It's all in what you know.
Sometimes that's the problem.
You can learn just about anything on the internet. New medical procedures. World news and reviews about books or movies you may be interested in. You can also get bogged down in the research phase of any project you might be undertaking.
In order to write anything that anyone might like to read you have to be informed. To be in the know. You can find interesting news about anything you wish to learn about on the internet, and sometimes, thing that you don't.
For instance.
Did you know that the cure for hiccups is a finger up the butt?
No you didn't. Not before a few days ago anyway. And I don't want to hear, "I learnt that back in catholic middle school". Well, maybe you did. But you didn't learn it in any official sense.
The 16th event of the 1st Annual Ig Noble Awards, which was held at MIT. The discovery was made by an Israeli research group and was only one of the items keynoted. These awards are given annually in the area of "Improbable Research".
I do not know if Douglas Adams was ever a speaker at one of these but it is an area I am sure he would have been interested in.
Another of the items up for presentation was an analysis of the sound that fingernails make on a chalkboard. This research has become the basis for a new technology used for repelling teenagers. Absolutely peculiar and, some might go as far as to say "silly". What do these things have in common with all great discoveries.
Ideas.
The best place so far that I have found for new ideas is the daily news. There always seems to be something interesting, or at least mildly amusing, happening in the world. Somewhere in the back pages is where to look. That's where the magic happens and it is is where you find stories like the puppy that survived a five mile tornado ride, or the drunk rural double wide resident that was arrested for beating his wife with a "live alligator" in the solitude of the couple's trailer home; for the second time.
It's true.
Now I can't be sure, but I think you're mind is already working out how things like these could have actually happened. there has to be more to the story, you say. That thinking is the very process of which the creative side of writing is made. It is explaining to yourself the ins and outs (hiccup-pardon the pun) of a thing and making sense of it.
Like for example I'm still trying to piece together how the finger cure for hiccups came about. Was it an accidental discovery, like penicillin? When you look at a light bulb you sneeze. When you sneeze someone says bless you. What do you say when someone has the hiccups? The Ig Nobel Awards lareates are researchers who like to take the "Guess who has two thumbs and can solve your problem." approach to creativity, and we can learn something from them.
Maybe it can help with your writing (the approach, that is).
When you try to explain a situation to yourself, you usually have little to go on at the start; maybe only a blurb in the newspaper. This is where outlining helps me. I'm sure you are familiar with this process from English class, and you know that there are a thousand ways to do it. Just do what works for you. Be sure you don't get bogged down in the process though. I agree with Stephen King on this. In his semi-biography-writing instruction book, he says that plot is "blocky and uncertain, and best kept under house arrest."
What this means is that it is more important to keep your characters alive and vivid, than to focus mainly on the action or the battle with the big baddie antagonist, or force that is working against them in the plot.
You are going to be spending some time with these characters, so isn't it better to make them real and believable? Or at least to elicit some sort of emotion from them, rather than have them seem like cut-and-paste cardboard figures. Giving your characters impossible casts, or no human resemblance is equal to giving them name tags that read "good guy" or "bad guy"?
The same goes for the negative aspects of your fiction.
I don't know about you, but I always hated writing about the boring, explanatory parts of the story. Then one day I heard someone point out that if writing these parts is boring to you, then it will DEFINITELY be boring to the reader.
After hearing this I picked my jaw up off the floor. Then I filed that tidbit away for future use. Because it makes sense. No one wants to read the boring parts that you don't want to write. That makes the whole thing a lot easier. For you, and for the occasional chair, thrown out of frustration.
Your mother was wrong. Life does revolve around you.
Welcome to your freedom.
You can find enjoyment in all parts of your fiction if you make these explanatory parts ring with authenticity. Do this by showing why they are of interest to the story; you don't have to explain it like it was pre Renaissance banking practices. Although, even that can be interesting if you show someone being presented with a problem; getting their family business of, say, grain farming off the ground in Feudal France, or have someone get a hit put out on them by the pope for being too rich and not part of the Church.
OK, those suck. But you get the point. Keep this in mind and if you keep the work fresh and interesting to YOU, it won't seem as hard. I apologize if I've been acting above it all, and perhaps more that a little snide. You should look where you find inspiration to fill these gaps. Maybe its in your children.
My four-year old ran up to me one day, while I was writing; I think it was in late August. She came in with a serious, but not quite frenzied, look on her face and she told me the most horrifying thing that I could have heard from her at that particular moment.
"Dad!" she said, "Santa Clause, is Out...Side."
Oh my God. I thought. He's early.
If you want to experience imagination, there are far worse places that you could look for insight than your own children. Just allow yourself to remember. What my daughter had done was she helped me suspend my disbelief, ridiculously, and in fiction this is a necessity. Of course, in actuality my true fear was that it was a missionary, but the essence is the same.
It is also important to remember that the action of sitting down and writing everyday will make you accustomed to finding your way back into your work, and it will let the force of habit take some of the work load off of your Muse.
The last thing you want is a bitchy muse. Shouting at you from the kitchen, "You ain't got no bread man! Hows a fella supposed to make a peanut butter-nanner' sandwitch?"
How is he supposed to work under such conditions?
How are you for that matter?
Anyhow, a muse is like a Blog, you have to feed it. And it still won't do your work for you. Not even if you give it all the peanut butter and nanner' sandwiches in the world. And especially not if you don't sit down go to your task.
Write what you know? Absolutely. But no matter how factually accurate or extensively explained a scene is, no one will read it for long if it's boring. Just like the Mayo clinic's finger-McCracken maneuver for curing hiccups; just because something is scientifically proven, doesn't make it right.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
If anyone ever reads this I would like to point you in the direction of a fantastic author named JA Konrath. You may have heard of him. He is gaining a name in the thriller world with his heroine, insomniac detective Jack Daniels; "Jack" short for Jacqueline.
I have been following his career since, well since before he had a career and was moonlighting amongst the sunken alleys and questionable acquaintances of Usenet, and I've been following his work ever since.
I'm sort of an unofficial stalker.
I even have a signed drink coaster of his second book Bloody Mary. He writes mysteries that are saturated with sharp witted humor paired with hard edged suspense and a little bit of gratuitous violence, which is a gift and not easily accomplished. He essentially puts you down on your knees into the world of Noir and tells you dirty jokes, and really, who doesn't like that?
Well, if your a detective it can be troubling I suppose. But he's really a smart guy and a very good writer. He has worked hard to make a fantastic character in Jacqueline "Jack" Daniels. He isn't one of those egotistical literary snobs either, like I intend to be.
He wrote 12 novels before getting his break with Whiskey Sour, published by Hyperion, and I haven't seen anyone else who is as willing to give himself wholly to the genre. He is an inspiration to new writers as well. A real marathon man- which is an unfortunate moniker, since there's a picture of him on his website standing at an open window with a high powered rifle.
Of course, I don't think of myself as a "new" writer. More of a prolific wannabe, with a pulled hamstring, blindfolded, and running from police dogs, which is just what I would be if I was in a Konrath novel which brings me to my last point. J.A. Konrath holds writing contests and among the winnings is an opportunity to appear in name in the next Jack Daniels novel.
I have been following his career since, well since before he had a career and was moonlighting amongst the sunken alleys and questionable acquaintances of Usenet, and I've been following his work ever since.
I'm sort of an unofficial stalker.
I even have a signed drink coaster of his second book Bloody Mary. He writes mysteries that are saturated with sharp witted humor paired with hard edged suspense and a little bit of gratuitous violence, which is a gift and not easily accomplished. He essentially puts you down on your knees into the world of Noir and tells you dirty jokes, and really, who doesn't like that?
Well, if your a detective it can be troubling I suppose. But he's really a smart guy and a very good writer. He has worked hard to make a fantastic character in Jacqueline "Jack" Daniels. He isn't one of those egotistical literary snobs either, like I intend to be.
He wrote 12 novels before getting his break with Whiskey Sour, published by Hyperion, and I haven't seen anyone else who is as willing to give himself wholly to the genre. He is an inspiration to new writers as well. A real marathon man- which is an unfortunate moniker, since there's a picture of him on his website standing at an open window with a high powered rifle.
Of course, I don't think of myself as a "new" writer. More of a prolific wannabe, with a pulled hamstring, blindfolded, and running from police dogs, which is just what I would be if I was in a Konrath novel which brings me to my last point. J.A. Konrath holds writing contests and among the winnings is an opportunity to appear in name in the next Jack Daniels novel.
Monster Profile of the week: Ann Coulter
1... 2... Annies coming for you...
I am impressed with Ann Coulter's coverage of the Clinton interview. I didn't see the interview but apparently Mr. Clinton had a vessel break in his head when an interviewer asked him why he didn't do more to catch Osama Bin Laden when he was the president.
Without getting all too editorial about the issue, Miss Coulter vented about the far sprawling evil of old Bubba, and how he swung from studio lighting fixtures, beat his chest and flung pooh at the interviewer in response to "a simple question".
The question could be paraphrased like this. "Why are you responsible for the deaths of 3,000 Americans on Sept. 11, 2001 Mr. Clinton?"
He had an answer actually, and it was the same answer that he should have given when he was asked about where his penis had been during Hummergate: the answer "Fuck you" to put it simply.
However there couldn't be anything true in his retort, not in Ann's mind. How could there be? It isn't like the facts about the pre 9/11 intel could be checked like if they were, say, published or something (Oh wait they are).
Anyhow, I would have to say that my favorite part of the story was that it is now 850 words closer to the end of her career. At the end of that time I hope someone does a documentary about her. She'd have lost about 70 pounds of her healthy 87 pound figure by that time and she'll be spoon fed peaches and sit in a corner brushing an imaginary schnauzer. Blurting out the occasional racial slur at the ficus in the retirement home day room. But it will still be old Annie for all legal purposes.
True the Democrats are idiots. Sometimes the Left opposes everything that comes from the Right just because it comes from the right, but usually when there is a claim that Bush is wrong about something there is about a county sized warehouse FULL of published and indexed *evidence... Lying about intelligence and keeping the American people in the dark about the very situation to which we have given the lives of many young service men and women apparently is not quite as serious an offense as getting a blow job.
Wait a minute. Let us back up for some of the people still finding their way around the english language (Coulter).
*EVIDENCE: ev-i-dence /ev-i-duhns/ >Available facts, cicumstances, etc., determining truth or validity ----- I won't give the whole thing but there's something in there about admissability in court.
Back to the story which was basically a rambling, incoherent, monologue about how terrible a liar Clinton followed by some very brief on-topic material that is choked off again by a sudden fit of sarcasm. Sounds like Tourets syndrome to me.
To wit: Leave the sarcasm to those who can handle it; remember that if it's not funny- Your not doing it right. Especially if it's your book. Or your publicity blurbs... Or any mention of your soul. (Sarcasm - Funny= your career)
Give me some flavor. That's all I ask. If he is a liar then site some realistic evidence* (see the above*) which shows that he is a liar. Don't just say he is and then go off on a tangent about someone else who you hate just because they're a democrat.
I don't dislike conservatives. Show me some conservative values and then show me why they are right. Do it without using some blanket statement like "because I'm American" or "Victory is the only suitable cotext for withdrawal".
That's like saying "It's written in the bible" when you're asked to prove that you have your driver's license. It doesn't prove a damn thing but, hey, how can you argue, right? It's the bible.
Think about this.
Are there any Right Wing Red Faced pundits from the Vietnam war that are even remembered now? No. And there is a reason for that. They were wrong. Regardless of what Kissinger says (Remember he can't leave the USA for fear of being nabbed for war crimes.) they were wrong and you are just like them.
Ann Coulter is like Freddy Kruger. Not just because of her abnormally large and sloth-like hands. Nor just because of her stark resemblance to Robert Englund. I mean sure she can enter into your dreams and kill you with those hideous claws. but if you ignore Freddy, he fades away into nothing, and you see that is all that he was made of all along. Ann feeds on attention which I'm giving her now. I'm not worried because she'll vomit it right back up.
One day everyone is going to forget about you Ann Coulter. Then all you'll be is a crazy old racist chick who was wrong.
And you'll have herpes.
1... 2... Annies coming for you...
I am impressed with Ann Coulter's coverage of the Clinton interview. I didn't see the interview but apparently Mr. Clinton had a vessel break in his head when an interviewer asked him why he didn't do more to catch Osama Bin Laden when he was the president.
Without getting all too editorial about the issue, Miss Coulter vented about the far sprawling evil of old Bubba, and how he swung from studio lighting fixtures, beat his chest and flung pooh at the interviewer in response to "a simple question".
The question could be paraphrased like this. "Why are you responsible for the deaths of 3,000 Americans on Sept. 11, 2001 Mr. Clinton?"
He had an answer actually, and it was the same answer that he should have given when he was asked about where his penis had been during Hummergate: the answer "Fuck you" to put it simply.
However there couldn't be anything true in his retort, not in Ann's mind. How could there be? It isn't like the facts about the pre 9/11 intel could be checked like if they were, say, published or something (Oh wait they are).
Anyhow, I would have to say that my favorite part of the story was that it is now 850 words closer to the end of her career. At the end of that time I hope someone does a documentary about her. She'd have lost about 70 pounds of her healthy 87 pound figure by that time and she'll be spoon fed peaches and sit in a corner brushing an imaginary schnauzer. Blurting out the occasional racial slur at the ficus in the retirement home day room. But it will still be old Annie for all legal purposes.
True the Democrats are idiots. Sometimes the Left opposes everything that comes from the Right just because it comes from the right, but usually when there is a claim that Bush is wrong about something there is about a county sized warehouse FULL of published and indexed *evidence... Lying about intelligence and keeping the American people in the dark about the very situation to which we have given the lives of many young service men and women apparently is not quite as serious an offense as getting a blow job.
Wait a minute. Let us back up for some of the people still finding their way around the english language (Coulter).
*EVIDENCE: ev-i-dence /ev-i-duhns/ >Available facts, cicumstances, etc., determining truth or validity ----- I won't give the whole thing but there's something in there about admissability in court.
Back to the story which was basically a rambling, incoherent, monologue about how terrible a liar Clinton followed by some very brief on-topic material that is choked off again by a sudden fit of sarcasm. Sounds like Tourets syndrome to me.
To wit: Leave the sarcasm to those who can handle it; remember that if it's not funny- Your not doing it right. Especially if it's your book. Or your publicity blurbs... Or any mention of your soul. (Sarcasm - Funny= your career)
Give me some flavor. That's all I ask. If he is a liar then site some realistic evidence* (see the above*) which shows that he is a liar. Don't just say he is and then go off on a tangent about someone else who you hate just because they're a democrat.
I don't dislike conservatives. Show me some conservative values and then show me why they are right. Do it without using some blanket statement like "because I'm American" or "Victory is the only suitable cotext for withdrawal".
That's like saying "It's written in the bible" when you're asked to prove that you have your driver's license. It doesn't prove a damn thing but, hey, how can you argue, right? It's the bible.
Think about this.
Are there any Right Wing Red Faced pundits from the Vietnam war that are even remembered now? No. And there is a reason for that. They were wrong. Regardless of what Kissinger says (Remember he can't leave the USA for fear of being nabbed for war crimes.) they were wrong and you are just like them.
Ann Coulter is like Freddy Kruger. Not just because of her abnormally large and sloth-like hands. Nor just because of her stark resemblance to Robert Englund. I mean sure she can enter into your dreams and kill you with those hideous claws. but if you ignore Freddy, he fades away into nothing, and you see that is all that he was made of all along. Ann feeds on attention which I'm giving her now. I'm not worried because she'll vomit it right back up.
One day everyone is going to forget about you Ann Coulter. Then all you'll be is a crazy old racist chick who was wrong.
And you'll have herpes.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Sometimes the hardest thing in the world is to get started. At least that's the way it is for me. Maybe I'll never make a living writing even though I would like to. Would it be so bad in that case to write only because it gives some satisfaction to you? Some joy even? When the morning passes though, and there are no new words it can be a little daunting but really.....
You know what? Screw that! I've said that or a variation of that a thousand times before and for what? I don't think it ever changes. It just changes disguise because no matter how good you are you can always be better, right?
Maybe you have only to be in the same room with a blank piece of paper and the ideas swarm you like a plague of yellowjackets a best seller scribbles itself onto the white sheet because it was inevitably going to happen anyway so the universe rearranged itself to save you the trouble.
I hate you.
Self Loathing is the hallmark of all struggling writers.
Thats it.
What, I ask, is the godforsaken point!?
bvbvggtttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttjkhjkk (head falls on keyboard))))
ELVIS: The point is this.
Writer: Jesus! (head snaps up)
ELVIS: Thank you but no.
Writer: Elvis!? Where the hell did you come from? You're dead aren't you? Oh my God, I should have stayed on those pills.
Why are you wearing my pajamas?
ELVIS: I just like flannel. Don't dig on the pills man, trust me. It doesn't matter where I came from. You called me is all.
Now listen, I don't have much time but I might be able to help you. You want to put the chair down. Now you asked for help didn't you? Why don't you tell me what you need help with and I'll see what I can do.
Writer: You, you want to help me?
ELVIS: That's what I said.
Writer: Yes but... Oh whatever - it's my neurological event, I might as well enjoy it.
ELVIS: Well?
Writer: Well? Where do I start Elvis? NaNoWriMo is in a month and I can't even get my regular words to go down on paper. I just got a blog and I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to with it; I expect feed it something. My wife isn't attracted to me, she thinks I'm a loser. I got this bump that I don't know what the hell it is...
ELVIS: Stop twitchin' man, you're acting like a startled chicken. Look here boss.
Writer: What?
ELVIS: What the hell is NaNoWhatsit?
Writer: National Novel Writing Month. It's a - I've got to write 50,000 words of a novel in thirty days and I haven't even completed outlining it. It's just like I've forgotten what I'm doing, where I was going. Everything. I feel like I'm lost and I need to find my way out.
ELVIS: Sounds serious. What's the problem?
Writer: What?
ELVIS: Your problem. The one thats cutting into my dry hump session with the lady clerk down at the gas station?
Writer: My problem? But I just told you what my problem was. By the way did I ask about my pajamas?
ELVIS: No that's not your problem, your problem is that you need to take the first step. Your like a child who wants to go out and check his mailbox and yells that he can't make it back to the house.
Writer: How is it like that? How is my writing like a mailbox?
ELVIS: It don't have to be a mailbox man. Maybe you want to go pet a duck; it's a euphemism ya dig. The thing is you haven't even made it to the mailbox. You can see the mailbox, but you can't get to it. Who knows, maybe there's a big dog out there, wants to bite your nuts off the second you hit the sidewalk.
Writer: You mean I should wear a sports cup or something?
ELVIS: No listen you've got to stay with me kid. It's a euphemism, or a metephore. That's it, the dog is a metaphor. It represents something that's in your way.
Writer: The people across the street have a pekingese.
ELVIS: Oh, well, I didn't know that. There are birds out there too, you didn't think of that did you? No you're right, if the dog doesn't get you then there's an eagle that wants to buzz you like a radio tower and shred you face when you stop moving. You see? You don't want to go out there because the animals might kill you.
Writer: That's horrible. How does that help me Elvis?
ELVIS: My point is you sound like an agoraphobic.
Writer: Hey Bubba, that's a serious mental illness. You should have a little sympathy for people like that.
ELVIS: Sympathy? You want to know sympathy? I got caught on the bus for six hours and by the time I got to the office at the Muse Department there were only two slips left. After this I'm teaching a dolphin to play the drums.
Writer: Maybe you picked the wrong career path. Good luck with the porpoise.
ELVIS: Oh right, sorry about that wise ass, but sometimes there isn't a whole lot of workload preference pertainin to tryin to get stubburn, obsessive writers to do what they love to do.
Writing.
That's, like, what you guys do, right? It's isn't just sitting there with a look on your face like you're trying to part you hair without touching it? Cuz that's what you were doing when I came in.
Writer: I was not doing that.
ELVIS: Were too.
Writer: I was Not!
ELVIS: Were too. Infinity.
Writer: I was nn*... Your childish.
ELVIS: No I'm dead Hoss. But look even though I started kickin flies I can still take care of Bin'ness. You might think about that. You can too but your not. What's your excuse?
Writer: I guess I don't have one. But I don't really need an excuse to be stuck do I? ... Well Elvis? Do I.
ELVIS: (sniffing his sleeve) Man this fabric softner, you got no idea man, what kind is this?
Writer: It's Mountain River tm.
Elvis: It's jus wonderful... Aw Shucks man. Sorry. Listen. The only thing you gotta do is take the first step, but you gotta do it expecting to take the next one, ya dig? And eventually, you know, you'll be able to play the guitar.
Writer: You mean write?
ELVIS: Damn skippy I do. I'm a christian ain't I?
Writer: No, I mean that I... uh, do you have A.D.D.?
ELVIS: What was that?
Writer: Nothing, just...
I mean, nevermind. Yes - yes your Highness.
ELVIS: Alright. Listen up. You lost somethin', but you know it's here somewhere. So sit down and take another look. Your path is always where you left it. Remember that, and you'll be gyrating stead of swattin' at the air like a crazed chimp. How's that sound?
Writer: "Your path is where you left it." (Looking at the blank screen. He brings up a new page.) "Your path is where you left it."
ELVIS: You got it baby. -snaps his fingers- *poof* (a business card with a small picture of blue wingtip shoes, footloose, with the heels pointing to the sky appears)
ELVIS: You need me -snap- just holler.
(But the writer is back at work.)
ELVIS begins to leave.
Writer: Hey E.
ELVIS: Yeah baby.
Writer: Keep the pajamas.
Elvis: Thank you. -points a finger- Now take care of Bin' ess
(walks out singing "In the Ghetto" and sniffing the collar of the flannel PJs.)
------------ That is really a corny way of saying that this takes baby-steps and it seems to me that it is never going to be easy. Why should it be. Would it be quite as fun then?
If it is that easy, then maybe your not doing it right. If you are doing it at all is the thing. That's the first step.
You know what? Screw that! I've said that or a variation of that a thousand times before and for what? I don't think it ever changes. It just changes disguise because no matter how good you are you can always be better, right?
Maybe you have only to be in the same room with a blank piece of paper and the ideas swarm you like a plague of yellowjackets a best seller scribbles itself onto the white sheet because it was inevitably going to happen anyway so the universe rearranged itself to save you the trouble.
I hate you.
Self Loathing is the hallmark of all struggling writers.
Thats it.
What, I ask, is the godforsaken point!?
bvbvggtttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttjkhjkk (head falls on keyboard))))
ELVIS: The point is this.
Writer: Jesus! (head snaps up)
ELVIS: Thank you but no.
Writer: Elvis!? Where the hell did you come from? You're dead aren't you? Oh my God, I should have stayed on those pills.
Why are you wearing my pajamas?
ELVIS: I just like flannel. Don't dig on the pills man, trust me. It doesn't matter where I came from. You called me is all.
Now listen, I don't have much time but I might be able to help you. You want to put the chair down. Now you asked for help didn't you? Why don't you tell me what you need help with and I'll see what I can do.
Writer: You, you want to help me?
ELVIS: That's what I said.
Writer: Yes but... Oh whatever - it's my neurological event, I might as well enjoy it.
ELVIS: Well?
Writer: Well? Where do I start Elvis? NaNoWriMo is in a month and I can't even get my regular words to go down on paper. I just got a blog and I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to with it; I expect feed it something. My wife isn't attracted to me, she thinks I'm a loser. I got this bump that I don't know what the hell it is...
ELVIS: Stop twitchin' man, you're acting like a startled chicken. Look here boss.
Writer: What?
ELVIS: What the hell is NaNoWhatsit?
Writer: National Novel Writing Month. It's a - I've got to write 50,000 words of a novel in thirty days and I haven't even completed outlining it. It's just like I've forgotten what I'm doing, where I was going. Everything. I feel like I'm lost and I need to find my way out.
ELVIS: Sounds serious. What's the problem?
Writer: What?
ELVIS: Your problem. The one thats cutting into my dry hump session with the lady clerk down at the gas station?
Writer: My problem? But I just told you what my problem was. By the way did I ask about my pajamas?
ELVIS: No that's not your problem, your problem is that you need to take the first step. Your like a child who wants to go out and check his mailbox and yells that he can't make it back to the house.
Writer: How is it like that? How is my writing like a mailbox?
ELVIS: It don't have to be a mailbox man. Maybe you want to go pet a duck; it's a euphemism ya dig. The thing is you haven't even made it to the mailbox. You can see the mailbox, but you can't get to it. Who knows, maybe there's a big dog out there, wants to bite your nuts off the second you hit the sidewalk.
Writer: You mean I should wear a sports cup or something?
ELVIS: No listen you've got to stay with me kid. It's a euphemism, or a metephore. That's it, the dog is a metaphor. It represents something that's in your way.
Writer: The people across the street have a pekingese.
ELVIS: Oh, well, I didn't know that. There are birds out there too, you didn't think of that did you? No you're right, if the dog doesn't get you then there's an eagle that wants to buzz you like a radio tower and shred you face when you stop moving. You see? You don't want to go out there because the animals might kill you.
Writer: That's horrible. How does that help me Elvis?
ELVIS: My point is you sound like an agoraphobic.
Writer: Hey Bubba, that's a serious mental illness. You should have a little sympathy for people like that.
ELVIS: Sympathy? You want to know sympathy? I got caught on the bus for six hours and by the time I got to the office at the Muse Department there were only two slips left. After this I'm teaching a dolphin to play the drums.
Writer: Maybe you picked the wrong career path. Good luck with the porpoise.
ELVIS: Oh right, sorry about that wise ass, but sometimes there isn't a whole lot of workload preference pertainin to tryin to get stubburn, obsessive writers to do what they love to do.
Writing.
That's, like, what you guys do, right? It's isn't just sitting there with a look on your face like you're trying to part you hair without touching it? Cuz that's what you were doing when I came in.
Writer: I was not doing that.
ELVIS: Were too.
Writer: I was Not!
ELVIS: Were too. Infinity.
Writer: I was nn*... Your childish.
ELVIS: No I'm dead Hoss. But look even though I started kickin flies I can still take care of Bin'ness. You might think about that. You can too but your not. What's your excuse?
Writer: I guess I don't have one. But I don't really need an excuse to be stuck do I? ... Well Elvis? Do I.
ELVIS: (sniffing his sleeve) Man this fabric softner, you got no idea man, what kind is this?
Writer: It's Mountain River tm.
Elvis: It's jus wonderful... Aw Shucks man. Sorry. Listen. The only thing you gotta do is take the first step, but you gotta do it expecting to take the next one, ya dig? And eventually, you know, you'll be able to play the guitar.
Writer: You mean write?
ELVIS: Damn skippy I do. I'm a christian ain't I?
Writer: No, I mean that I... uh, do you have A.D.D.?
ELVIS: What was that?
Writer: Nothing, just...
I mean, nevermind. Yes - yes your Highness.
ELVIS: Alright. Listen up. You lost somethin', but you know it's here somewhere. So sit down and take another look. Your path is always where you left it. Remember that, and you'll be gyrating stead of swattin' at the air like a crazed chimp. How's that sound?
Writer: "Your path is where you left it." (Looking at the blank screen. He brings up a new page.) "Your path is where you left it."
ELVIS: You got it baby. -snaps his fingers- *poof* (a business card with a small picture of blue wingtip shoes, footloose, with the heels pointing to the sky appears)
ELVIS: You need me -snap- just holler.
(But the writer is back at work.)
ELVIS begins to leave.
Writer: Hey E.
ELVIS: Yeah baby.
Writer: Keep the pajamas.
Elvis: Thank you. -points a finger- Now take care of Bin' ess
(walks out singing "In the Ghetto" and sniffing the collar of the flannel PJs.)
------------ That is really a corny way of saying that this takes baby-steps and it seems to me that it is never going to be easy. Why should it be. Would it be quite as fun then?
If it is that easy, then maybe your not doing it right. If you are doing it at all is the thing. That's the first step.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Until one is committed there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans:
That the moment one definately commits oneself, then providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision raising in one's favour all manner of unforseen incidents and meetings and material assistance which no man could have dreamt would have come his way. Whatever you can do or dream you can begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.
Begin it now.
----Goethe
That the moment one definately commits oneself, then providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision raising in one's favour all manner of unforseen incidents and meetings and material assistance which no man could have dreamt would have come his way. Whatever you can do or dream you can begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.
Begin it now.
----Goethe
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