I had this neat idea for a links picture, but I can't post pictures from other addresses here because I'm not a paying member so my idea went down in flames.

Funny Jen! :P (See previous comments)

It was so funny I had to add your link to my page. That way when people get bored with my drivel they can go check out those special things you have to say. *grin*

I started really writing last night. Did you hear the moon crack or the feel the cool air of hell? I'm scared to reread it, but I'm in a frame of mind that if I build it, they will come. (See obscure movie reference #4)

I'm thinking I'll get in my car and live as a drifter on the Mexican border. That would make some interesting story fodder huh?

I'll check back later...

me

Edited for content

Sunday and I had to go visit the temple again. I cozied up to a diet coke and a Reese's peanut butter cookie (yummy) and found a book, The Writing Life by Annie Dillard. She won a Pulitzer Prize for a book and now I stumble across her little book of essay's on writing. I gobbled most of the book down in an hour and a half as well as the cookie. its strange to have such a connect to a group of people you've never met, but when they describe the process that churns in your own gut it is hard not to listen to the things they have to say. Nothing inside the book was all that revolutionary, but it only served to illustrate to my puny little brain that my thoughts are not alone.

"Baby got back..."

So now I'm ready...

me

I should have taken the blue pill! I could have woken up to a serene world that I could keep made up in my mind and been happy as punch without knowing all the dirty little lies life has in store for us. I don't suppose God in heaven gives us prewarning before our conception moment or the moment just before we arrive at some sort of consciousness. I talk to my 16 year old son *composes himself after yet again realizing he has a 16 yr old* and try to tell him about all the mistakes I can see him making in the next few years. I really want him to avoid them. But much like his father, he is quite stubborn and wants to fall on his face, get trampled by the masses and do it all on his own. *sigh* I guess I probably didn't listen much to my parents. Wait. I really didn't have parents that knew what was in store for me at all. No I didn't grow up with alien parents, although that would have been wild. No my mother and step-dad were Jerry Springer panel members before the show was a twinkle in the man's eyes.

None of this really matters twenty years later. I can beach and moan about it, but it changes nothing about how I will sleep tonight, what my deepest dreams and desires are and how I can obtain them. What matters is how I'm going to make it work. A little bit of luck and persistance and I'll be fine. Inspiration isn't the key. Working my ass off so I can do it is. All my life I've watched others tumble from their dreams when I thought they had so much going for them and yet I hear the whispers from others about the same of me. Only I can do anything about it.

Ever wonder why I whine so much on here? It gets old huh? The thing is I really don't have anyone close to me that understands any of it. I suppose anyone who creates art understands the pain involved, but I think with writing it is something beyond any other form. With poetry and/or music the artist looks for the flash of emotion in the few moments they have to express it. Painters and other artists have the ability to have a concrete showing of what was in their mind's eye. Even if it is abstract, there is little to judge about what the expression is meant to be. While novelists have to sustain emotion and describe every sensual event they wish their readers to partake in. This in no means belittles the other artists because their blood bleeds into their craft as does a writers. In my understanding, it is difference between a few drops and a whole pint.

It makes being a writer no less nor important to society. Rather it is a haunting scene getting played over and over in ones head as they stare at the blank paper ready to explore the arranged words that will concot a new magic no one else has ever tasted, felt, seen, heard or even had a hint of smelling. So many themes are regurgatated in the mainstream while those best left to experiment with new ideas are shunned unless their name gets them in the door. Editors and publishers want originality as long as you do it like everyone else. Reminds me of the old Far Side cartoon of a bunch of penquins standing on the ice while one stands up and shouts, "I gotta be me!"

I once tried to express this to Sandy. I felt as if I was talking quantum physics to her. Granted I never tried to impress her with my writing. I don't know why, but I did my best to show her some of the general things I had written and it amused her to a point. I felt like she was my ex-wife all over and she was wondering when I was going to put away my play things and get on with life. The problem I have is that I see writing as a huge part of my life. Everytime I give it up, I feel dead inside. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose a child, but sometimes I think that is how I feel after I go a few months without writing. I don't expect many to understand. Hell I don't even understand me at times, but I do know that my happiness is predicated on what I am doing and what I want to do. So either hop aboard or get the hell out of the way! She got out of the way. heh

Another donut missing from the box...
me

I took today off. I was bad. Ran some errands, got my haircut and found my way to Barnes and Noble. Ah the sweet scent of books, coffee (well hot chocolate) and the melodic sounds of easy listening music piped overhead that tries to make you think your IQ raised a point just by entering the store. Its not a bad feeling. Sometimes I think it is the Temple for writers and I'm herre to offer my sacrifice. The gods inside have many treasures to explore, but they also expect certain pleasures to entertain them. I came empty handed today, but I vowed it won't be long before I can approach the altar with something worthwhile.

Anyways whilst I was there I found a writing book (yes I love reading about writing it is very inspirational to me) by Norman Mailer. Not that I have read much of his over the years, maybe one novel many years ago, but it wasn't that memorable. Not like Ender's Game or 1984 *grin*. He defines a novelist's muse as something other than a simple whim. He says poets and short-story writers have muse, while novelists have, "The Bitch".

I found this on a website tonight about the book:

"He likens novel writing to an obsession with a whore, “the Bitch”, he calls her. Young, ignorant writers think they have beaten the Bitch. “’I made her moan,’ they say. But the Bitch laughs afterward in her empty bed. ‘He was so sweet in the beginning, but by the end he just went ‘Peep, peep, peep.’” He says he nearly titled this book “I Made Her Moan,” but lost his nerve."

I've read so many books from authors and about writing that it all begins to sound the same. "Writer's write. And to write is to open your vein and pour your blood upon the page." Oh it is easy to write a scene or short description, but it takes real writing stanima to write a full length novel. I did a horrible job once, so I know a little of what that means. But like a marathon runner, I want to run it again. This blog amongst other things is starting to prepare me for the journey.

If anyone has a link or two they want me to post, please feel free to email me (Trist_on@hotmail.com) with it. And if it is somewhat worthy I'll be glad to add it to my links section.

I suppose....
Laters
me

Last night after I posted here I got this idea to create a secondary blog. It would be a reviewers guide to things that I pass-by (I wonder, should it be pass by, pass-by or passby) in my life. I started writing like crazy and I realized two things. I'm a very opininated man about things I care about, which means I rambled on too long about one subject. And then I began to wonder if what I said really would impact anyone other than myself. So I deleted it after today. I had a dream of writing a column like that in a small local newspaper. You know where you would get joe-blows opinion about Music, Movies and restraunts with a few this pisses me off things. You know like paying six bucks for a movie and seeing two or three commercials before the damn thing even starts. That is a huge pet peeve of mine! Espicially if want popcorn and a soda to go with the flick. You can spend twenty dollars easy if you're not careful. So much for a cheap night out!

On the other side of the writing front. (Would that be the Eastern Front? I used to watch a lot of Hogan's Heroes as I grew up.) Anywho I have come up with two different novel ideas. I was thinking as I wrote each chapter I'd post them on a private blog for those who would be interested. They could give me feedback or just read it for the sake of reading it I suppose. What are the ideas? I can't tell. I've realized that once I start mouthing/writing the snyopsis of a story the breath of it expires before I even have the chance to read it. So it will have to be a surprise for now.

Last night the magic reappeared in my subconscious, I began to dream about the stories. My mind started to work out the possibilities of what could or should happen. It has been ages since this has transpired. Once I realized no one in my life at this time really cares if I write or not (I'm sure some of you hope I do, but sorry I don't see/hear from you on a daily basis to be of much inspiration.). But the desire must come from within me. Much like when I dropped all the weight. I had no one to blame or encourage me but myself and I did it. Goddamn it. Its time once again to take charge of my life and the hell to anyone that stands in my way. But I plotted in those times when the stories begin to enrich themselves and to be honest, it was almost as good as sex. Oooo sex. What is that again?

Heh.

Tis the twirl of the earth and another day has come and gone!
me

I write decent smut. My mind seems to turn to something perverted. No matter what, I can do something romantic/sexual pretty much any time I sit down to write. This bothers me, because I don't think anyone takes it too serious. Writing good smut takes as much discipline and soul searching as anything else. I know Anne Rice has written the Sleeping Beauty and other sexual novels, but in all fairness no one really takes that stuff as serious as something else. I wonder if this stops me from writing. I'm sure everything does since I haven't been active in a long time. I wonder if I try so hard not to write something sexual when I feel I should be writing something 'important' that I cut myself off to the stories I really wish to write. Not that everything I do has to be sexual, but like I said, it comes very easy to me. Something like the post a few days ago I can churn out in fifteen minutes. I also want to write about a more vivid experience than I have been getting (boy isn't that the truth). I imagine what I want things to be rather than the way things are. This also scares me because then I wonder if I'm searching for something made up in my mind instead of trying to settle for something average.

*sigh*

Should people settle for something average? I've tried that in a couple of relationships and it leaves me wanting so much more. I've had the taste of nirvana with someone and that seems to spur me onto something I can't even imagine even if she thought she had nothing to do with it. I don't think it is a question of someone being more than they are, but rather when you connect with that someone it is magical. You just know that person will be there beyond words. Their soul is there and is willing to die for your beliefs as well as their own. That my friends is not average.

My life, for the most part, has been made up of averages. I've been told what I could do, what things should be and the what not, but when the brass tax is filed down to it all, I'm average at everything I do. I want more from myself than average, but I'm not able to obtain anything greater than just okay.

Just another average day...

me