hating myself because I spend all day comparing my life to yours (yours is better, and you are undoubtedly much more attractive than I, the lonesome, bearded recluse.) BUT, dear reader one thing is for certain I am an artist and performer at heart, and an artist needs an audience, or he's just an insane person, and that's how I have been feeling lately.
So yeah. I need attention. I need to entertain. I need to offend. I need to exercise my brain and get reconnected with the ol' interwebs. Most importantly, spending so much time analyzing ones brain, dear reader, can leave one wishing he could cover up some of the thoughts that he went and uncovered. In short, isolation can do some funny things, so rather than take a bath with a toaster, as was my original plan before this, I'm just going to write about it. And I DON'T CARE IF YOU EVEN READ THIS OR YOU DON'T APPROVE OF WHAT I'M WRITING (he says, desperately hoping you'll read this, and approve of what he's writing.)
Anyway, I'm going to be doing this nonsense with or without you. reader, because, to be honest, I'm rather enjoying myself. That is to say I'm enjoying myself in this particular moment. Tomorrow I may wake up in a fit of desperate rage and pretend this never happened, WHO KNOWS AMIRIGHT?
So more about me. I'm a left handed weirdo from Starkfield Massachusetts (10 points if you get that literary reference). I'm a writer, or at least that's what it says on my tax forms and health insurance (thanks Obama *rolls eyes*.) I love to read. I'm assuming you, dear reader, are at least curious about reading as you are here now, reading my whimsically meandering thoughts. I am particularly interested in reading and discussing fantasy *insert shameless plug to tell you about my ongoing fantasy writings here*. I love pizza, dogs, and Radiohead (not in any particular order). I tend to exaggerate stories and I'm a horbabler speller. I'm always working to improve my voice as a writer. I often tell hyper-masculine stories when I feel threatened to make up for how silly and effeminate I can sometimes come across. I once convinced a girl that I played midfield for the New England Revolution so she'd sleep with me... In the end it's not that she didn't believe me, it's that she was more of a hockey fan.
Well, dear reader, I thank you for stopping by, and I look forward to continuing this newfound way to express my thoughts, and to be able to communicate with you. Feel free to reach out, or not. Maybe you'd like to suggest a topic, or ask me a question, or discuss something I've talked about. Maybe you want to tell me to go drown myself for bombarding you with my ill-begotten, disconsolate opinions. Or maybe you just want to say hey. But I hope you can find some joy or even inspiration from my words. It might just simply be "wait, if this fruitcake is doing something he enjoys, maybe I should work on something I enjoy too!" and if you can't do any of the above but still find yourself reading this, well that's cool too because then you, like me, are dead inside and will probably just check in to "Letters to Lunacy" for some wasteful, cynically-induced injection of crippling irony. I LOVE READING THIS BLOG BECAUSE IT'S SO UNREADABLE.
Anyway, here's that thing that when said by a writer sounds like every ounce of ego-vomit they've ever projected... "Hey, check out my BLAAAAGH".
-CjM
A weirdly intimate sexual metaphor to start... yep, that about sets the tone. Popping my 'Blog Cherry'. Ha. Good one, you rascal. Though if you know me, reader, you'd know that I already lost my virginity in a college dorm room to a redheaded lesbian while both of her roommates pretended to be asleep. And if you didn't know me, well now you know just a tad too much. Anyways this will be my altogether ridiculous dribble of a Blog. As described, (so there's no funny business going on, you know what you're getting into, dear reader) this blog will serve as my morning pages. If you don't know what that is, I'll tell you.
Morning pages, serve, to a writer, as a way for them to "warm up" for the day. Athletes need to stretch before they practice, actors need to do a bunch of weird vocal exercises, and sigh, and clap their hands, and a bunch of other useless garbage while you desperately try to recall that line that you always manage to say incorrectly before the show starts-- and writers need to remind themselves how to write. Each and every day. Constantly. Reteach and Relearn. So this blog will serve as my morning pages. I know I know "It's like 2AM". Well reader, this will be an irregularity. It's morning when I damn well say it's morning. And, I say with delightful bombast, "Let others hail the rising sun, I bow to that whose course is run!"
But really, I will make diligent efforts to post at least a daily thought or two. Mostly, as I stated earlier, to warm up my brain, or to unleash some egocentric diatribe in reaction to some insipid (one of my favorite words) Facebook post, or family crisis or mainstream happening. So not to get too "Meta" but I'm sure a lot of this blog will be a whole lot of me writing about my writing, or talking about the process of not being able to write yada yada boohoo... So if you, yourself are stuck as I have been, (as we all have been) with creative anxiety or fear or any of the other fun monsters that hide under the bed of us creative types-- maybe this blog can tap into something you may need to hear or feel, but you just can't quite put a finger on it. I can totally be that finger. WhoOoowaa, Charlie.
I've been taking writing seriously for quite some time now, and have been making wonderful strides despite my ambivalent feelings toward my work, and my sometimes unpredictable bouts of self-loathing, bitterness and fear.
I am writing a novel.
It is difficult.
Words are hard.
Send help.
Send pizza.
This is my epitaph.
I have felt recently that something has been missing. After moving back home from Brooklyn to my beloved Berkshires in Massachusetts, (Oh we'll get into that, I'm sure, dear reader) I have spent more than six months away from the cacophony of concrete that is NYC, and sunk back into the serene, undisturbed bedrock of my home. I realize now that I miss humans. I try not to "do social media" because I get massively addicted to it and end up hating myself because I spend all day comparing my life to yours (yours is better, and you are undoubtedly much more attractive than I, the lonesome, bearded recluse.) BUT, dear reader one thing is for certain I am an artist and performer at heart, and an artist needs an audience, or he's just an insane person, and that's how I have been feeling lately.
So yeah. I need attention. I need to entertain. I need to offend. I need to exercise my brain and get reconnected with the ol' interwebs. Most importantly, spending so much time analyzing ones brain, dear reader, can leave one wishing he could cover up some of the thoughts that he went and uncovered. In short, isolation can do some funny things, so rather than take a bath with a toaster, as was my original plan before this, I'm just going to write about it. And I DON'T CARE IF YOU EVEN READ THIS OR YOU DON'T APPROVE OF WHAT I'M WRITING (he says, desperately hoping you'll read this, and approve of what he's writing.)
Anyway, I'm going to be doing this nonsense with or without you. reader, because, to be honest, I'm rather enjoying myself. That is to say I'm enjoying myself in this particular moment. Tomorrow I may wake up in a fit of desperate rage and pretend this never happened, WHO KNOWS AMIRIGHT?
So more about me. I'm a left handed weirdo from Starkfield Massachusetts (10 points if you get that literary reference). I'm a writer, or at least that's what it says on my tax forms and health insurance (thanks Obama *rolls eyes*.) I love to read. I'm assuming you, dear reader, are at least curious about reading as you are here now, reading my whimsically meandering thoughts. I am particularly interested in reading and discussing fantasy *insert shameless plug to tell you about my ongoing fantasy writings here*. I love pizza, dogs, and Radiohead (not in any particular order). I tend to exaggerate stories and I'm a horbabler speller. I'm always working to improve my voice as a writer. I often tell hyper-masculine stories when I feel threatened to make up for how silly and effeminate I can sometimes come across. I once convinced a girl that I played midfield for the New England Revolution so she'd sleep with me... In the end it's not that she didn't believe me, it's that she was more of a hockey fan.
Well, dear reader, I thank you for stopping by, and I look forward to continuing this newfound way to express my thoughts, and to be able to communicate with you. Feel free to reach out, or not. Maybe you'd like to suggest a topic, or ask me a question, or discuss something I've talked about. Maybe you want to tell me to go drown myself for bombarding you with my ill-begotten, disconsolate opinions. Or maybe you just want to say hey. But I hope you can find some joy or even inspiration from my words. It might just simply be "wait, if this fruitcake is doing something he enjoys, maybe I should work on something I enjoy too!" and if you can't do any of the above but still find yourself reading this, well that's cool too because then you, like me, are dead inside and will probably just check in to "Letters to Lunacy" for some wasteful, cynically-induced injection of crippling irony. I LOVE READING THIS BLOG BECAUSE IT'S SO UNREADABLE.
Anyway, here's that thing that when said by a writer sounds like every ounce of ego-vomit they've ever projected... "Hey, check out my BLAAAAGH".
-CjM
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